Reminiscence:

Shittiest day so far

2012-01-26T08:32:00.000-08:00

I get it now. I get it why I don't like talking to people. I always stir the conversation into an emotional abyss. And after that, people start seeing me differently. I hate it. Being vulnerable, being out of control of your emotions, where you just have all that pent up emotions burst right out of you. I hate it. Being vulnerable to the people who care about it. I makes me feel weak. I guess I'm not the one with problems. People have far worse problems than what I can ever imagine. But sometimes, I just feel like the world is against me. The facade that I created, being a good boy. Being a mommy's boy. Being a family man. Bull shit.I'm just a selfish little brat who only thinks about himself. There's no point of having friends. They come and go just as easily, but when they do stay, they build a connection, but when they leave, it's just left there, barely breathing, almost dying which turns out to be the friendship which it used to be. It turns out old, unwanted, and now unknown of what it's original purpose is. That exact feeling when you meet a person you haven't spoken too in a very long time and have nothing whatsoever to say to them. Speechlessness, awkwardness, lost. Those feelings blended into one, yes, a forgotten friendship. You can't even look them in the eye anymore. I've got this whole set of problems. A therapist? Right, as if I let a person who doesn't even care about what happens to me treat me when I can't even express these feelings to the people dearest to me. Fuck this shit. Seriously to think that I can change. Fuck.

Begin

2011-12-19T19:39:00.000-08:00

My fantasy started in the most unexpected place on earth. Though the sun outside was beaming brightly and the day was one of the most beautiful one of them all, I was in the darkest of places. A dark container with the windows all covered with blinds, though the day outside was warm and fuzzy, all that there is in this dark container is a spine chilling cold. Inside this container, besides the swooshing sounds of the air-conditioner, only the deep breaths and sighs of a young man can be heard. And in this darkened room, there was only an eerie source of illumination that came from the screen before him. Then came the sound of clicking, it was nonrhythmic but it came at light speed as the screen too changed from one window to the other and then it stopped as it reached a log in page. Yes, my story began with me sitting in front of a computer in dark room. There was only two words on the screen - Throne Siege. You don't know what it is? Well, it's the most talked about online MMORPG of my time. It was one of the few games that was actually broadcast throughout the whole word not like the other games that only confined you to regions, like America, South East Asia, Europe, Japan and the sort, this game was one of the firsts, it had an auto translator in the chat bar so even though I typed out English words, those words get automatically translated to whichever language the other party resides in. I could go on and on about the game, but then that game was done for a long time ago, before I even started writing this book. Well, getting back, I was already logged in, training and grinding as much as I could because you see, the game was in it's open beta, and the top 100 players would win a special prize. I don't really like games, but I really love winning, so I gave it a shot and now I'm nearing the end of the 1 month competition period and I've secured the 100th spot but I can't relax now, I've got to see it through to the very end. And there I was hacking and slashing my way through hordes of monsters when it happened.

My screen blacked out, well that's not that bad, but in my situation it was. I couldn't see a thing in my way, I was temporarily blinded and then the smell came, a slight burnish flavor came to taste as I made my through the heaps of boxes and unsorted stuff I had in my room to reach the light switch. I took me awhile, but when I could see again, the was white smoke escaping the breathing holes of processing unit. Damn, with the time that I'm going to waste fixing up my computer, someone would have already outrank me. And besides, looking for my tools in all the uncharted boxes would waste too much time. I unplugged it, hoisted it up under one arm and set off.

Heart breaker version

2011-12-06T07:29:00.001-08:00

"So have you decided?"
"Yeah, if I haven't, would you really think I'd call?"
"My apologies, but most of our clients would have an appointment on the best choice they could choose on, you seem to be one of the few that know what they're doing. So without further ado," as he extended his arms and came to a bow, ' your wish?"
"I wish for immunity for all my generations to come from Throne Siege."
He cocked an eyebrow,"But what if your children actually stand a chance to win? Would you not be robbing them of this moment of life, bringing down a hammer on the world?"
"I thought no questions will be asked. But if you must know, seeing the effects of the game on the world, I would not even be sure enough my children would be able to sustain themselves from there on out. By protecting them from these consequences, I'd minimize the effect on my bloodline, letting them flourish without any unnecessary hindrance. So starting with my generation, I would ask for immunity from Throne Siege. That is all."
"Very well sire, your wish," clicking his fingers together, "is granted."
"So now tell me, what has Maria wished for?" After 2 days of thinking, he finally came to remember his partner that saved him countless of times.
"The only similarity the both of you have is selfishness. Both your wishes were all for selfish thoughts and desires, you only thinking of protecting your bloodline as the world crumbles beneath all the wrong decisions you could have prevented."
He threw an angry fist that scraped the thin air in front of him, seconds ago the advocate was standing, now five steps behind him, well out of attacking range.
"As I was saying," he walked up to him and moved the hair covering his right eye to reveal a blue sky. He couldn't believe it, he was actually seeing with his right eye. He stared dumbly at him, mouth gawked wide open, words unable to escape him.
Laughter.
"All she ever thought about was you, and what could you think of?"
Sneer.
"And since I granted your wish, you'll have no contact whatsoever left with Maria Alvan, oh, and I'll be taking that back to," as he swiped in, fingers wide open as he saw for the first time with his right eye, a hand being plunged into it and - extracted. "Pleasure doing business with you Mr. Storm, too bad, we won't ever meet again . . .

People who read my blog. Can you please leave a response or a comment for this post. This is the heart breaker ending version of the book that I'm planning to write. Would this be a good thought ending? This book will have no sequel, nor prequel but is it really that good to swing down the reality hammer on readers? I'm afraid I'd crush people's hope for humanity. Would it be wiser to go for the cliche ending where everyone ends up happy? Please comment!! Really appreciate it!

Inception

2011-11-27T00:16:00.001-08:00

I didn't really know what to do that day I jerked myself up from bed, my hands outstretched into the empty cold space in front of me. It's wasn't a very long dream, it wasn't a very clear dream but as it came close and close to the end, I grabbed more memories from it. This didn't happen, but I felt like it was foresight, and for day I was so scared to think about it. I was standing there, face to face with this girl that I like and we were just talking, I heard no words but just saw her face in my dreams. And I guessed that the conversation ebbed away. She fell silent, her lips stopped moving. And that was when it happened. She turned around and suddenly I heard myself shout out: 'Wait!' And before I could finish my sentence, I was in bed, sitting upright and disorientated. This is the only time where I thought that my dream was really happening. It was so so real that it scared me. I wrapped myself around that dream, that thought for days. I researched and looked up internet sites to see what this actually means. I came back empty handed, I am terrified because this is the first time that I met someone who I can talk to, just be myself with me and for once, not lie about anything. I've been lying all my life, to all the people around me but then I have yet lied to her. This scared me, because I didn't know what the dream meant. It was left hanging, like when reading a story book till the end only to find out that the last page was torn away. I replayed this dreams over and over again in my mind, for the first time, I was finally talking to the girl I like, alone, only the both of us. And what scares me is the ending. She turned away as I shouted out to her. I don't know what happened after. It was so real, I thought I had foresight but then even I knew that was preposterous. But yet, what if it really happened in my life? What would I have done? And what would she have said? The countless possibilities came to mind and the dream replayed with limitless endings. I'm just afraid of another rejection. I let go of so many people due to my overwhelming fear of rejection. But this time, is the first time I had a dream of someone I like and I'm scared to lose her, but yet, I'm scared to be rejected to. I don't know what to do anymore. We live in entirely different worlds, but yet I think about what I'd do for her if she'd be mine. Sigh, I'm so pathetic.

Holes Inside

2011-11-24T02:36:00.001-08:00

When all that you've tried, leaves nothing but holes inside,
It seems like you're wired, to stay here held in time,
Cos nothing seems to change, oh no.
No nothing's gonna change, at all.
I can see it in your face, the hope has gone away.

If you hold tight, shadows will be lost in the light.
Oh cos sometimes, fate and your dreams will collide.
So don't walk away from me,
Don't walk away from me,
Don't walk away from me.

Your feet are stuck, no they cannot move,
Don't tell me that they're glued,
They should've far from.
At home, at ease but give sometime to breathe
But nothing seems to change, oh no.
No nothing's gonna change, at all.
I can see it in your face, the hope has gone away.

But if you hold tight, shadows will be lost in the light.
Oh cos sometimes, fate and your dreams will collide.
So don't walk away from me,
Don't walk away from me,
Don't walk away from me.

That everthing will be ok,
I know that it's so easy to say,
But the pain inside will fade,
Please tell me that you'll stay.

If we hold tight, shadows will be lost in the light.
Oh cos sometimes, fate and your dreams can collide.
When all that you've tried, leaves nothing but holes inside.

Games

2011-11-22T05:12:00.001-08:00

I don't like playing games with people's emotions. And that includes mine too. I don't like people just popping up without a reason, and then disappearing the next second. I don't like that. At all. I talked to my brother about it. He told me it was fishing. They try to get your attention and when you give it to them they turn away. I'm really good at mind games. I know this is reversed psychology. I'm not stupid. I didn't grow up with a bright or happy childhood. My family was broken, money seemed to always be a problem, my dad and my mom fought over the stupidest things, they never let go of their broken past and in the end, it ruined our present. But seriously, I thank god for such a beautiful family. No matter how broken we are with each other, we never hesitated to help each other. Sure we fight all time, ending up with someone crying or someone bleeding but in the end, we'll be alright. I had my brother who'd protect me from all of this, he'd be the one to cope with my problems, my relationship problem, studies, school. I never really expressed anything to my parents, they have enough shit to deal with. Every question posed to me, I'll have the same answer. Sure. Alright. No problem. I'm fine. Don't worry about me, do whatever you have to. It used to be the 2 of us, my brother and I in the room next to each other talking about everything, anything whenever my parents were not at home, and that was most of the time. And now, I'm sitting here alone. Not just alone in this room. But in this house. This home. I skipped out on childhood. My parents drilled me since day one. Made all my choices. Made all my plans. Envisioned my future. When I was young, I knew my parents were not on terms with each other, the only thing they can agree on is what to do with me. So I won't pose any more unnecessary stress for them. I listened to everything they wanted me to do. Can I go out and play with my friends? No, stay home and study, you can play after your exams. Can I go out and play? No, we're going out, and you're following us. Can I go out and play? No, it's dangerous out there, call your friends to come over. I never liked people in my house. So in the end, I grew up as a lonely child. I didn't think I needed anybody since I had my brother. He's always there for me. Even now when he went abroad, he still helps me with my problems. 4 in the morning for him and we're talking about my problems. But without much friends and time outside. I developed a mature sense of well being. My brother told me that. I was much more mature compared to the people around me. I knew that. But I didn't fit in, so I acted like a child, it's easier and simpler. And since lying was my second nature, I grew up a liar. Running round with jovial smiles and out bursting laughter. But to be honest, I never really liked myself. I don't know if it's genetic or just all this accumulated stress, but whenever I see myself in the mirror, I see a worn out man in his late thirties, having thinking about life and what to do with it to make everyone happy. I hated mirrors. I saw myself for who I am. So when I use the washroom, I'd look down into the sink, wash my hands and scurry away. I removed the mirrors in my toilets, the mirror in the hall, on the wall I took them all down. The only mirror we have is in my moms wardrobe. So if someone ever plays me, I'd know. I'd play along and turn it around in the end. Cause if you think you're good at what you're doing, you don't know that out there people are better. And for one, this game of schematic analysis and emotions is the few things which I truly know how to play. So if you want to screw with me, it's fine. I'll make it ten folds more miserable for you. It may take a week, a month, a year. Who knows? For many other trivial things that people cross me with, I let go. But a game of emotions with an emotionless man, you're putting yourself in the deep end.

