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| ANNOUNCEMENT!Tomorrow, I'm going to add a new layout and icon section to my blog. Why? Because I miss making layouts :D.
But since it's so soon, and there's always so much to do, I'm going to post my old xanga layouts first. Sorry but I just don't have the time yet.
Tomorrow's going to be the last day of classes (yippee!) so I'm going to have lots of free time by then. Ciao!
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| I SwearOh shit.
Bet you've heard that one before. Maybe even said it yourself.
I know I do. I swear almost everyday, except in situations where it simply isn't possible (family members that can overhear you; formal social events where they give you the evil eye if you swear; masses; etc.)
And now, I am here to defend my actions and that of other fellow swearers.
Why do we even swear in the first place? We swear in order to express strong emotions, be it of embarrassment, frustration, anger, and even love. Yes, love. You know. When you see some cute guy staring at you from across the street and you just think, Oh shit.
And haven't we heard a lot about how helpful expressing your emotions is? It's our EQ (Emotional Quotient) that really decides how fulfilling, and even how long, our lives are going to be.
The only opposition to swearing is that it's impolite, a mark of ill-breeding. Screw that. Life isn't about being proper and respectable. It's about living.
So swear to high heaven. See who cares.
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| Grammar CheckSo there you are, skimming through another school's paper, looking for something worth reading. Then something grabs your attention: a picture of a sweet-faced little girl. Hmmm... Intriguing.
So you start reading the article. It turns out to be a dedication. The story of a little girl who died of leukemia. Written by her sister.
It's all very touching... You want to feel sad. You want to feel grief. She deserves your tears.
But one thing hinders you, as it always does when you read articles like this. You can't help it. You curse your English teachers, each and everyone of them, for drilling this demon into your head. A demon by the name of Grammar.
Though you want to feel whatever the writer is feeling, you can't. Because all through the article you're reading, there's this voice at the back of your mind, screaming, "Wrong grammar! Wrong grammar!!!" But you try to fight the urge to grab a pen and scribble over the abusive word written and published in paper. What the hell is wrong with this paper's editor?? Doesn't he/she know the difference between 'is' and 'are'? Why the hell don't they use a word processor if they don't know how to spell?
All these thoughts are going through your head as you read the sufferings the writer is going through, only she wrote it as 'the suffering we went through'. Ahhhhhhhhhhh!!!! People and their language skills....
Yet you fight on. Trying to unscramble the hidden messages behind the confusing grammatical errors. And you continually stay on alert, diverting your thoughts whenever they start to turn to, "This should be...."
And finally, you reach the end. You slump back, exhausted. But you didn't win the battle. Because deep down, you don't feel grieved by the little girl's death or how much her sister suffered. You only feel grieved with the way people continually ignore the beauty of word processors and correct grammar.
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| There was this girl who loved this boy.There was once this girl who loved this boy.
She'd spend hours in front of the mirror everyday. She'd buy him boxes of chocolates every time she went to the supermarket, then spend the rest of the night wrapping them up with lace and hearts. She'd toss and turn every night, dreaming of him.
Sometimes he came as her prince, becoming manners and princely stature. Others, he was her knight, rescuing her from the vile workings of the world. But usually, he was simply her consolation, caressing her in his arms and making her feel safe whenever she wasn't.
Their's was a love impossible to compare to anything else. He was her drug, and she was his sun.
Yet they had no choice but to meet in the shadows, lest their love be tainted. It would have been too much for the rest of this sinful world to see. For he wasn't anything of this world. Their world together was perfect. Yet perfectly imaginary.
He existed merely in her dreams.
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| Silence. Then, in a voice barely
above a whisper, he asked me, Have you ever killed anyone?
The
question surprised me. Of course not.
Hmmm… was
all he said. Bet you aren’t that crazy yet, huh?
No way.
He hummed
again. Like a string being torn to shreds.
Where was
this conversation going? Why ask that in the first place? Unless…
Well.
I jumped.
Well. Maybe
I am.
I froze. He was staring at me. With
his chocolate brown eyes. But they weren’t meltingly sweet the way they used to
be when he was staring at me. Instead, they were pitch black coals.
One step back.
He didn’t seem to notice. Or at
least pretended not to.
Another step.
I shouldn’t have gone alone. Lying
to my parents like that. Just to see him. Just to be with him.
I was quietly edging away.
And I loved him so…. I still did.
I stopped.
This was the end, I realized. I was
going to die.
He was walking towards me.
No.
He was pacing. Hunting…
Then I understood.
How lucky I was…
To die in the arms of my love. My prayers were finally answered.
His finger held up my chin.
His eyes again. Coal black.
He leaned in, and I felt his lips
on mine. And for that last second, I once again saw the chocolate eyes I loved.
And then it ended. | | |
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