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Candlelights and Tuna

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 12:37:54 +0200

There was a blackout in our place recently and it lasted for a week.
Good thing the weather wasn't very hot for us, and sometimes it rained.

That meant living by candles.
Darkness.

It actually healed my 'phobia' for darkness; I can stay in a room, sleep in a room, and just stare into space in, well, darkness. It's fun. I thought I could see clearly than I do in daylight; and now I favoured evenings more.

Writing by candlelight can make your eyes feel blurry in a while, though.

What I had in between was a tuna sandwich! Very easy to make.

Dad's Tuna Sandwich

2 cans of tuna, drained and flaked
2 big onions (doesn't matter whether red or white) chopped
1 regular sized mayo

Mix mix mix mix mix mix mix.

And that's it! Enjoy~

My dad prefers it with minced onions, but I prefer them chopped because I want to feel the crunch with every bite.

Enjoy the rest of your day.

Comments

Skin and Sunday

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 10:58:55 +0200

Since I am trying my hand at modeling, the first thing I noticed was, my body. I wasn't blessed with a skinny torso unlike my sister, who no matter how much she ate, she still had that 23-inch waistline. While me-- well let's keep that private...

And even if I don't eat much, my body doesn't change. I went to jog about 3 times a week (it only happened twice), but it only made my legs itch and numb. And then I tried doing sit-ups, but sometimes it gets the better of me, and I only do it when I feel like it. I hate it when I'm lazy.

Leaving my body-matter aside, I also watched FashionTV. I watched how the girls walked, posed, turn and flirt with the cameras. I shivered. Can I do that, too?

And I also noticed how anorexic they were; I hope not to be that thin. I want to leave some meat in my body, thankyouverymuch.

Given that I am also 'big' in size, and my sister is normal, it's pretty hard adjusting. The teasing, talking behind your back... Saying she's better and things... It doesn't help improve my self-esteem but then, I love my sister more than ever and I know we're two completely special individuals.

So what I am doing is, the 'less-of-everything-diet' and resisting the food lust; gluttony. It's quite hard since I like watching cooking shows, pastry, especially.

Right now I'm physically under construction-- and I truly hope that Christmas won't torture me very much. Ahh, chocolate! Why can't I live without you!

And to get my food-lust out of my system, I prayed. And since it was Sunday, and I attend no church, I made my own.

It was very lucky that my sisters went out, my brother out somewhere in his own world, and my parents weren't bugging me at that moment. so I locked the door, got Fibbi propped in a pillow, put the bible beside him, and just vented out how I felt.

And then I got the bible and read out passages to myself, asked myself questions, cried a little, talked aloud, and learned, basically. I was my own preacher. I was the learner. It felt good and lonely at the same time.

I decide to do this every Sunday, just to keep my faith intact, and because I feel cleansed everytime I do my 'Meetings with Him'.

I just hope that my sisters would decide to leave on Sunday mornings randomly; I just can't do it with a lot of people around.

May be too late, but happy Sunday everyone.

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Izabella; a Mere Dream

Thu, 01 Oct 2009 15:34:49 +0200

For weeks and weeks, I kept dreaming of this little girl, her description in another blog post;

Her bouncing ash brown curls suit her round youthful face; her brown eyes twinkled when she looks at me. She runs around in circles holding a white daisy on her hand, smiling, laughing, giggling. I couldn't help but be happy just seeing her; as if she's the epitome of happiness, the human form of sunshine, of rainbows, and of smiles.

The very same dream again and again. She looked like me, yes, and her features were probably from my other half, which remains a mystery to me. I was enamoured of her. I felt like she was buried deep into my heart, just waiting to be noticed, to be loved.

Her aura seems to be fairy-like, of fairy-tale story, but all the whole she laughed and smiled, my dream's background was white. Blurry. Foggy. Obscured. I wanted to see beneath it but I couldn't. I couldn't even touch her. It seems like I was just there to witness her smile, and it saddened me that I couldn't feel her in any way.

So that I wouldn't forget her face, I drew her. It's poorly done, and it looks better in black and white, done in oil pastels. I didn't give justice to it though; she was much, much more beautiful in my dream. So dazzling. So... Happy.

If you might be wondering why her name is Izabella, it's because I've wished for that name. When I was little my mother used to call me Isabel, as my nickname is Iza. I asked her why she didn't play around the spelling; well without her answering that I already knew the answer. My mother isn't very creative with spellings and such; she was much too realistic. But still I love my name for all its worth. Even if I'm often times a wet blanket, I was told that I was a face meant to smile.
And that I should be happy because I am fortunate than others, happier than others. Serves my name right as Feliza means exactly that.

Izabella means Devoted to God, to which I hope that she would be God-fearing as I am. But a dream is a dream; it may come true or it may not.

An entertainment behind our closed lids, maybe, a fantasy while we sleep. Or a premonition of some kind. Dreams are strange and often inspiring, striking up something from deep in the heart. Deep desires-- something we accumulate and collect during the day.

And now, after thinking hard about posting this, I decided I should. This was written when the nights and my pen were still my companion.

A Dream: Izabella

sunshine played along the lines of her hair,
not dark, not light, but ashen locks of curls.
Her face round and healthy, and her cheeks rosy,
her plump lips lighted by the rainbows.

And her eyes, her eyes, her lighted brown ones,
sung of unheard melodies and innocence,
as she danced along of the silent music
that played about her smart head.

Happiness surrounded her sturdy frame,
hands that whirled with the wind,
soon to make beautiful things.

A laugh that echoes down the vagabond,
a graceful body that puts swans to shame,
a voice of a million angels on her tongue
Izabella; yes, that's what I named her,
a twinkle of my eye, or a beat of my heart,
someday to be made of love and passion,
of kisses and hugs, of language and art.

Conceived in my head, long before she's born,
thought of and loved, before she knew herself.

Izabella, a mere dream, my dream,
to walk the Earth,
to spread love, hope, and share a-many dreams,
to live, with a beating heart, with a soul, and a smile.

It had too many adjectives, but I don't know why I don't want to change it. I made more of it, but I reckon one is already enough.
How advanced for me to think of the future so fast. When I confided in my friends, they said I was starting to be a loony somehow. Ahh, solitude has changed me so much, even in dreams.

It's because a feeling such as this when provoked can't be ignored. The feeling like you're bursting with love has never happened to me before. A love such as this. So powerful; so touching.

-Currently listening to a friend's guitar version of Radiohead - Like Spinning Plates, it has helped me write again, and it very much sounds like Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake. I thank you Jonathan.