If you're not going to tell'em, who would for you?

2011-11-21T01:08:00.001-08:00

The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how they love them while they're alive.

Quoted Optimus Prime. I used to be a person who would sit down and analyze every sentence and every smiley someone would send me. Capital letters and acronyms all alike would result in my observation of our mutual relationship. Yes, this is how I establish where on the friendliness line I stand in your life. Observing and replaying micro expressions on people's faces each and everyday and asked myself, what was that? why would she/he show that? And so on. Well, those days were very insufferable. I was in constant delude and agony as I tried figuring out the signs that maybe, somehow isn't even there in the first place. I spend my days stimulating scenarios in my head of what I would do if I'd see you again. How to start, which line accompanied by the response that you'd give. It's not that I type fast, it's that I guess what I would say in the next line, seldom, but surely in some conversations I would go off topic and curse myself for my lousy judgement. This was how it went with the first girl I liked. I analyzed too much. I took in the time for her to reply me and with what format of wording, if she was angry she'd hit the capitals, if she was in a hurry she'd went for acronyms, if she was not doing much, she'd type out all the letters. I don't like people judging me like the way I do, so I'd type it out. All full. With proper punctuations and capitals where emotionally necessary. I kept my feelings all to myself and never expressed it to her. I told my best friend, who was her best friend, and he blabbed and before I got a chance to tell her, she rejected me. New Year's day, 12.05am. I know what you're doing, just stop it. I told her I didn't know what she was talking about and she cursed and told me she doesn't like me. I can't believe it, I'm typing this with a smile, must have already gotten over it. And I look back now and told myself, if I were to just tell her how I felt about her, no analyzing, no thinking, just running everything through my emotional sector, would things turn out differently? I guess I'll never know. There was this girl too that liked me. I was oblivious till my friends told me so. She talked to me everyday even though we were in the same class. We talked about the most profane things, what we'll be doing, what we'll be eating and the sort. She'd study with me online because she knows my parents wouldn't let me go out and study with my friends. My mom never approved of group study. And I thought this was normal for being a teenager, till my friend told me she liked me. I was so scared. I was a coward. This happened when I established a yet to deteriorate relationship with the first girl I liked. I shut off myself from her. I stopped coming online after school. I still cannot believe I did that. I feel rather ashamed. Our relationship maintained friends till the last day of school and then I never heard from her again. My friends told me she's got a boyfriend now. I'm glad. At least she got over me so quickly. And the girl I liked, got rejected by my best friend and got into her own relationship. I guess even after a year, I still couldn;t let go of this. If I had told the girl I liked her, and got rejected, would I end up with my close friend? Would I have prevented myself from destroying a good relationship with a friend who was almost as close as a brother to me? Would I be happier today if I had just got rejected? Or would things turn out the same. To be truthful, I guess we'll never know. I ran through those simulations countless of times, each fruiting a different ending. I never gave myself a chance to like someone after that. Just because of one person, I was able to make 3 people miserable. If liking someone causes so much hurt, I would rather feel nothing for the sake of not hurting others. I don't mind if I was hurt in the process, but because I liked someone, I killed a relationship with the girl who was so kind to me, and a friend who was almost a brother to me. Till this day, I have yet to apologize to any of them for my actions. And till this day, I have yet to forgive myself. Till this day, I have lost 2 very very important people to me. And so, from that on, I never really made any real friends. Just shallow connections and meaningless ties with people who are going to leave me anyway. If I had just the guts to tell her I liked her, If I had just the guts to embrace her feelings for me, If I had just apologized and tried to make up, would it end differently? And with the same questions come the same answer - I guess we'll never know. I'm closing this chapter of life. I think one year of self suffocating and torture is redemption enough. Well, if you happen to like somebody, you've got to just put it out there. Of course we know we can't just walk up to strangers and do that, but if you like anyone. Foster that relationship and don't let it die. Tell her. Tell him. Yes, you can't expect the guy to contribute to all of the relationship. It takes two to tango anyway. Get out there, run, jump, shout and do whatever you have to. Because if you don't, you'll be left only with regret. The only regret you'll have is having regrets. You'll end up like me, formulating countless scenarios that will never happen, simulations of an altered past. In the end you'll just be standing at square 1. It's time you stop shuffling that dice in your hand and give it up, take a step forward. If you let go and they end up with someone else, you'd hate yourself for not even trying cause if you're not going to tell'em, who would for you?

Trait Comparison

2011-11-19T20:07:00.001-08:00

I got down to some thinking today. Not too much. Not too little. Started the day off thinking about how I always come up short when I compare myself to others. Yes, I have an incurable insecurity that I'm always not good enough compared to everyone around me. How I'm always not smart enough, not strong enough, not fast enough, not happy enough, not content enough, not good looking enough, not serious enough, not good enough and etc. So in the end, I came to a conclusion that hey? Maybe I'm good for something, I just haven't found it yet. So I came up with a list of things that I'm good with and bad at. Things I'm good with. Hoarding. Yes, I like to keep things other people would throw away because sometimes, I ask myself what I would feel if someone abandoned me. Hurting people. I do it unintentionally but mostly intentionally. If you've hurt me, I'd keep that bitterness with me. Academic assumption. I'd make analyzed assumption for questions that I'm unsure of and usually they turn out right. Usually. Honest. I HARDLY lie. I only lie about my problems and my feelings. All my actions if I were to say it, I'd do it. I see no point in lying about our actions. I lie about my problems and feelings so that I won't burden others. Ruining happiness. I believe I'm a sadist, I forgive and never forget and I'll always use those memories to make myself miserable and to constantly teach myself about life's little profanities and indignities. Being alone. I don't complain when people leave me behind. I mean why won't they? I'm always a buzz kill anyway. Performing. I can put up a jovial smile anywhere anytime for the sake of the people around me. Things I'm bad at. Letting go. I never forget but I always forgive and hope that we can try try try again. But sometimes, I'm overwhelmed by my bitterness towards those who've hurt me before. Falling in love. I always fall in love too fast and too hard. But then most of the times I like to tell myself otherwise. So far, for all the girls that I was attracted to, whenever after I talk to them and before I go to bed, I'd like to point out all of my mistakes to myself. So far, all I felt was pain and confusion liking girls, playing psychological games with myself, telling myself they don't, they will never like me. And 2 out of 2 times, I was right. They ended up with boyfriends. I came to a conclusion to stop looking for a girlfriend. Eventually I'll be able to find someone who when I talk to, I won't have that self loathing craziness hung over me. Someone who I can always just plainly be myself with. Emotional assumption. I can never truly tell how the opposite party is feeling. From my insecure point of view, I'd always think I'm boring or annoying. Starting a conversation. My lines - Morning. How was your day? Great weather today! That's about it. Acting. I'd always try to act tough and act like I don't care but seriously, I hurt easily. I can't stand losing friends, but yet I can't help it either. People who you stop seeing just slowly drift away and in the end when I try to talk to them, I come to a lost of words as I ask myself, what do I say to you since we didn't keep in touch for 5 years. Talking to people online. If I talk to someone and it take them more than half a minute to reply I tell myself I'm bothering the person and then kill the conversation as quickly as possible. Yeah this is the list so far. And so far, there's many things that need be changin' now!

He was, he is, he will

2011-11-16T01:23:00.001-08:00

He was but a mere boy who seemed to had the uttermost tendencies of losing himself in the realm of fantasy and the unbelievable - anywhere, anytime. Be it a storybook where he started sitting alone behind in a bus, having getting off the bus slipped his mind, spending it finishing his book; or a movie where he'd watched and be amazed and his mind would have drifted off to nearby places about what he would do if that ever happened to him, where would he go, who would he meet and so on, wasting a good movie ticket contemplating the what ifs and what nots; or even his anime series where most people find just to pass time, he looks for the values and messages or the logic and science behind every episode, researching all the possibilities of it happening and then, as like the movies, drift off wondering what he'd be doing if he had it. But as time aged, and so did he, all his childish innocence ebbed away, slowly - but surely. The beating of his heart slowly warped into the clicking of cogs and gears, the life that once shone from those eyes dimmed and faded, leaving a musky grey where his body once jumped with joy and yelped at pain now feels nothing but cold. His friend once told him, shit happens. Yes, that blunt. He didn't mind, he didn't cared, he'd thought it shit could happen, it would have already did and if it did happen, he'd be able to pull through it anyway. And so time passed as the clock went tick tock, 2 years passed now, December would have made it 3. The events of the past few years may have been long, but it all played out perfectly in his mind, every second, every minute. He was a machine now, all he knows to do is study, eat and sleep. For rather than pushing pass all the obstacles and mishaps that befall him, he just let them pile on; his, hers, theirs, anyone and everyone's problem, he weighed them all on his shoulder. He lost his emotions as he sits with his family and ate silently, be it with his father and mother, his mother would tell him stories of how cheerful he used to be, or tell him how he have forgotten how to smile, or be it with his extended family, his uncles and aunts would have said that he'd forgot how to talk, and how much more better it would be if his brother was here. It's been 2 months now, since his brother left ;and 2 days since he overheard his mom on the phone with him telling him how sad she was with him and his father. His father was no abusive man, he's just seasoned and well protective of himself and his family, his actions speak otherwise but yet if you'd see it from his point of view, you'd do the same. He sat at the stairs, eavesdropping and he started to cry silently, with his head buried in his notes for the test day after. He heard footsteps, but yet his strength failed him as his mother, eyes too watered saw him. It was a bond between a mother and a child as they hugged and cried in each others' shoulder as she repeatedly told him I love you, I love you and I know you love me too . . . He hasn't changed much since then, but he'd think about it before he slept, about how a bad child he is, how bad a person he is. He grew up way too soon, way to fast. He missed out on his childhood. Knowing things he shouldn't, understanding things he shouldn't. For all the problems he shouldered, he didn't really had a childhood, with the mentality of a man trapped in a body of an adolescent, watching how people around him can be so cheerful and bright talking about how happy they are; how happy they're parents are; how happy their family is. He didn't have that. In the end, he turned out to be none other than a mediocre man - a jack of all trades, a master of none. Studies? Average. Sports? Average. Everything about him screeched mediocre. But he could live with that. Whatever it did to make his family happy. Whatever delusion he has to pull to make his family happy. It's been 18 years now, since he ever had a say of his own. Can I go out to play? No, study at home. Can I go out with my friends? No, exams are coming, study at home. My exams are over, can I play basketball with my friends? No, people who play basketball are bad influence. And soon, he learned to not to ask, and always replying any request with a 'maybe', 'see first', 'I'll ask my mom'. And realization hit him when his friends went out and he asked them why didn't they invite him. And his friend told him, why should we ask you? Every time we ask you you also won't come. That was the last straw, he severed his ties with living beings, focusing his attention to the non - gadgets, pencil, technology, music - things that will never leave him. He's beginning to tire of having put up a reenactment of his childhood happiness in front of his friends and family, for he is no more that boy. He knows he has become a man, a man with responsibilities to take care of, things to worry of, people to care about. And at that, people to care about, he had to care for people around him. It would be most irresponsible of him to act all happy-go-lucky and then suddenly shutting himself off from the world, so he told himself, once I'm in uni, I'll stop this nonsense. I'll stop trying to make everyone happy. He'll stop helping people who will never help me. he'll stop talking to people who he doesn't like talking to. He'll stop making jokes just to keep the atmosphere alive. He'll stop everything. But for now, all he has to do is endure this for another half a year, and he'll be gone. He'll tell everyone how much they mean to him and how losing them would affect his life dramatically but in the end, nothing changed for him, still a cold hard machine, working day, resting night. No more, no less.

