Notice: This blog's format and theme is similar to ": in the beginning." But the character is obviously different. Enjoy!
All she did was smile. All she wanted was to lend a helping hand.
But they looked at her differently, as if they were looking at an inanimate object that wasn't supposed to be there.
All she did was ask a question, important enough for her to require an answer.
But they looked at her differently, as if they were looking at a rotting carcass. Their eyes were twitched to one side, eyebrows slanted towards the middle of their seemingly perfect faces, and mouths freezed in their icy frowns.
All she did was stop. All she did was sigh as her cries of help are reflected back as piercing arrows through her already disfigured heart.
But still they looked at her differently as she turned around and walked back from the hole in which she came from.
"Why can't you respect me? Why can't you listen to me?!" she cried, to the pictures abundant with the empty smiles of her so-called friends, eternalized forever in small metallic frames. She turned to a mirrored reflection of herself, and cried: "And you! Why do you cry? Why can't you speak for yourself? Why don't they respect you?!"
She took a framed picture, one that had a happy teenage boy with hands blindfolding her smiling face, and threw it with the little force she had left at the mirror.
With a loud sound, what remained of the mirror and the framed picture fell on the cold ceramic floor as the girl cried even harder. She could stand the sound of feet walking away from her, the hard arms slapping her tender cheeks, the empty lies created by her closest friends, the ensuing and painstaking drama that followed, and even the heartbreaking ends caused by irresponsible boyfriends that'd rather stay with any crowd opposite to her own.
But she can never ever get used to the eyes. The same judging eyes that scream out: "Look at me! I am god. You, my friend, are a failure. You were, is, and will be a failure for the rest of your life. Now begone, foul beast!" They seem to have a life of their own. A set of rules made especially by them: a standard that would finalized what each and every human being is like with a single specified movement of the eyes. No, never.
She wiped the last of her tears and made sure that she didn't look as if she had been crying; as if she had been vunerable. Slowly opening the bedroom door that would once again bring her to the rat-infested world that is her life, she felt the cold wind as another piercing comment swooshed beside her head.
Turning back to see where the it had landed, she grinned as the arrowhead pierced through the face of the boy in the now unidentified picture, ruined by the warm and salty tears that she had ever so long ago wanted to release.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Life
It is not too often that we stop and realize how wonderful our life is. How did I come to such an out of character view? Because the other authors of my blog had been sooo very kind in reminding me of the emo crap that I write, I thought I would go with a positive and optimistic view.
First of all, life is beautiful because I have internet. That's right, whereas millions of people are dying of famine and disease for lack of clean water, I am wasting energy over the internet over something I will probably laugh at for such stupidity. To have such luxuries such as internet is truly a beautiful thing indeed.
Second, life is beautiful because there is so much to love. So who cares if I hate a million, gazibillion quadratrillion objects, notions and ideas if I have love to spread around the world! The world goes around on love, not the movement of its iron core as scientists say. Silly scientists, instead of worrying over so many trivial things as global warming they should just spread their love so that the world won't be cold from such rati0nality and ruthless logic.
Life is beautiful as we are alive, to have live, to have the opportunity to cause ripples in the pond of life. To be able to make something of ourselves, to be able to believe in God. Those are truly blessings that we never notice as we let small insect bites like crap on shoes to interrupt the joy we should be experiencing for the fact that we are indeed alive and existing as we are given the opportunity to do so unlike so many unfortunate others who had lost the opportunity.
First of all, life is beautiful because I have internet. That's right, whereas millions of people are dying of famine and disease for lack of clean water, I am wasting energy over the internet over something I will probably laugh at for such stupidity. To have such luxuries such as internet is truly a beautiful thing indeed.
Second, life is beautiful because there is so much to love. So who cares if I hate a million, gazibillion quadratrillion objects, notions and ideas if I have love to spread around the world! The world goes around on love, not the movement of its iron core as scientists say. Silly scientists, instead of worrying over so many trivial things as global warming they should just spread their love so that the world won't be cold from such rati0nality and ruthless logic.
Life is beautiful as we are alive, to have live, to have the opportunity to cause ripples in the pond of life. To be able to make something of ourselves, to be able to believe in God. Those are truly blessings that we never notice as we let small insect bites like crap on shoes to interrupt the joy we should be experiencing for the fact that we are indeed alive and existing as we are given the opportunity to do so unlike so many unfortunate others who had lost the opportunity.
Dissatisfaction
Through the days in IB, I seldom stop and think after receiving the test papers followed by the given grade plastered on the paper bearing a big red/blue circle centering on the given score. It always make me think:
"Why is it always RED? Why can't I receive a 5 or 6...? At least once I would like to have such numbers..."
Yes. Throughout my entire career as a student pressured in IB (excuse me, during High School), I had never received a number greater than '5'. I would, of course, receive a 6 sometimes when I really-really work myself to the last minute; of course, the number still rarely pops in the paper. All I kept on receiving was the dissatisfaction of my effort; the magic number '4' or '3'. Was I destined to receive marks below five or fours?
I'm cursed--not physically cursed, but I do felt I'm cursed. Despite all the effort I've given, or how much time I've spent on something so meaningful in my academic life I somehow could never achieve the mark I've wished for. Its so close, yet so far away; far beyond my reach. Am I the only one to receive such low marks? Am I the only being around the entire school to have an almost un-changing academic life? Is this the result that I get despite all the effort I've put into. If there really was someone out-there determine to crash my academic life, I would gladly talk to that person and shove a gun on their mouth or knife to their throat; that would shut them up for good!
Comparing my present self with myself from the past, I greatly believe I perform better during my days in junior school--and I mean in grade 1. In my old school, out of 40-50 student, I achieve the '7th hot seat', one of the few 'top-ten' student. Out of forty to fifty! And I still think that's bad! Why? Every test I took in year 1, some of my friends and I had to stay behind and finish the test as we watch the rest of my classmates disassemble from the class and perform all sorts of chaotic actions in the school yard; sometimes running back to class crying due to a scrape in the knee. Moving on to my present school, my achievement slowly degrades from being 'good' to 'bad'. Now I wonder...why? Is it too late improve?
I am dissatisfied with myself. I sometimes hate myself--I really do. Despite how hard I've studied, no matter how many effort I've put into things just won't change! Even if I'm busted down to math studies I doubt I'll receive magic number 'five', 'six'--or even a 'seven'! Probably a 'four' or a 'three'. Call me an idiot for not attaining such high marks as most of my friends do. Call me an idiot for failing all of my math exams I've had for the past middle-high school years I've went through. Call me an idiot for struggling in algebra and quadratic equations...
...But don't call me an idiot for not giving up the things others deemed 'impossible' for me.
I am dissatisfied with myself...
...dissatisfied with my grades...
...
Have I worked hard enough? Have I really given all my effort into it?
...am I really that stupid?
...
...think I'll work harder next year...
"Why is it always RED? Why can't I receive a 5 or 6...? At least once I would like to have such numbers..."
Yes. Throughout my entire career as a student pressured in IB (excuse me, during High School), I had never received a number greater than '5'. I would, of course, receive a 6 sometimes when I really-really work myself to the last minute; of course, the number still rarely pops in the paper. All I kept on receiving was the dissatisfaction of my effort; the magic number '4' or '3'. Was I destined to receive marks below five or fours?
I'm cursed--not physically cursed, but I do felt I'm cursed. Despite all the effort I've given, or how much time I've spent on something so meaningful in my academic life I somehow could never achieve the mark I've wished for. Its so close, yet so far away; far beyond my reach. Am I the only one to receive such low marks? Am I the only being around the entire school to have an almost un-changing academic life? Is this the result that I get despite all the effort I've put into. If there really was someone out-there determine to crash my academic life, I would gladly talk to that person and shove a gun on their mouth or knife to their throat; that would shut them up for good!
Comparing my present self with myself from the past, I greatly believe I perform better during my days in junior school--and I mean in grade 1. In my old school, out of 40-50 student, I achieve the '7th hot seat', one of the few 'top-ten' student. Out of forty to fifty! And I still think that's bad! Why? Every test I took in year 1, some of my friends and I had to stay behind and finish the test as we watch the rest of my classmates disassemble from the class and perform all sorts of chaotic actions in the school yard; sometimes running back to class crying due to a scrape in the knee. Moving on to my present school, my achievement slowly degrades from being 'good' to 'bad'. Now I wonder...why? Is it too late improve?
I am dissatisfied with myself. I sometimes hate myself--I really do. Despite how hard I've studied, no matter how many effort I've put into things just won't change! Even if I'm busted down to math studies I doubt I'll receive magic number 'five', 'six'--or even a 'seven'! Probably a 'four' or a 'three'. Call me an idiot for not attaining such high marks as most of my friends do. Call me an idiot for failing all of my math exams I've had for the past middle-high school years I've went through. Call me an idiot for struggling in algebra and quadratic equations...
...But don't call me an idiot for not giving up the things others deemed 'impossible' for me.
I am dissatisfied with myself...
...dissatisfied with my grades...
...
Have I worked hard enough? Have I really given all my effort into it?
...am I really that stupid?
...
...think I'll work harder next year...
Monday, December 10, 2007
: In the beginning.'
Notice: Look, rather than complaining about how life sucks in an overdone perspective, I really think it's better if I put it in story format.
His lips were parched as he examined that piece of paper that would finally allow him to know whether or not he had recieved the marks he had always wanted.
A four. Somehow, he could still gulp even though his throat was too dry even to let out a gasp.
"So Justin, what did you get?"
He refused to reply rightaway and chose to take his plastic water bottle beside his green school bag. Swallowing huge amounts of water did little help in cooling off the fiery heart that was in him. Putting aside the nearly empty bottle, he replied with hesitation: "Uhh.. I really don't want to tell."
"Oh come on! We all share our grades, why can't you?"
It's true. The marks he had so wished to have had been thrown around the room minutes ago. But none of them were within his reach. He could already sense what was inside his friend's mind.
"Why did Justin not want to share his grades to me? It's not like I had perfect marks. Man, he's such an arrogant jerk. I don't want to be here when he rubs it in me." Justin's face was no longer there; all that's left was the face of a monster - arrogant, selfish, and painfully smart.
Needless to say, Justin did not feel smart at all. As a matter of fact, he felt like the dumbest kid in class. There were a few others who had lower grades than him, but they didn't even study and deserved those grades. Justin worked his butt off until the wee hours of morning. He felt pathetic.
But it's even more pathetic to know that the friend sitting next to him, the very person he had refused to share his grades with just seconds ago, had already came up with a seemingly reasonable conclusion of Justin's arrogant reply. It's ironic at how that conclusion is made to conceal his own faults by spotting the mistakes of another, perhaps more imperfect, human being.
Fearing what may happen if things get out of hand, Justin replied. But he stopped again. He wanted to explain that he does not feel at all obliged to share his grades with his friend and how it is his own grades and not other people's. That he is completely aware of his friend's intentions.
But before he could justify anything, he looked at the frozen look on his friend's face which could only mean one thing: his conclusions are reasonable enough and he will stand strong to it until someone could come up with another reasonable conclusion that could otherwise change his mind, someone that is preferably not Justin.
Justin sighed and excused himself as he left for the restroom. The class is still far from over, and already he could hear the whispered lies over his shoulder.
It has begun.
His lips were parched as he examined that piece of paper that would finally allow him to know whether or not he had recieved the marks he had always wanted.
A four. Somehow, he could still gulp even though his throat was too dry even to let out a gasp.
"So Justin, what did you get?"
He refused to reply rightaway and chose to take his plastic water bottle beside his green school bag. Swallowing huge amounts of water did little help in cooling off the fiery heart that was in him. Putting aside the nearly empty bottle, he replied with hesitation: "Uhh.. I really don't want to tell."
"Oh come on! We all share our grades, why can't you?"
It's true. The marks he had so wished to have had been thrown around the room minutes ago. But none of them were within his reach. He could already sense what was inside his friend's mind.
"Why did Justin not want to share his grades to me? It's not like I had perfect marks. Man, he's such an arrogant jerk. I don't want to be here when he rubs it in me." Justin's face was no longer there; all that's left was the face of a monster - arrogant, selfish, and painfully smart.
Needless to say, Justin did not feel smart at all. As a matter of fact, he felt like the dumbest kid in class. There were a few others who had lower grades than him, but they didn't even study and deserved those grades. Justin worked his butt off until the wee hours of morning. He felt pathetic.
But it's even more pathetic to know that the friend sitting next to him, the very person he had refused to share his grades with just seconds ago, had already came up with a seemingly reasonable conclusion of Justin's arrogant reply. It's ironic at how that conclusion is made to conceal his own faults by spotting the mistakes of another, perhaps more imperfect, human being.
Fearing what may happen if things get out of hand, Justin replied. But he stopped again. He wanted to explain that he does not feel at all obliged to share his grades with his friend and how it is his own grades and not other people's. That he is completely aware of his friend's intentions.
But before he could justify anything, he looked at the frozen look on his friend's face which could only mean one thing: his conclusions are reasonable enough and he will stand strong to it until someone could come up with another reasonable conclusion that could otherwise change his mind, someone that is preferably not Justin.
Justin sighed and excused himself as he left for the restroom. The class is still far from over, and already he could hear the whispered lies over his shoulder.
It has begun.
Friday, December 7, 2007
six years ago..
Note: This blog is based on my perspective. I will also be a bit hypocritical. Don't kill me, just email me if you find stuff that I might have misunderstood for something else.
I was called "The Loner" during the last years of my Junior School life. Frankly, I didn't like it. But it was true that I preferred being alone rather than with being with the friends I had. I thought maintaining friendly relationships back then were just too complicated.
I was wrong.
It has been almost half a decade since I had that particular social mindset, and as the years passed one by one, I get to see firsthand what so-called 'friends to the end' can do to each other. About a year ago, I lost my faith on the existence of 'best friends'. Of course, that term itself is demandingly relative; and people find that it's just my way of saying: "I'm in denial." Who knows?
A friend of mine who jointly maintains Monochromatic Rainbows with her pals once defined 'friends' as "the people you'd spend time with on any given Saturday... and vice versa,". I could have instantly named a few who'd fit that description perfectly.
A long time ago I had thought that, as people grow more mature, the drama surrounding friendships would stop. I remembered having two 'best friends' who each told me not to like the other because they too were bickering with each other. I remembered having to act as if we were fighting everytime I was hanging out with one while the other was looking. Now that I look at it, it's funny how simple a friendship can be made or broken at the same time. What happened to them? They became the best of friends a few years later.
I remembered having this puppy-love crush on a girl about three years ago. Gullibly, I tried listening to the same music as she did, which was - according to her friend's partially true information - 'Hillsongs'. I actually bought CDs and tapes just to listen to the songs over and over again. Her friends told me how she was so active in church that I even signed up for activities in my own church! In the end, I realized how useless it was to have a 'girlfriend' at so young an age; so I told her friends that I wasn't interested in her anymore. What did they did? They told her everything. What did she did? She came up to me and said, "Sorry. I'm still a bit too young." Now, she's one of my closest friends, and the feat that I did to get her attention actually brought me closer to God. Wow.