Comments

The Great Flood

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 16:01:30 +0200

Ketsana (Ondoy, our local name) raged over the cities of the Philippines, resulting to a great flood, covering the city in 80% water. Ketsana produced a month's worth of rain in just several hours. Now that the rains have stopped, the flood fled on to the drainage. But in some places, the flood stood still. Muddy flood. It was estimated that all water would be gone in a month's time; and some are complaining that the water already smells 'fishy'.

The flood reached over the third floors of the hospital, some people fled to their rooftops in fear of being drowned, and cars were floating, crashing within each other, and some people were carried away with the flood, going nowhere or to their poor deaths. It grieved me.

Now that everything has calmed down and a new storm two days away, foundations started popping everywhere, packing relief goods such as canned goods, rice, water, clothes, etc.

Since we always have some clothes to give away, and we sorted it out. Gave it to a foundation Sagip Kapamilya. But turns out they already had too many volunteers, and so we shooed ourselves away and went to another helping site. Then we were in Cubao, a politician's foundation needed more volunteers. We worked for 10 hours repacking goods and noodles and rice, carrying the finished bags to the truck (which required a lot of arm muscle) and running errands for the staff.

Then came afternoon and more volunteers came, and the staff said that those who has been working since morning had to exit to let the others have the chance to help.

It was fun. I'd do it again and again if it weren't for my poor aching arms. Charity brings out the best in you, as my sister said one night. It shows who you really are as a person, what your personality really is. And it would really show how big your muscles can be. Wee!

Many people have died, many still grieve, many are afraid to get out of evacuation centers to start a new life. They're traumatized. I am very fortunate to have not been touched by the storm or my relatives; the only damage I felt was, taking a bath with a big hole on the ceiling. The storm ripped the ceiling out of the bathroom; another lucky thing is, it didn't expose the skies. We wouldn't be peeked at whatsoever.

My conclusion, we should do regular community work; if the best was brought in everyone, that's another step to achieving a part of world peace.

Comments

Brink of Tears

Wed, 30 Sep 2009 14:15:03 +0200

How can one thing ever change your life? How can you hold on to one thing when you know it's temporary?

When it's your one big drive over your life. Suddenly gone.

Gone too soon...

Comments

Tonight

Fri, 18 Sep 2009 16:54:19 +0200

I feel like ranting, in a weird way, if you permit, and deleted the past post, feeling quite stupid for posting it. Tonight I feel tired, but slightly insomniac, so I might be up until dawn and til morning, getting my bones very soft. I'll probably go out later, when no one's around, the cloudy sky hiding the moon, about to cover me in my mischievous wanderings. I'll just finish this sweet potato and I'm off.

* * *

Okay I am back. And while I strolled outside, wearing nothing but my nightgown, and the bowl of sweet potatoes, it was quite... eerie. Yes, that's the word. The lamppost from outside works, but it seems to only light the place where it's stationed. The guard is asleep, the other is talking in a retarded way on his walkie-talkie.

This is why we get attempted robbery. Or robbed. Sleeping guards... Pff.

I don't get any farther than the end of the street (which isn't really far) because the darkness that loomed over the next streets and the grocery store across me (yes, I live near a grocery store) is terrifying, and I don't think I have the courage to walk over it. I have a little fear over darkness. I can't sleep without the nightlight on. Or sleep with the lights entirely off without my sister beside me. And I am sixteen. Oh gee, this is going to be hard.

So instead I headed back, slowly, back to the house. The cat mewed at me and I mew back. And then I mewed another one, this time scaring it. But it raised its tail and I knew I should leave or else suffer Mr. Whisker's mighty claws.

But then again, I didn't want to go inside-- the air inside the house seemed too thick to for my lungs, and I felt asthmatic. I sat on the edge of the gate-door, and pondered about the ants, and the moths, and the flies that were busy flirting with the lamppost above me.

Tonight I feel quite poetic. But I can never write a poem, as vain as I try.
Haikus, not even. I just draw. Or write a short story.
And here is the short story:

A girl of pale white ghosted down the room,
down the stairs,
and Out.

She pondered about the Stars, the Moon and wherever the Sun went.
Her brown eyes had Tears,
and she can't recall why,
but she looks up,
torn between joining the Stars
or to stay behind
and face Life's harsh decisions
and Life's whip-like hands.

But she threw a hand out,
with the Pawed friend by her side,
and vainly wished,
that she existed out of life,
out of bounds,
out and Beyond.

Her white silk dress tore by the ends,
thorns thrashed her skin, bleeding,
and she closed her eyes...

Feeling eternity,
feeling Hell and Heaven
understanding worldly chaos,
hearing whispers,
listening to voices,
seeing light,
seeing darkness.

Feeling Hollow.

This was how it felt to exist out of everything.
A piece of happiness,
a piece of joy,
a piece of everything,
and a piece of nothing.

A hollow skull.
A body without a beat.
No blood to run forth.

All Hell and Utopia together.

She opened her eyes to the dusky night,
skies sprinkled with glitter,
covered in a mast of darkness. Nothing can ever be more wonderful.
The Pawed friend vanishes from sight.
Probably to look for a place to sleep,
or probably thought her in retardation; she doesn't know.

A smile brims up her face, crying too at the same time.

She goes in,
the goes up,
then goes to her bed,
and dreamt of dreams...
And pure emptiness.

As you may have noticed, she is me.
Sometimes when all is quiet, a feeling evokes in my heart, and I have to write it down. A feeling of momentary happiness, a moment of pain, and a moment of nothing. An unexplainable feeling all brought together. If it has a name, I can't quite put a finger on it.

And tonight it did just that.

Comments

Love and all that crap

Wed, 16 Sep 2009 11:49:15 +0200

I'll be a hypocrite if I said I didn't like anyone in my lifetime. Not that I hate men; I've got my sister for that. It's that, I wouldn't want to be what my mother has experienced. Maybe I'm just careful. All too careful.

Surprisingly, I have more male friends than female friends-- just because I find my generation of teenagers all too shallow and nonsensical and attention-seekers. Or maybe that's just my harsh point of view; no offense, girls.

So I've got my male friends-- all a lot older than me-- because we had the same level concerning thoughts and thinking (though they sometimes scold me for being all too innocent and kid-like) but I enjoy it very much. There are times I'd be meeting a rare girl with brains. A jackpot, of course.

