Four years ago, I joined Cebu Bloggers Society. I never left since then. The group went through some glorious moments and not-so-glorious moments, just in almost any organization. During these times, I support the group in the best way I can because it is my way of "paying it forward" for helping me through blogging exposure, speaking opportunities and networking with potential clients.
To Cebu Bloggers Society, and its dynamic founder, Mark Monta, cheers to a great organization, and may you continue to make an impact on the members.
Tonight, Cebu Bloggers Society will celebrate its 7th year founding anniversary. Cebu City Marriott Hotel supports the organization to make this event successful.
To us, kudos and congratulations!
CBSi 7th Anniversary official hashtags: #CBSi7 and #CebuBloggers
You can follow CBSi in our official social media accounts:
December 14, 2014
During her wedding day, all she sees is her right finger adorned with a gold circle that is not quite a circle. One side is a little bent, the other side a bit scratched. It is a lightweight heirloom passed on to her, a 32-year-old member of the family’s third generation. But it carries a world that, when painted, shows a frightening mixture of commitment, love, faith, hope and friendship. She sees also another ring, equally uncharacteristic, but with almost similar tiny dents and scratches. She looks up to see that the world is not that frightening anymore.
Photo from pixabay.com
(Thin Yarns is my amateur attempt at “flash fiction.” I was inspired by Logo-Ligi’s Friday Fictioneers posts and The Sill of the World’s Week in Seven Words.)
November 2, 2014
When I was young with a lot of free time, I voluntarily read the entire Old Testament of my cousin’s Bible that has eye-friendly text and stick figures for illustrations. It was covered with black leather and when opened, it was about half a meter in length. I would spread it on my study table and read it after school, in the evenings. I finished the Old Testament in less than two weeks.
November 1, 2014
The noise is awful, deafening. I bow my head, pushing down the confusing gurgle of emotions. I look down, trying to distract myself with the ants crawling near my toes, lining in order, unfeeling, free from complications. The chosen distraction is not enough. The noise—an angry exchange of what is right and what is wrong—is possessed with tones sufficient enough to poke my heart, grate my nerves, make me crazy inside. Then I begin to talk with myself, in my head: Is there something wrong with me? What did I do this time? Can you please stop? The noise ends, silence reigns. Deafening. The tension is still in the air. Sharp. Harsh. Painful.
I need to get out of here.
Photo from pixabay.com
October 30, 2014
Like mushrooms towering over grass and roots and stone and peppered with morning dew, these tents grow like giants in red and white stripes looking down with a cryptic grin over women and children and dogs and surrounded by men in awe. The fun and excitement, crudeness and cruelty come in two bright alternate colors, as a pack of weirdness and misunderstood begins a promised performance of a lifetime. The quirky rendition ends after a prolonged applause and a shower of thorny roses under a blinding spotlight, crowd pleasers march back to their dark rooms, with nary a word to each other, like a wounded squad counting the steps, each a defining moment, to its execution chamber. But the ghosts can hear the quiet sighs.
Photo from www.pixabay.com
(Thin Yarns is my amateur attempt at "flash fiction." I was inspired by Logo-Ligi’s Friday Fictioneers posts and The Sill of the World’s Week in Seven Words.)