Two years ago, I had more 'girlfriends' than 'guyfriends' that my parents actually took notice and were quite disturbed by it. During the same year, I also had one of the most wonderful classes in my whole life. We were one, and we had a great time as one. We took part in numerous competitions and whether or not we won or lose, we realized that each of us had fun - and that is probably one of the most important memories one can get during one's school life.
A year later my relationship with friends of the same sex grew tighter and again I was... me. I bonded with people I never thought would have bonded with. It was otherwise a great year. Nevertheless, as time goes by, my emotions and feelings also 'developed'. There was a phase in which I neglected ALL of my friends for a long period of time. I had a reason, but they weren't good enough to justify the actions I did. It went so bad that I actually thought suicide wasn't at all impossible..
My friends were there for me, but I acted as if I didn't need any help from them. I talked in riddles and it troubled them. I gave them clues obvious to me, but oblivious to them. It ended on a Friday, and I had to skip a class just to make things right again... for me at least. One of my friends lost her temper and just left. At once, I woke up.
No, this isn't right. I was completely conscious; I wasn't asleep. No, not hypnotized. I realized what I did. Yes. That's the word: 'realized'.
A few minutes later, I was at an empty counselor's office with another friend of mine - who's probably everybody's best friend. Without tampering anything on the vacant room, I found that the counselor won't be available until after-school. I couldn't wait that long. So there, in front of 'everybody's' best friend, I broke down. After that, it didn't take much time to fix things up with very understanding and forgiving pals. :D Thanks, guys.
This happened a little more than half a year ago. So what now?
Still I find 'BFFs' fighting over trivial matters, but I'm not one to judge, am I? In The Importance of Being Ernest, Algernon said: "Girls call each other other things before calling each other 'sisters'." That particular quote is quite true. People fight all the time, but if friends spend most of their time fighting rather than ..being there for each other, then what sort of structure are they building their friendship in?
I discussed this with x who, like many have numerous friends in school. X sees it as a cycle where one backstabs another for reasons too immature to be seriously talked about.
I once asked a friend of mine: "Hey, do you find me as a good friend?"
With a grin she replied,"I don't know you well enough to judge you, and let's hope I never do."
I was called "The Loner" during the last years of my Junior School life. Frankly, I didn't like it. But it was true that I preferred being alone rather than with being with the friends I had. I thought maintaining friendly relationships back then were just too complicated.
I was wrong.
It has been almost half a decade since I had that particular social mindset, and as the years passed one by one, I get to see firsthand what so-called 'friends to the end' can do to each other. About a year ago, I lost my faith on the existence of 'best friends'. Of course, that term itself is demandingly relative; and people find that it's just my way of saying: "I'm in denial." Who knows?
A friend of mine who jointly maintains Monochromatic Rainbows with her pals once defined 'friends' as "the people you'd spend time with on any given Saturday... and vice versa,". I could have instantly named a few who'd fit that description perfectly.
A long time ago I had thought that, as people grow more mature, the drama surrounding friendships would stop. I remembered having two 'best friends' who each told me not to like the other because they too were bickering with each other. I remembered having to act as if we were fighting everytime I was hanging out with one while the other was looking. Now that I look at it, it's funny how simple a friendship can be made or broken at the same time. What happened to them? They became the best of friends a few years later.
I remembered having this puppy-love crush on a girl about three years ago. Gullibly, I tried listening to the same music as she did, which was - according to her friend's partially true information - 'Hillsongs'. I actually bought CDs and tapes just to listen to the songs over and over again. Her friends told me how she was so active in church that I even signed up for activities in my own church! In the end, I realized how useless it was to have a 'girlfriend' at so young an age; so I told her friends that I wasn't interested in her anymore. What did they did? They told her everything. What did she did? She came up to me and said, "Sorry. I'm still a bit too young." Now, she's one of my closest friends, and the feat that I did to get her attention actually brought me closer to God. Wow.
Two years ago, I had more 'girlfriends' than 'guyfriends' that my parents actually took notice and were quite disturbed by it. During the same year, I also had one of the most wonderful classes in my whole life. We were one, and we had a great time as one. We took part in numerous competitions and whether or not we won or lose, we realized that each of us had fun - and that is probably one of the most important memories one can get during one's school life.
A year later my relationship with friends of the same sex grew tighter and again I was... me. I bonded with people I never thought would have bonded with. It was otherwise a great year. Nevertheless, as time goes by, my emotions and feelings also 'developed'. There was a phase in which I neglected ALL of my friends for a long period of time. I had a reason, but they weren't good enough to justify the actions I did. It went so bad that I actually thought suicide wasn't at all impossible..
My friends were there for me, but I acted as if I didn't need any help from them. I talked in riddles and it troubled them. I gave them clues obvious to me, but oblivious to them. It ended on a Friday, and I had to skip a class just to make things right again... for me at least. One of my friends lost her temper and just left. At once, I woke up.
No, this isn't right. I was completely conscious; I wasn't asleep. No, not hypnotized. I realized what I did. Yes. That's the word: 'realized'.
A few minutes later, I was at an empty counselor's office with another friend of mine - who's probably everybody's best friend. Without tampering anything on the vacant room, I found that the counselor won't be available until after-school. I couldn't wait that long. So there, in front of 'everybody's' best friend, I broke down. After that, it didn't take much time to fix things up with very understanding and forgiving pals. :D Thanks, guys.
This happened a little more than half a year ago. So what now?
Still I find 'BFFs' fighting over trivial matters, but I'm not one to judge, am I? In The Importance of Being Ernest, Algernon said: "Girls call each other other things before calling each other 'sisters'." That particular quote is quite true. People fight all the time, but if friends spend most of their time fighting rather than ..being there for each other, then what sort of structure are they building their friendship in?
I discussed this with x who, like many have numerous friends in school. X sees it as a cycle where one backstabs another for reasons too immature to be seriously talked about.
I once asked a friend of mine: "Hey, do you find me as a good friend?"
With a grin she replied,"I don't know you well enough to judge you, and let's hope I never do."
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Rain, rain...come again?
The constant depression of the skies above Indonesia over the past hour has left turmoil in some of Jakarta's unfortunate shallow areas. Personally, I have been praying for a hard rain since November; despite being Indonesian, I can't stand the heat! No offense to some, but you're right; Indonesia do require a pot-luck of snow!
But God is gracious. To prove his graciousness, He gave us, people living by the equator, a series of monsoon season accompanied by typhoons and hours of massive downpour! I heard from my mother working in SPH Sentul that they're having hails! Unbelievable? Believe it!
Lovely isn't it? Unlike the west, we were given a replacement for the usual December's horrid snowstorms! What could possibly be better than the raging typhoons and rainstorms occurring throughout the entire winter holiday, following up to February! Commonly remembered in my history for flooding my birthday thrice in a row!
Remember last year? Finally after so long, there's a sight I wanted to see--which I deemed impossible--made possible thanks to an overnight rainfall. Oh, such a sweet revenge for us stressed students in IB to see the school transformed into a massive fishpond-minus the fish! The usual clear, sanitary swimming pool turned delightfully...brown. Reminds me about Jakarta's artificial lake Sunter and its all too familiar murky color.
Why would anyone bathe in such waters had me questioning since this day...
December 1-3, 2007. Indonesia had just received a slightly chilly welcome by the festive season with a good whack in the *** by the usual rainstorm, reminding us and the citizens of Jakarta to clean our sewage systems daily, and keep any form of rubbish away from the gutters. Or else we would be experiencing a tour all around Jakarta; don't worry, fairs are paid by Indonesia's top S.A.R team! Better than digging your own residential from 3-8 meters of snow, right?
In the end, major mopping and sweeping would have to follow. For those living in Jakarta's commonly-flooded areas, don't worry! This is a good experience for your future; tells you to build houses up high like those in Padang to avoid further flooding of your room! For those living up high in Jakarta, why not go down to your nearest street and go for a swim--don't forget your rubber ducky!
Rain, rain...
...
...come again?
But God is gracious. To prove his graciousness, He gave us, people living by the equator, a series of monsoon season accompanied by typhoons and hours of massive downpour! I heard from my mother working in SPH Sentul that they're having hails! Unbelievable? Believe it!
Lovely isn't it? Unlike the west, we were given a replacement for the usual December's horrid snowstorms! What could possibly be better than the raging typhoons and rainstorms occurring throughout the entire winter holiday, following up to February! Commonly remembered in my history for flooding my birthday thrice in a row!
Remember last year? Finally after so long, there's a sight I wanted to see--which I deemed impossible--made possible thanks to an overnight rainfall. Oh, such a sweet revenge for us stressed students in IB to see the school transformed into a massive fishpond-minus the fish! The usual clear, sanitary swimming pool turned delightfully...brown. Reminds me about Jakarta's artificial lake Sunter and its all too familiar murky color.
Why would anyone bathe in such waters had me questioning since this day...
December 1-3, 2007. Indonesia had just received a slightly chilly welcome by the festive season with a good whack in the *** by the usual rainstorm, reminding us and the citizens of Jakarta to clean our sewage systems daily, and keep any form of rubbish away from the gutters. Or else we would be experiencing a tour all around Jakarta; don't worry, fairs are paid by Indonesia's top S.A.R team! Better than digging your own residential from 3-8 meters of snow, right?
In the end, major mopping and sweeping would have to follow. For those living in Jakarta's commonly-flooded areas, don't worry! This is a good experience for your future; tells you to build houses up high like those in Padang to avoid further flooding of your room! For those living up high in Jakarta, why not go down to your nearest street and go for a swim--don't forget your rubber ducky!
Rain, rain...
...
...come again?
Saturday, December 1, 2007
Christmas, Oh So Overrated
*NOTE: Ms. Jess, this blog entry is for this week…the previous one was for during exams week…And for the record, Christmas break is just around the corner! Now all we need is just a bit of snow…. Right, like that would happen… in our deepest, darkest dreams :p*
Speeding by past the streets that November afternoon, I couldn’t help but notice the sickening neon colours that seemed to flash on and off, even during the day, declaring of yet another Christmas sale. I recalled often groaning in protest to the constant reminder that, yes, Christmas was coming and that everyone should buy as much as they could to appease anyone whom they have offended over the past year only to ignore them again once the festivities have died down. Over and over, shops and malls, radios and TV shows proclaimed to the world of the ‘Christmas spirit’, of numerous savings and gifts to soften even the hardest of hearts and enhance the holiday atmosphere with laughter and song. Not only so, Christmas has been broadcasted and continually promoted to be a time of generosity and of giving…
Yeah, a time for ‘giving’ away all your money to greedy, subtly-manipulative credit card companies and luring stores that promised an extended payment fee which would increase in interest until next year when families would be scrambling away trying to pay off their debts.
Ha. Ha. What an idealistic view of Christmas. And oh, so overrated.
The fact that Christmas has been degraded into a sole international event in which business may take advantage of to increase their profits is increasingly saddening. All those shows and specials on TV emphasizing the need to look at the real purpose of Christmas couldn’t have been more right…and hypocritical. I mean, back in Canada, by the time Christmas rolled around on the 25th, I was sick and tired of carols and images of Santa Claus blazing on huge billboards and mall posters! Christmas commercials as well as promotions began way back in late October, exhausting the public of any emotional appeal they may have for the celebration and the preparations made for visiting relatives. And all because those dumb holiday advertisements did away with the excitement and immense joy we should have experienced celebrating Christ’s birth!
What’s more, as of recently, every year there would always be some controversial holiday event involving the right to post Christmas decorations on public squares, and the ever so popular debate, “Should we address people with Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas?” Oh brother, must the news always cover live footage along those ‘divisive’ lines when in reality it doesn’t really matter since everyone has been missing the point for the past several decades or so?! Due to mass media as well as modern technological advances in the world, people have been easily brainwashed to miss the actual purpose of why we actually celebrate Christmas, and of why we should feel honoured to remember what had happened thousands of years ago for our sake.
To be honest, Christmas has lost most of its excitement for me years ago, at a time, I suppose, when I began to realize that gifts and distant relatives were not what constitute the reason of why we should celebrate on that day. To be even more honest, it had been years since our entire family has actually gotten together to sit down at a Christmas dinner/reunion; exchanging gifts, sharing stories, and simply enjoying each other’s company. Ha, I’ll be lucky to get a Christmas tree to decorate this year. How pathetic.
Christmas no longer has a meaning, no longer spreads the same tinge of exhilaration I used to feel as the ‘big day’ approached, no longer has the same vital importance as we celebrate it with each passing year. Even worse is the fact that there would be no opportunities to experience winter and the anticipation of whether or not it would snow on that day where it truly mattered. Now, Christmas seemed to be just another day, regardless of the fact that everywhere else we may go, people may hang decorations, sing carols, and have pasted smiles on their faces. Christmas. Once meant something to be truly special have been reduced to just yet another day made a tad more tolerable. It shouldn’t have been like this, and yet it was so. Oh, how so overrated :(
Speeding by past the streets that November afternoon, I couldn’t help but notice the sickening neon colours that seemed to flash on and off, even during the day, declaring of yet another Christmas sale. I recalled often groaning in protest to the constant reminder that, yes, Christmas was coming and that everyone should buy as much as they could to appease anyone whom they have offended over the past year only to ignore them again once the festivities have died down. Over and over, shops and malls, radios and TV shows proclaimed to the world of the ‘Christmas spirit’, of numerous savings and gifts to soften even the hardest of hearts and enhance the holiday atmosphere with laughter and song. Not only so, Christmas has been broadcasted and continually promoted to be a time of generosity and of giving…
Yeah, a time for ‘giving’ away all your money to greedy, subtly-manipulative credit card companies and luring stores that promised an extended payment fee which would increase in interest until next year when families would be scrambling away trying to pay off their debts.
Ha. Ha. What an idealistic view of Christmas. And oh, so overrated.
The fact that Christmas has been degraded into a sole international event in which business may take advantage of to increase their profits is increasingly saddening. All those shows and specials on TV emphasizing the need to look at the real purpose of Christmas couldn’t have been more right…and hypocritical. I mean, back in Canada, by the time Christmas rolled around on the 25th, I was sick and tired of carols and images of Santa Claus blazing on huge billboards and mall posters! Christmas commercials as well as promotions began way back in late October, exhausting the public of any emotional appeal they may have for the celebration and the preparations made for visiting relatives. And all because those dumb holiday advertisements did away with the excitement and immense joy we should have experienced celebrating Christ’s birth!