You can keep the F and I'll keep my dream.

2011-11-10T06:48:00.001-08:00

Today, I'll like to talk about Dream Devourers. We all know one or two out there, not the monsters that we tell naughty children about, not the kind of monsters that sneaks into your room and steal your precious sweet dreams replacing them with nightmares and hallow. They could be real, but I know I won't be sure until it hits the news, but leaving aside the sandman, I'm talking about dream devourers.

The scariness is not the monster we see in films or dreams, but yet in our everyday life - Dream Devourers, wreaking havoc on our hopes and dreams. The constant reminder of how we'll never be good enough, smart enough, fast enough - perfect enough for society. I'm a person who likes to take the truth where it's best served, cold, hard and a chocking hazard to the weak minded. Well, what good are sweet words that only rot the soul where in turn bitterness strengthens. Yes, and when treated with bitterness, succumb must, as I repeat - MUST - we not to these harsh words of wisdom, wehreas accept it and better ourselves. I don't know if any of you have a hold of the book - Chicken Soup for the Soul, by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen - I still have mine and for all my Ace-Edventure friends, you might/ or might not remember my presentation on this inspiring piece of work. And yes, a story there really got to me, and for I quote the entire story:

I have a friend named Monty Roberts who owns a horse ranch in San Ysidro. He has let me use his house to put on fund-raising events to raise money for youth at risk programs. The last time I was there he introduced me by saying, “I want to tell you why I let Jack use my horse. It all goes back to a story about a young man who was the son of an itinerant horse trainer who would go from stable to stable, race track to race track, farm to farm and ranch to ranch, training horses. As a result, the boy’s high school career was continually interrupted. When he was a senior, he was asked to write a paper about what he wanted to be and do when he grew up. “That night he wrote a seven-page paper describing his goal of someday owning a horse ranch. He wrote about his dream in great detail and he even drew a diagram of a 200-acre ranch, showing the location of all the buildings, the stables and the track. Then he drew a detailed floor plan for a 4,000-square-foot house that would sit on a 200-acre dream ranch. “He put a great deal of his heart into the project and the next day he handed it in to his teacher. Two days later he received his paper back. On the front page was a large red F with a note that read, `See me after class.’ “The boy with the dream went to see the teacher after class and asked, `Why did I receive an F?’ “The teacher said, `This is an unrealistic dream for a young boy like you. You have no money. You come from an itinerant family. You have no resources. Owning a horse ranch requires a lot of money. You have to buy the land. You have to pay for the original breeding stock and later you’ll have to pay large stud fees. There’s no way you could ever do it.’ Then the teacher added, `If you will rewrite this paper with a more realistic goal, I will reconsider your grade.’ “The boy went home and thought about it long and hard. He asked his father what he should do. His father said, `Look, son, you have to make up your own mind on this. However, I think it is a very important decision for you.’ “Finally, after sitting with it for a week, the boy turned in the same paper, making no changes at all. He stated, “You can keep the F and I’ll keep my dream.” Monty then turned to the assembled group and said, “I tell you this story because you are sitting in my 4,000-square-foot house in the middle of my 200-acre horse ranch. I still have that school paper framed over the fireplace.” He added, “The best part of the story is that two summers ago that same schoolteacher brought 30 kids to camp out on my ranch for a week.” When the teacher was leaving, he said, “Look, Monty, I can tell you this now. When I was your teacher, I was something of a dream stealer. During those years I stole a lot of kids’ dreams. Fortunately you had enough gumption not to give up on yours.” “Don’t let anyone steal your dreams. Follow your heart, no matter what.”

Don't let 'em Dream Stealer and Devourers ruin you for what you can become. Embrace them and show them what you got, though I am a hypocrite for yet have I learned to accept the somewhat cold hard cruel exterior of my math lecturer, ironically, I'm preaching on how to turn their words around and yet I'm still too immature to take it and for all the bad cruel things she posed to me, I silently kept them in my heart, a painful daily reminder of how she, too a hypocrite treats students differently. Very differently. Too bad, she'll never be reading this post, and she'll never know how it feels to always be picked out from the crowd to be picked on. Sigh. Life.

New!

2011-11-08T03:20:00.000-08:00

Yes! Everything here is fresh, new and hip! I haven't used Blogger for such a long time and when I came back I realized these new awesome features for theming! It looks so much more vibrant and filled with life rather than the old gloom and shadow, and to be honest, this the first time I like it. I feel more empowered to leave my mark here, reading my previous posts have really got me thinking, was I really that man? Well, yes I was, I still am and I won't change. Not for anybody, not for anyone. I am just going to leave him behind, these few days of ailments - yes, very bad case of food poisoning - lasted for five days before I actually went and seek consultation, and the more important piece, the soul searching. I have yet to find who I am truly, and if you ask anyone our age, I'm 18 with the mental maturity of maybe - I give myself a maximum of 15 - Who are you? They'd most probably gave you their name and then they'd stuttered all the way about what they like or where they go to school and stuff like that. I haven't found myself, but it's alright, I have all the time in the world anyway since I'm young - at heart at least. Well the new theme did come with lots of setbacks and problems, I no longer have my link tabs, archive and adSense (not that anyone really clicks it or anything) which is a real bummer because it's more difficult to actually move my mouse up to my navigation bar to type in the first two alphabets of my friend's blog. And besides I've only got like what? 6 friends who blog - Caely - Nick - Jie Sheng - Sea Yunn - Pui Yeng - Chryssa - Not a problem, just a hassle, But well, all in all, all I want to say is - ただいま。

Where are you now? Where . . .

2011-09-29T08:35:00.000-07:00

Thursday, September 29, 2011 To my high school crush, I wonder how you're doing now. You rejected me before I got the chance to say anything to you. All along, I knew you'd liked someone else, someone who you were afraid to get. And I guess I know why you rejected me anyway. I tell him everything last time. All the times I thought of you, ways to make you notice me, ways to make you smile, how I know you have a tooth problem and that even though you can't have too much candy, you still get it and share it with us. The way you smiled was beautiful for everyone, you never really was angry till the night you told me that I should leave you alone. I tried my best, I knew you liked someone else but I still tried to make you happy. And in the end, you rejected me because you thought I liked you. I did, I wanted to but I refrained because I know you like someone else and your heart will never be set free if you did not pursue that dream. I thought I could wait, but in the end, you shot me down with the cursing and swearing. You liked him. He was my best friend. All the pieces fall into place now. But yet he liked someone else.You were waiting for him just like how I was waiting for you. He was the smarter one. He stopped chasing her, and got another girl instead. And you got angry with him. He told me he didn't know why, I did but I never told him cause I was the one who wanted you. The both of you, meaning almost the world to me left. She was so broken, she found a person who she could cling on to so tightly, she didn't give him space. He tired of all the bullshit found someone who couldn't give a damn about him cause he just needed a girl to fill in the gap. He was her slave, doing the things she wanted him to. Now she dumped him. And sooner or later, he's going to dump you cause you were just so jealous of him and that jealousy will slowly erode into him and he'll find out that all this while, you didn't love him, you were loving the winning. So that only leaves me. I'm getting better, but still bitter. Nonetheless, my brother will always be there for me. I think I'm not overshadowed, I think I just prefer being there cause it's dark and cozy, protected from all of this. He was the one who gave me advice on all this but alas I didn't listen, and look where that got me. The best part was, he was like nobody else, everyone tried comforting me saying it'll be OK, you know what he told me. See, I told you so. Got into this shit yourself, if you'd just listen, then you'll not end up like this. Yeah, I miss him. To my high school friends, you said you'd never leave. You said you'll always be there, thick or thin, but now all of you are sticking together and yet, I'm not in the picture. The excuses you give baffles me. Every time we ajak you come with us you say you not free. So that's how it ends. I can't help it if my mom needs me, I can't help it if I put my family first. You know what? Fuck you. All you do is go out and hang out with your friends, didn't we learn about family first. Every time I do something, I call my mom and ask her where is she, how is she, what is she doing, does she need anyone to eat with her cause you know what? I care a lot for my family. Friends like you come and go, see the few times I can't go out with you, you guys stop asking. Fuck you then. True blue friends. Chun Yang, we'll always be here man, we are all your friends. Where the hell are you now? WHERE? I seldom go out now cause my brother isn't home anymore, the day we left him at the bus station, my mom and I cried so hard, I thought it was maternal instinct but actually, my mom is the greatest mom to me. She's the world's most protective mother. YES I agree she grips on to me too tightly, but guess what, I let her. She doesn't have anyone left, she used to talk and spend time with my brother but now, she has nobody. Her sisters are bitch, her brothers are asses, only her parents are understanding. So who else does she have? I have to pull that weight my brother left behind, to AT LEAST fill in the void of my mom's heart. She cried and told me, in two years time I'll be the one going overseas. I'm not applying for overseas education not because I don't have the fucking money, not because I like it here, not because I want to twin with the university FUCK NO. I'm staying because if I go, who's going to take care of my mom? I'm sorry I couldn't live up to your standards, I'm sorry I couldn't be a great friend that hangs out and waste time everyday at the mall, I'm sorry for actually meeting the shitty lot of you. You all don't understand shit, but you all act like you do. Seriously, just die on the spot and shut the fuck up.

Matters . . .