Now, back then, I was a tween, I was a tomboy, because I didn't want to have crushes, I didn't want to be teased, and maybe I didn't want to get all heart-broken. Too girly, I say. Save that for my sisters.

But when I 'graduated' to teenage-hood, my cells seemed to have changed; or hormones, I guess.

I was just starting out to be an internet junkie then, when I met this guy named *Sandy. Sandy was 5 months older than I am, and he talked sense, and we got along together. I hated to admit it, but I was having a crush on him, and everytime we talked on MSN, I'd get the butterflies.

So much for a tomboy to handle.

After so much hassle, and a lot of conversations, a friend let slip that I had a crush on him, and then he kind of confronted me about it, and I had to admit it. Oh curse that blasted friend.

Then he told me he had a crush on me too.
I was as red as Santa's nose, as red as the firetruck, as red as anything! I thought it was love.

And so we proceeded to talk normally, though we hugged each other often virtually. I hate virtual things.

But the very next day, I found him with a status message, "In love and loved."
What's an immature girl to think?

Then he instant messages me and announces he has a girlfriend.
Hurray.
Wow.
Wo0t.
Congratulations.

And then he said, when he felt that I was sulking, "I'm sorry Iza."
"It's all right."
"It's not, I know."
"I swear Sandy*, just have fun!"

That was the first time in my life that I ever experienced a heartbreak.
I was sulking when I was alone, mostly cried, and wished that it was me. It took me a long time to recover from that, and so I decided to just... forget and live. I left him alone. He left me alone; it was all too awkward to talk now.

The second one (yes, there's a second one) was... a typical handsome guy, but he treated me like I'm part of the wall. This, too, is all virtual. I would private message him and he won't reply, I would leave a comment on his page and he won't reply. He was like the 'jock' in most high school flicks, and I hated him for it, but I fell for his charm when we met each other. (Fricking online)

Joe* was his name, he was part Filipino like me, we shared a lot everytime he was online, but he avoided me for some reason, too. Maybe I was too clingy and I didn't realize...? I made a lot of mistakes then.

A few months later, Joe has a girlfriend. She was pretty, popular, I guess, and she made boys drool. Of course they were perfect for each other. Match made in heaven.

Of course it made me cry. It seemed like every guy I wanted or even liked had some kind of syndrome of breaking me apart. Or making me cry unconsciously.

Right now I really like this guy, but I don't tell him. Just in case he flies away or he starts avoiding me, or or or just leaves me because I am a total crap. -_-

Right now I've got a whole lot of male friends, but I am way careful. My MSN list is populated by the males. A few are in my Favorite List. I'm just afraid of people leaving me, especially the ones I get attached to.

When I told Adam that I'm going to wait till after college to have a boyfriend, he said,

"Oh Feliza! When else are you going to be young?"

He had a point. But I am rushed to grow; so age is just formality?
I just hope that when the 'right' one comes, he'd sweep me off my feet and won't drop me on the ground.

Comments

Head on with words.

Tue, 15 Sep 2009 09:50:40 +0200

For the girls who want to swear themselves to celibacy, this might help you.

"Haven't I seen you someplace before?"
"Yeah, that's why I don't go there anymore."

He: So what do you do for a living?
She: Female impersonator.

"Is this seat empty?"
"Yes, and this one will be too if you sit down."

"So, wanna go back to my place?"
"Well, I don't know. Will two people fit under a rock?"

"I'd like to call you. What's your number?"
"It's in the phone book."
"But I don't know your name."
"That's in the phone book too."

"What sign were you born under?"
"No Parking."

"I know how to please a woman."
"Then please leave me alone."

"Haven't we met before?"
"Yes, I'm the receptionist at the V.D. Clinic."

"I want to give myself to you."
"Sorry, I don't accept cheap gifts."

"I can tell that you want me."
"Ohhhh. You're so right. I want you... to leave."

"Hey, baby, What's your sign?"
"Stop."

"Hey cutie, how 'bout you and I hitting the hot spots?"
"Sorry, I don't date outside my species."

"May I see you pretty soon?"
"Why? Don't you think I'm pretty now?"

"Your body is like a temple."
"Sorry, there are no services today."

"I'd go through anything for you."
"Good! Let's start with your bank account."

"I would go to the end of the world for you."
"Yes, but would you stay there?"

Guy: "Haven't I seen you someplace before?"
Girl: "Yes, that's why I don't go there anymore."

"Your place or mine?"
"Both. You go to yours and I'll go to mine."

He: So, wanna go back to my place?
She: Well, I don't know. Will two people fit under a rock?

After hearing a pickup line:
I like your approach, now let's see your departure.

If you are looking at a girl and she says "What are you looking at?"
say "I thought you were good looking, but I was mistaken."

He: Would you like to dance?
She: Not with you.
He: Oh, come on. Lower your standards a little, I just did.

He: Do you wanna dance?
She: Yeah but not with you!
He: You must have misunderstood me, I said you look fat in those pants!

Q: Does beauty run in your family?
A: It obviously doesn't in yours!

Q: What's your name sexy?
A: Taken!

Q: Do you believe in love at first sight or do you want me to walk by again?
A: Yeah, but this time don't stop!

Q: I think you're the best looking girl in here.
A: Really? Well, I'd better go find the best looking guy then, hadn't I!

He: So, baby, your place or mine?
She: Both. You'll go to your place and I'll go to mine!

He: Your legs go clear up to your ass.
She: Most peoples' do!

Q: Can I buy you a drink?
A: Go ahead, but only if you buy my boyfriend one too!

"You look like a dream."
Response: "Go back to sleep."

He: What`s it like being the most beautiful girl in the bar?
She: What`s it like being the biggest liar in the world?

"I can see forever in your eyes."
Response: "But all I can see is never in yours."

"I looked up beautiful in the thesaurus today and your name was included."
Response: "Thanks! Hey, I saw your name next to jerk."

Comments

Off to write~

Fri, 11 Sep 2009 10:59:13 +0200

I am inspired to write once again, as I happily finished (the draft) my story Antonin Glass! i am now editing it and will soon be sent to my desired publishers.

Meanwhile, I'm trying my hand in vampire fiction, and I'm currently writing it, and researching more about vampires. My sister says it might result to some 'plagiarism' of some kind since I'm too influenced with Charlaine Harris and Stephenie Meyer (Yuck).

But when I told her the plot, she grinned and said it was good! If I have the time, though, I'd come back and write a post for you to read. Happy weekend! I love you all.

Comments

Doubting doubts.