What’s more, as of recently, every year there would always be some controversial holiday event involving the right to post Christmas decorations on public squares, and the ever so popular debate, “Should we address people with Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas?” Oh brother, must the news always cover live footage along those ‘divisive’ lines when in reality it doesn’t really matter since everyone has been missing the point for the past several decades or so?! Due to mass media as well as modern technological advances in the world, people have been easily brainwashed to miss the actual purpose of why we actually celebrate Christmas, and of why we should feel honoured to remember what had happened thousands of years ago for our sake.
To be honest, Christmas has lost most of its excitement for me years ago, at a time, I suppose, when I began to realize that gifts and distant relatives were not what constitute the reason of why we should celebrate on that day. To be even more honest, it had been years since our entire family has actually gotten together to sit down at a Christmas dinner/reunion; exchanging gifts, sharing stories, and simply enjoying each other’s company. Ha, I’ll be lucky to get a Christmas tree to decorate this year. How pathetic.
Christmas no longer has a meaning, no longer spreads the same tinge of exhilaration I used to feel as the ‘big day’ approached, no longer has the same vital importance as we celebrate it with each passing year. Even worse is the fact that there would be no opportunities to experience winter and the anticipation of whether or not it would snow on that day where it truly mattered. Now, Christmas seemed to be just another day, regardless of the fact that everywhere else we may go, people may hang decorations, sing carols, and have pasted smiles on their faces. Christmas. Once meant something to be truly special have been reduced to just yet another day made a tad more tolerable. It shouldn’t have been like this, and yet it was so. Oh, how so overrated :(
Made of Legends
*AUTHOR’S NOTE: Finally a non-story blog entry! So glad that I could finally think of a new topic! And, don’t worry Ms. Jess, I won’t be posting stories for grading ever again :) *
How strange is it of the modern world to forget about the past as easily as it were to overlook one’s daily chores, about a world gone by thousands of years ago from whence we came from. Numerous times, I would gaze out the window as I type out my ideas, contemplating what it would have been like to travel back into history, receiving first-hand accounts on days gone by, to sift through the available overwhelming witnesses’ records in order to discover the truth, and to understand a bit more of whom we humans truly are.
Hmm, if we only have a time machine.
But we understandably don’t.
How strange is it of the modern world to forget about the past as easily as it were to overlook one’s daily chores, about a world gone by thousands of years ago from whence we came from. Numerous times, I would gaze out the window as I type out my ideas, contemplating what it would have been like to travel back into history, receiving first-hand accounts on days gone by, to sift through the available overwhelming witnesses’ records in order to discover the truth, and to understand a bit more of whom we humans truly are.
Hmm, if we only have a time machine.
But we understandably don’t.
Glastonbury Tor
All we do have are stories, legends, of documents telling the present world of valour and astounding deeds accomplished by those who have found it impossible to do so today. I have always been more increasingly captivated by the truly distant past, of Mayan temples, of rumours describing the wonders of the ancient worlds and of the discoveries concerning notorious artifacts dating back to the medieval times more than the history of the past few centuries or so. Ever since I have read novels concerning King Arthur and the mystical enigma which shrouded his reign, I have been absolutely drawn into that world more so than ours. I smiled thoughtfully whenever I encounter yet another legend regarding Excalibur, Glastonbury Tor, a location where it was rumoured to be King Arthur’s final resting place and the location of the entranceway to Avalon which is surrounded by occasional mists, and of the stories concerning the knights of the round table that we children once knew so well.
True, perhaps these stories weren’t real; perhaps they were simply there to appease the people from having nothing to whisper about by the fireplaces during cold, winter nights. On the other hand, everything has a small hint of truth within them, even though numerous years have passed, distorting many of its accounts and records.
And, nevertheless, a girl could still dream.
The public, as well, have been demanding more of legends and of stories, increasingly more controversial and debatable movie topics which would aid them in, for a brief time, escaping their own restrictive world. Fantasy novels, shows, and movies have been released with great vigour and the audience devoured every single moment in anticipation…for the most part :) I, for one, was one of the many who was engulfed in the wave of new resurgence of the popular genre of fiction concerning of a world other than the one we do know.
It would be strange to believe that these stories were actually true, that these so-called elaborated legends contained more than a hint of reality and into a time where it was once possible. I often still let my imagination loose, and continue to dream of whether or not the stories were simply a figment of the poets’ and bards’ minds, or the telling of an exaggerated truth which we could no longer decipher. Unfortunately, as time grew even more distant into the future, we could often no longer recall where we have derived from, and it would apparently grow worse as technology continues to improve and progress appears inevitable. On the other hand, we too would be become legends, I suppose, if time is prolonged for that long a while into the future, and even then the stories would be remembered by historians.
I assume that the various stories, myths as well as legends would never be lost, however. It would always remain alive, no matter if Time goes on and on, down the worn pathways of life. Ah well, anyhow, these stories and tall tales are what keeps us alive and ignite the inspiration that we once knew but lost. Even then, I often wonder whether or not we were better off now than within the remote past :)
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Bestest.
A variation of this poem was made a year ago as part of an English assignment. It was untitled. This one, however, is titled and is based on some thoughts that would probably allow me to create the most boring blog...ever, so this poem is cleary not the same one as the one I made last year. Still, this is what one gets when one tries to tamper with poetry.
Bestest.
As I looked into these pictures
I felt what happened once again
The laughter, joy, and smiles made
As I found the bestest friend.
I remembered the winter days and night
The summer sun, the autumn breeze
I remembered how we held each other
Just to keep our hearts appeased.
I remembered how you’d look for me
When disturbed by haunted nights.
How you wanted me to hold you
As we wait for morning light.
I remembered your happy laughter
When you delib’rately took me aside.
That time you hugged me really tightly?
It had me quite stupefied.
I remembered that summer day
Under the tree as the smiling sun shines.
You warmly said those three small words
As your heart held hands with mine.
As I looked into these pictures
I stopped looking at it once again.
The sadness, tears, and sorrow made
when you stopped being
my bestest friend.
Monday, November 26, 2007
Care; a state of mind.
Note: I know I've missed about 2 blogs lately. SORRY! This would be one of my attempt to catch up. Enjoy~
The door slammed behind her. She walked into her house with an attempted smile to find her father on the sofa working on his laptop. “Happy Birthday Daddy.” She said. Her father looked up and smiled, “oh, thanks you darling” lifting his head just so that she could kiss him on both cheeks. He went back to work and she carried her bag and bio text book up the stairs. The smile on her face had faded. She turned right after reaching the top floor and opened the door to her room. She sighed and closed the door behind her. Taking of her shoes in the corner of her room she dropped her bag on the bottom of her desk and went to the bathroom between her two closets. She then took off her socks and sighed at her own reflection.
She didn’t think she was ugly, she knew she wasn’t that good looking either. She smiled thanks to whoever was up there. She glanced at her phone, slightly heightening her hearing to see if she missed a call or a sms. Nothing. ‘Figures’ she thought. She then started taking off her school uniform and took a long warm shower. She closed her eyes and let the water wash away what she hoped to be her sadness. She wasn’t quite sure why she felt like she did, but she knew whatever it is, she was alone. Turning off the water she stepped out and clothed herself suddenly hearing her phone ring. ‘It’s probably him, let him wait. I’m dressing, I have an excuse. As if he cares.’ She mumbles out. Once she was dressed and comfortable in her pink bear PJs she went out to look at her phone. Hmm, two miss calls and a sms. She silently felt relived to think that he still cared. Suddenly she finds the two miss calls to be from her friend. She felt worse, thought she tries to hide it, even though there wasn’t anyone there. She shrugged and quickly replied her friend that she’ll deal with it. She pressed SEND and put the phone down on the desk.
She then went to her mother’s room to fit into a dress she bought earlier that day for her. She figured might as well. When she walked across the house she realized how silent it was. No older brother, no older sister. She realized she had missed them after all. She fell silent. It was almost deadly. She felt that the silence around her would be able to consume her, at the same time, she wished it would. ‘He’s probably just busy studying.’ She assured herself. Her attempt was fatal but she knew she couldn’t continue doing this to herself. When she finally went to see her mother the dress was already laid out for her. She tried the creamy cocktail dress with the black belt around her. Once she finished she saw herself. Skinny, ugly, repulsive and puffy; “yuck.” She went out to her mother and said, “I don’t like it at all. I prefer the other one.” Her mothers nodded, “definitely, take it off. It’s repulsive.” She did, and she left her room.
There she was, in her room once more. It wasn’t much, it wasn’t small either. She glanced at her phone, knowing that there wouldn’t be any messages or calls even if she did look. She decided to leave it there. She took her laptop and continued with one of her fanfics she usually makes during the night. She placed herself comfortably on the bed and turns it on. Putting in the music CD in the laptop she started listening to How to Deal – Brian McKnight. After a while, she hears her phone ring. A message. She didn’t glance but in her mind she hesitated and debated upon getting off her lazy bum and getting a message that might and might not be him. After about five minutes she decided to tear herself away from her work and no longer waste time debating by herself. She punched in her lock code and opened the message. It wasn’t him, it was her pastor. “This is so retarded.” She tossed her phone on her bed and continued her work. Inside, she hated herself for even caring. Cause he certainly didn’t.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge
Despite the stories, multiple morals on the harmful effects of revenge, still lust for it. Is it surprising to find out I am a vengeful person, I think it is not. While I am normally quite patient, some things do irk me against all my reason such that I could not suppress an immense desire for revenge. And let me tell you, when I carry a grudge which I rarely do, I keep it for at least ten years and counting seeing that my quite excellent memory had stored a large space for plans of revenge.
It is perfectly irrational and evil but revenge is sometimes necessary even if it results in digging my own grave. Maybe it is because I am an obsessive person, not being able to let go of the past and fragments of it in my lack of desire to live the present. Whereas countless times I have been given the morale of the destruction of self through revenge and the empty feeling it leaves you. In a twisted sense, after a bout of revenge, I feel satisfaction instead of the guaranteed emptiness and usually I feel an odd sense of arrogance and an unbeatable feeling of triumph and victory. Twisted but at the same time good.
So while in most cases revenge is indeed bad as it can leave two parties injured and have you feeling the emptiness of it all. Sometimes it is indeed true that there is few things more enjoyable than a dish of revenge served cold for someone no matter how twisted that is.
It is perfectly irrational and evil but revenge is sometimes necessary even if it results in digging my own grave. Maybe it is because I am an obsessive person, not being able to let go of the past and fragments of it in my lack of desire to live the present. Whereas countless times I have been given the morale of the destruction of self through revenge and the empty feeling it leaves you. In a twisted sense, after a bout of revenge, I feel satisfaction instead of the guaranteed emptiness and usually I feel an odd sense of arrogance and an unbeatable feeling of triumph and victory. Twisted but at the same time good.
So while in most cases revenge is indeed bad as it can leave two parties injured and have you feeling the emptiness of it all. Sometimes it is indeed true that there is few things more enjoyable than a dish of revenge served cold for someone no matter how twisted that is.
Mirrors
I am filled with revulsion as I write, type, speak. There is so little meaning in everything I do. No purpose, no direction. Just poorly disguised crap. No purpose at the start. No direction in the middle. It does not matter even if it is not finished...
I love how I write, type, speak. Even without meaning, its the distinctive manner of which I love. Purposeless fun. Humorous nonsense. No purpose at the start. No Direction in the middle. It does not matter even if it is not finished...
Those that I call friends now, I value and treasure so. How pitiful, as it is most likely I will never see most of them again in the future. Even when we see each other, only bitter-sweet memories would have remained replaced by a cold, diamond-like desolation of space. Does the so-called friends I enjoy company of, be my friends in the future, or just some cold distant stranger or even an enemy.
The friends I have now I treasure and value. Why worry about the future when you have friends now that you know will stand by your side in times of trouble to come. To have faith in your friends is truly a wonderful gift and after all, time spent with your friends is indeed a time well spent no matter what anyone else might think as failure is so much easier to tolerate when you know your friends have your back.
Love, such a detestable marketing ploy. There is no such thing as love, it is only a figment and fragment of our ideas. To fall in love is indeed to fall deeply into a wide chasm as you lose everything just for a single chance of temporary silly happiness. Romance and love are parasites that is determined to suck out your life and your works.
Love is truly one of the most amazing of God's gifts. Love is all around us and even was here before we came to existence. To be in love is to experience a tiny, brief taste of heaven where permanent joy came to such a bigger possibility. Romance and love are truly spices of life that would suck the misery from life and the depression from works.
It is indeed truly wonderful to be a human being. To have such a capacity to mirror such flawed perceptions with another flawed perception to make a perfect idea.
I love how I write, type, speak. Even without meaning, its the distinctive manner of which I love. Purposeless fun. Humorous nonsense. No purpose at the start. No Direction in the middle. It does not matter even if it is not finished...
Those that I call friends now, I value and treasure so. How pitiful, as it is most likely I will never see most of them again in the future. Even when we see each other, only bitter-sweet memories would have remained replaced by a cold, diamond-like desolation of space. Does the so-called friends I enjoy company of, be my friends in the future, or just some cold distant stranger or even an enemy.
The friends I have now I treasure and value. Why worry about the future when you have friends now that you know will stand by your side in times of trouble to come. To have faith in your friends is truly a wonderful gift and after all, time spent with your friends is indeed a time well spent no matter what anyone else might think as failure is so much easier to tolerate when you know your friends have your back.
Love, such a detestable marketing ploy. There is no such thing as love, it is only a figment and fragment of our ideas. To fall in love is indeed to fall deeply into a wide chasm as you lose everything just for a single chance of temporary silly happiness. Romance and love are parasites that is determined to suck out your life and your works.
Love is truly one of the most amazing of God's gifts. Love is all around us and even was here before we came to existence. To be in love is to experience a tiny, brief taste of heaven where permanent joy came to such a bigger possibility. Romance and love are truly spices of life that would suck the misery from life and the depression from works.
It is indeed truly wonderful to be a human being. To have such a capacity to mirror such flawed perceptions with another flawed perception to make a perfect idea.
Thanks for the Memories
Upon looking at albums of a younger me, an odd feeling came upon me as I looked at myself. It is something like bitterness, as I regretted what I had lost to ascend in the social ladder of human society. Also something that is wonderful and when I saw pictures of the young me, I was smiling perhaps from both bitterness and happiness. To see myself before all the complications, and see peace within those eyes, to know that there was a moment in my pathetic life that had received some level of happiness filled me with a strange sense of joy.
I have hated to have my photos taken during my childhood only to enjoy it now as a pathetic attempt to remember the memories that I want to but cannot remember. Looking back at the photos a part of me felt what I was feeling at that very moment which is why I make sure nowadays to have my picture taken when i am happy as a reminder of happy times. Of course, since most of the time I am rather depressed the desire for me to take pictures of myself is extremely rare. For that, I thank my parents for taking photos of me despite my protests as a child during my years of adolescence as the happiness and innocence pres4ent at me during that one omement in time was relived for a brief second.
