One reason to:
- Regret never taking any formal dance lessons
- Want to do theatre
- Miss high school dance productions!
- Not study 122! Haha
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Anybody Find Me
One reason to:
Friday, January 22, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Don't Say
Jamie: You don't know the first thing about being someone's friend.
Landon: I don't want to just be your friend.
Jamie: You don't know what you want.
Landon: Neither do you. Maybe you're just too scared that someone might actually want to be with you.
Jamie: And why would that scare me?
Landon: Because then you wouldn't be able to hide behind your books, or your frickin' telescope, or your faith. No, no, you know the real reason why you're scared? It's cause you wanna be with me too.
Landon: I don't want to just be your friend.
Jamie: You don't know what you want.
Landon: Neither do you. Maybe you're just too scared that someone might actually want to be with you.
Jamie: And why would that scare me?
Landon: Because then you wouldn't be able to hide behind your books, or your frickin' telescope, or your faith. No, no, you know the real reason why you're scared? It's cause you wanna be with me too.
A Walk to Remember (2002)
I find myself blogging yet again. Too soon. But today's one of those days when my insides feel like bursting--with both ideas and emotions-- and yet I had kept them all bottled up. I don't want to rain on anyone's parade anyway. Or maybe it's just I want to assess everything first before I open my mouth. I was thinking of calling a close friend upon getting home, to talk or maybe invite her to dinner for some breakdown session. But we are all too busy. So here I am now, badly in need of an outlet.
Landon captures pretty much everything of what I've been thinking about on my way home earlier this evening. Maybe I've been putting on this face because I'm still too proud to admit that I'm looking for it too--that I'm just like everyone else. Maybe it's because I'm just too scared to make the same mistakes again. Maybe it's because I'm too proud. Maybe it's because I'm afraid to feel my frailty when I get hurt. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe everything's just my defense mechanism so people won't know the actually-mushy-and-cheesy me. That as much as I want to be different, as much as I want to be rational, as much as I want to realistic, there is this part of me aching for it. That there is a part of me meaning every word of every love song I sing out of the blue. That there is a part of me still wishing for a Henry, a Logan, a Miggy, a prince charming--maybe even an Edward Cullen-- to sweep me off my feet. That sometimes I feel saying the cliché : I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her. Or maybe that's an overstatement. Hm. Or maybe I, too, am hesitant to consider myself limerent (as Saxton calls it).
Why am I so proud to admit to myself, and to anyone else, that I too am in search for that one thing we all need, we all want, we all ask for? Am I that too proud a person? Ain't it normal for everyone to go looking for it? And admit to themselves they need it too? FLCD 135 seems say yes to this. Even 113 implies it. Even kids look for love--and they are not afraid to show it! Am I too abnormal? Or maybe I have some sort of genetic disorder, like that of time travelers, making me all weird, that when I get to stressful situations I escape, and run away? What is wrong with me? Ha.
To hell with my pride.
And salutes to those who have the guts to acknowledge their need for it and to make the other person feel they are loved.
I've blurted too many for the past days. I am so sorry. I'd really appreciate it this time, that is if you took time reading what is above, if you don't ask me about it (especially if you're not in the mood of philosophical and pathetic conversations/ ideas which are kind of my thing here haha). Who wrote those words up there anyway? We have no idea. You got it. Thank you.
Landon captures pretty much everything of what I've been thinking about on my way home earlier this evening. Maybe I've been putting on this face because I'm still too proud to admit that I'm looking for it too--that I'm just like everyone else. Maybe it's because I'm just too scared to make the same mistakes again. Maybe it's because I'm too proud. Maybe it's because I'm afraid to feel my frailty when I get hurt. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe everything's just my defense mechanism so people won't know the actually-mushy-and-cheesy me. That as much as I want to be different, as much as I want to be rational, as much as I want to realistic, there is this part of me aching for it. That there is a part of me meaning every word of every love song I sing out of the blue. That there is a part of me still wishing for a Henry, a Logan, a Miggy, a prince charming--maybe even an Edward Cullen-- to sweep me off my feet. That sometimes I feel saying the cliché : I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her. Or maybe that's an overstatement. Hm. Or maybe I, too, am hesitant to consider myself limerent (as Saxton calls it).
Why am I so proud to admit to myself, and to anyone else, that I too am in search for that one thing we all need, we all want, we all ask for? Am I that too proud a person? Ain't it normal for everyone to go looking for it? And admit to themselves they need it too? FLCD 135 seems say yes to this. Even 113 implies it. Even kids look for love--and they are not afraid to show it! Am I too abnormal? Or maybe I have some sort of genetic disorder, like that of time travelers, making me all weird, that when I get to stressful situations I escape, and run away? What is wrong with me? Ha.
To hell with my pride.
And salutes to those who have the guts to acknowledge their need for it and to make the other person feel they are loved.
I've blurted too many for the past days. I am so sorry. I'd really appreciate it this time, that is if you took time reading what is above, if you don't ask me about it (especially if you're not in the mood of philosophical and pathetic conversations/ ideas which are kind of my thing here haha). Who wrote those words up there anyway? We have no idea. You got it. Thank you.