Tue, 08 Sep 2009 10:59:55 +0200

When doubt comes a-knockin'

" [...] and it's doubt that gives you the education."

I was fed up of researching about Satanism and religions; I decided to give it all a break. My brain's wheezing. I'm tired. It's all too consuming-- you're probably tired of me discussing about this, too.

But for some reason, doubting is good, even if it's like being confused. Very irritating.

A point in Satanism says that, "I let man eat the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge because I want them to be all equal, to expand the knowledge of humanity, to be more than what they are."

Which made me think hard.

Why can't man extend his abilities? Why can't we be more than what we are? What is He afraid of? Is He afraid in the first place?

On His part, however, I remembered a quote, "You must never question Me." Which made me feel a whole lot guilty thinking of more questions.

Why did people burn witches? Because they were afraid of extending forth of what we're able to do? Because we were narrow-minded, then? Isn't it about being the best of what you can be?

For days, (and a week, too) I was distraught looking for answers. I couldn't pray with sincerity. The words were just words. No meaning; merely expressing just to be said 'I was praying'. It was worthless to pray. If I didn't mean it, I shouldn't be praying. Instead, the only thing I prayed about was guidance, and I told Him that I hope to find answers soon. Because living in endless doubt is extremely annoying.

And then here's a bit of silliness: I was on facebook, and took this application 'See what God wants you to know...' and on that say, I had;

"... That you will soon learn from your doubts and confusions. Just wait for it. Only time will tell."

It made me roll my eyes, and say, "Oh great, fine, I'll just wait since everything seems to happen in time."

Well lo an behold, I snapped out of the confusion.

I was watching a show on Discovery channel, about how robots are going to be in the future. Technology will soon make us laze around, they'd do everything now, no human interactions at all-- it's all a pathetic sight, but some others find it cool.

So human technology, to me, will be our own doom. Man will destroy man. Soon robots will be everywhere, soon robots will be able to think for themselves. So much for human intelligence. So much for extending our abilities.

That's when it came to me.

Maybe that's what God had in mind. If we were to extend our abilities further, use 100% of our brain all the time, we would self destruct. And He wouldn't want that.

For some reason, it's still happening. Human technology continues to evolve, some people are blinded to see that this will be our downfall. God doesn't want this. Satan does. He wants man to fight against each other. He enjoys seeing us being war-freaks. Then hatred, the blaming, will soon come after.

I'm now seeing the light.
Hallelujah. :)

Comments

Click to read!

Thu, 03 Sep 2009 11:26:09 +0200

Click this if you're an anti-Twilight, err, kind of person. Worth the read.

Comments

As told by...

Mon, 31 Aug 2009 16:49:27 +0200

The writer in my head tells you a story about me.

This is how my day went.

Her bouncing ash brown curls suit her round youthful face; her brown eyes twinkled when she looks at me. She's running around in circles holding a white daisy on her hand, smiling, laughing, giggling. I couldn't help but be happy just seeing her; as if she's the epitome of happiness, the human form of sunshine, of rainbows, and of smiles. I am so proud having her as a daughter; if being a mother feels this good, I shouldn't have thought of it as tiring--

Feliza wakes up, her eyes blurry, and tries to adjust her vision. I dreamt of her again, she sighs to herself, checking the time. It was 8:30AM. She checks her cellphone for messages that was sent during her sleep, and finds a message from her friend, telling her that he missed her. She sighed yet again and got up.

After fixing herself, (when she thought her hair looked decent enough for the day) she went downstairs, skipping on the third step (as it creaks loudly) and finds her brother studying his lessons.

"Has dad gone?" she asked.

"Yeah, he's already gone."

She stood there, blank for a moment, expecting to hear more, probably, (aren't we all confused in the mornings?) and went directly inside the bathroom, thanking the heavens that her mother wasn't using it.

Feliza skipped her breakfast, preferring to eat when she's hungry, but got a big glass full of water and that concluded her breakfast. Maybe it was enough to boost her artistic energy.

Running up the stairs without spilling the water, she went inside the room quietly and drew up the foldable table, grabbed her sketchbook and pastels, and starts scribbling about the page.

That goes on for two hours or more; until her sister wakes up and fixes the bed, and sweeps the floor.

When 11 o'clock comes, she goes downstairs, and cooks the rice. She makes sure that the fire is not too high or too low. Just enough to bring it to a boil after fifteen minutes, she goes upstairs and continues her sketch.

She eats her lunch.
She washes the dishes. (That is if her sister did not volunteer to do it first)
After drying her hands, she grabs the Grade4 Science book and tell sher brother, "Come on, let's do Science now."

"... and so what are the three parts of the large instestine?"

"Uh, ascending... transverse... and, wait, what was that again?"

"Come on, make an effort to think."

"Oh yeah! Descending colon."

"Very good. Questions about the chapter?"

Her brother replies a flat 'no' and they resume to quizzes.

After that, she gets online, charges her phone through the USB chord, checks her e-mail, and gets irritated at the continuous lagging and disappearing windows.

"What the fricking hell is this effing computer doing to my fudging time!" she bursts quietly, so that no one hears her swearing.

And when everything clicks to place, she writes a blog entry, play a bit of Vampire Wars on facebook, (after untagging herself on some pictures, too) and checks every forum that she's registered to, she retires and goes to cook rice again.

And after the night's events (which I don't dare write anymore) she goes to sleep, dream about her daughter again, and wakes up in the morning to find herself living a routinely life again and again.

Comments

Retardation

Tue, 25 Aug 2009 10:49:02 +0200

Is what I feel every night when I've done everything I needed to do; it's always an awkward time for me when it's ten PM: I'm not yet sleepy, yet it's too late to do anything. The other night, you could have plastered a sticker on my back that said 'retarded' because I was basically lying down on the bed, staring into nothing, and doing nothing, waiting for nothing.

Most of it's because I'm bored and could not be bothered by doing anything.
And mostly because I want to get out of the house and do something... productive.

I hope I end my being fifteen with a bang, or something.
And that I might actually do something productive these days.....

I don't want to end up like the people I know who, retarded, and was stuck on it for life. No achievements, no doing nothing.

And, oh, God, I sound retarded.

Bless my soul.

Comments

3 Things

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 09:32:41 +0200

Three names you go by, other than your given name:
1. Rec
2. Feliz
3. Iz

Three screen names you've had:
1. Reccura
2. Zai Zhu
3. Azi Aiturru

Three physical things you like about yourself:
1. My eyes.
2. Ears. Lol.
3. Height.