I have hated to have my photos taken during my childhood only to enjoy it now as a pathetic attempt to remember the memories that I want to but cannot remember. Looking back at the photos a part of me felt what I was feeling at that very moment which is why I make sure nowadays to have my picture taken when i am happy as a reminder of happy times. Of course, since most of the time I am rather depressed the desire for me to take pictures of myself is extremely rare. For that, I thank my parents for taking photos of me despite my protests as a child during my years of adolescence as the happiness and innocence pres4ent at me during that one omement in time was relived for a brief second.
Collection
Might be offensive...
We are all just corpses in reality.
The minute we lost our childhood, our innocence, we became a corpse.
Constantly sleepwalking our way through life, studying, taking exams, dating, getting a job, marrying...
For what purpose!? We did not even consider.
For who!? We did not even question.
Even if we did question, we are fed with opiates.
Even when we had lost everything good, we are still naive.
How truly despicable life is, we still do not truly realize, living our pathetic insiginificant lives not realizing how truly insiginificant it is. One broken artery and it is all over. One rampant cell and its shattered. Just one word and our lives come to an end.
Men thus delusioned themselves with the idea of God. To give some meaning into a meaningless biological chain of reproduction. Not able to face so much hate and bitterness, they gave themselves to an illusion of God which became so real, it did indeed become infinitely powerful.
How disappointing even if God exists. To exist merely for one great entity. How even more small, powerless we are.
I am not a heretic, I believe God exists. I am sober to those things because I have time, all the time to think, free from opiates that they feed people with. True Love!? World Peace!? Freedom!? Amazing how many things humans came up with to keep themselves happy and purposeful. It is genius in fact, in my existence I can't even delusion myself from the crappy purposeless existence. I just try and distract myself so that at the end of the day I would be so tired I would just go to sleep without being able to think.
Crap.
God gave each and everyone of us a purpose for our life. He with all his omnipotence and omniscience created humans while giving us all a purpose before even we existed as the notion of us is being connocted. God protects us all.
The way to change your life is to change your attitude so stop being pessimistic and start thinking positively!
We are all just corpses in reality.
The minute we lost our childhood, our innocence, we became a corpse.
Constantly sleepwalking our way through life, studying, taking exams, dating, getting a job, marrying...
For what purpose!? We did not even consider.
For who!? We did not even question.
Even if we did question, we are fed with opiates.
Even when we had lost everything good, we are still naive.
How truly despicable life is, we still do not truly realize, living our pathetic insiginificant lives not realizing how truly insiginificant it is. One broken artery and it is all over. One rampant cell and its shattered. Just one word and our lives come to an end.
Men thus delusioned themselves with the idea of God. To give some meaning into a meaningless biological chain of reproduction. Not able to face so much hate and bitterness, they gave themselves to an illusion of God which became so real, it did indeed become infinitely powerful.
How disappointing even if God exists. To exist merely for one great entity. How even more small, powerless we are.
I am not a heretic, I believe God exists. I am sober to those things because I have time, all the time to think, free from opiates that they feed people with. True Love!? World Peace!? Freedom!? Amazing how many things humans came up with to keep themselves happy and purposeful. It is genius in fact, in my existence I can't even delusion myself from the crappy purposeless existence. I just try and distract myself so that at the end of the day I would be so tired I would just go to sleep without being able to think.
Crap.
God gave each and everyone of us a purpose for our life. He with all his omnipotence and omniscience created humans while giving us all a purpose before even we existed as the notion of us is being connocted. God protects us all.
The way to change your life is to change your attitude so stop being pessimistic and start thinking positively!
Romantic Disease
Note: This might be offensive. This is the result of one of my moods and in no way reflects my average attitude towards the subject. I did not research anything so the facts might be wrong coz my memory ain't that good.
How tired I am of romantic love. To be so helpless of feeling strongly and than constantly crushed as your feelings are not reciprocated seems to be the story of romance. Of course I have been guilty of the same illusions of love as most other people since I am after all still human with irrational desires. But I guess, the most rational part of me had been denying myself of giving in to the whole concept of romance because it is one of the mistakes I could not afford to commit. What is it that happens when someone is in love? I wondered with this and found that hormones are probably the reason why humans fell in love with the idea and concept of romance.
First of all, the level of stress-producing hormones is increased when one is in romance. While a little stress is good as motivation and drive, I can hardly understand why people would fall in romance and subject themselves to the additional stress which in addition to the stress of everyday life is quite overwhelming.
Then, contracting the romantic disease would result in such dependence that you lose all productivity as you approach a level close to obsessiveness. Why succumb to a temporary high that could lose you your career and social relations? Are human beings so dreary of their existence that they are willing to take such high risks for a small possibility of doubtable long-term happiness?
For now, I have resigned myself to not falling to the parasitic after-effects of romance even if this might mean never finding any girlfriends or wife. Love is after all a process in my opinion and to let some chemicals in your brain decide your life and make it miserable just for a chance of happiness seems kinda risky for me, as good decisions take a long time to make. So while I might indeed find some girls attractive, it would be a blue moon before I ever date some strange girl I do not fully know.
How tired I am of romantic love. To be so helpless of feeling strongly and than constantly crushed as your feelings are not reciprocated seems to be the story of romance. Of course I have been guilty of the same illusions of love as most other people since I am after all still human with irrational desires. But I guess, the most rational part of me had been denying myself of giving in to the whole concept of romance because it is one of the mistakes I could not afford to commit. What is it that happens when someone is in love? I wondered with this and found that hormones are probably the reason why humans fell in love with the idea and concept of romance.
First of all, the level of stress-producing hormones is increased when one is in romance. While a little stress is good as motivation and drive, I can hardly understand why people would fall in romance and subject themselves to the additional stress which in addition to the stress of everyday life is quite overwhelming.
Then, contracting the romantic disease would result in such dependence that you lose all productivity as you approach a level close to obsessiveness. Why succumb to a temporary high that could lose you your career and social relations? Are human beings so dreary of their existence that they are willing to take such high risks for a small possibility of doubtable long-term happiness?
For now, I have resigned myself to not falling to the parasitic after-effects of romance even if this might mean never finding any girlfriends or wife. Love is after all a process in my opinion and to let some chemicals in your brain decide your life and make it miserable just for a chance of happiness seems kinda risky for me, as good decisions take a long time to make. So while I might indeed find some girls attractive, it would be a blue moon before I ever date some strange girl I do not fully know.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Idiots
Have you ever met someone in the net world so irritating and so illogical, yet is giving you a difficult time to discuss matters over because they kept on writing--excuse me--typing with capital letters fussing about them being the right one? How they kept on pulling all tricks and accusation on you and rallies supporters around from fellow posters so they could pressure you and tell you they're more 'dominant' and 'mature' knowing your current age?
I have; and boy, does it tick you off?
I happen to be spending some of my last remnants of 'leisure' on an RP board (RP stands for 'Role Playing), writing useless posts that were entertaining enough to send me to tears or laughs. Among fellow 'RP-ers', I happen to stumble to this one guy--a Dutch--who writes in extremely unpronounceable spelling topped with an all-round terrible grammar.
--don't get me wrong, I do admit I need major revamps
The thing about this is how he won't admit his ever-so-present mistake. Sure he's older! Sure he happens to be European! Sure I'm ASIAN! What's wrong with being Asian? Oh, right, 'racial supremacy'.
It happened more than once, and I believe it will happen again; and it did. Late this afternoon, I happened to stumble into his IQ-deteriorating and obnoxiously long post talking about this one 'tragic hero' who attempted an insane number stunts that were far beyond the limit we call 'realism'. Well, he happened to be a jolly-happy character; everyone loves him for his 'tragic life' reflected through his character.
Everyone except me;
Not to make fun of, but here's a quote from one of his post criticizing about my grammar:
"You are actually better off getting you're self someone to help with you're grammer, as it stinks just as bad."
Does it irritate you the most when you told him in the simplest way possible to be returned with the comment above?
First I ignored him, then I detest him, loathe him, and eventually hate him. Never before I felt a surge of anger, of adrenaline, running through my veins urging me to give him a good whack in the face right in the nose using a frying pan and tell him right in his face of his IQ-deteriorating posts and his nerve-wrecking attitude which by now had drawn the darkness within me (the darkness! Ooh~ Kurtz!); the darkness that will overcome his ego and his pride! But what gives? He's over in Holland, boasting about his 'perfect English'; I'm here, typing this redemption to pay-off the 1 blog I owe since last week while getting fried due to the table lamp positioned right above my face.
Besides, what benefit could I reap from it? Arguing in the net, even if you won, you're still a retard.
...idiot...
I have; and boy, does it tick you off?
I happen to be spending some of my last remnants of 'leisure' on an RP board (RP stands for 'Role Playing), writing useless posts that were entertaining enough to send me to tears or laughs. Among fellow 'RP-ers', I happen to stumble to this one guy--a Dutch--who writes in extremely unpronounceable spelling topped with an all-round terrible grammar.
--don't get me wrong, I do admit I need major revamps
The thing about this is how he won't admit his ever-so-present mistake. Sure he's older! Sure he happens to be European! Sure I'm ASIAN! What's wrong with being Asian? Oh, right, 'racial supremacy'.
It happened more than once, and I believe it will happen again; and it did. Late this afternoon, I happened to stumble into his IQ-deteriorating and obnoxiously long post talking about this one 'tragic hero' who attempted an insane number stunts that were far beyond the limit we call 'realism'. Well, he happened to be a jolly-happy character; everyone loves him for his 'tragic life' reflected through his character.
Everyone except me;
Not to make fun of, but here's a quote from one of his post criticizing about my grammar:
"You are actually better off getting you're self someone to help with you're grammer, as it stinks just as bad."
Does it irritate you the most when you told him in the simplest way possible to be returned with the comment above?
First I ignored him, then I detest him, loathe him, and eventually hate him. Never before I felt a surge of anger, of adrenaline, running through my veins urging me to give him a good whack in the face right in the nose using a frying pan and tell him right in his face of his IQ-deteriorating posts and his nerve-wrecking attitude which by now had drawn the darkness within me (the darkness! Ooh~ Kurtz!); the darkness that will overcome his ego and his pride! But what gives? He's over in Holland, boasting about his 'perfect English'; I'm here, typing this redemption to pay-off the 1 blog I owe since last week while getting fried due to the table lamp positioned right above my face.
Besides, what benefit could I reap from it? Arguing in the net, even if you won, you're still a retard.
...idiot...
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Curiousities
It does not take a psychologist to see that the world encompassing us is in fact a social container. A series of social tests you might as well say, deciding the course of our social life. Based on the path you take, the role you internalize and the mask you wear, only very few variables change. What is different is the degree in which you are manipulated and who manipulates you.
It is frightening really, how the human mind perceives and accepts ideas. To what degree is what I am thinking, my actual thoughts or had I been brainwashed to accept the ideas of others as my own. Even these very words, are they from my mind? Or are they ideas planted by someone else and made to sound like my own? Are these observations? Or planted suggestions? How confusing…The relations, definitions forming delusions enveloping the mind, transforming it into a maelstrom of struggles.
The key to being happy of course is not to think of it at all, as everyone is doing. The world is not entirely full of such gray and manipulations. Of course the stipulation in such a mind is being constantly manipulated and controlled, first subtly and finally until you are just a happy puppet. You would be happier. Isn’t the goal of life and social interaction, ultimately happiness? TO submit to manipulation, intrusion and prodding of mind…easy and happy. If religion was actually man’s fabrication and that there is actually no afterlife then this one, would not it be more joyful to be a puppet to its dogma and nevertheless believe?
Right now, are the doubts you experience your own or the one I planted on purpose to ruin your life? Is the disbelief your own or from the fact that I had brought your world to a halt that you must protect yourself with disbelief? I am not a scientist and I do not know. There are so many things that could not be seen by one human and so many possible lies for those many things that you think you believe in. It is thus such a wonder for me that one could so easily have convictions when the world easily makes us doubt it.
Those that know me, you might brand this is something typical of me, an idiosyncratic essay (excuse my diction). But actually, I paid my sister to do this for me. You might be convinced otherwise but there are so many things you can never be sure of when knowing a person. The infinite darkness and infinite light all encased within a finite grey space, hidden and so rarely released that when you think you know a person, you would soon be led to doubts.
P.S. My sister did not do it
Friday, November 9, 2007
A Continuing Myth
*NOTE: Sorry Ms. Jess, but here's to another story! I just couldn't put myself up to think of a new topic, so here's just a simple extended Norse myth that was supposed to be a sort of 'sequel' to a previous, more interesting, story. So again, sorry if it sucks, but I wrote it a few years back as well, and when I tried editing it, I found it nearly impossible to make the plot line and grammar better!!!*
Up north where the wind blows and fades, where the snow whirls in the morning breeze, there sat on top of mountains a garden filled with luscious fruits. The garden, which was situated above the great waterfall of the gods, was tended by two unlikely spiritual warriors. Punished for murdering the giant Ymir and for their treachery against their brother, Odin, Vili and Ve were charged with the protection of the isolated paradise with their lives as the fruits yielded within would wield immortality for the greater gods. If ever used for bitter evilness, the consequences would be severe and just.
Time continued on, passing centuries upon centuries, the brothers left in peace to serve their time as was decided, and waiting for when their freedom would once again become a reality. In the middle of snow-covered trees and frozen lakes, one winter evening, the goddess Idun appeared out of a sudden fog to keep watch over the mischievous young gods. She was careful not to disturb the unusual silence that surrounded the atmosphere, gently glancing at the skies and hovering above the snowed grounds of the garden. Her face was shining and alive with song, her complexion glowing, her eyes deep in years and immortality. The goddess was mistress of the garden; her subjects worshipped her as the goddess of youthfulness and life, her golden figure giving light and vigour.
Idun then called Vili and Ve’s names not once but twice, yet none answered her voice. She sensed that they were again jesting with her to test her patience, knowing full well that she was simply there to ensure that the twins were not attempting any mischief which would destroy their beloved paradise. She smiled softly and went in search for them, her breath visible in the cold weather, floating in swirls as the wind would take them. She felt the soft gust of snow beneath her feet and the wind whistling through the opening gaps of the trees, but she did not yet caught sign of the two gods.
Idun was about to give up the search, preparing to leave to report to Odin that the brothers were not serving their due, when a sudden scream penetrated through the air. After a few moments, the scream was followed by what seemed like a shrill bird’s cry that shattered the glass of stillness that existed in the area. Idun ran to the direction of the shrill shriek, in fear that the two gods have done something they would regret. She stumbled across loose vines and leaves that scattered itself on the ground but she kept going still.
