Thursday, July 30, 2009
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Monday, July 20, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
For all my intelligence, I am the dumbest person in the world.
I've tried so hard to forget how I feel, I've even vowed to myself to once and for all bury that emotion, but for all my cranial bindings, this stupid heart just won’t give up. It just refuses to give up on you; on us. But unfortunately, there is no "us". There never have been. Even during the time when there was a semblance of that, it was never true, never realized, never admitted.
I was the third party, and I was content at that. At least then, I felt some affection coming from you. It felt that, though you love V-- more, you also love me; and that was enough. You are my secret; and I was yours. And we were blissfully unmindful of the world around us. Let them float in their speculations, but wade in murky ignorance. They will never have the confirmation that they desire.
That was then.
This year, I've felt you drift away. Gradually at first, but then, over time, the gap seemed insurmountable. I did try to patch it, but to no avail.
I waited for you to return. Still I wait.
Last night, I was given license to visit you. A very rare treat, as you always seem to have reasons to quell my advances. Finally, I get to see you. I was hopeful.
I shouldn't’ve hoped; I realize now. The first few minutes of that meet was enough to tell me how you felt. You've dashed my hopes, and set my place. Without saying anything to me, without even addressing me, you've told me much. We are no longer paramours, and there is little doubt that what happened before will never happen again.
Lightning never strikes the same place twice, I should have known. And we were just like that, lightning -- radiant, random, fiery; but ultimately short-lived and unrepeatable.
I know all these. I’ve been telling it to myself all these past months, berating myself for not resigning to that fact and for keeping that flame alive after you’ve left. But I am stupid and stubborn and sincerely in love with you; of the idea of you; the feel of you; the warmth of you; and I don’t think I can stop that. The tiger will not change its stripes just because it is hindered, and my heart won’t either.
Thus I am doomed.
This post is an entry on Monz Avenue's Emo Love T-Shirt Contest.
• Make a post about love, too much love, unrequited love, unconditional love and any kind of love that you could think of.
• Put this shirt design image (see above picture) anywhere on your post. The shirt image must have a link towards my blog. Note: Failure to do so disqualifies your entry.
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Should you wish to join, first, please go to this link and vote for this T-shirt design. Click here. Actually, this is optional but I'd appreciate it so much if you'll register to that site and vote for this T-shirt design.
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Sunday, July 12, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
I came home from work to my empty room. Nothing extraordinary about that. But only after a few minutes upon entering, I notice some things that are amiss. I saw that the drawer of my study table was askew, evidencing that it was recently opened but was not properly closed. I'm not too bothered, because there isn't anything to be coveted in there, mostly papers and other paraphernalia that are valuable only to me, and only through sentimentality. I have a nasty habit of collecting receipts, calling cards, bus tickets and movie tickets and they all go in that drawer to mingle with credit card bills and other sundry items.
But who in this limited household is the red-handed book thief? Had it been some other stuff missing, I would automatically cast the blame on my younger sister, for she does have the history of rummaging through my things and never returning it. But this is a book we're talking about, and my sister is all but allergic to reading. I remember buying her a Sorcerer's Stone paperback only to find out two months later that she never even touched it. My elder sister was actually egging her to read the book, and it came to the point that my younger sister cried a tantrum so as not to be forced to read it further. I also bought her a copy of The Secret Garden for her school project, but I ended up the one enjoying the book. I doubt if she even so much as smelled it.
My mom, on the other hand, loves to read, but her current fare consists of self-help, inspirational and business books. I even gave her my two Robert Kiyosaki~s for I know she would enjoy it. Fiction is not really her thing; she even advised me to stop investing on fiction, but there is just no stopping me.
My elder sister, upon the other hand (yes, there are three hands, I am a mutant), share my taste in books. What she lacks is my passion for it, and my disregard for budgets when it comes to buying books. It isn't in my nature to borrow books, but I don't mind lending my collection, which suits her perfectly. She used to borrow some of my books and I can only cringe in horror when I see my books, my beloved children, opened wide and face down on her bed, with the spine accumulating lines and creases from the tension of it being folded upon itself. I remember employing the help of several large bull clips just to remedy the damage inflicted upon that book. Buying books second hand has given me the creativity to somehow salvage the books and return it into a more presentable condition. But my elder sister isn't the type to just barge in on my room and take whatever she fancies. And it has been years since she last borrowed any of my books.
Still, I'm bothered about the loss of my precious. I can't make out who in their proper minds would steal from me, and Lynne Truss, of all authors! Even though she has a massive following in the US and Europe, I am not in the opinion that she is that accessible here. This puzzle, combined with the theft, perplexes me so. I am mad at the crime performed against me, and I am intrigued as to the choice of the perpetrator.
Still, a crime is a crime, and someone has to pay.
I'm out for blood!