Three physical things you don't like about yourself:
1. Nose...
2. My right side of the hair. Always fly away.
3. Height.

Three parts of your heritage:
1. Filipino.
2. Spanish.
3. Chinese.

Three things you are wearing right now:
1. Yellow addidas shirt.
2. Blue shorts with polka dots....
3. My necklace.

Three favorite bands/musical artists:
1. Greenday.
2. Enigma.
3. Godsmack.

Three favorite songs:
(At the moment )
1. Tell Her - Jesse McCartney.
2. Touch My Hand - David Archuleta.
3. Scream - Zac Efron.

Three things you'd want most in a long-term relationship:
1. Love.
2. Loyalty.
3. Honesty.

Three physical things about the preferred sex that appeal to you:
1. Eyes.
2. Built.
3. Height.

Three of your favorite hobbies:
1. Reading.
2. Drawing.
3. Slumping.

Three hobbies you'd like to try:
1. Painting using the REAL STUFF everyday.
2. Bake.
3. Run every morning.

Three things that scare you:
1. Thunders.
2. The Dark.
3. Mum.

Three places you want to go on vacation:
1. Portugal.
2. France.
3. England.

Three meals you've cooked for yourself or others in the last week:
1. Eggs.
2. Rice.
3. Meatloaf.

Three careers you have considered/are considering:
1. Culinary.
2. Digital artist.
3. Nursing.

Three current career skills:
1.
2.
3.

-- I wouldn't know that yet.

Three ways you are uniquely you:
1. I can entertain/amuse myself.
2. I can shift moods as easily as you can say 'dog'
3. I can be random and serious at the same time.

Three things you wish with all your heart you could do:
1. Be a bitch and a snob and still be accepted by people. Kind of impossible.
2. Cook a perfect egg.
3. Fly.

Three impossible dreams:
1. Save everyone I love from going to Hell.
2. Finish Tess D'Urbervilles in an hour.
3. To not drink that awful enzyme that my dad seems to have a stock.

Answer it; I'd like to see yours.

Comments

Words that make sense.

Fri, 21 Aug 2009 08:38:41 +0200

The DON'TS to remember:

Don't wait for time. Make it.
Don't wait for love. Feel it.
Don't wait for money. Earn it.
Don't want for the path. Find it.
Don't wait for opportunity. Create it.
Don't go for less. Get the best.
Don't compare. Be unique.
Don't avoid failure. Use it.
Don't dwell on mistakes. Learn from them.
Don't back down. Go around.
Don't close your eyes. Open your mind.
Don't run from life. Embrace and enjoy it.

This has been like my 'guideline' about life; keep an open mind and embrace whatever comes to you, and be happy with what you have, instead of asking the impossibles.

I'm sure time will come when I can finally eat a whole tiramisu cake.
I shouln't pray about it every night.

* * *

Loneliness - The pain of being alone.
Solitude - The glory of being alone.

Is it possible to feel both at the same time?
Why, yes.

I feel it all the time when I'm alone in the mornings, afternoons and night. You enjoy the quietness, the sound of silence-- which sometimes go eeeeeee-- when no one barges in the door and tells you to look for something; the very peace you look for. But it does get lonely when you're at it for a period of time, and you start to look around and say to yourself, "Where is everybody?"

But I just tell myself that I won't be minding their businesses, so long as they don't disturb my peace-bubble when they know I don't want to be disturbed-- I snap at people harshly. Maybe just a wee bit.

* * *

3 THINGS TO WATCH: Speech, Behaviour, Action.
3 THINGS TO CONTROL: Tongue, Temper, Temptation.
3 THINGS TO LOVE: Purity, Honesty, Hardwork.

I couldn't say more.
It's true I watch my tongue, behaviour, and what I do.

One wrong step and I'm quite doomed. Been proven the hard way.

The second one I'm ALWAYS on the lookout for. It's hard to control my tongue, because what I say usually just slips out and produces bad effects (no, I don't swear) especially when I am angry, or irritated.

Temptation I don't think so... I'm highly deprived (in my own little way) of everything at the moment, and I don't see where temptation could be.

And of course, the last, are the actions that are loved and adored.
Who wouldn't want to have those characteristics?

Comments

Violent Thoughts

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 10:37:06 +0200

What do you do to attention-seeking-drama-queens?
.
.
.
.
.

Do you burn them, scald their flesh, or pop open their eyes and lunge it down their throats?

Hmm, I should think about the things that I could actually do.

Hack her in all her accounts, make her cry using my tongue, bombard her e-mail with viruses... That's all the 'revenge' I can think of online.

I am feeling severely pissed, and there's nothing I can do but torture her in my thoughts, and pray that she trips somewhere. And have her body rot in the sewers-- I think I'll just keep my thoughts to myself.

Comments

CarrotTop

Fri, 14 Aug 2009 11:17:00 +0200

Everything is lopsided because she's confused.

Comments

Creepy Weirdo

Wed, 12 Aug 2009 09:57:49 +0200

So I am thinking I won't be writing much about Satanism-- because 1., I am a coward, 2., I am afraid he'll grab my feet at night, and 3., because it depresses me and it made me go through an emotional breakdown.

Meanwhile, feeling quite emo today, I listened to this song:

Creep ~ Radiohead

When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye
You're just like an angel,
Your skin makes me cry

You float like a feather
In a beautiful world
I wish I was special
You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't care if it hurts,
I wanna have control
I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul

I want you to notice
when I'm not around
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here, ohhhh, ohhhh

She's running out again
She's running out
She run run run run...
run... run...

Whatever makes you happy
Whatever you want
You're so fuckin' special
I wish I was special

But I'm a creep,
I'm a weirdo
What the hell am I doin' here?
I don't belong here

I don't belong here...

I can very much relate to it, seeing as many people classify me as a creep and a weirdo; my first tag here in blog UK was 'strange', and I don't know who put it. A creep indeed.

And sometimes I feel like I wasnt to exist out of life. Sometimes I feel like breathing and living is such a burden, and feeling so alone slowly kills you from the inside.

The feeling that some times no one cares, no one will ever understand, and you're left alone in your corner of the world.

Meanwhile, I was slightly cheered up when I saw google's picture today:

There was supposed to be a meteor shower today, but hah, it never came.

Comments

Traffic-effing-Feeds

Tue, 11 Aug 2009 09:46:36 +0200

Just letting you guys know that I am not from San Francisco, Nueva Ecija.
:-[" class="middle" border="0">

I am from Quezon City, Philippines. I don't think there's a place called San Francisco in here, as far as I'm aware...