Very soon after, she came upon a white open field that was covered in snow. She would have admired its beauty and light that was reflected by the sun, but she saw a colour that sent chills down her spine. Blood spattered the ground; muddy tracks were flung in every direction and it dawned to the now-pale goddess, in growing horror, that a heavy and long struggle had taken place not too long ago. She scrambled up the hills to where the blood had been poured but yet she still saw either Vili or Ve.
Screams and shouts were again heard incessantly and were making such a commotion that in no time, other gods and goddesses of the earth came forth to find out what the garden was in such a chaos for. When they arrived at the plains and open fields, they saw Idun's vague figure swaying back and forth in weariness from afar, her lone shadow covered the fields. As she swooned and fell unconscious into the snow, they all rushed to her side.
When Odin, the brother whom Vili and Ve had betrayed, scanned the fields, stained in red colour, he ordered his best men to search the garden to find the two tenders that were missing. With no new news that appeared then later, Odin traveled by himself to edge of the garden where a fountain was located so that he may ponder at what they could do next in an attempt to find his missing brothers.
The fountain was spewing clear fresh water that created peaceful rhythms of sounds that echoed the lonely forest of trees. Odin sat underneath a mighty oak tree to gaze at the water and a mysterious raven that perched itself on a gate across from him. The raven was elegant and yet sly and cunning. He percieved this knowledge through the way it moved its head from side to side, cautiously guiding its eyes toward him. Odin shifted uncomfortably underneath the tree and contemplated at what the thing truly concealed in its dark mind. Time ticked away, Odin slowly surrendering to the soft ryhtmic swish of the leaves above him, and the raven was soon forgotten as his eyelids began to droop steeply. He leaned his head against the tree and soon fell into deep slumber.
The raven, now realizing that its time had come, swooped down fiercely, its beak pointing toward the god’s heart, fully intending for it to pierce through the god's soul. However, it had forgotten that Odin was wise and strong. It also had failed to recall that the spear the god had taken with him was still in his hands. Odin, already perceiving what would take place, jumped up from the ground, and with a flick of his wrist, the spear flew from his fingers, whistling defeaningly through the air.
The spear now lodged into the left wing of the raven and the thing was quickly pinned into a nearby wall by the force of the impact. It struggled to get free, but it was too late. Odin, in his fury, with his bare hands, snatched the head of the bird and pulled on it with such strength that it soon broke away from its body! Odin was about to tear the other pieces of the creature off when he saw instead of red blood, he saw another head that indeed belonged to a giantess! The raven cloak that draped from her shoulders slid down to reveal her true self.
Odin staggered, surpised by who he viewed now before him, though as the moment passed he resumed his fury, directed toward the one whose presence was scorned and condemned since Idun's devastating kidnapping attempt.
“To what right have you to be here!” Odin demanded of her.
“I have every right! I once had the power, I once had a father, but you took all that away! Give me my leave and I will never disturb your wretched peace again!” She replied back with vehemence.
“What have you done to my brothers?” Odin pushed his hands against her neck and continued to squeeze it until it was all she could do but choke.
“Why should you care?” She felt even more pressure that surrounded her neck, her face growing red from suffocation.
“Where are they? Tell me now or you would regret that you have not!”
“I would rather abandon my life than my revenge and my pride!”
“I can hardly believe you!” Odin continued to squeeze her throat mercilessly, but by then the giantess had her fill of torture.
“I’ll tell! I’ll tell, just leave me be!” She felt beads of tears that stung her eyes from the pain inflicted upon her.
Odin released her neck but kept a steady gaze on her face. Her eyes were red from her tears and her grotesque face turned a lighter shade of purple as she gasped for breath. She carefully told him of where she had placed his brothers once she regained her composure.
“Go and retrieve the dead! I have failed to carry out the avenging of my father’s death, but I can still see that I have caused you pain. To that I salute myself and to that I mock and pity you!” She let out an odious laugh that resonated through the mountains and Odin backed away in disgust. The other gods have gathered near after what they have heard from afar, and Odin told them of where they could go and retrieve his brothers.
“Skadi, you will pay for your insolence and bitter rivalry to the great gods of the earth!” Odin scowled at her when the other gods left.
“You killed my father Thiazi and you took away Idun back to this despicable garden! I have already endured much damage and my life is now hardly worth the living, and still you wish to punish me?”
“You have offended and murdered in bloody abhorrence, my brothers and fellow gods. For what you have done selfishly, cruelly, and brutally, you will pay seven times fold! “
When the other gods returned, they wrapped Vili and Ve’s bodies in white linen cloth. Odin then officially, with his power and authority, banished Skadi to the Land of the Undead because she had murdered two gods of the earth, and was imprudent enough to try to steal the fruits that gave the gods life. She also made a murder attempt on the highest god of all realms and so Odin overshadowed her with a curse that would haunt her children for years to come. Her children and generations would all die early or succumb to long and painful deaths at her expense. Skadi was condemned by the greater gods to never rest or die in peace until she repay for her deeds that affected many others in this world.
As for Vili and Ve, they were buried in the garden in which they have worked, guarded, and slept in. Their bodies now lie in the corner of the fountain beneath the mighty oak tree in a pit in which Skadi had flung them into. In time, another tree grew on their graves and since then, the white and pure tree symbolized sacrifice and repentance for mortals and gods alike in honour of Vili and Ve and their fight for their loyalty.
*...Told u it was bad :)*
Up north where the wind blows and fades, where the snow whirls in the morning breeze, there sat on top of mountains a garden filled with luscious fruits. The garden, which was situated above the great waterfall of the gods, was tended by two unlikely spiritual warriors. Punished for murdering the giant Ymir and for their treachery against their brother, Odin, Vili and Ve were charged with the protection of the isolated paradise with their lives as the fruits yielded within would wield immortality for the greater gods. If ever used for bitter evilness, the consequences would be severe and just.
Time continued on, passing centuries upon centuries, the brothers left in peace to serve their time as was decided, and waiting for when their freedom would once again become a reality. In the middle of snow-covered trees and frozen lakes, one winter evening, the goddess Idun appeared out of a sudden fog to keep watch over the mischievous young gods. She was careful not to disturb the unusual silence that surrounded the atmosphere, gently glancing at the skies and hovering above the snowed grounds of the garden. Her face was shining and alive with song, her complexion glowing, her eyes deep in years and immortality. The goddess was mistress of the garden; her subjects worshipped her as the goddess of youthfulness and life, her golden figure giving light and vigour.
Idun then called Vili and Ve’s names not once but twice, yet none answered her voice. She sensed that they were again jesting with her to test her patience, knowing full well that she was simply there to ensure that the twins were not attempting any mischief which would destroy their beloved paradise. She smiled softly and went in search for them, her breath visible in the cold weather, floating in swirls as the wind would take them. She felt the soft gust of snow beneath her feet and the wind whistling through the opening gaps of the trees, but she did not yet caught sign of the two gods.
Idun was about to give up the search, preparing to leave to report to Odin that the brothers were not serving their due, when a sudden scream penetrated through the air. After a few moments, the scream was followed by what seemed like a shrill bird’s cry that shattered the glass of stillness that existed in the area. Idun ran to the direction of the shrill shriek, in fear that the two gods have done something they would regret. She stumbled across loose vines and leaves that scattered itself on the ground but she kept going still.
Very soon after, she came upon a white open field that was covered in snow. She would have admired its beauty and light that was reflected by the sun, but she saw a colour that sent chills down her spine. Blood spattered the ground; muddy tracks were flung in every direction and it dawned to the now-pale goddess, in growing horror, that a heavy and long struggle had taken place not too long ago. She scrambled up the hills to where the blood had been poured but yet she still saw either Vili or Ve.
Screams and shouts were again heard incessantly and were making such a commotion that in no time, other gods and goddesses of the earth came forth to find out what the garden was in such a chaos for. When they arrived at the plains and open fields, they saw Idun's vague figure swaying back and forth in weariness from afar, her lone shadow covered the fields. As she swooned and fell unconscious into the snow, they all rushed to her side.
When Odin, the brother whom Vili and Ve had betrayed, scanned the fields, stained in red colour, he ordered his best men to search the garden to find the two tenders that were missing. With no new news that appeared then later, Odin traveled by himself to edge of the garden where a fountain was located so that he may ponder at what they could do next in an attempt to find his missing brothers.
The fountain was spewing clear fresh water that created peaceful rhythms of sounds that echoed the lonely forest of trees. Odin sat underneath a mighty oak tree to gaze at the water and a mysterious raven that perched itself on a gate across from him. The raven was elegant and yet sly and cunning. He percieved this knowledge through the way it moved its head from side to side, cautiously guiding its eyes toward him. Odin shifted uncomfortably underneath the tree and contemplated at what the thing truly concealed in its dark mind. Time ticked away, Odin slowly surrendering to the soft ryhtmic swish of the leaves above him, and the raven was soon forgotten as his eyelids began to droop steeply. He leaned his head against the tree and soon fell into deep slumber.
The raven, now realizing that its time had come, swooped down fiercely, its beak pointing toward the god’s heart, fully intending for it to pierce through the god's soul. However, it had forgotten that Odin was wise and strong. It also had failed to recall that the spear the god had taken with him was still in his hands. Odin, already perceiving what would take place, jumped up from the ground, and with a flick of his wrist, the spear flew from his fingers, whistling defeaningly through the air.
The spear now lodged into the left wing of the raven and the thing was quickly pinned into a nearby wall by the force of the impact. It struggled to get free, but it was too late. Odin, in his fury, with his bare hands, snatched the head of the bird and pulled on it with such strength that it soon broke away from its body! Odin was about to tear the other pieces of the creature off when he saw instead of red blood, he saw another head that indeed belonged to a giantess! The raven cloak that draped from her shoulders slid down to reveal her true self.
Odin staggered, surpised by who he viewed now before him, though as the moment passed he resumed his fury, directed toward the one whose presence was scorned and condemned since Idun's devastating kidnapping attempt.
“To what right have you to be here!” Odin demanded of her.
“I have every right! I once had the power, I once had a father, but you took all that away! Give me my leave and I will never disturb your wretched peace again!” She replied back with vehemence.
“What have you done to my brothers?” Odin pushed his hands against her neck and continued to squeeze it until it was all she could do but choke.
“Why should you care?” She felt even more pressure that surrounded her neck, her face growing red from suffocation.
“Where are they? Tell me now or you would regret that you have not!”
“I would rather abandon my life than my revenge and my pride!”
“I can hardly believe you!” Odin continued to squeeze her throat mercilessly, but by then the giantess had her fill of torture.
“I’ll tell! I’ll tell, just leave me be!” She felt beads of tears that stung her eyes from the pain inflicted upon her.
Odin released her neck but kept a steady gaze on her face. Her eyes were red from her tears and her grotesque face turned a lighter shade of purple as she gasped for breath. She carefully told him of where she had placed his brothers once she regained her composure.
“Go and retrieve the dead! I have failed to carry out the avenging of my father’s death, but I can still see that I have caused you pain. To that I salute myself and to that I mock and pity you!” She let out an odious laugh that resonated through the mountains and Odin backed away in disgust. The other gods have gathered near after what they have heard from afar, and Odin told them of where they could go and retrieve his brothers.
“Skadi, you will pay for your insolence and bitter rivalry to the great gods of the earth!” Odin scowled at her when the other gods left.
“You killed my father Thiazi and you took away Idun back to this despicable garden! I have already endured much damage and my life is now hardly worth the living, and still you wish to punish me?”
“You have offended and murdered in bloody abhorrence, my brothers and fellow gods. For what you have done selfishly, cruelly, and brutally, you will pay seven times fold! “
When the other gods returned, they wrapped Vili and Ve’s bodies in white linen cloth. Odin then officially, with his power and authority, banished Skadi to the Land of the Undead because she had murdered two gods of the earth, and was imprudent enough to try to steal the fruits that gave the gods life. She also made a murder attempt on the highest god of all realms and so Odin overshadowed her with a curse that would haunt her children for years to come. Her children and generations would all die early or succumb to long and painful deaths at her expense. Skadi was condemned by the greater gods to never rest or die in peace until she repay for her deeds that affected many others in this world.
As for Vili and Ve, they were buried in the garden in which they have worked, guarded, and slept in. Their bodies now lie in the corner of the fountain beneath the mighty oak tree in a pit in which Skadi had flung them into. In time, another tree grew on their graves and since then, the white and pure tree symbolized sacrifice and repentance for mortals and gods alike in honour of Vili and Ve and their fight for their loyalty.
*...Told u it was bad :)*
Thursday, November 8, 2007
Daddy, Come Back
Note: This would be my current post for this week ^_^ hope you enjoy!
“I thank my God every time I remember you.” Philippians 1:3
Sarah, a regular 16 year old girl, sits in the park bench and closes her eyes. She breathes in the autumn air that gently sways around her. When she opened her eyes, she realized a tear has fallen down her pink cheeks. She quickly wipes it away as if the park was one of her family parties where she simply must never make a scene. But from where she was sitting, there was no one in sight. Her watch read 4:56 PM. It has practically been half an hour since she has walked past those red bricked fences that open up into the park. She took out her bible from her knapsack; the bible. The bible represented so much of her life. Maybe not quite the words written in it, she hasn’t yet to commit to anything at this dark moment. The book represented the one symbol of love her father has ever given her. The very last gesture he had done before that night. That night.
That particular night seems to be just a few moments before when she finally got up to see a calendar and was barely moved by the fact that that night was a month ago. A few moments past and she blinked and looked up unto the sky that seemed endless. She sighed as she opened up the bible to the back passage of Revelations. She took out a well read piece of paper out and read it once again for the thousandth time that week.
Dear Sarah,
Forgive me for these brief few little words I am only able to write to you. You know how I’ve never been good in words nor in taking care of you. I have neglected to tell you of this illness I have inside me. This illness is not the cancer you have recently known about located in my brain. This illness is in my very soul and engraved into my very bones. This illness is the phobia of the wonderful things you are.
Ever since your mother past away, we as a family struggled through many issues of your education, our family income and our home. You had to move to a new neighborhood, a new school; and leave everything you knew behind in one night. However, though I might regret telling you this, for you will never see me the same way ever again, that night while you were sleeping I went quickly to the doctor and found out of this illness you now know of. It was my decision to not go through the process of many tests and surgery; for I much spend my time looking at my little angle grow. Forgive me; if only I had gone through it I would probably be right there beside you at least one time through the times we’ve spent together.
I am afraid that soon my body is unable to fight off this illness any longer; both physically and mentally. Therefore, I quickly decided to write you this. Sarah, I love you. With every living breath of my life I have always did and forever will. The very purpose of my existence was you and your mother. Forgive me angel. Daddy will always look out for you and love you. Do not cry, smile for me.
Forever with love,
Daddy.
That moment, her last tear had fallen onto the letter. She folded it and placed it back where it belonged, slipped it back into her bible. Sarah got up from that bench; she closed her eyes and prayed a brief prayer of love and thanks. She swallowed hard and did what she never thought she could do ever again. Sarah smiled.