2011-09-27T06:44:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, September 27, 2011 I saw this quote today. SOMETIMES I FEEL LIKE YOU DON'T WANNA SEE THAT I LOVE YOU. Haha I've been the I and I have to been the YOU. Being the I, you feel like you believe that you can get more out of this mild relationship of friends and comrades, trying to subtly push past boundaries and break down walls to find out what lies behind these mighty castle walls. And yet being YOU, knowing that they are trying to get your attention hinting you to all the miniscule details that nobody really sees in them, letting you know that they want an elevated state of friendship, something beyond it . . . will only fallback and plaster up more walls because you know too well that as friends you'd be great, as something more, the double edge sword comes unsheathed as it can either be the greatest thing that has ever happened, or you'll be losing the greatest person who has ever changed you. We are not being don't wanna see that, we see it clearly cause before that, we felt the same but in the end, mind over matter, cause I mind and losing you matters.

Apologizing . . .

2011-09-26T07:36:00.000-07:00

Monday, September 26, 2011 You read my blog? I had no idea. But what baffles me more is why are you apologizing to me? I hate it when people have to apologize to me. I don't like other people feeling bad because of me. That's why I am happy on the outside. So everybody would really think twice before ever thinking of apologizing to me. I should be the one apologizing. When people hurt me, I laugh it off as a joke cause ain't nobody want to see other people hurt. And I go home and the pain sets in before I start pondering my actions. Yes I am annoying, yes I am loud, yes I make jokes all around just to make everyone happy. That's all, I mean if you're happy with me not saying anything, then for all I care I'd be a mute. But yet, with this life only gets more difficult. The steps just keep getting bigger and the stairs just keep getting steeper. All I am asked now is, where's your brother. You're not as talkative as your brother huh. What happened to you, without your brother you got nobody to talk to? Your brother is so smart going to UK and studying. He's always at the top in the first, you're just a marathon runner. I miss him. Your brother does things no child has ever done for their moms. Well, yeah now I have to live up to all of that. I have to try to mold myself to be him to fill in that void that he left, and yes, in my family it is a very large gap. But seriously, all I am now is just tired. So damn tired. Of life. Of school. Of studies. Of now. Of the future. And tomorrow, I'll repeat the routine of putting up that facade that I hang up at night. I thought I had a revival, but in the end, all I could hang on to was my Facade of Jubilence.

Trust . . .

2011-09-23T04:24:00.000-07:00

Friday, September 23, 2011 Thank you Anonymous. I know you're concerned but yet, you contradict yourself. You wish to see me bond with another human being, start putting my trust back into people and yet, you trust me not with your identity. How do you think I feel? The person who wants me to trust another won't even trust me. Yes, you're only trying to help and I know that I am just an arrogant little bitch but my words do ring truth, no matter how much disappointment and anger clouds your eyes.

Today . . .

2011-09-21T08:50:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, September 21, 2011 Today, someone asked me something that really struck me hard, like someone had tore the asphalt off the floor and smashed it in my face. I don't think it was a question, I guess it was a comment or a statement. It was Eeeeh, why are you so cold one. To be truthful, I have been given that line many times in this short lease of life. Everyone told me how I lost my ability to interact and talk to people and how I have became more conserved. I guess it is because my brother left me. He was the only person I can talk to you know. That someone on the same page and mentality as you. Writing this blog post is making me tear but I can't help myself, he's not here anymore, he's having fun now moving on with his life while I'm stuck here waiting for him to come back. The last time I saw him was when I was in the bus with my mom, looking at him from the front mirror, waving goodbye as I started to cry, literally broken down, the one time I felt so much vulnerability, like anything would just break me. But now, I have no one. I mean we still talk, over the phone, over Skype but it never is the same, never do we have the time where we just sit next to each other, knowing what the other is thinking, or just having silence of serenity. Now I'm alone, in this room made for two brothers who grew up together, did virtually everything together. He's having fun, he doesn't really get emotionally affected, that's what so great about him. I'd get pissed off and starts scolding him and hitting him, but he just slaps me, not with his hands, but the truth in my face. I am stubborn so I continue hitting him till my rage ceases and I realize how wrong I am, and when after an incident like that with anyone I would never dare talk to them anymore, he just smiles and treat me normally like nothing happened. He was so tolerant with me, he took care of me better than anyone else did. Now I'm alone and I'm scared because I can't connect with anybody else, I miss him. I'm crying so hard, he's like a father figure even though I do have a dad, he's like a mother to me and most of all, my best friend. I felt a part of me got taken away I know he'll be coming back, but by then, I guess, the rest of me wouldn't fit back the piece that was once taken away. I guess, I'll just always be a little chipped . . .

Severing ties . . .

2011-09-08T11:29:00.000-07:00

Friday, September 9, 2011

I kept myself online for the past week now testing all my friends' theories on hey we should talk more online or off. Well that is a bunch of wholly bullshit ain't it now? I kept myself in front of a computer for the past week, looking at people come online and go offline. None of my friends even bothered to talk to me, some asked for help, some gave work but nonetheless, nothing of the sort to be able to converse about. Sigh. Leaving for 10 days, out on an airplane for about close enough to a decade of my life. I'm going with my mom and my brother, but he's staying there to further his education. I don't know who else to talk to anymore, the only one who's been so supportive is going off and the bloody time difference is 7 hours so if I do get a chance to talk to him, I'll have to be awake waiting for him to be done with classes. Coming back from this holiday would also mean to having to take a whole lot of shit from my math teacher who isn't very fond of, well who the hell am I kidding, she hates me, I try to make her class lively and fun and she screws with me over and over. I'm going to stop changing places during class now, I'll sit there back at the same spot all by myself cause' the more people you love, the more alone you are. I see all my old friends asking each other out catching up and all the sort, but then again, never one was sent to me. Narcissistic much, well yeah I am, but who's to say I can't get disappointed if my friends stop caring about me. Severing ties . . .

Compilation II . . .

2011-09-07T22:25:00.000-07:00

Thursday, September 8, 2011

“Two casks of rum and vodka for the road!” as the bearded bloke with stained apron roared to the youngling lying on the tattered hammock fixed to the back of the bar. The boy snuggled in drowning out the racket outside before he felt a little tug to his feet and before he knew it, he was wrenched out of what little haven he had left as he was brought down hard against the table. He blinked as he looked at the two foul thugs who had disturbed is slumber.
“Didn’t you hear the old man, get us our drinks you little worthless –”
“Now, now the little one is kind of the –”, too late –
As one of the angry duo spun, the boy had jammed his foot into his face so hard that it left him staggering backwards, dizzy from the shock, swaying with blood flowing out of his nostrils. He brought his game face up as the crowd muttered words which he could not comprehend.
“Travelers,” as one of the regulars snorted; “only a fool would challenge Rum to a brawl.”
“His loss, he’s gonna’ get the whooping of his lifetime.”
“Hey you,” as another directed to the wounded man’s colleague, “you’ve got a chance of getting’ off the hook if ya’ aim straight for the doors!” as he wheezed in laughter.
Too late, his accomplice tried, but then his knees buckled underneath him as Rum took a swipe having him face down on the wooden boards below. The crowd bellowed with laughter as the two took off scrambling into the night leaving the yawning boy standing there alone with a greasy stained shirt three sizes too big and red stripped pants of the old bartender strapped to his waist with a belt of a buckle twice as big as him fist, shine polished and the only shiny globe gleaming in the sickly yellow light from the firelight jar hanging overhead, threatening to snap off anytime soon. But it was all good; the young boy yawned as he took a swig from his cask and held it up.
“The night is young,” as he stifled a hiccup and swayed a little as he continued, “but so am I! Let’s us drink till the night turns bright and sinks back again!” The crowd roared with approval as they held up their mugs and casks and drank their way to slumber land and back.
This is life after the addition of the new Brewster – Rum Brewster, the boy with the maroon hair and blood red iris with the fiery passion and personality to compare.
* * *
Fifteen years ago, Bartholomew Brewster was out scavenging for berries, it was the middle of the snowfall season where the iceberg berries were plump and round and ready for pickings. Bartholomew had neither wife nor children; he was the last of Brewsters and he knew that the brewing legend was going to end with him. Many successors came by his brew house and sought apprenticeship and all had failed. Bartholomew had seen no one pure enough to uptake his teachings until one day, he heard the cries of baby. He almost mistook them as coyote cub cries till he glimpsed the wavering red bundle against the white of the snow. He lumbered over and grabbed up the bundle as he almost let it go again. It was definitely a little boy, but the little boy had streaks of red hair coming down over his forehead a little, and his eyes red, watering but it wasn’t from the crying, no – his iris, a shade of crimson blood red. He gasped as he almost lost grip of the boy, then clenching him tightly and bound his thick coat around them both, helping the boy erase the contrast between his dark brown skin against the boy’s pale blue. Since then, Bartholomew had raised the child which he never had as he’d given him the name of the brew he loved the most – “Rum,” as the words left his lips unnoticed towards the baby boy sleeping, clenching on to whatever warmth was left as Bartholomew whispered again as he resumed his hike back to town, “Rum, Rum Brewster,” smiling to himself.
* * *
Since then, the Jester’s Cask was never quite so lonely any more. The villagers had a new young one to celebrate to, Bart had new life in him living alone after so long since Marie had left him for the heavens above, and he was never quite the same old Bart they had round the bar. The breath of life returned to the small village by Markras River joyously celebrated Rum Brewster. Then a nice tuck, Bart opened his eyes slowly, looking up at the looming figure over him, he almost called out for Marie till his eyes came by and saw Rum having him tucked into his sheets, smiling at the sight of the old man.
“Who knew old Bart could wake up in less than five hours after he went lights out,” as he chuckled and sat down by his bed, revealing the sickly yellow sun jar that clung on by a rope with the sun within it flickering, threatening to diminish, the old man’s thoughts were spoken through the young’ boy’s heart, “ I’ll go get you a new one,”, noticing his idle concern for it, “Get some sleep old man, tomorrow ain’t gonna’ be any easier than today!” as he walked out without a sound.
As all the descendants of the Brewster family, none were excluded from the way of fist fighting especially Drunken Style Fist Fighting. Young Rum was trained in the arts of self defense by the age of five. Bart had him bandaged his hands and punching it against the roped log over and over till his hands started bruising and blistering, none the less, finishing the job, breaking it into half that is. The training of the Brewster House is never an easy on and as all of the descendants went through it one way or another, Rum too, and now being able to proudly hold up the name Brewster. Bart was having all these flashbacks very frequently these days. Must be probably that the sickness had caught up with him in this race, he knew that his time here was short and no matter how much he loved the boy, he had to do the one thing he hates the most – Snowberry hunting, just the thought of it had his tears trickling out from their sockets as Bart tries oh so hard to run away from the dreaded nightmares hat chain his mind. The dreams came by so frequently, it was as if he was living them all over again.
* * *