It's quite irritating whenever I visit blogs with traffic feed and it shows that. I don't know why. It just hits a nerve.

Well I hope that clears up.

Comments

Satanism I

Mon, 10 Aug 2009 09:47:05 +0200

I know it's such a powerful title, the word itself creeps me out, but I've got to write it down.

Since Antonin Glass is nearly finished, I started working on a new story. The drafted title is 'Hunters', five men who came to Earth from Hell. It sounds really pesky and mediocre, but screw that please. Moving on, I needed to research about Hell, about the demons, so I could get my facts straight, and that there would be a little truth to what I'm writing.

So I went to google, searched, "Satanism", and got chilly results.

Some of the highlighted words were 'Church of Satan', 'Signs of Stan'; but I clicked the 'Joy of Satan', powered by angelfire.com.

A quote appeared on the first page, saying,

""THERE IS NO GOD BUT MYSELF"
"KNOWING THIS, WHO DARES WORSHIP THE FALSE GODS OF THE KORAN AND BIBLE?"
-SATAN

And then there were key points to what their religion is all about; but this is what revolted me: Satanism is not about "evil." and True Satanism is about elevating and empowering humanity, which was our True Creator (Satan's) intention.

Then what the heck is it all about, if it's not about evil? And Satan was the creator of us, including God himself? Excuse me?

We have found Satanism is the original religion of humanity. We have done our research. Satanism is based upon the ancient religions that predated Judaism and Christianity from hundreds to thousands of years.

Then I would very much wonder where it all started. If Satanism was the original religion of humanity, why oh why do the Christian Bible sell quickly like pancakes? Why isn't their bible even on the shelves of bookstores? Is it on the restricted section? Very funny.

Spiritual Satanism is a life loving religion. Satan accepts us as we are, but guides us to advance ourselves to where we evolve to a higher level. Spiritual Satanists are free to live their lives as they choose- responsibility to the responsible. We live by natural law and encourage everyone to develop themselves to their fullest extent.

If Satan was such a loving 'Creator' (I won't even darewouldn't there be peace in the world then? Wouldn't we live in a comfortable, safe environment? God and him in a joyful relationship, because they understand each other?

Of all the religions I've read about, researched about, this one is where my blood boiled, where I really felt great hatred, and where I was almost hypnotized.

As I was reading, my mood seemed to have been... altered with. I felt the need to know more about it, to know about the people who worked for Satan, what his 'teachings' were-- I was dead curious. And all the while I read, it's like I already half wanted to join him. Or else as if it was already fixed in me that I'd let him have my soul. It's all confusing and all weird; everything in a daze. There was a time that I thought his demons were cool, because I never knew much about Angels.

And that's just by reading.

How much more can it convince and lure a gullible mind? After I went offline I felt like I've sinned greatly, and I prayed right after, asking for forgiveness.

But after praying, I pondered about what I read again. It distorts the mind. It manipulates you. You can feel it luring you in your veins, telling you to come, telling you to join...

Is that what Satanism is all about? Feeling the dirt in you?
Feeling the 'need' to follow?

And what would happen after Judgement Day has come? You'd be living in Hell with all that life and love, with demons as your pals, everyone at peace with each other?

Then it won't really matter wherever you go, doesn't it?

Satan said that a pyramid is a powerful shape/object because it's pointed at the top. Isn't that where God dwells? When you pray for Satan, where does your head tilt? Up or down?

Writing this exhausts me emotionally. I've got a lot more to say but I think I'll just write it tomorrow. No tags for this post.

Comments

Piece of Peace

Fri, 07 Aug 2009 15:17:06 +0200

There would be times I'd be wishing that I am on a plane going off to a certain fairyland, where all worry and stress and problem would vanish with a wink.

At the moment I'm full of everything, my brain boggled, and what's worse, is that my little piece of happiness, the internet, is effing slow! It must be because of the rain; but I had a hard time loading everything, including the blog!

And my other piece of happiness, Fibbi, has taken his first bath the other day, due to his dirty white tummy. And because he caused two pimples on my left cheek, because sometimes my cheeks uses him as a pillow at night. It's horrible.

So I washed Fibbi, and let him sleep the night in water and detergent soap, left him there for three days (only because I was out for two days, and I was lazy and tired the day after) and finally washed him. The water was a bit slimy then for being stagnant, I guess, and then I can't dry him now because it's raining and storming-- and I dried him over then fan, but the cotton's all wet; so my last resort was blow dry him later before I go to sleep. Hope to God that works.

Being full of everything, and my little happiness-es are quite ruined, I sit here feeling depressed, wishing a little world of my own, or just a piece of peace. Is that so hard to find? Is it hard to get?

Some other day, my sister and I had a talk, and the subject 'World Peace' drifted by our conversation.

she wondered whether if peace was, I really can't remember what certain word she used, but from what I understood, she wondered whether peace really 'existed'.

My shoulders sagged a bit and I knew why she was thinking that; depressing times are getting into our head, boredom in our minds. When you're bored, you actually think about how bored you are, then your mind wanders to some things.

"Come on, peace exists, just look at us--" I pointed to her and me. "Peace exists between us."

She gave me an exasperated look, and said, "Not that [insert bullying word here]. I mean the people in the world, they can't get tired of ruining each other. Outsmarting each other."

"That's just how the world is."

Is that how the world really is?
When you ask for peace, you won't have it?
Even just a piece?

Comments

The Dreadfully Boring Post

Wed, 05 Aug 2009 15:48:37 +0200

Today I've got stomach ache from eating too much peanut butter sandwiches-- one bread at the bottom, one bread on top, and the luscious peanut butter in between. I'd be thinking I had three. Or four. Oh goodness.

As you can see I have nothing in mind to write, but what happened to me recently.

I was dead bored. Bored, I tell you. Life felt routinely, and I hated it; but as of the moment, I have no choice.

And because I was dreadfully bored, I talked to Fibbi most of the time; I could swear that he talks back.

Me: I'm bored. Extremely. I've done writing and stuff--

Fibbi: Do something else instead.

Me: Ugh. Like?

Fibbi: Something... else.

Me: Aw you're a great help cotton ball. Thanks.

Like that.

It gets weird sometimes, because I think he's getting a soul. When I enter a room I feel like he's following where I go. I have heard toys coming to life. Voodooed. Oh goodness.