As I watched over Sarah walking back across the park, I realized that it was a year before that I last saw her smile. Closing My own book, I am satisfied. My daughter, My child; I will always watch over you.
John, My Love
Note: This fallowing piece of writing is an entry for my last absence the previous week. Sorry for the tardiness.
John. My Dear John. I see you sitting in your dark mahogany work table with you quill, only in my dreams. My heart longs achingly for you. My mind runs to you from the silent solitude of this room. My very soul cries for you. I awake before the sun peep its head out of the horizon to anticipate the blue man in uniform to bring me my love in a piece of parchment. It’s been 763 days since I’ve read and embraced your love, our love. The tallies of ink and papers I’ve used to await the day to hear you, now only inhabits the corners of my library. Looking down on my bare hands I feel an emptiness I never thought could consume me in tears only by the memory of how your hands use to fill mine.
John. I now sit on my wooden stool looking out of the window still to look for any sign of life, of you… John, John, John! I miss you so. My heart not only burns for you but longs for your vast ocean of tender touch and gentle words. Those words you spoke during the ominous sunset we shared in between the spaces of our breath. That I was the one. I was the one that completed you. John, how could you leave me so? Remember those ‘maple snows’ you thought me of. Now winter has apparently settled in without you here. Oh, how it slowly melted on the heat of my tongue. Oh, the puzzle of it all. I no longer have sanity, not even a piece of mine. You are like a drug to me John ever since you slipped away from our rabbit hole. Come back to me.
I stand in a crossroad without you here. I might as well choose a path that dims each time a step is taken. I stand here now knowing that you are will never come back again. Yet, keep checking my mailbox each day and check to see if you come back to the bench were we once sat in silence. The silence that hugs our very existence, so I thought… It wasn’t us. It was you. It was you who gave me the true meaning of life. The moment your lips touched mine ever so gently in that cold winter night, was the moment my heart blossomed. The night you left me was the night I died inside, every second you weren’t by my side my heart closed its blossom forever. But I lived, oh how I lived while you loved me. It was enough, my life is complete. Your very being will soon degrade in the grounds of the earth, but I choose to wait when death soon come to me with open arms leading me to you.
Saturday, November 3, 2007
The LONG Drabbling of a Bored Blogger :)
*NOTE: Not to be marked! I just posted this for fun and, for the record, I WILL write another blog next week for grading! Yea, this was just something I made up a couple of years ago, and it was supposed to be the beginning of something bigger...but i avoided it for a long time, so it never got anywhere. Anyway, enjoy! Maybe i'll seriously work on it later on during Christmas Break :)
Snow was steadily falling off the sky. Fifteen-year old Troy was sitting down beside the fireplace for warmth. His auburn hair was darker than usual and his shadow was dancing on the walls. Usually, during the cold Canadian winter, it seemed as if the mountains were more dangerous and mighty. The trees rustled its leaves violently from the whistling winds of the North. The windows rattled from the blizzard outside.
Troy stood up, stretched, and then circled around the living room to admire its old history and what it concealed in mystery. The room was decorated in joyful colours of green and red; a Christmas tree stood smugly in the centre. Mounds of gifts were underneath its stand. Troy sighed contently and slumped backward abruptly in his grandfather’s old armchair and let himself drift in and off of sleep. This pattern of habit continued for several more minutes until he heard someone calling his name from afar.
“Troy, where are you?” A female voice rang from the upstairs bedroom, and interrupted his dreamy slumber. Troy heard thudding footsteps coming toward him and felt a gentle shake on his shoulder indicating that he should wake up.
Troy opened his sleepy eyes, stood up and stretched his arms once more toward the ceiling. He looked at Liane, his best friend who came with her family to spend the Christmas vacation with him. She was wearing her favourite white sweater and creamy snow pants that contrasted greatly the warm colours that were reflected in the living room. He thought that she looked more like a snow-woman.
Liane’s hair was cut up to her shoulders that summer and she decided obstinately to keep it that way for the rest of her life. She was also thinking of getting it highlighted this winter if she can convince her parents, but so far, it hadn’t worked. Troy would always roll his eyes at her persistent pestering when she wanted something done and would always stalk off in frustration in finding that her tactics worked every time. He smiled, though, at knowing that her parents weren’t caving into her demands this time.
“Get rid of your sweater, Lee. It’s hot as it is inside this cabin,” He remarked grudgingly.
Liane shrugged and took it off, revealing a long sleeved turtleneck that was decorated with beads. She then smiled and twirled about the room and sat beneath the Christmas tree, toying with an ornament as light danced in her eyes. Troy sighed and stood up, and was about to walk into the kitchen for a glass of water when Liane turned around and caught his attention.
“Hey, why don’t we go searching in the attic? I’m tired of sitting around in front of the window upstairs counting snowflakes. I’ve reached to 200 and I feel like sleeping now,” She said, exasperated by the fact that she was bored.
“You were WHAT? Counting the…Do you need to lie down or something?” Troy raised his eyebrows. He knew that Liane was notorious for her quirky personality but most of the time he wished that she tuned her enthusiasm down a notch. He had gotten into too much trouble from before thanks to his wacko buddy.
“No, I don’t, so don’t try to act like a babysitter, Troy! Anyway, do you realize now just how bored I am? I just have to explore, I have to move around! This cabin belonged to your great- grand parents, right? Since they’re dead and all, why can’t we just snoop around a bit? Otherwise, we’re in for another dull Christmas.” She rushed to the stairs before Troy could object to her plan. He sighed and followed her. He might as well stare at the windows in the attic than gag while watching his twin sister flirt with Liane’s brothers in the kitchen.
The cabin had two floors, excluding the attic which had a built-in trap door that was inserted in the ceiling. It was built over a century ago, and it made creaks and groans during the night. It was made entirely out of wood except for the fairly recent restoration of the four bedrooms on the second floor. The cabin kept many secrets that were hidden during all its years in this region. Both Liane and Troy knew this, but they've never really gone through the trouble of trying to figure it out. It had been five years since they visited this old mansion and they felt that it was childish to play hide and seek during a winter’s day like they would have done many years ago. Troy never thought of exploring in the attic. The idea always seemed absurd and beyond what he knew he may do.
That is, until Liane came.
“You sure you want to go up there? I mean there could be spiders and dead animals and probably a couple of ghosts-“
“Troy, you better shut that big mouth of yours before I give you another black eye.” Liane threatened with her fist. Troy remained in silence after he received the threat, knowing her potential to cripple a grown man through her ten year experience with judo.
Liane and Troy walked quietly up the stairs and into the hallway. Troy saw a piece of string hanging down from the ceiling and pulled on it. Liane helped him and another staircase was lowered. The two friends walked into the attic, cautious to make no noise left they disturb their parents. As they did, they were hit with mounds of tumbling dust and an odious odour that reached up their noses and into their mouths as they tried to breathe. Liane started to cough violently.
“Oh man, it’s like a wave of smoke just toppled over us!” Liane coughed some more as she stepped even deeper into attic. She nearly tripped over a small box in front of her.
“No really?” Troy lifted the staircase from the top and snapped it shut.
Troy looked around at the room that he was in and sighed. It was filled with the usual amounts of trunks, boxes and absolute darkness. Liane wandered to the corners of the attic, feeling the wood while walking. Troy was inspecting the odd things he kept bumping into. First it was a sort of mannequin draped in white cloth, which he thought was a ghost. Then, a chest that he tripped over while walking (and the one that he had subsequently found empty). Finally, he bumped into Liane.
“Watch where you’re going, Troy, you maniac!’ She whispered to him savagely.
“Sorry, but you have big feet! Man, I should have brought a flashlight or something,” Troy said regretfully. He looked at Liane as she scoured around for antiques. Apparently, she didn’t listen.
He saw her shadows casting on the wooden walls from the dim light coming from the window. Finally, he saw her hand reaching out for a wood panel. He groaned and knew that any second, she’d come screaming-
“Troy! TROY! I’ve found something!” She shouted.
He sighed and walked over to her. He peered at her face but could only receive a vague outline of her figure, “What is it now?”
“Troy, I think the walls are hollow! I was tapping along the panels to the rhythm of a song that’s stuck in my head and this part of the room sound empty! Listen! ’ Liane said with excitement. She began to tap the wood slowly, as if to let the sound echo throughout the room. Troy peered at his friend and shook his head slowly.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“What? How can you not realize that the wall’s hollow? Listen again!” Liane knocked on the wall softly, and watched as Troy raised his eyebrows. He placed his hands on his hips and stared at the wooden panel. He noticed that several scarps of paper were sticking out of the wall.
“I heard it, Lee. But I don’t think that it’s really hollow. There may not be any secret compartment inside, like I knew you expected. It may just as well be missing insulation,” Troy shook his head once again, and was about to explore another section of the room when Liane tugged at his shirt which signalled that she wasn’t about to give up her audience so easily.
“Then how do you explain the papers on the walls? There has to be something behind it! Look, Troy, the papers looked as if they have words written on them!” Liane stood tall and waited to be presented with an argument.
Troy shook his head and felt the loose papers with his fingers, “I don’t think we should touch it. It looked as if whoever put it there wanted to keep it a secret. Well, let’s honour that wish and leave it alone.”
“Troy, I know that they’re only papers, but I have a feeling that it’s more than that. C’mon, let’s just pry the wood open because I’m going to regret it if I don’t!”
“Yeah, I could save you a whole lot of trouble right now by telling you that it’s nothing, all right! You’re fooling yourself again. We’re going to get into trouble with our parents and we might never come back for vacation! Think of the consequences if we mess this up!”
“Troy, I know I’m pretty drastic-“
“Not to mention impetuous,” He interrupted her graciously while folding his arms against his chest, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“But this can start us off in wild adventure! I can just feel it in my bones! Even you agreed that this Christmas vacation is going to be so boring! Didn’t I hear you complaining this morning about wanting to do something exciting?” Liane’s eyes shone and her enthusiasm made her vibrant and eager more than anything.
‘Adventure’, Troy thought slowly as he tried to analyze the situation, 'is the exact thing that I don’t need right now! Then again, this might be our ticket out of our usual, non-eventful Christmas…’ Troy eyed her carefully and scratched his chin as he always did when he tried to think of a decision.
“C’mon, Troy! I’m just dying to see what’s inside these panels!”
“Well, my parents did say that they want to renovate the attic in the summer. I guess they won’t mind some missing insulation.” He shrugged and reluctantly relented to his friend’s puppyish pouts.
“’Kay then, let’s start taking off some of the loose boards around it.”
“Wait a minute, Lee. I didn’t mean that we can start now. It’s ten at night and our parents, not to mention my snooping sister and your annoying college brothers, are all in the kitchen, and they can hear us if we do anything desperate. Let’s do it in the morning when they’re outside skiing or something. Besides, we’ll have time to grab some tools tomorrow when we’re all awake and thinking properly.”
“Troy, are you implying that I’m not ‘thinking properly’ at the moment? If you think I’m going to change my mind after tomorrow, you’re seriously wrong!” Her eyes started to swell and widen. Her fists were at her side, but Troy quickly avoided an unnecessary bruise.
“I didn’t mean that. I mean we would all be fresh and ready to take on this project after we get a good night’s rest. Now, come on. I’m going to get some hot chocolate before bed, how about it?” Troy waved his hand invitingly, but when Liane shook her head, he shrugged, and soon his head disappeared beneath the staircases.
Liane stood frozen for a few minutes, and after making sure that Troy was gone, took out a slip of paper from her jean pocket. She studied it carefully and then slowly smiled with growing determination. Exhilaration flowed through her veins and her heart pounded against her chest. Everything would go according to plan! It just had to!
Snow was steadily falling off the sky. Fifteen-year old Troy was sitting down beside the fireplace for warmth. His auburn hair was darker than usual and his shadow was dancing on the walls. Usually, during the cold Canadian winter, it seemed as if the mountains were more dangerous and mighty. The trees rustled its leaves violently from the whistling winds of the North. The windows rattled from the blizzard outside.
Troy stood up, stretched, and then circled around the living room to admire its old history and what it concealed in mystery. The room was decorated in joyful colours of green and red; a Christmas tree stood smugly in the centre. Mounds of gifts were underneath its stand. Troy sighed contently and slumped backward abruptly in his grandfather’s old armchair and let himself drift in and off of sleep. This pattern of habit continued for several more minutes until he heard someone calling his name from afar.
“Troy, where are you?” A female voice rang from the upstairs bedroom, and interrupted his dreamy slumber. Troy heard thudding footsteps coming toward him and felt a gentle shake on his shoulder indicating that he should wake up.
Troy opened his sleepy eyes, stood up and stretched his arms once more toward the ceiling. He looked at Liane, his best friend who came with her family to spend the Christmas vacation with him. She was wearing her favourite white sweater and creamy snow pants that contrasted greatly the warm colours that were reflected in the living room. He thought that she looked more like a snow-woman.
Liane’s hair was cut up to her shoulders that summer and she decided obstinately to keep it that way for the rest of her life. She was also thinking of getting it highlighted this winter if she can convince her parents, but so far, it hadn’t worked. Troy would always roll his eyes at her persistent pestering when she wanted something done and would always stalk off in frustration in finding that her tactics worked every time. He smiled, though, at knowing that her parents weren’t caving into her demands this time.
“Get rid of your sweater, Lee. It’s hot as it is inside this cabin,” He remarked grudgingly.
Liane shrugged and took it off, revealing a long sleeved turtleneck that was decorated with beads. She then smiled and twirled about the room and sat beneath the Christmas tree, toying with an ornament as light danced in her eyes. Troy sighed and stood up, and was about to walk into the kitchen for a glass of water when Liane turned around and caught his attention.
“Hey, why don’t we go searching in the attic? I’m tired of sitting around in front of the window upstairs counting snowflakes. I’ve reached to 200 and I feel like sleeping now,” She said, exasperated by the fact that she was bored.
“You were WHAT? Counting the…Do you need to lie down or something?” Troy raised his eyebrows. He knew that Liane was notorious for her quirky personality but most of the time he wished that she tuned her enthusiasm down a notch. He had gotten into too much trouble from before thanks to his wacko buddy.
“No, I don’t, so don’t try to act like a babysitter, Troy! Anyway, do you realize now just how bored I am? I just have to explore, I have to move around! This cabin belonged to your great- grand parents, right? Since they’re dead and all, why can’t we just snoop around a bit? Otherwise, we’re in for another dull Christmas.” She rushed to the stairs before Troy could object to her plan. He sighed and followed her. He might as well stare at the windows in the attic than gag while watching his twin sister flirt with Liane’s brothers in the kitchen.