Amidst the emerald thicket and towering mahogany, there stood a young man huffing and puffing, his hands clenching his knees so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Beads of sweat trickled down his cheeks. It soon blended with the shedding torrents of the sky’s disapproval – mocking his lost cause. He shot a look of anger towards the heavens that were against him. He may not look it, but he is one of the most infamous thieves of this valley. He had a turban wound atop his head with a dirty brown cloak draped over concealing his well built body which fostered knives and basalt axes in every nook and cranny. He let out a little laugh, thinking that even the best of thieves can too be robbed. The clock was ticking; there was no time to waste . . .
Speeding through the garden, he heard the shouts and commands of their officers, they must have already found out about the knocked out fatty in the front, an easy kill, but a dear price to pay. He heard the dogs coming his way. He had to get it tonight, tonight will be the night or else, too late it will be. Hesitantly, he ditched his cloak and took a detour off the planned route. He sped off listening to the last of the anguish howls of the aggravated guards.
Baron reached the castle after what seemed like hours of rummaging through the labyrinth of watchful trees and slumbering animals. The rain ceased as if the sky became interested in this young man’s quest. The brick wall was his last obstacle. It towered over him, shadowing him, threatening to befall him. He gulped as he took a shaky step back as he shook his head, snapping himself out of the grips of fear. His head was saying no, but his heart was beating with approval. He smiled as he reassured himself: “Tonight . . . Tonight is the last night of Baron, The King of Bandits . . .”
He unsheathed his daggers which were tightly strapped onto his forearm. He then unslung the belts and strapped the blades beneath his boots, with the blades jutting out from underneath. He shifted his weight from front, to back then, from left to right to make sure that they were bound tight enough. He drew the basalt axes and with a heave, he jammed the blades under his shoes into the spaces between the bricks and started heading up into the night skies.
Baron never liked roped grappling hooks s. He’d always preferred to climb up the tedious way instead. He’d always thought that if he were to climb up a rope that someone would be right there to cut it and let him plunge down to the hells beneath. Soon, he reached the balcony and with an effortless push, he got himself up inside the castle walls. The sweet scent of lavender came from just behind the purple drapes of silken fabric. The bristle of the wind unfolded them as it presented the treasure of the hunt.
A stunning beauty covered in soft silk and linen stood gracefully in the centre of the glistening dome filled with the silvery tinge of moonlight. The firelight chandelier envied her as she shone much, much brighter than it of the top of the dome; she illuminated the sphere as if she were another crystal statue in the castle. Her face strung a smile with her dark hair whipping at her chestnut brown skin, her green eyes puzzled and shocked at the sight of a man on her balcony. She walked out into the night to encounter a face, somewhat familiar from her past . . .
Princess Amalia was staring straight into the stranger’s pale blue eyes. He had weapons strapped all over him, but his eyes, only seemed to be of those of a child’s not nearly as hardened or beaten of that of a man’s. The awkward silence broke as the man whispered out, “Amy, it’s me . . . Baron . . .”
Baron, Baron, Baron . . . the name sped past her mind and suddenly; click. The doors opened as the memories flooded in, unveiling the image of the small pale boy who once worked in the kitchen. He carried the bread and utensils around the place, clumsily but yet he always managed to get to the other side without dropping or spilling anything. The boy who stayed with the late Head Chef Gumbo; the boy who sat down with her playing teahouse, the prince and the princess, games like that. The memories left, swept away by the sudden growing warmth that grew from her chest. Unknowingly, she already had him hugged tightly. It was instant chemistry twenty years ago, but somehow the sands of time didn’t erode that. She gasped as she realized her heart was pounding fast and her head was resting on his chest as she pulled away.
“I . . . I am to be married tomorrow, to . . ,” as Baron pressed a finger on her lips.
“So? What can he do if I marry today instead?” his silly broad grin spread across his face. She started to protest,
“May Sister Moon be the father that shall marry the both of us, and may the stars be the witness of our love tonight!” He swiped her off her feet as they both looked up at the starry night skies and as if synchronized, they looked down at each other, the awkward silence filled what seemed like a million years of time, as he spoke, “Will you, Amalia ana’ Marrisa, marry me, Baron Kinley?”
Her face was flushed and the tears of joy welled up as they trickled down her cheek as she nodded, smiling like a little girl, smiling like how she used to many many moons ago.
With her tightly held to him, he sprung backwards into the sea of greeneries below just as the guards burst through the double doors of the princess’ room. Baron and Amalia were never found, strangely, they were never seen leaving castle grounds, or even the village itself, forever to be intruders of the garden in the castle of Berk.
Some said they died in the fall; some said they burrowed underground; some said they lived in the garden. But I say, two living vessels embodied with one combined soul, wherever they may go, true love lasts forever.

I

JUST YOUR TYPICAL MYSTERY TRIP OF B-O-R-E-D-O-M

I was in the middle of the vast plane before it took place. The earth beneath me howled in pain and agony before he split his face beneath the grassy planes which I stood upon. I tried to run, run away as far as I could before this nightmare could consume what’s left of this little sanity which still remains. But yet I couldn't, I was to the point where I was willing my legs to move, let alone run for cover. At my last effort of escape, my knees buckled under the stress. My mind was racing, the adrenaline making everything seem so slow. I saw the earth beneath, slowly falling apart, the grass, peeling itself away from this monstrosity. Alas, I broke free from the fear that was chaining my strength, but it was too late. I grabbed frantically at the grass as my body was pulled down to the infinity beneath me . . .

* * *

I opened my eyes, waiting for the blur of darkness to clear. My head was pounding and my body was aching. The memories flooded my mind; the splitting earth, the numbness and my fall into the darkness. I closed my eyes, my mind wrapped around the possibilities of my survival of the crash. I didn't crash, I didn't die, I was sure because I could still feel my heart racing, almost beating out of my chest. I opened my eyes again; still the darkness didn't retreat to reveal my surroundings. Strange, I tried moving forward. I heard the splashing of water beneath me. I was tired, my eyes closing on me. I bent down scooping the water from below to douse the flames in my head. But it didn't, as a matter of fact, there was no water. I kicked about and heard the water splashing and sloshing all around but I couldn't feel the moist in my pants or my socks.
I sighed and sat down on the untouchable water. All that was on my mind was: How did I ever get into this situation? It seemed to be eons sitting there in the middle of nowhere. I was beginning to get frustrated and agitated. I gave out a long and mournful howl as I fell backwards hitting the water. Just then, an incantation rang through my ears. It was so loud that my eardrums nearly popped. I jerked myself up and clenched the sides of my head, but the voices were unstoppable.
They stopped, and I dropped my hands, beads of perspiration formed on my temple. The sloshing of water could be heard stirring in front of me. Even through the darkness, a figure rose up to the surface. I could see its silhouette. It opened its eyes, and where the eyes were supposed to be, there were just crimson red light shinning within them. It had no mouth, no nose, just a shapeless mass of darkness. It was looking at me, looking into me. Fear had once again conquered me. It was speaking but not moving its lips. I heard him . . .
You must be the one, am I correct?
I wasn't clear of what it had to say, it was feeding me information that hurt the brain, but I did catch the last part of our little chat . . .
Will you be my arms and legs?
Just as it finished its sentence, the water beneath me gave away and I plunged down . . .
I jerked upright, the cold sweat trickling down my spine, sending shivers up my body. My mind was at it again. The nightmares just didn't stop. I sat in my bed as I titled my head upwards. Through the fogged up circular window of mine, I saw it once again . . . The crimson red moon hanging in the black diminished night sky. I sighed; my clock was gleaming with digital number ‘4:00’ standing so proudly on the screen. I pulled the covers over my head as I tried to catch some sleep before the dawn broke over. I returned to my slumber just as the first drops of rain splattered onto the window, yet I slept unaffected, by the storm brewing outside . . .
* * *