That's all I have to write right now.
I'm much too full and blunt.
And currently distracted by a lot of things. See you soon. (:

Comments

Feliza's Fotografia

Mon, 27 Jul 2009 10:18:13 +0200

My sister is a model, and have achieved so many things the past two years. Being a model, she has photoshoots, too. I usually tag along with her because I am interested in photography, and the photographers who shoot her were kind to me and gave me professional tips-- even if the camera I have isn't an SLR yet. The camera I use is an old kodak digital camera, and is quite bulky.

It's really slow when you click the shutter, and sometimes it doesn't even take the picture at all! So I'm saving up for a really good camera, even if it's not the professional ones the photographers use.

But for the meantime, I have to be patient with it, and sometimes, it's patient back.

Here are the two photoshoots with which I tagged along.

Credits to Paelo Pedrajas, and Bryan Ang, who organized the photoshoots.

Location is in Intendencia Ruins, Intramuros.

The location of this picture is... in a photographer's friend's house. I don't know where it is, pardon.

So far I haven't been tagged along to her photoshoots as I am, err, well, nevermind. But I do hope for the love of God, that I am able to go somewhere and just take photos for the pleasure of it. Hope you like it.

P.S.(You might be wondering why I use fotografia instead of photography. It's because using the word photography after my name is common around here, and I want mine to be something different, and new to the ears.)

P.P.S. (All photos are edited in Adobe CS2)

Comments

Rammed Brain

Sun, 26 Jul 2009 17:33:35 +0200

Today I used both my brains.
The left, and the right.
I am overworked, and now I am staying up late because I'm online. I am very sleepy!

This morning I continued writing Antonin Glass, and I am currently looking for local publishing companies here in my place-- I do hope they'd take a peek at my story when I finally submit it in the future.

In the afternoon, I drew and coloured and coloured-- here, I want to show you my working area-- I'm working on a circular table which is quite hard, seeing my table is somewhere downstairs and is being used in the kitchen. (Please don't ask why.)

Uh oh. The letters are hard to read! I thought this was big in size. I'll just re-upload sometime then.

That was the drawing I've been colouring the whole day-- my coloured pencil, the black one, is only two inch tall already, and is endangered of being gone. I don't think I can live without a black pencil! I'll have to buy a replacement, and hope to heaven it isn't expensive.

I think I'd go to bed now; I'm simply exhausted! I hope I can post more paintings tomorrow-- they're already rotting in my folders.

I hope the cold water won't make me when I take my bath!

Comments

When I Was Still Artistic

Sat, 25 Jul 2009 09:16:25 +0200

Since I am still on a blogging block, I decided to post some of the works I have done over the years.

I started drawing in oil pastels when I was eleven-- I saw the wonders it did when I started using them. It was a gift from my siblings on my eleventh birthday, actually, and then I started taking my drawing seriously.

Mermaids

That was my first masterpiece using pastels-- I felt proud at the moment, as I thought I produced a drawing that looked like a painting. Sad to say, I didn't know that putting on dates were important.

Mother and Me

Another oil pastel, this time I played with the sun colours. This was a challenge from my mother, daring me to draw the two of us thirty years from now. On the left side is me, and on the right is my mother. She liked it, thank heavens.

Africa Dying

Done in coloured pencils. This was my depiction of Africa then, hence the title.

Francy's seventeenth birthday

This is a gift to my sister on her seventeenth birthday; she's the eldest of four siblings. (I come third) Done in coloured pencils and pastel-- I laughed when I saw this drawing today. Childishly done; but I don't want to do anything to make it look better. I'd rather see the errors of my ways. : P

I've stopped drawing when we transferred house in May 2007. Maybe because I lacked the inspiration (we're near the highway) and because I didn't have my trusty table to draw on. But then, for the sake if it, I still tried to draw. My imagination took a vacation somewhat at that time, and so I drew Gaian avatars and sold them to users registered in that website; I got virtual money.

This are one of them:

I drew more of these kinds of drawings; but my computer is slow, so I'll have to post it another time.

I failed at continuing to draw, and I spent more time on the internet, and I discovered the wonders, and the miracles of photoshop. I got addicted immediately, and downloaded Adobe CS2.

One of my first works; this is me when I still had long hair. And the name 'Zai Zhu' is my Chinese pseudonym I used back then.

I named this piece Touch and Time, the model is my 19 year old cousin, Rafael. I was experimenting with textures and filters.

This is Rafael, too, standing in front of a cross.
Please do not take any offense, this is simply a photo manipulation, and I mean nothing of it. It's just an idea in my mind.

Rafael's pictures are taken by him; used with permission.

This ones I can say I have improved then, and I knew what I was doing. I have made two versions;

A coloured one and a black and white-- this time, to make it more interesting, I drew lines along the wall cracks.

The coloured one I named, 'Coloured Grief', and the one in black and white I named, 'Trapped in Grief'.

Photos were taken by me; I was actually a gate crasher in the photoshoot-- the one who organized it is Paelo Pedrajas, he did the photoshoot for his thesis.

This one is me again when I cut my hair boy-cut (I have no idea why I did it) and obviously manipulated. My eyes aren't green. This one is named 3NiGMA 333. There's a story behind the picture. Maybe sometime I'll post about it.

This one is the most recent I've done (early this year) and I'm proud of the effect I 've done. I tried out the orb-effect on that photo which features my sister, Francy. I named the piece Fairy Queen, since my sister is a fairy-like person. (Sometimes she emits flowery smell, oh the wonders.)

Picture by Gelbert Aplal... I don't know if he knows I used this... My sister was given a CD full of those pictures, and I took one and edited it. Mister Gelbert, if you see this, please don't be angry with me.

But our computer was virused mid-February, so everything I had are lost, all the programs installed are lost, and my beloved CS2 was gone. We had to reformat the computer. I focused instead on painting. My first two results were this:

The last one is my current avatar here on blog UK. (:

Maybe later on, if my mum doesn't tell me off for staying too long online, I get to post my photography, and the paintings I did last April. (:
The rest of the photos are taken by meee.

Comments

Here comes Fibbi!

Wed, 22 Jul 2009 16:41:25 +0200

There goes my lovie, Fibbi! <333

Comments

Nicholas Was - Neil Gaiman

Wed, 22 Jul 2009 15:11:39 +0200

Nicholas Was...

older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.

The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.

Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves' invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.

He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.

Ho.

Ho.

Ho.