The cabin had two floors, excluding the attic which had a built-in trap door that was inserted in the ceiling. It was built over a century ago, and it made creaks and groans during the night. It was made entirely out of wood except for the fairly recent restoration of the four bedrooms on the second floor. The cabin kept many secrets that were hidden during all its years in this region. Both Liane and Troy knew this, but they've never really gone through the trouble of trying to figure it out. It had been five years since they visited this old mansion and they felt that it was childish to play hide and seek during a winter’s day like they would have done many years ago. Troy never thought of exploring in the attic. The idea always seemed absurd and beyond what he knew he may do.
That is, until Liane came.
“You sure you want to go up there? I mean there could be spiders and dead animals and probably a couple of ghosts-“
“Troy, you better shut that big mouth of yours before I give you another black eye.” Liane threatened with her fist. Troy remained in silence after he received the threat, knowing her potential to cripple a grown man through her ten year experience with judo.
Liane and Troy walked quietly up the stairs and into the hallway. Troy saw a piece of string hanging down from the ceiling and pulled on it. Liane helped him and another staircase was lowered. The two friends walked into the attic, cautious to make no noise left they disturb their parents. As they did, they were hit with mounds of tumbling dust and an odious odour that reached up their noses and into their mouths as they tried to breathe. Liane started to cough violently.
“Oh man, it’s like a wave of smoke just toppled over us!” Liane coughed some more as she stepped even deeper into attic. She nearly tripped over a small box in front of her.
“No really?” Troy lifted the staircase from the top and snapped it shut.
Troy looked around at the room that he was in and sighed. It was filled with the usual amounts of trunks, boxes and absolute darkness. Liane wandered to the corners of the attic, feeling the wood while walking. Troy was inspecting the odd things he kept bumping into. First it was a sort of mannequin draped in white cloth, which he thought was a ghost. Then, a chest that he tripped over while walking (and the one that he had subsequently found empty). Finally, he bumped into Liane.
“Watch where you’re going, Troy, you maniac!’ She whispered to him savagely.
“Sorry, but you have big feet! Man, I should have brought a flashlight or something,” Troy said regretfully. He looked at Liane as she scoured around for antiques. Apparently, she didn’t listen.
He saw her shadows casting on the wooden walls from the dim light coming from the window. Finally, he saw her hand reaching out for a wood panel. He groaned and knew that any second, she’d come screaming-
“Troy! TROY! I’ve found something!” She shouted.
He sighed and walked over to her. He peered at her face but could only receive a vague outline of her figure, “What is it now?”
“Troy, I think the walls are hollow! I was tapping along the panels to the rhythm of a song that’s stuck in my head and this part of the room sound empty! Listen! ’ Liane said with excitement. She began to tap the wood slowly, as if to let the sound echo throughout the room. Troy peered at his friend and shook his head slowly.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“What? How can you not realize that the wall’s hollow? Listen again!” Liane knocked on the wall softly, and watched as Troy raised his eyebrows. He placed his hands on his hips and stared at the wooden panel. He noticed that several scarps of paper were sticking out of the wall.
“I heard it, Lee. But I don’t think that it’s really hollow. There may not be any secret compartment inside, like I knew you expected. It may just as well be missing insulation,” Troy shook his head once again, and was about to explore another section of the room when Liane tugged at his shirt which signalled that she wasn’t about to give up her audience so easily.
“Then how do you explain the papers on the walls? There has to be something behind it! Look, Troy, the papers looked as if they have words written on them!” Liane stood tall and waited to be presented with an argument.
Troy shook his head and felt the loose papers with his fingers, “I don’t think we should touch it. It looked as if whoever put it there wanted to keep it a secret. Well, let’s honour that wish and leave it alone.”
“Troy, I know that they’re only papers, but I have a feeling that it’s more than that. C’mon, let’s just pry the wood open because I’m going to regret it if I don’t!”
“Yeah, I could save you a whole lot of trouble right now by telling you that it’s nothing, all right! You’re fooling yourself again. We’re going to get into trouble with our parents and we might never come back for vacation! Think of the consequences if we mess this up!”
“Troy, I know I’m pretty drastic-“
“Not to mention impetuous,” He interrupted her graciously while folding his arms against his chest, his eyebrows raised in curiosity.
“But this can start us off in wild adventure! I can just feel it in my bones! Even you agreed that this Christmas vacation is going to be so boring! Didn’t I hear you complaining this morning about wanting to do something exciting?” Liane’s eyes shone and her enthusiasm made her vibrant and eager more than anything.
‘Adventure’, Troy thought slowly as he tried to analyze the situation, 'is the exact thing that I don’t need right now! Then again, this might be our ticket out of our usual, non-eventful Christmas…’ Troy eyed her carefully and scratched his chin as he always did when he tried to think of a decision.
“C’mon, Troy! I’m just dying to see what’s inside these panels!”
“Well, my parents did say that they want to renovate the attic in the summer. I guess they won’t mind some missing insulation.” He shrugged and reluctantly relented to his friend’s puppyish pouts.
“’Kay then, let’s start taking off some of the loose boards around it.”
“Wait a minute, Lee. I didn’t mean that we can start now. It’s ten at night and our parents, not to mention my snooping sister and your annoying college brothers, are all in the kitchen, and they can hear us if we do anything desperate. Let’s do it in the morning when they’re outside skiing or something. Besides, we’ll have time to grab some tools tomorrow when we’re all awake and thinking properly.”
“Troy, are you implying that I’m not ‘thinking properly’ at the moment? If you think I’m going to change my mind after tomorrow, you’re seriously wrong!” Her eyes started to swell and widen. Her fists were at her side, but Troy quickly avoided an unnecessary bruise.
“I didn’t mean that. I mean we would all be fresh and ready to take on this project after we get a good night’s rest. Now, come on. I’m going to get some hot chocolate before bed, how about it?” Troy waved his hand invitingly, but when Liane shook her head, he shrugged, and soon his head disappeared beneath the staircases.
Liane stood frozen for a few minutes, and after making sure that Troy was gone, took out a slip of paper from her jean pocket. She studied it carefully and then slowly smiled with growing determination. Exhilaration flowed through her veins and her heart pounded against her chest. Everything would go according to plan! It just had to!
Friday, November 2, 2007
Life--what is it?
Disclaimer: This is not a response to Moo's topic
Honestly, I myself is unsure on what to blog--or what to say, at least. So I decided to come up with a topic I grow fond of over the past years of my journey to 'perfection'
Life
What is life? Obviously, it is something given to us by God-Almighty through the use of our parents. It is something...we breathe in, something that kept us moving, something that shaped us the way we are today and continuously do so.
It is something indescribable by words
It intrigue me how a word, so simple can mean a lot to others--yet disposable to the rest. How man can exclaim confidently to his friends and family 'I want to die! Take my life away!' with no sense of regret. How man spends them to fund wars--like coins to a piggy bank. How beautiful it can be, yet destructive and provoking to the next.
I remember the time when I became one of those disturbed individuals, saying such nonsense and outrage out-loud without limit. How foolish I was thinking how problems--my problems--can be solved through death. A quote from Joseph Stalin works well with it:
"Death solves all problem. No man, no problem."
That is untrue--so untrue.
Of course, he said such quote in an unrest war-time situation involving the sacrifice of many. But are we in such time? No. But we are in conflict with ourselves, our own being.
Life is fragile
Each day when I watch TV, read a novel, or waste my time in an ever-present distraction, millions and--probably--billions of lives flies to the skies above, or plunge to the depths below. Each day it gets you wondering: "When will my turn comes? When will death knock on my door?"
The answer never came--and you wish it never did. Death can be in the next corner, and you wouldn't even know it. Knowing how fragile life is, I don't understand why people were so keen on wasting them on drugs, smokes, and suicide--don't they realize they only have one chance to live? If so, why are they treating them that way? Funny... a warmonger like me can think such things when I'm supposed to think how to take it (life) away in the quickest and efficient way there is. Yet, I find this suits me just fine...can't hurt to think the other way around, right?
I view life as a game; a game in which you control the entire universe of one character as he slowly mature and change for the better--or the worse. And everything is in my control...
What about you? How do you view life?
Honestly, I myself is unsure on what to blog--or what to say, at least. So I decided to come up with a topic I grow fond of over the past years of my journey to 'perfection'
Life
What is life? Obviously, it is something given to us by God-Almighty through the use of our parents. It is something...we breathe in, something that kept us moving, something that shaped us the way we are today and continuously do so.
It is something indescribable by words
It intrigue me how a word, so simple can mean a lot to others--yet disposable to the rest. How man can exclaim confidently to his friends and family 'I want to die! Take my life away!' with no sense of regret. How man spends them to fund wars--like coins to a piggy bank. How beautiful it can be, yet destructive and provoking to the next.
I remember the time when I became one of those disturbed individuals, saying such nonsense and outrage out-loud without limit. How foolish I was thinking how problems--my problems--can be solved through death. A quote from Joseph Stalin works well with it:
"Death solves all problem. No man, no problem."
That is untrue--so untrue.
Of course, he said such quote in an unrest war-time situation involving the sacrifice of many. But are we in such time? No. But we are in conflict with ourselves, our own being.
Life is fragile
Each day when I watch TV, read a novel, or waste my time in an ever-present distraction, millions and--probably--billions of lives flies to the skies above, or plunge to the depths below. Each day it gets you wondering: "When will my turn comes? When will death knock on my door?"
The answer never came--and you wish it never did. Death can be in the next corner, and you wouldn't even know it. Knowing how fragile life is, I don't understand why people were so keen on wasting them on drugs, smokes, and suicide--don't they realize they only have one chance to live? If so, why are they treating them that way? Funny... a warmonger like me can think such things when I'm supposed to think how to take it (life) away in the quickest and efficient way there is. Yet, I find this suits me just fine...can't hurt to think the other way around, right?
I view life as a game; a game in which you control the entire universe of one character as he slowly mature and change for the better--or the worse. And everything is in my control...
What about you? How do you view life?
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Kissing Peter Pan Goodbye
*NOTE: This blog entry does not involve fellow blogger Pixie’s absolute fave pixie, nor does it concern the plot of the legendary story mentioned above...*
Once in nearly every lifetime, each child would dream, wish for, and imagine the rather infamous flying boy clad in green leaves fly through their windows, greeting them with a handful of pixie dust to lead them off to Neverland. Pan certainly looked like the embodiment of an eternal childhood, stunted by the profound fact that he would never once grow old, would never be able to experience the dreaded ‘coming of age’ of adulthood. For Pan, he could soar above all his problems, his responsibilities, simply with an unlimited source of good thoughts! How unbearably lucky! Unfortunately for us, we have no choice but to grow and to grow old.
I recalled a time in Canada when I once scoffed at the thought of transforming into an adult; into the figure I most dreaded becoming. The classroom was by no means freezing cold nor burning hot as the seasons slowed its priorities for the time being and allowed the city to bask in a warm morning. We were in a discussion, as always, regarding absolutely anything but the actual topic which we were meant to study. I contentedly finished my notes as I listened to my Geography / Business teacher warning the others about how time would soon speed up, passing us by at an unnoticed rate until at last we are confronted with the world of adulthood. He told us to email him as soon as the idea occurred to us (meaning, right after we finished college or university), telling him that he was right all along.
I must now admit grudgingly that he was truly, forlornly, and deploringly right.
I was in Grd. 9 when he warned us and now I am entering a state of awkwardness as I attempt to tackle IB 2 years later.
Even now I dread adulthood, the thought of leaving behind my home in pursuit of my own. I believe that I had even addressed the thought in a previous blog entry to emphasize a bit more on my fears. My parents, even before we left for Indonesia, warned me time and time again that I would regret not making use of my time in high school once I enter university. How strange, the fact that my parents were the first to introduce me to the world of responsibilities and absolute freedom. I have to admit, that absolutely freaked me out!
Numerous times, I desired to turn back the clock, to slow down time, to do something to prevent the inevitable from occurring. I know that this blog entry may seem to be overly exaggerated, but hey, you can only be a kid for a little while longer before that phase in your life would fade out completely out of sight. Now more than ever, I dreamed to be in a land where age is eternally prevented from taking hold on a soul, a place where time doesn’t matter, a place where childhood would always be a reality…
This sound too dramatic :(
I have to admit that as much as I hate being an adult, in many other aspects it would be far better off to be so than merely a child. Sure, growing up would mean taking a step closer to our graves, but not doing so would also mean not being able to experience the best years of our lives. As much as I want to stay a teen, how much more would I learn and realize about myself if I could take a step further with my years. (Of course, with this thought a measure of maturity would come into play, though, at the moment, it’s a totally different story).
And so, I kiss Peter Pan goodbye once and for all. Life’s been good with him, but better off without. I would continue to dread accepting the responsibilities required of me as well as the new problems that would appear each step of the way, but at least I know that my childhood is not so completely abandoned. I would treasure whatever memories I do have of my one time as a kid.
How strange it is how some kids could hardly wait to become teenagers and yet deny the fact that they now look like adults twenty years later.
Now, they are those who need a bit more pixie dust and a certain immortal boy in their lives :)
Once in nearly every lifetime, each child would dream, wish for, and imagine the rather infamous flying boy clad in green leaves fly through their windows, greeting them with a handful of pixie dust to lead them off to Neverland. Pan certainly looked like the embodiment of an eternal childhood, stunted by the profound fact that he would never once grow old, would never be able to experience the dreaded ‘coming of age’ of adulthood. For Pan, he could soar above all his problems, his responsibilities, simply with an unlimited source of good thoughts! How unbearably lucky! Unfortunately for us, we have no choice but to grow and to grow old.
I recalled a time in Canada when I once scoffed at the thought of transforming into an adult; into the figure I most dreaded becoming. The classroom was by no means freezing cold nor burning hot as the seasons slowed its priorities for the time being and allowed the city to bask in a warm morning. We were in a discussion, as always, regarding absolutely anything but the actual topic which we were meant to study. I contentedly finished my notes as I listened to my Geography / Business teacher warning the others about how time would soon speed up, passing us by at an unnoticed rate until at last we are confronted with the world of adulthood. He told us to email him as soon as the idea occurred to us (meaning, right after we finished college or university), telling him that he was right all along.
I must now admit grudgingly that he was truly, forlornly, and deploringly right.
I was in Grd. 9 when he warned us and now I am entering a state of awkwardness as I attempt to tackle IB 2 years later.
Even now I dread adulthood, the thought of leaving behind my home in pursuit of my own. I believe that I had even addressed the thought in a previous blog entry to emphasize a bit more on my fears. My parents, even before we left for Indonesia, warned me time and time again that I would regret not making use of my time in high school once I enter university. How strange, the fact that my parents were the first to introduce me to the world of responsibilities and absolute freedom. I have to admit, that absolutely freaked me out!