My name is Jake Black. Black hair accompanied by sea green eyes, fair skinned. I’m sixteen years old, attending high school like any other ordinary kid my age would. Life was a bore, nothing special ever happens to me, unless you say getting chunks of peanut butter stuck in your hair or get into fights every now and then were interesting events. But my whole life changed in an instant . . . All thanks to my stupid school field trip. I remembered that day – the day – that changes my life . . .
‘Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! . . .” The monotonous squeals of my alarm clock were faintly heard. The wretched pestering torture device brought me back from my fantasy wonderland into the small cramped room of reality. Every day is a hassle, a routine you’re bound to. You wake up, prepare yourself, have breakfast, go to school come home and etcetera. I’m B-O-R-E-D of it! Yet I couldn’t lay in peace, the sun light flittered through the cracks of the circular window embedded to the ceiling. I slammed Mr. Annoying down to the ground making him shut up and pulled the covers over my head, shielding my eyes from the fiery nuisance in the sky. I was reminiscing about my fantasy fights as the muffled calls of my mom below.
“Jake!” she tried her hardest to be loud. “Wake up or you’re gonna’ be late for your trip!”
Trip . . . trip . . . trip . . . Hmmm, what could she be possibly saying? I scrambled through my maze of a mind and told myself, except for the trip that Rachael was organizing, what other trip could it possibly be? My logic started ebbing into that pea sized brain of mine. Holy cows! That’s today! The last day of the semester! How could I have forgotten? Today was the last day of the semester and Rachael was organizing the mystery trip for our class.
Damn it . . .
I jerked upwards and shifted my weight sideways causing the imbalance in my weight that has led me to move downwards due to gravity. Or in other words, I fell. I scrambled for the bathroom, stepped on my stupid rubber duckie and took another fall. No time to lose. I tidied myself up as much as possible and rushed down the stairs two at a time.
I found my brother sitting at the dining table, watching the telecast soccer matches that he missed. All I know about soccer is twenty over people running for a ball trying to hit it into a net, which can somehow amuse three quarter of the nations mind – typical. I moved closer to see the my mess of a brother stuffing pancakes into his face and washing them down with the bottle of milk, almost half empty – or half full (whichever way you like) – sitting next to him. He burped so loud that it made a cow look decent.
“That was disgusting dude!” I waved my hand around clearing up the foul stench.
John was a real good soccer player. He represents the school and sometimes plays for the states tournaments. He was ripped, he’s only three years older than me but he could have been mistaken for a twenty five year old body builder or something. That was the only thing good about him though. The first thing he doesn’t have is table manners.
“At least I got breakfast,” he picked at his nose and sneered at me with the smugness lighting his face.
“Mom, is there anything left?” I didn’t care much; I just needed to get to school ASAP.
“We do have some toast left –”
“Great, thanks a lot mom!” I kissed her on the cheek and dashed out of the house waving my good-byes.
“Haveth funth fer yer trip kiddor,” giving me the super sarcastic tone of his through his overstuffed mouth of his right before I stepped foot out of the house. I took a bottle of milk sitting in the carton off our porch and took off. I was on the streets, my watch showing me ‘8:50A.M.’ and I only have ten minutes left to spare. OK, the only reason why I have never been late to school was that I actually made my own little path to school. I was at the Rangers’; my school was on the left. I veered right, grabbing onto the lamp post for balance. Over Old Man Randy’s bush, across Mrs. Jackson’s fence, round the corner, take a right, then a left into the alley way, go under the hole in the fencing, through it, out and viola! I was huffing and puffing, but I still made it in time, standing outside The Burner Academy of Elites. Yes, a really fancy name but the academy isn’t really top notch if you know what I mean. I wasn’t really as sporty as my brother or as smart as my sister – Jess (she’s at Harvard’s University of Neuroscience and I don’t even know what that is!), I just got in here because of them, or else I’ll end up being at some kind of military school for children with bad behavior.
I was bending forward, my hands pressed against my knees, sore but relieved. Beads of sweat trickled down my face, and it seeped into my body, freezing my bones from within – brr. I heard faint footsteps coming towards me. I was just standing upright as I got hit.
“Jake, you made it!” Rachael’s voice rang through my ears as she bear hugged me. Her shinning black hear gleaming in the sunlight, it smells of lavender. I blushed, even though I’ve been her friend for almost my whole life time. Memories flooded my mind, it was preschool where I met Rachael Marie Hobson. She lives just a block away from me. But even though we were close, I was stilled dazzled by how amazing she looks. She was in her pink hoodie, underneath a white T-shirt with shorts, in a pair of pink sneakers. She’s been a real pink fan for awhile now. I was happy to see her but the mood gone sour when I felt a weird vibe coming from the side of the bus. From the corner of my eye, I saw Ms. Kimberly standing there eyeing me with those beady vulture eyes of hers, like a ninja standing just barely out of sight. I saw her wicked eyes as she pushed up her glasses and left. Ms. Kimberly was an elderly lady –or should I say, an old hag? – She was our homeroom teacher this semester and she really has a thing against me. I already got a record and am on probation because of that stinky cow. She was in her late forties but she looked like she could be my great-grandmother or something. She’s unmarried, duh! But she is a pain in the neck despite how old and ugly she is. Anything I did was wrong to her and her cliché sentence. “Mr. Black, we have to have a little chat, come by my office later after class.” I hated that line, especially the party where she stressed the we. Ugh! It sends shivers down my spine. But today will be different. She won’t ruin the last day of the semester for me! Will she?
I shoved the thought aside and boarded the bus. It was old and creaky; the seat either chewed out of shape or has mold growing all over it. What happened to the fifty bucks we paid? I chose the chewed up seat at the back of the bus, took my seat and brought my hood over my head, trying to catch the sleep that escaped me yesterday. I was nearly drifting back to my dream realm when a hard TWACK connected with me in the back. I lurched forward almost falling to the ground. I looked around, bewildered trying to find my attacker. I spun, my eyes widen shocked as a hollow, cold stuttering laugh came from the figure sitting to the seat next to me.
“Chad you dimwit,” I was wiping the sweat from my forehead as I went back to my seat, arms folded.
“What’s up Sleeping Beauty?” He was combing his blonde hair back, his blue eyes sparkling in the dim lighting source of the bus – the model of the school. No brain, all brawn – Chad Newton. He may be the descendant of Isaac Newton, but he isn’t nothing like him though. But I felt lucky to have him here, he’s like one of the few friends I have.
I’m like a trouble magnet. I always get into fights or get bullied, always bruised up and bloodily battered up. But Chad has always been my faithful companion, being by my side to help me out of these problems, usually with ours fists instead of our mouths. Rachael came to the back to join the Dynamic Duo.
Well, it’s safe to say that Ms. Kimberly is a good friend of Ms. Kill Joy and knows how to ruin anybody’s day. Well, after the stomach hurting non-stop laughing, we finally clamed ourselves down.
“So, where are we going for our Mystery Trip?”
“You’ll see,” winking at the both us.
“Come on Rach. Just tell us!” Chad eagerly presses on.
“It’s a S-E-C-R-E-T – secret.” She spelled it out loud and clear, the giggled to herself. We were boys, we knew that, and we also know that we can never really understand the complex mind and the heart of a woman. We sighed and slumped back into the moldy seats, Rachael gleaming with pride, savoring the victory that she has been bestowed with by the goddess of victory. I was almost dozing off when the bus halted to a stop sending me forward, my face hitting the cold hard base of the bus. We’re here, great. And the best part was, I didn’t get even an ounce of sleep along the long boring interest depriving trip here. We stepped off the bus as a salty smelling breeze of cold air whipped us into shape. Blegh! The air was suffocating me; I almost threw up as I looked up and saw the blue skies hanging above me, the seagulls swooshing past the sea surface in catch of the unfortunate fishies.
We were at the sea. Of all the exotic and interesting sites that we can land in, we went to the beach. I breathed out a long depressing sigh. I hated the sea. All it ever reminded me was saltiness and vast. I was brought back to my childhood in a brief moment and remembered the drowning moments when I was five. Since then, I never set foot five miles away from the vast watery grave bed. I remember the scene all too well. It was a breezy warm day when we were all at the beach, when suddenly the storm brewed and the lightning started to rumble, shaking the earth. I was swept away by the currents before I could reach the shore. I blacked out underneath the gushing waves that were soon to take my life; only one thing swam in my mind, the saltiness, no – the bitterness – of the sea, and then I sank into unconsciousness.
By the time I woke up, I was barfing out sea water and was choking. My dad was performing CPR and my vision was fuzzy so I couldn’t quite reconnect all the images from back then, but there is one thing I remember, I really, really hate THE SEA!
Chad patted me on the back and I almost fall off the railings. My face turned green and I almost barfed. They were freaked and backed away quickly before I unleashed it onto the sad granite paved harbor. I was brought to sit down on the wooden bench, still queasy from the incident, my face as green as the sea.
“Whoa, thank god we didn’t get on a cruise, or you’ll barf till the sea goes brown,” Chad dismissing my nausea looking at the girls that are passing by in front of us. He stood up and followed the blonde girl that just passed us, walking like a zombie in love. I sighed, and prepare myself for another barf show. Rachael got up to me and sat beside me, holding an ice-cream out to me.
“You look hungry, “Rachael said, hiding a snigger. “Have one, it’s your favorite.”
I took it - mint. It wasn’t my favorite, but it’ll have to do. I took it and licked it – cold. I shivered, it was cold and cooling. I felt my strength come back and my rumbling tummy stop. I stood up and led the way just to be grabbed by the collar and shoved the other way. We moved on and finally, we reach our destination – a pirate ship. Yes, I know it sounds really cool and all, but it’s not. It was remodeled and left there by the harbor. Now it’s a pirate ship with an exquisite dining area and a pool table in the middle of the other rooms. I reminded myself, it was my first trip, and I shouldn’t let these sorts of things get me down. We had lunch at the Pirate Lounge at the deck. Open air dining, how wonderful, if only it wasn’t noon and the sun wasn’t burning our backs into fried steaks.
We had a tour around the ship. It was as exciting as taking a tour around the school bus. It was like that, until we hit the captain’s cabin and saw all the gold pieces and treasure chest lying there, the captain’s skeleton sitting in his throne, dead, watching over his loot even in the afterlife. His captain’s hat was still sitting there atop his head, the hollow sockets where his eyes should be, were weird. I felt that the skeleton was looking straight through me. I shivered at the captain’s odd look and look at some other more attracting things – swords, guns, treasure chest, gold pieces, and a fascinating little black orb sitting on the shelf. I didn’t know pirates played with snow globes. It was black with a feint cerulean blue light coming from within it. The light was pulsing as if it was imprisoned in it. I was just about to throw a question at the tour guide as I noticed that I was alone in the cabin. I crouched there longer, ignoring the silence in the cabin, looking at the lonesome light, dazzling and shimmering all alone. Like a fish in a bowl. Someone patted me on the back; I spun around to see the tour guide looking at me really strange. I apologized and got a hell of a lecturing before the tour continued. Just before we left the room, the light shimmered out of existence, gone and lost inside the black orb. I shrugged it off and got to the deck for lunch. The images of the orb pestering my mind while I was having a go at what seems to be a steak that’s made out of rocks. Everything was picture perfect, a group of cheerful students on board a ship having lunch, tourist walking by either sightseeing or taking pictures of each other on this cool sunny day where the seagulls were happily stealing scraps off the tables and kids awestruck by the oceanic lives that live within it . . . Nothing could go wrong. . .
Just then, a streak of white lightning struck the deck and sent people flying. The sky darkened a malevolent black as it hurls its spears of doom at us, crying with sheer delight at our pathetic excuse of a being. Pandemonium . . . Chaos . . . And all I remembered was my slowly drifting to the sea bed . . .

General guide to story writing,
Title:
Theme:
Settings:
Characters:
Conflict:
Storyline:

The beautiful twilight of this starry night has yet once again passed its baton of lease back to the waking Sun that loomed the black skies, where sister Moon accompanied by the twinkling stars too vanished, dispersing into the radiance of the Sun’s mighty bright as they too have to brightened up the darkness of the night somewhere else. The waking birds chirp at the beaming sunlight, signaling a new day – a perfect day for a perfect city . . .
That is what usually seen by the naked eyes of men, but yet, in the many years that I have taught, I have learnt one thing – nothing is perfect. And so begins a story, a story not one of tutelage and knowledge, instead of love and acceptance behind the façade of perfection and beauty of this city where no matter how radiant the sun shines, no warmth is felt, no matter how bright the light, they are always shrouded in the darkness, where even with their sights perfect, they are lost in the tunnel called Life – Yes, this is the slums where the truth of life is told in fairy tales to the children at night letting them believe for a glimpse of a moment that they can grow up into a society that will accept and love them . . .
* * *
“I HAVE HAD IT WITH YOU HOPELESS CLASS OF MISFITS!” as Miss Mitchell slammed the classroom door of Elementary Class 6 for the very last time. She stomped into Principal Wexler’s office as she slammed her resignation letter onto his mahogany desk as he pleaded of her to rethink her actions and show mercy to those unwanted kids but her mind was carved with only space of one answer – NO. She stepped out of his office as her sights locked onto a beautiful young lady with beautiful black flowing hair wavering in the currents of the creaking fan that stood on the receptionist lady’s desk, rotating back and forth.
Puzzled, she asked her “Of all the schools that you can choose from miss, why this one? You could have gone off to the city and actually get an education . . .” as she trailed off when the beautiful lady looked into her eyes. She studied her, high cheekbones, tall nose, hazel brown eyes . . . They eyes were not of those that Miss Mitchell had on right now, fueled with fury and anger were soon soothed by those of tranquility and peace. Speechless, the lady replied, “I’m not here to teach,” she carried a real thick English accent as she cleared her throat; “I am here to teach.”
Leaving Miss Mitchell awestruck as the lady at the reception called out for a Miss Olsen for her interview. Before she stepped into the office, Miss Mitchell laughed cynically as she spun around and told her, “Stop wasting your time, those kids DON’T DESERVE a future,” stressing don’t deserve with the anger and fury reabsorbed into her. And that was the last of Miss Mitchell, remembered only by screams of anger and door slamming inappropriateness.
* * *
Sitting before Simon Wexler was a beautiful English lady in a simple dress, her hands cupped onto the cup of tea she was given, resting on her thighs as she looked up to the standing man drenched in perspiration and worries. “ Ah,” he brought up his forearm and cleared away the beads of sweat and smiled to her for a little, then he got serious as he replaced his sweat tainted glasses and sat down, looking straight into Miss Olsen’s eyes. He laughed a little as he titled back into a comfortable position in his chair as he spun around looking out the windows where little yellow light filtered through, the dust sparkling in its presence as he said “You know, I’m not going to try and lie to you, that the Stanley’s All Boys Academic Institution has only one spot left for teachers not because we have great teachers or anything. It’s just this one class that we have a problem with. Well, I think you have just been acquainted to the former teacher, Miss Mitchell.”
“It’s OK, she doesn’t seem to be the tolerating kind of person and I think, that maybe, just maybe that I may have the qualifications of teaching her class, perhaps?”
He laughed sarcastically as he said, “Well, you see, Miss Mitchell came in just like you, full of spunk, joyous, determined to change these kids just a month ago and we saw what happened to her hadn’t we. So I’m just gonna’ tell you this, if you’re serious about this, then I’ll let you take the job. If not, I think you should go into the city where the brighter and smarter students are; at least you can do some good there instead of being stuck here in these parts of the town.”
Now she laughed, “Did you not think I have already poured my effort into those city children? Yes I see that they have the facilities and all but not one moment do I think that they are any brighter than any of the other students, here or there, they are all born with the same intelligence, those staunch city children do not hold dear to the knowledge that they’ve obtained, in the end, they’ll grow up inheriting their father’s wealth or something. I quitted my old job, because I knew that I was just wasting my time at a school like that, so please, let me help you, help them achieve.”
Her pleas had gotten through to Wexler as he sighed and stood up, leading Miss Olsen to the class of Elementary Class 6, already in his mind, grieving for a loss to be of yet another splendidly wonderful teacher as he opened the door to Class 6. The children were all around the class, some on the table, most of them joined their tables together playing poker, sleeping, chewing gum and all sorts of bad habits where you shouldn’t practice in school. Miss Olsen smiled delightfully as she introduced herself to Class 6 as Principal Wexler closed the door behind him.
Wexler went on with his daily routine of finishing off the paper work and somehow always enabling himself to pace around such a small cramped squarish office of his. The pages on the hung up calendar slowly being blown off by the trembling winds of May, then June, slowly July . . . But yet, something of Wexler’s routine didn’t feel right, and edginess came across him every few weeks or so, he was missing something, something that almost felt like a part of his routine life but still, he couldn’t come across an answer that would explain it.
Until one faithful stormy morning where the wind and rain crashed against the rooftops and asphalt, Wexler found out that his trusty Bentley had fallen ill and would need the attention of Rex the mechanic. He sighed, disappointment slowly drifted away as panic set in when he raised up his watch showing a quarter pass nine . . . a quarter pass nine . . . OH MY GOSH! He was late and without even bringing an umbrella, he dashed out and got on the first bus he saw.
He burst through the school doors, cold and shivering as he made his way through the long corridors with his mind set on a mug of hot cocoa. Yet again his senses tingle as he abruptly stopped in his tracks and looked left as he always – into Class 6. To his astonishment, he saw the boys all seated down in groups laughing and cheering as their peers were performing a sketch in the front of the class and Miss Olsen smiling at their awe-inspiring success. Urged on by curiosity, Wexler turned the knob and poked his head in. The children all diverted their attention to the principal as he asked in a shaky voice, “Do you mind if I join you Miss Olsen?”, as the class went into an uproar of hurrah and laughter.
After the boys sketch of Thanksgiving, Wexler turned and asked Miss Olsen “What have you done with these kids? So far, none of the teachers that taught this class ever got through to them just as you did.”
She stifled a laugh as she pressed a finger against her pursed lips, signaling the start of the next sketch, whispering “It’s a secret principal.” So in the end, Wexler had found nothing of the secret or so magical formula that Miss Olsen used on this class of children.
The months passed by as the students of Class 6 and every other class took their O levels examination and thereafter, never heard of again, Miss Olsen continued teaching the Class 6 with new faces every year teaching them with all the passion and charisma.
* * *
A decade has gone by and a man in a black suit came by Wexler’s office with the name James Brooke. Yes, James Brooke does not ring a bell in any of your minds, he isn’t as famous as any celebrity, and he isn’t as rich as any millionaire but, he WAS a student of Class 6, the first class of Miss Olsen. Wexler and Brooke had a little chat on Brooke’s success and then it came to him when Brooke asked of the whereabouts of Miss Olsen.
“Well, she is still teaching Class 6 as their homeroom teacher,” he cleared his throat, “But I have got to say, what was she feeding you with that made you become such a successful man in life?”
“It wasn’t only me sir,” as he stood up and opened the door behind him, revealing the rest of his twenty classmates, “it was everybody,” John Banks, from the back of the group voiced out, “Well, we were all a bunch of no good thugs weren’t we?”
“I used to just laze around the house and get scolded by Dad for being no better than a lazy bum.”
“I used to beat up kids and take their lunch money.”
“And never once did we think we were smart. Not until Miss Olsen thought we were smart, and then we were,” as every one of those boys nodded in unison.
Then, the twenty boys or so left for their old class, knocking gently on the door and soon after, revealed a lovely elderly lady, not as beautiful as she used to be, but there was the same burning passion and love in her eyes as her smile crinkled from both ends of her cheeks.
“How have you boys –,” before she could finish her sentence, the group of boys hugged her, the words emerged from their sobbing “We’ve . . . We’ve . . . done it! Miss . . . Miss Olsen!” as they broke down and let loose the tears of hatred and agony that haunted their childhood; and tears of appreciation and joy that filled their future.
The undeniable truth is every single one of us is born smart. Why we are unable to harness the knowledge that is all around us is not due to the absence of the facilities or the power; it is the absence of love and acceptance. Maria Olsen accepted those children who were stranded in the dark tunnels known as life. She didn’t bring them fire, no of course not; she stood by them, guiding them to create their own fire with their own ability, creating a fire way brighter and fiercer than what anyone was able to give. Why was that? Simple, it was because she loved those boys till the very bottom of my heart. I should know best; well
You see, I am Maria Olsen, homeroom teacher of class 6, Stanley’s All Boys Academic Institution.

Compilation . . .

2011-08-22T07:00:00.000-07:00

Monday, August 22, 2011

Memories we keep should be fond and not foul,
For the fondest we keep them close to our heart,
For the foul we forget and move on.

Nicholas Spark said "You can't live your life for other people. You've got to do what's right for you, even if it hurts some people you love." Yet he says, "I finally understood what true love meant...love meant that you care for another person's happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be." So umm, which do I choose?

Dream you shall tonight,
Dusk fades, dawn breaks, brings new light,
Smile for tomorrow!

We are never going to obtain what we desire, so how about we stop chasing down those dreams while lying on the grass by the bonfire, and count our blessings to the rhyme of the lyre . . .

Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
May I request a dance,
With none other than you?

A Haiku A Day,
Helps keep the doctor away,
Quirky, still - funny.

Look into your heart,
Agree, disagree, you say?
Love is wonderful.

Do you believe in,
Love on the very first sight?
Well, the truth - I do.

Full moon brings of light,
Torrents shed away thy sins,
Dancing in the night.

Do you remember,
The times we shared together,
I know that I won't.

The beautiful,
Bonsai tree that stands,
Unable to soar,
Looking at birds from a distance,
Trapped in an open cell.

Utterly confused,
Anybody, give me a sign,
Change, I hope to see,
Please say life is going to be,
Different for me this time.

Frozen still in time,
Pondering, deep in darkness,
I looked back in shock,
As the past caught up with me,
Nightmares root me to the spot.

Mistakes haunted me,
I don't know whats wrong or right,
Sorrow fills me deep,
Break away from this cycle,
May history not repeat.

Nightmares from the past,
A scarred past can't be undone,
Burdening the soul.

We are still too young,
Still too young to understand,
What we truly want.

Unfair . . .

2011-08-21T07:28:00.000-07:00

Sunday, August 21, 2011

People tend to ask him on how he is always the cool suave guy that can walk up to anybody and just strike up conversations and jokes, or how he is able to waltz around countless of friends, waving hello goodbye to seemingly everyone on the street that he meets, how he carries that wry smile all that time that passerby feel awkward or how the group of girls would just start laughing at him, and yet he doesn't mind at all, how he does the things and say the things nobody dared say just because they are afraid that they would look stupid in front of mere friends, but he does not only perform those amongst friends, but alas to the crowd of strangers for he does not quite care about what others think about him because he preaches on savoring every moment of life and not changing who you are for anybody, nonetheless a stranger who you will never be meeting again in life. He tells people to be bold and take chances and do all the world's stupidest thing before you're too old or too prideful or to shy or too ashamed. Yes, he's that guy. And all his friends tell him about how they wish to walk in his shoes for a day, to live life fearless of society's views and bullshit. He laughs it off, tells them it's easy, just go with the flow and open up to people while all his friends tell him that's absurd and not possible.

Yet, he tried, he tried but in the end he only was able to secretly whisper to himself, trust me, you don't want to be like me. He knows the nonsense he himself lived through and now he knows he's here to pay for it. For all the acquaintances he met so far, he does not truly know them, understand them, feel for them, care about them. He is not sorry, for he learned to stop it for himself. For he lived life with betrayal and bereavement. He cannot get too attached to anyone, but he gets too attached to things, for things do not leave him, they do not ditch him, hurt him or break his heart. And in the end, my friends are off in relationships with their dear and love and throwing I love yous around like nothing. I don't get how people can say I love you to anybody, my friend has already said it to two girls, at least the second accepted him, but yeah, I'm a helpless romantic so my way of proposing a relationship would not be bringing out a girl for a day after a month knowing her, and in the end going home and asking her on facebook. Seriously? I don't understand how my friends are all in relationships when they are all so screwed up and I'm still alone. The world is not fair, but seriously, this unfair?

Painful . . .

2011-08-16T08:24:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, August 16, 2011

I'm suffocating. Not the metaphorical way of drowning under water, but the utter shattering crushing void that seems to be vacuuming out the life from it. It hurts, it hurts so so badly that I find it hard to breathe. I felt my body cave in, literally where my chest felt constricted and the cage was bringing me down as I clutched the area where my heart should be, feel it beating

I'm suffocating. Yet not the metaphorical suffocation, the feeling of drowning and having your mind race across the ocean over and over, thinking about all the petty little insignificant things you done, have yet do or missed the opportunity doing. Yes, but no, that's not the suffocation that I'm going through. I'm going through the utter sheer pain that cracks across your chest when suddenly my stomach clenched and I feel that an invisible wall knocks the breath out of me, a voiding black hole that sucks the life out of me, it's painful, really painful. The bars of bones that hold my stride seemed to creak and bend inwards, piercing me. I found it difficult to breathe, difficult to think, difficult at doing anything. I'm tired, just tired from everything, anything.

Date A Guy Who Reads . . .

2011-08-09T05:43:00.001-07:00

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Date a guy who reads. Date a guy who reveals his wallet for that thick leather bound book of adventures instead of wordless magazines of Maseratis and Feraris. Date a guy who doesn’t waste his time sitting in the local bar cheering at football teams and wrestling themselves while they get on the high from drinking. Date a guy who got short sighted just because he couldn’t let go of that book in the middle of the night, straining himself all throughout the night just to see a beautiful ending at stunning twilight’s embrace.