I just wanted to share you how brilliant and amazing Neil Gaiman is. These are one of my favourite short stories of his-- this story can be found on Smoke and Mirrors. He inspires me to write more and more and moorrreeee... (:

Comments

Antonin Glass -- Book Cover

Tue, 21 Jul 2009 09:55:12 +0200

I am still addicted to writing, and there are still thoughts and stories churning up in my brain. I have to discipline myself though because I'd be running out of paper, sleeping with dictionaries instead of the pillows and the bed, and I'd be chewing ballpens instead of eating lunch. Writing consumes my life and makes me forget what problems exist, I live in my own world, my own terms, my own time, my own pace, my own rules.

Only the real world's getting in the way, and I have to try to live like everyone else and lead a good life-- this is getting out of topic.

Back to my writing-- if some of you have read my short story 'Antonin Glass' I have now revised the title to; 'The Mysterious Tale of Antonin Glass' as I see that it's more appropriate.

I have yet to make a synopsis, as the story's almost done. I'm very much glad! Now I can continue two-- no, the three more upstairs that's been quite abandoned for a while now. I just have to put the my name on top and all will be complete.

When I've finally finished (what I meant by the finished story is the finished drafted version) editing it (by editing I mean after my sister's edited it, then my editor, my mother) I can at last submit to a publishing company or something. I'm serious about my writing business-- I believe there is life in this industry.

I belong in a Harry Potter forum (I've been in it for about two years.) which had another subforum 'Arts and Graphics'. I had the book cover done by Contra_Mundi (her username), one of the best graphic designers I know. The way she plays with photoshop-- magnificent.

EDIT: The cover features Skandar Keynes of Narnia. In the future, I'd ask Skandar if I could really use his face as a book cover. I hope he says yes!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I am currently on a blogging-block (it's like writer's block) because everytime I draft something to be posted today or tomorrow, I erase it and start about a new topic. It happens again and I erase it. Erase. Erase. Delete. Blah.

I have so many topics before my head hits the pillow, and I decide "I will type it on my blog tomorrow!" only to lose my will and enthusiasm when my eyes flutter open.

So if I blog after this post, please pardon the writing style and paragraphing, the phrases and the grammar. Thank you. (:

Comments

Pouring Love to Nothing

Sat, 18 Jul 2009 10:30:52 +0200

I'm a bit fed up being alone the whole time. No one to talk to. No one to share ideas with. I like being alone, but I like to be alone with the presence of someone mental and the same brain level like me, too.

I talk to myself all the time, pretend I'm talking to someone, and deep inside I know no one is listening, and so my babbling mouth's wasted.

There were a lot of white cloth left from making Barbie dresses I used to make before; and there was a lot of white thread left, and so I hunched up a plan to make myself a little company.

After two days of stitching and getting pricked (my thimble was too large for my thumb, as it's my mother's), it's finally done! A poorly made stuffed toy I named Fibbi.

Fibbi! Fibbi! FIBBI.

Fibbi is on my shoulder right now, hanging around (literally), and later on, I'll be stitching his sister Apple to life. And then there's Rosie to make! I feel like a little kid fancying dolls all the time, making clothes for them, and cooing over them. I guess I never really got much to be a kid, and I was opened to the world's realities too fast before I even got to know what I wanted. Maybe that's why I tend to act like a kid all the time.

That aside, I'm quite happy with my poorly done toy. I love it already. I feel like I'm bursting with love with this non-existent toy. I feel like it's a part of me-- something I'd never allow to someone handle with harshly, or to hold it with dirty hands. Heaven knows how I'm going to wash this; the stitches might come loose. I don't think I did it tight enough.

Fibbi aside, pouring love to something that doesn't exist-- something that can't return the love you give, felt pathetic. I felt sad. I felt alone again. But I haven't felt this kind of love for a long time; the last time was when I still had my parrot I named Paparotti. Oh, I loved her so much. She was the only one who'd listen and understand, to the point I looked like a parrot sometimes. And squawk occasionally.

Is it even right to do so? Give something that's too overwhelming, and nothing to receive in return? I feel misunderstood at times with no voice to express it. The fear bubbling in my chest.

But then, I try to look on the brighter side!

At least I get to have a non-existent toy that I can hug at night (though small and frail) and someone to love unconditionally without it complaining back at my random outbursts and mental ideas.

I love Fibbi! <3

Comments

Little Smiles

Tue, 14 Jul 2009 11:11:51 +0200

Today was a bad start in the morning, though it was cozy and warm. Family issues... sisterly issues... brotherly issues... mother issues... friend issues... and the myself-issues. Everyday I wake up with one thing in mind: to check what time it is, and to do what needs to be done-- as not to provoke any emotions. To try and make the day perfect, though with little flaws here and there.

The one thing I very hate is seeing my mother cry-- the sight itself is pathetic, and I want to cuss and wreck the person's life who does it. Crying is not for my mother's face; she's a face meant to smile and laugh. Not to frown and cry; or worse, get angry.

Lunchtime neared and my mother was cooking, but there was also something wrong with her face. She was crying, and my heart broke. There were several problems that she got in between with, and she feels excruciated. I yearned to comfort her but knew not.

Right after I got into an unpleasant mood, and I practically barked at anyone who crossed me. But then I know better than to start fights with my siblings. I just calmed myself and thought 'maximum tolerance', just as my mother instructed me to do whenever I'm angry. My patience was sorely tested, but I survived through it without an outburst. I think I deserved a pat on the back. (:

But then the bad mood continued until I went online and checked things over, but it was suddenly lifted up when I visited my friend Janet's blog and read her autobiography. One of my hobbies before were reading my favourite painters' biographies, and she was no different. It was throwing myself into another world; into someone's life. Nevertheless she made me happy and brought a smile to my face, and seemed to erase the problems and pressing issues for a while. I thank her very much.

One of her friends, justgrrl, lifted my solemn mood, too. She posted little happiness, how to truly appreciate life by looking at small things. I began reflecting, and I started counting my blessings, too. The rain, flowers... Well I could relate a bit with the rain because it's really cold right now, the temperature right for my cold-impenetrable skin.

It made me happy and I smiled a lot, too, and thought myself foolish for thinking about how pissed and annoyed I am, when there are the little things that can make me smile, again, the things that needs looking upon.

I am thankful for you good women for making me happy in a sad, heart-breaking day like this. It's good to see people like you exist. I constantly look for things that make me happy all the time, just to give myself a little boost or drive to get through the day. I just have to remember a lot of things, count my blessings, and smile along with my heart.

Comments