Friday, January 15, 2010
I've been living. Time to write.
2010. This is the first time this year I'm gonna think this, uh, pathetic. Thank you. I've been living my 2010 life the best I could (if it's school we're talking about, well, I'm surviving), and I suppose this blog deserves that much attention I've given to living, even just for now.
This may sound very boring. Ha. But maybe that equates to the boring, (except for the kids part :P), yet demanding (even the kids part haha), school life that pretty much takes up 50% of my attention this 2010. 20% goes to org works. 10% to sleeping, eating, movies, music. 10 % to face-to-face socializing and online networking sites. 5% to trying to save money and commuting. 5% to leisure reading. Hm, more or less.
To me, writing is pretty much just like living. No, not because they are both made up of a complicated syntax (oh well, maybe it sometimes is because of this, but that is not my point here, my dear). And not just because truly writing and truly living makes me, if not happy, satisfied at least. These two things involves similar processes--from starting, then to the bumps on the way, and, finally getting to, or to bringing everything to, their endings.
They're pretty much the same because when I find myself faced with the reality of doing either of these things, I just know that I have to have a clean, blank slate to begin with--no worries about what I've done before. When I write, I want to start with a new, clean page, with the cursor blinking at me as if trying to get the words out of my system. With life, time seems to ticktock-ing loudly at both my ears, blaring at me: get up, get going! At both instances I find myself staring blankly unto space, not knowing how to take that first step, or worse, having no clue to what that first step is. But at the moment that step is taken, things start flowing in--in good ways, in bad ways, in ways I could, but sometimes would rather not, expect.
Most of the time, I try to just write, and just live. Do what I could. Give out what I got. But I can't help looking back at what I've finished, then here I go: Edit. Cancel. Find. Replace. Grammar check. Spelling check. Evaluate. Make do. Assess. Think. Think think. THINK. Feel. Close my eyes. Realize people may have done better, and that my endeavors are just pea-sized compared to their fully-developed, harvested farms. Frustration! And then I realize I have ran out of fuel. Then, as if on cue, the distractions come along likethe Glee cast singing Somebody To Love (phenomenal!) a well-funded summer festival parade.
What do I do? Well I tend to go with the flow; let the distractions do what they do (distract me, duh) as they pass. And when they've passed? I would like to say, as much as I would want to do really, that I go back and finish what I've started. But no, this doesn't happen every time. Sometimes (though it might be better to say that it happens usually), I go follow that parade, filling my whole self up with its colors and music. And when I've realized that the colors and the music appeal more, I frustrate in the thought that I couldn't finish what I've been doing before they came along. The interest is redirected. Toodaloo, writing. Toodaloo, life.
But there are cases when I do go back and finish--for reasons I (can) think of only when I am back there. Maybe it's because there are people who expect me to finish--expectations pull me in most of the time, you know. Maybe it's because the parade has overwhelmed me to the point it got nauseating, that I just really had to go back to the things I know would make me feel better, if not well.
And one last thing (for I believe I am now running out of fuel--for writing tonight, that is) not everything I've said or done can mean something to the world. Maybe it may mean something to me (oh hello to the egocentrism of it all!), but to the also-egocentric lives of others they may mean little, if not nothing at all. Not everything that makes sense to me, makes sense to others. Not everything I've done makes sense at all.
So does this?
With writing there is this thing called plot diagram, which I could still remember studying for all the upper year levels I've spend in STC. This plot diagram gives the smooth flow of ideas and emotions in the story. Why a smooth flow? Well, basically, it's for coherence. However, I find it hard, both in writing and living, to have such. As much as I want to find and give logic, coherence, and the smooth flow of things, I couldn't always do. Maybe it's because I am lacking in focus, or maybe I am really just out of fuel. But it gives me a realization: Not all things connected to each other can come together as coherent. But then again, that's just me.
Going back to the plot diagram, it has parts. There is the beginning, the rising action, the climax, a falling action, then the resolve. More or less, I see (and try to pattern) life as is. But unfortunately (or is it?) both have the liberty not to follow suit. For example, there are stories without resolutions, and there are lives abruptly taken away without even reaching the climax of it all. As much as I (or maybe everyone, that is) want to make settling concluding sentences and happily-ever-afters happen, they just would not always happen (yes, I am concerned here with that syntax commonality thing unconsciously. Sometimes, even in life, you've got to take back your words). So I end here, not knowing if it this entire block of ideas qualify for a good write. Syntax's fault. My fuel's fault. Life's fault.
BTW, this is really for the wiiiiin! Best mix (plus the video) for 2009! :D:D:D:D
This may sound very boring. Ha. But maybe that equates to the boring, (except for the kids part :P), yet demanding (even the kids part haha), school life that pretty much takes up 50% of my attention this 2010. 20% goes to org works. 10% to sleeping, eating, movies, music. 10 % to face-to-face socializing and online networking sites. 5% to trying to save money and commuting. 5% to leisure reading. Hm, more or less.