Numerous times, I desired to turn back the clock, to slow down time, to do something to prevent the inevitable from occurring. I know that this blog entry may seem to be overly exaggerated, but hey, you can only be a kid for a little while longer before that phase in your life would fade out completely out of sight. Now more than ever, I dreamed to be in a land where age is eternally prevented from taking hold on a soul, a place where time doesn’t matter, a place where childhood would always be a reality…
This sound too dramatic :(
I have to admit that as much as I hate being an adult, in many other aspects it would be far better off to be so than merely a child. Sure, growing up would mean taking a step closer to our graves, but not doing so would also mean not being able to experience the best years of our lives. As much as I want to stay a teen, how much more would I learn and realize about myself if I could take a step further with my years. (Of course, with this thought a measure of maturity would come into play, though, at the moment, it’s a totally different story).
And so, I kiss Peter Pan goodbye once and for all. Life’s been good with him, but better off without. I would continue to dread accepting the responsibilities required of me as well as the new problems that would appear each step of the way, but at least I know that my childhood is not so completely abandoned. I would treasure whatever memories I do have of my one time as a kid.
How strange it is how some kids could hardly wait to become teenagers and yet deny the fact that they now look like adults twenty years later.
Now, they are those who need a bit more pixie dust and a certain immortal boy in their lives :)
Saturday, October 27, 2007
"Its' Lim yet again? How tedious"
Note: Might be offensive, proceed with caution. Enthusiastic bloggers, don't think too little of me.
What I would do to have back all I had lost! Of course that in itself is loss.
Speaking of loss, one of those would be my motivation and passion, in say blogging. Yea, it shows a lot about me, doesn't it? Of how negative, uncommited and undedicated this no-talent jerk is. Well, I didn't know why I lost so much of my motivation and passion myself, as I was so keen on writing and literature upon my younger days when I started learning the English language.
But for some reason, I could and would not bring myself to enjoy this. Upon a shallow instropection the only things, that my currently enfeebled brain could bring about, I discovered some possible reasons.
First and foremost, in a blog you are restricted, binded by the social norms of civility and exposed to the judgement of others. What is nice about a diary is that you can complain all you want and there is that gratification of unleashment without any retort or consequences as the diary swallows all the anger and hate in its white, unblemished pages away from prying eyes. Well, within a blog you do not have that privelege. Eyes scanning through your every word, brains processing mistakes you made, finding ways to point out flaws or how to retort, unleashing their scorn in comments for your sincerity. Even if you just complain or moan about the day; the person's verdict would be, "Oh!This person complains all the time, what's his problem?"
"In space, no one can hear you scream", well, apparently that rule applies too in cyberspace. Whereas in some cases I want privacy, in my fickleness, I want to be heard too at other cases.
In blogs, I experience the inescapable feeling of seclusion. As one puts all drive and passion into an earnest bout of typed statements wanting to make a difference, it is so easy to be crushed as with the advance of time, no one had commented or even viewed the labour of love you had done. Once sweet, the now Sisyphean labour turns sour. Even the most eloquent, the most heartfelt writing wanting change, is crushed as everyone too wants to be heard. Hundreds, thousands, no, millions of blogs out there delivering a death sentence on the read count of your writing. Even if your friends know of your labour, even they too would sooner or later tire of it and bring your work from its dusty shelves, very rarely. Of course eventually people will read it if it is good and interesting but if not, it is so very easy to be demoralized.
Yea, those are the two main thorns upon my desire for blogging. Oh there are others of course but right now even complaining has so little joy for me right now. Maybe upon other times, more happier times would enable me to bring about sparks of negativity and complaints.
What I would do to have back all I had lost! Of course that in itself is loss.
Speaking of loss, one of those would be my motivation and passion, in say blogging. Yea, it shows a lot about me, doesn't it? Of how negative, uncommited and undedicated this no-talent jerk is. Well, I didn't know why I lost so much of my motivation and passion myself, as I was so keen on writing and literature upon my younger days when I started learning the English language.
But for some reason, I could and would not bring myself to enjoy this. Upon a shallow instropection the only things, that my currently enfeebled brain could bring about, I discovered some possible reasons.
First and foremost, in a blog you are restricted, binded by the social norms of civility and exposed to the judgement of others. What is nice about a diary is that you can complain all you want and there is that gratification of unleashment without any retort or consequences as the diary swallows all the anger and hate in its white, unblemished pages away from prying eyes. Well, within a blog you do not have that privelege. Eyes scanning through your every word, brains processing mistakes you made, finding ways to point out flaws or how to retort, unleashing their scorn in comments for your sincerity. Even if you just complain or moan about the day; the person's verdict would be, "Oh!This person complains all the time, what's his problem?"
"In space, no one can hear you scream", well, apparently that rule applies too in cyberspace. Whereas in some cases I want privacy, in my fickleness, I want to be heard too at other cases.
In blogs, I experience the inescapable feeling of seclusion. As one puts all drive and passion into an earnest bout of typed statements wanting to make a difference, it is so easy to be crushed as with the advance of time, no one had commented or even viewed the labour of love you had done. Once sweet, the now Sisyphean labour turns sour. Even the most eloquent, the most heartfelt writing wanting change, is crushed as everyone too wants to be heard. Hundreds, thousands, no, millions of blogs out there delivering a death sentence on the read count of your writing. Even if your friends know of your labour, even they too would sooner or later tire of it and bring your work from its dusty shelves, very rarely. Of course eventually people will read it if it is good and interesting but if not, it is so very easy to be demoralized.
Yea, those are the two main thorns upon my desire for blogging. Oh there are others of course but right now even complaining has so little joy for me right now. Maybe upon other times, more happier times would enable me to bring about sparks of negativity and complaints.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Narnian Days
*NOTE: Sorry Ms. Jess, but I have to admit that this blog entry was based on one of my previous essays a few years back. I had writer’s block again…Yea, lame excuse, but at least I have something. I’ll do better next time, I promise!*
As many of us know, the Chronicles of Narnia is a popular children’s series that touched many beliefs adults struggle with during the round-about game called ‘life’. Though written in a very simple and truthful form of writing that would fascinate the young minds of children, the Chronicles have also indeed provoked the pondering of academic intellects. Who is the man behind all these stories that continued to interest many people years after he had passed away? Of course, the answer would be the ever clever, witty and intelligent Clive Staples Lewis. ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ and its following books all have its charm and captivating plots that drew its readers into a world filled with love, treachery, characters that would live in your memories, and also a Being so powerful who has the strength and might to destroy an entire world at his command. C.S Lewis’s Chronicles that was loved by many has many mythical backgrounds that were considered inconsistent. In a way it was a legend, but then again it was also a type of supernatural myth or a lovable folktale that would amuse young children. Whatever it may be, his books would always be recalled as a classic that would be loved and adored for many, many more years to come.
Divine myths are probably the stories that we are more aware of when we were still young. Though we may hear of many other fairytales, the first thing that comes to our immature and primitive minds (well, we didn’t know much when we were only five) when the word ‘myth’ was mentioned, would be gods of great power or a catastrophic doom that would endanger the lives of the entire population of earth. Unfortunately, the Chronicles of Narnia have fewer ideas that have that same fate of ending the world (except for the final book, ‘The Last Battle’, where Narnia comes to an end). In this way of looking at the Chronicles, we would see Aslan as the powering ‘God’ who created Narnia in the first place. C.S Lewis had also described how each spot of ‘The lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ came to be. For example, the lamppost that Lucy first saw when she entered Narnia was planted by an even earlier descendant of the White Witch. It is a long story, but to sum it up, the Chronicles of Narnia has explained itself how it came to be and how it was controlled by a Supernatural yet physical Being instead of a complete systematic and humanistic way of governing this certain world (they did try and rid of the magical creatures and the name Aslan during the book, ‘Prince Caspian’, under the reign of dishonourable King Miraz). However, though the stories take place in many foreign places (its setting was in another world), time and space seemed not to be so distant. One can mathematically calculate how old Narnia is and though time differ in Narnia and in our world you could easily tell when a couple hundred years are a couple of hundred years (meaning you could tell when you were in time). There were many other different gods and goddesses, dryads and spirits, dwarves and fauns, but no one really have any power without it being given to them by Aslan himself! In more than one way, Aslan is the only God in this Divine myth!
Somewhat more symbolically, Narnia can also be considered as a legend. It tells a bit of history that affected our world for six decades ago and it prominently illustrated the historic story of Christ’s death and resurrection. Truth is behind the stories that C.S Lewis had so carefully made and it also tells of Kings and Queens who goes on adventures so wide abroad the world. Narnia, however, does not contain an explanation of why something is to be in our world but some events were tied together and had involved each other to the end. For instance, the horrible train accident that happened on earth had the children (Lucy, Peter, Edmund, Jill, Eustace, Polly, and Digory) dead, but while in Narnia, apparently, it was also dead because of corruption as the result of the end times (and because of an ape named Shift). In the beginning of ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’, we could easily see which war the children were in the middle of. WWII was not symbolic in history and so C.S Lewis’s Chronicles has a hint of human past. It may not be under the heading of a specific mythical category, but the Chronicles of Narnia certainly has endured these past fifty years without anyone complaining about its written format (except Tolkien, of course, who disagreed about entering Father Christmas into an otherwise mythical world of centaurs, beasts of the wild who could talk and other creatures Aslan had created).
Folktales are another way of saying fairytales. Its stories that belong under this heading are not and should not be considered true. It also taught lessons and beliefs that we are to live by as we go through our own journeys. The characters of the Chronicles of Narnia were ordinary people who have had hard lives (Digory), annoying personalities (Eustace), no real father or mother (Shasta/ Cor), and were people who were just like you and me. In all the books, as it neared to the end, you could always see a change in the characters who turned out rather to be heroes than a traitor. That is another element of a folktale and it should not be ignored. C.S Lewis certainly knew that his story was not real, but on the other hand, it actually is realistic in a way. His stories were handcrafted and are based on his own experiences that had inspired him to write so that perhaps even children may understand the message the Bible had so intended to spread.
I enjoy fantasy books thoroughly and it gives me an escape from the real world every time I have a bad day or have done something embarrassing on a special occasion. C.S Lewis’s books really have been written from the heart and that’d be the reason why I like it so much. ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ is a great movie to watch and I will recommend it to people, but it would be better to have read the books first so that you may understand fully what the author intended to state up on the screen and not pester other people sittin’ beside you by asking too many questions :)
-Carpe Diem!
....I've always wanted to say that :)
As many of us know, the Chronicles of Narnia is a popular children’s series that touched many beliefs adults struggle with during the round-about game called ‘life’. Though written in a very simple and truthful form of writing that would fascinate the young minds of children, the Chronicles have also indeed provoked the pondering of academic intellects. Who is the man behind all these stories that continued to interest many people years after he had passed away? Of course, the answer would be the ever clever, witty and intelligent Clive Staples Lewis. ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ and its following books all have its charm and captivating plots that drew its readers into a world filled with love, treachery, characters that would live in your memories, and also a Being so powerful who has the strength and might to destroy an entire world at his command. C.S Lewis’s Chronicles that was loved by many has many mythical backgrounds that were considered inconsistent. In a way it was a legend, but then again it was also a type of supernatural myth or a lovable folktale that would amuse young children. Whatever it may be, his books would always be recalled as a classic that would be loved and adored for many, many more years to come.
Divine myths are probably the stories that we are more aware of when we were still young. Though we may hear of many other fairytales, the first thing that comes to our immature and primitive minds (well, we didn’t know much when we were only five) when the word ‘myth’ was mentioned, would be gods of great power or a catastrophic doom that would endanger the lives of the entire population of earth. Unfortunately, the Chronicles of Narnia have fewer ideas that have that same fate of ending the world (except for the final book, ‘The Last Battle’, where Narnia comes to an end). In this way of looking at the Chronicles, we would see Aslan as the powering ‘God’ who created Narnia in the first place. C.S Lewis had also described how each spot of ‘The lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ came to be. For example, the lamppost that Lucy first saw when she entered Narnia was planted by an even earlier descendant of the White Witch. It is a long story, but to sum it up, the Chronicles of Narnia has explained itself how it came to be and how it was controlled by a Supernatural yet physical Being instead of a complete systematic and humanistic way of governing this certain world (they did try and rid of the magical creatures and the name Aslan during the book, ‘Prince Caspian’, under the reign of dishonourable King Miraz). However, though the stories take place in many foreign places (its setting was in another world), time and space seemed not to be so distant. One can mathematically calculate how old Narnia is and though time differ in Narnia and in our world you could easily tell when a couple hundred years are a couple of hundred years (meaning you could tell when you were in time). There were many other different gods and goddesses, dryads and spirits, dwarves and fauns, but no one really have any power without it being given to them by Aslan himself! In more than one way, Aslan is the only God in this Divine myth!
Somewhat more symbolically, Narnia can also be considered as a legend. It tells a bit of history that affected our world for six decades ago and it prominently illustrated the historic story of Christ’s death and resurrection. Truth is behind the stories that C.S Lewis had so carefully made and it also tells of Kings and Queens who goes on adventures so wide abroad the world. Narnia, however, does not contain an explanation of why something is to be in our world but some events were tied together and had involved each other to the end. For instance, the horrible train accident that happened on earth had the children (Lucy, Peter, Edmund, Jill, Eustace, Polly, and Digory) dead, but while in Narnia, apparently, it was also dead because of corruption as the result of the end times (and because of an ape named Shift). In the beginning of ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’, we could easily see which war the children were in the middle of. WWII was not symbolic in history and so C.S Lewis’s Chronicles has a hint of human past. It may not be under the heading of a specific mythical category, but the Chronicles of Narnia certainly has endured these past fifty years without anyone complaining about its written format (except Tolkien, of course, who disagreed about entering Father Christmas into an otherwise mythical world of centaurs, beasts of the wild who could talk and other creatures Aslan had created).
Folktales are another way of saying fairytales. Its stories that belong under this heading are not and should not be considered true. It also taught lessons and beliefs that we are to live by as we go through our own journeys. The characters of the Chronicles of Narnia were ordinary people who have had hard lives (Digory), annoying personalities (Eustace), no real father or mother (Shasta/ Cor), and were people who were just like you and me. In all the books, as it neared to the end, you could always see a change in the characters who turned out rather to be heroes than a traitor. That is another element of a folktale and it should not be ignored. C.S Lewis certainly knew that his story was not real, but on the other hand, it actually is realistic in a way. His stories were handcrafted and are based on his own experiences that had inspired him to write so that perhaps even children may understand the message the Bible had so intended to spread.
I enjoy fantasy books thoroughly and it gives me an escape from the real world every time I have a bad day or have done something embarrassing on a special occasion. C.S Lewis’s books really have been written from the heart and that’d be the reason why I like it so much. ‘The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe’ is a great movie to watch and I will recommend it to people, but it would be better to have read the books first so that you may understand fully what the author intended to state up on the screen and not pester other people sittin’ beside you by asking too many questions :)
-Carpe Diem!
....I've always wanted to say that :)
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