Find a guy who reads. He’ll be the one sitting alone at McDonald’s with a book, sophisticated at first sight, but as you peer closer, you’ll find out that to you, it’s just another story book, but to him it’s a reality based on a fantasy. He’ll be the only one who stands amongst children in the teen reader’s section of the book store, flipping through the crisp paperback books and contemplating on his final decision for he knows too that he can afford not of all the books that he desires.

People laugh at the thought of this, but for him, he’s just trying hard to keep the child in him alive so that he doesn’t lose that tad bit of innocence, that hope that sometimes, maybe miracles do happen, that faith that lets him carry on to look for a brighter tomorrow.

It’s easy to date a guy who reads. For he will be faithful to you as he is to the countless of storybook heroes and heroines, villains and villainesses that passed his beady little eyes as the strolled down the pages of the books he read. For he will not be willing to go through another phase of depression as he did for every book he finished, for he knows too well the feeling to lose someone special. For that duration of time he indulges in the book, he feels himself walking side by side them, and as the pages draw to a close, he becomes somewhat loss as he returns to the reality around him.

He reads the same books over and over, just to reanimate those lost inspirations for awhile, for that feeling as though they returned to him. If he ever lost you, he’d look back on the times you spent together, trying to piece back the torn sheets of time, to recreate the story you once had before he was broken.

Dating a guy who reads will never be boring. For he will have his moments of solitude for his lovelies before you, but he does it discretely, in the bathroom, the middle of the night, meal times for he knows that nobody likes to be second, but on the other hand, nobody wants to be neglected too. Forgive him as he tries to stammer his way out of his loyalty to his books, for they are his muse just as much as you are his to him. He knows all the little tricks to make you smile, he mastered the way of the books to erase dullness between the both of you, for everything he does, he learns from the books he read. For he is filled with suspense and mystery, and just like any good book, he puts not words into a moment, whereas he creates moments with his own words.

You’ll find him looking at you dreamily but please don’t scold him, for to him, you are another good read, like the crisp old weathered books, you are the book that he has been searching for all these years, lost amongst all the other books in the endless library. For when he sees your face, he would be inventing ways to tell you how you complete him, or create scenarios of how life would be so wonderful with you. For as he looks into your eyes, he fantasizes not about lustful things man does, but the way you would be the loving mother to his child, and for you to be his wife, would be the perfect fairy tale ending to this book he writes known as Life.

Feel . . .

2011-07-02T10:49:00.000-07:00

Sunday, July 3, 2011

He is really sorry you know. He took their friendship for granted. He dismissed her at a point in his life, without reason, without explanation, he left for something so futile that he did not tell her of. He knows that she is angry. He bets that she is disappointed with him. Maybe, it is because he have yet to really understand people, humans in general, of their countless feelings and a myriad of emotions that still puzzles him. In bafflement indeed he is, but not one moment not sensitive and aware of the changes. He sees how people change, it is not a new phenomenon to him. They used to talk everyday, and yet now they stopped. He guessed, he must have somehow hurt her in his own little selfish way. He had things to do, and torture to suffer through, he just couldn't bear letting people in on things like this, especially her. So he left, if it is any consolation, he didn't only leave her, he left everyone, family and friends alike, feeling like he cannot trust anyone anymore except for his brother, knows him better than he will ever know himself. And from his perspective, he has come to learn that he has wronged so many people that loved me. But still, he cannot change the past. The ties that he severed and the bridges that have been burned down and the ships that have been sunk, those which have been done cannot be undone, but he hopes for her to give him a second chance. They used to talk everyday, and yet now they stopped. He is selfish to think that everything revolves around him, to think that people would wait for him if he ever stopped, but his life is his, and everyone's is everyone's. He guessed, the only one that haven't moved on was him, and now suddenly he pops back into her life, he guessed that she would be mad at him indeed. He haven't given anyone any thought for such a long long time and he is truly sorry. He guess he really screwed up what a great relationship they once had. He knows he had taken their friendship for granted, but now, all he wants is for them to go back to the way they used to be, how they'd just be able to talk again everyday cause the time he has left with her is scarily scarce right now, soon they'll all be on their way, her doing great things in life; while he'll still be wondering what would really happen, if he would have just told her how he felt about her.

Apprentice . . .

2011-06-28T08:16:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, June 28, 2011

Where the holy book revealed the creation of light and darkness, it did not surface the fact that it too brought life to the living and the dead. Where the living stand proud and bask in the beauty of light and the dead, shroud themselves in the shadows of the darkness. The cycle of life and death, endlessness. A mirror image, where the living stand on the plane mirror, and what reflected, the shadows that imitate our every single move and action. Where the theories of having light destroy the darkness, impossible? Nay, maybe improbable. Said by a wise man, Tite Kubo, the mangaka of Bleach, potrayed across Zaraki Kenpachi: 'To believe that a light could dispel all shadows and engulf you. It's idiotic, the concept of shining light on everything is impossible to begin with. It doesn't take a scientist to tell you that no matter how much light you create, there will always be a shadow.' For where there is life, death is not far behind. A cycle, a colorful image of the living on one side of half, the black and white of the shadows the other. Many may say that they do not fear the darkness, but seriously, who has dare say they never feared it before? It is always an unknown to us, what it may be within this murkiness, scientist says that darkness is just the absence of light, where light meets an interference, the inability to project light on th surface and all the other proven nonsense. But I know that the dead exist, in the shadows beneath our feet. I know, I see them all the time since I am a shadow shrouder. Snow white prickly hair that I have in this village full of browns, reds or blacks. It is already bad enough I stand out with hair that gleams eerie in the night, I have too no proper irises where looked into the reflection of the lake by the orphanage, where just two deep dark hollow empty blackness that sometimes even scare myself. Along with the aid of the shade of chestnut he wore, he was nonetheless, the freak. With kids with cream tone skin and brown eyes all came and made life a living hell for me. The endless days of stone throwing and teasing, I had no friends because I was different. All I had was me, myself and I and this silvery ring that wound itself up around the middle finger of my left hand, irremovable since the time when I remember it being there, which was since forever I guess. It was one of those days where the kids of ten or twelve came by again, having their stones already, jumping up and down in their palms.
"Well, well, isn't it the little brown alien freak, so what are you up to anyway." They stared, waiting for my answer, a routine I am already too familiar with. An answer from me, and a hail of stones and rocks from them. Without a thought, without even looking up, I twisted and ran, once again, as hard and as fast as I could. Sticks and stones may break my bone, and damn well they would if those kids threw any harder. I turned back for a glimpse of where they were, they were like wolves, they hunted him in packs, and all the time different tactics and strategies, the blood was pounding in my ears and just as I turned around, I smacked black into something huge and strong. I guessed it was Gus, the biggest and strongest one, not much brain but all brawn. To my relief, all I smashed into was a tree trunk, and my assumption that it was Gus was almost as good as any other tree. I saw the kids coming at me, I was in the shadows of the large tree behind me, I scrapped myself, I was tired and all the strength I had left was to lift up my arms and defend the vitals on my face from being hurt, my eyes shut and my breath held, I awaited the assault of hurling stones and bruises to come but the kids came to a halt.
"Where did he go?"
"Disappeared? I knew that kid was a black magician!"
"Gah, he's not, he just ran off somewhere, FIND HIM!"
It was cold, then he peered at the kids that we furiously staring back at him, but yet somehow he was, maybe, invisible. The kids left and suddenly, a think filament of dark sheet retracted and to his surprise, it retracted into his ring and it was so cold, that he thought it might have already been frostbitten and almost fell off his hand. But then, a swirly black tentacle traveled out of it and onto his hand, where it slid off across the tone of his body and slithered just like a gecko or a snake would to the ground, and as it dissipated, it was actually the shadow of the great oak tree that stood behind him. He thanked the gods for the protection, but he knew not of superficial beings, but maybe, say thanks to the ring on that finger of his. What it was, he did not know, but heard he did, a shrilling cry, it was out of this world, eerily ghostly, as if it came from the shadows. But the cries did not end there, as millions and millions of miles away, where a dark man sat in his throne like chair decorated with skulls felt shivers down his spine as he looked up at the black crows circling the even darker skies that over shadow the fortress he reside in, as the misty breath escaped his close to blue frozen lips, the words that escaped before he stood up and what seemed made the shadows beneath his feet danced merrily was: " I have found him, my apprentice . . ."

Raining . . .

2011-06-26T11:07:00.000-07:00

Monday, June 27, 2011

Blogging in the rain. Technically not in the rain which is that where I am blogging but merely in the sounds, since can I not wet my desktop neither can I bring it out into the what I deem a beautiful enigma of the night where the water droplets sparkle in the luminous of it's own doing for sometimes one would ponder, where does it light if sister Moon has already hidden behind the what seemed so ominous black clouds that circle the already darkened nights. Evil, people would associated the darkness and thundering nights with black clouds shrouding all light of night. Well, your view on things is not wrong, nay, who am I, hold on, who is anyone to say that your perspective on matters is wrong? For you live by what you sought and seek while others live by theirs, yet another philosophical topic that I will leave for another day, for tonight all I feel like doing is cherish the rain that is coming down from the heavens. Well, I guess all I have to say is that I got bad results, and I need to study harder starting . . . next year. Well, my mom met one of my high school friends today at the supermarket. It is really funny and ironic how one day in school, you formed a little pact with your bro, saying that no matter what kind of trouble hits us, we would go through it together, brother. It is such a funny word, just with one less R, it turns to be bother. But really, I myself would not have believed that friendship would end in the stupidest ways possible. I know that I already promised that I would not talk about the past, but this is really important to me to spill out. Cause' it's not everyday that your best friend would tell you that you are not his friend anymore just because you deleted everything from your facebook account. Funnily ironic, or maybe just ironically funny how your mom comes home and tell you, hey I met that friend of yours at the market, why doesn't he come by anymore? I can't really answer my mom that, I wouldn't want to break her heart letting her know that I have hardly any friends. That the one person that sworn to be your 'friend forever' turned his back on you for no apparent reason. Well, he did add me back on facebook. And after all this time, the only thing he could tell me was, I'm sorry. I didn't know what I was doing that time, I just deleted you from my friend list. Yeap. True story. He didn't know why. That was it for him. Easily said, sorry. And with just that one sentence, he thinks everything would go back to normal. Out of the blue, it's just hey you free on Thursday, wanna' go out for supper? Or just free on Friday? Let's go out! I don't know, maybe it is just me? Maybe people just forgive other people like super fast? I dunno', but seriously, I don't even get a sincere apology. I dunno' a friggin' thing about the world. I don't know squat about people too, I need to get people skills. Reading through this blog post, I think it's really funny. The more I thought I knew, the less I knew. Funnily ironic? Or just ironically funny. Signing off another beautiful raining morning.