To me, writing is pretty much just like living. No, not because they are both made up of a complicated syntax (oh well, maybe it sometimes is because of this, but that is not my point here, my dear). And not just because truly writing and truly living makes me, if not happy, satisfied at least. These two things involves similar processes--from starting, then to the bumps on the way, and, finally getting to, or to bringing everything to, their endings.
They're pretty much the same because when I find myself faced with the reality of doing either of these things, I just know that I have to have a clean, blank slate to begin with--no worries about what I've done before. When I write, I want to start with a new, clean page, with the cursor blinking at me as if trying to get the words out of my system. With life, time seems to ticktock-ing loudly at both my ears, blaring at me: get up, get going! At both instances I find myself staring blankly unto space, not knowing how to take that first step, or worse, having no clue to what that first step is. But at the moment that step is taken, things start flowing in--in good ways, in bad ways, in ways I could, but sometimes would rather not, expect.
Most of the time, I try to just write, and just live. Do what I could. Give out what I got. But I can't help looking back at what I've finished, then here I go: Edit. Cancel. Find. Replace. Grammar check. Spelling check. Evaluate. Make do. Assess. Think. Think think. THINK. Feel. Close my eyes. Realize people may have done better, and that my endeavors are just pea-sized compared to their fully-developed, harvested farms. Frustration! And then I realize I have ran out of fuel. Then, as if on cue, the distractions come along like
What do I do? Well I tend to go with the flow; let the distractions do what they do (distract me, duh) as they pass. And when they've passed? I would like to say, as much as I would want to do really, that I go back and finish what I've started. But no, this doesn't happen every time. Sometimes (though it might be better to say that it happens usually), I go follow that parade, filling my whole self up with its colors and music. And when I've realized that the colors and the music appeal more, I frustrate in the thought that I couldn't finish what I've been doing before they came along. The interest is redirected. Toodaloo, writing. Toodaloo, life.
But there are cases when I do go back and finish--for reasons I (can) think of only when I am back there. Maybe it's because there are people who expect me to finish--expectations pull me in most of the time, you know. Maybe it's because the parade has overwhelmed me to the point it got nauseating, that I just really had to go back to the things I know would make me feel better, if not well.
And one last thing (for I believe I am now running out of fuel--for writing tonight, that is) not everything I've said or done can mean something to the world. Maybe it may mean something to me (oh hello to the egocentrism of it all!), but to the also-egocentric lives of others they may mean little, if not nothing at all. Not everything that makes sense to me, makes sense to others. Not everything I've done makes sense at all.
So does this?
With writing there is this thing called plot diagram, which I could still remember studying for all the upper year levels I've spend in STC. This plot diagram gives the smooth flow of ideas and emotions in the story. Why a smooth flow? Well, basically, it's for coherence. However, I find it hard, both in writing and living, to have such. As much as I want to find and give logic, coherence, and the smooth flow of things, I couldn't always do. Maybe it's because I am lacking in focus, or maybe I am really just out of fuel. But it gives me a realization: Not all things connected to each other can come together as coherent. But then again, that's just me.
Going back to the plot diagram, it has parts. There is the beginning, the rising action, the climax, a falling action, then the resolve. More or less, I see (and try to pattern) life as is. But unfortunately (or is it?) both have the liberty not to follow suit. For example, there are stories without resolutions, and there are lives abruptly taken away without even reaching the climax of it all. As much as I (or maybe everyone, that is) want to make settling concluding sentences and happily-ever-afters happen, they just would not always happen (yes, I am concerned here with that syntax commonality thing unconsciously. Sometimes, even in life, you've got to take back your words). So I end here, not knowing if it this entire block of ideas qualify for a good write. Syntax's fault. My fuel's fault. Life's fault.
BTW, this is really for the wiiiiin! Best mix (plus the video) for 2009! :D:D:D:D
Friday, January 08, 2010
Sunday, January 03, 2010
Friday, January 01, 2010
Tick Tock
Every second could be,
And should be,
Like now,
A preparation
A celebration
A revelation
An inspiration.
And should be,
Like now,
A preparation
A celebration
A revelation
An inspiration.
It's just bothering-ly amazing that the whole world has this attachment to these things--called date and time--that we have to celebrate "new year" on this specific day. Why o why can't we greet each other a "happy new year!", have a thousand fireworks lighting up the sky, and have New Year's Resolutions on August?! Whoever said that January is the first month of the year? (My mind's boggling on the concept of time, mostly because of reading--and getting too involved with--The Time Traveler's Wife, which, by the way, is on its way up my starving "Favorite Books" list.) Haha. Oh well.
So, anyway, from me to you, for this impressively- and universally-celebrated time of the year: BANG BANG BANG HAPPY NEW YEAR BOOM!!!
So, anyway, from me to you, for this impressively- and universally-celebrated time of the year: BANG BANG BANG HAPPY NEW YEAR BOOM!!!
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