There is a difference

I hate half of the people I know.  There are two ways to look at life, and I always find myself looking at it half empty. It would be so anti-social of me to say I don’t really fancy human company then again that’s the way it is. But hey! I’m just selectively social.  There’s a difference.  She said it like she knows me , maybe because we went through high school together but I have always reduced her into a stereotype, general not remarkable enough to individualize. She knows nothing about how I live my life and hers is entirely irrelevant. But because she’s a huge blabber mouth. Her words and stories penetrate my universe and I am forced to hear how pathetic she is. An attention whore who always have a ready smile across her face as if tomorrow may never come. I don’t hate her because she’s always happy, individual differences, I totally get it.   I hate her because she keeps including me, and I don’t want in. I wish I could slap those words to her face, fighting has always  been the show I never tried to visit. But I’ll let myself star in one if I’ll loose my temper. She needs to be hurt with words, and if it doesn’t hurt her. It will kill her. Words kill me at times, like they’re my Achilles heel.  But they often rebirth me and right now they still keep me breathing.   It is  both  poison and  antidote. 

entertainment only.

The 1st semester is rolling the credits and i am left with time to waste. What would I use all those time for? Sleeping. Forever, if possible. I used to say, sleeping it off is a complete waste, you can get enough of that  once you're 12 feet beneath the ground, but now, I'm literally swallowing my words. 

I pledged read the books:

Fracture by Megan Miranda Catching Jordan by Miranda Keneally

 HUsh hush by Becca Fitzpatrick Diary of a crush by Sara Manning

 

 But I've never read one of them. I did spend my time in front of the monitor. Watching:

La Belle Personne

 

It's  French, I got interested in French films after watching LOL. It's a story about satiated desires. How it consumes you till you realize it's a sin. How you try to get back on track and fail. Juni,  transferred due to the death of her mother. All eyes were on hers. She possessed fragile beauty that somehow needed to be sheltered. But they didn't know what she needed, she didn't know it herself. And when she finally figured it out, death payed a visit and she had to ran away again.

 Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

  

How would you convince people of an unreal story? Back it up with some history. I didnt care who Abe was, where he stands in the civil war, how he died, why he ran or how he got where he was in the first place. After all, he was not our president so why bother reading about him? But that is what i did after watching this: scanned his bio. 

Privileged ( series)

Megan Smith is a writer who found her self tutoring filthy rich kids just before she dyed her hair red. This wasn't part of the plan, she was supposed to get herself a column of her own and write about people who matters. Instead she took a private plane, stayed in a huge mansion, re-united with her best friend, became a neighbor of a hot billionaire and be continuously pestered by evil Baker twins while convincing them to flip the pages of the "Great Gatsby".

Dirty Little Secret

Dirty Little secret By all-American rejects

.Some are mine, some are not.

It's for me to know.
And
Yours to figure out.
So what's your SEcret?

 

Breathing for 19 years

It took me awhile to write this post. Another turning point of my life has bloomed yet words spoken or not fail to escape my mouth. I’m afraid. Afraid that even after another year of knowing things, I still not know enough to make sense of what this year has been all about. I am scared that I have not changed a bit, that I have not made the move to make reality out of this phantasm. I want to place you in the spot on how my 19 th year on earth unfolded. I cannot guarantee that it had been remarkable , for I do not allow myself to feel things that belong to the extremes. But this is not about if I was happy or gloomy, not also about if it was worth remembering or not. It’s about a step to the maturational loss that has finally caught up with me. I woke up with the sound of Taylor Swift’s “” We are never ever getting back together””, playing in the background. I like the old Taylor, country and all, this song is redirecting her to a new genre. Risks what makes life exciting and I wish I could just risk everything for something. I’m old, was the voice I heard as my eyelids slowly entertained the first light of my 19th year. First light, if I snoozed back to sleep would It make a difference? If I snoozed back would It delay my impending age? The first move I took was to look at the mirror across the room. The figure that stared back seemed exactly the same as the day before, on my last day as an 18 year-old. I still had the same depressing hair that I cut short out of a sudden urge to steer away from my safe side. My head touched the same air and my body still occupied the same space. There’s got to be something different, this too shall pass. When I was satisfied that the impending change may come later, I opened the computer to accomplish the task that I thought would make this day universal. I’m a fan girl, I’m not a proud of it but It’s something that I cant help myself to be. People crave what they cant have and it’s a guilty pleasure of mine since I realized what my soul desires. I sent them a message requesting for a greeting. The expectation to the unexpected is so narrowly defined that choosing what to expect or what not to expect just all together had a deteriorating effect. The them I’m referring to is this alternative rock band called FranKo that I’ve been living for, for the past few weeks. My chance of seeing them perform live is almost extinct due to the distance that interferes with my desire to be contained in the same room that they occupy, to inhale the same oxygen and exhale the same carbon dioxide, to see a history being played out, to be in one moment in that life time and many more endless stalker-ish idea. I went to school, with a lurking idea of fun since this held a promise of excitement because we just had to perform an activity instead of a written exam for our finals in P.I. It involved water in bottles. The activity was suppose to tell us whether or not to preserve history. That little by little the past is too rapidly forgotten that we neglect that it’s eminent. I asked myself do I preserve history ? Do I have to? Somebody else can do it right? I don’t have the answers yet, someone told me something about this bonded words , no answer is wrong there are just wrong questions. Then we had a mini play on Humanities, and I am glad that I found the right place for my foot, the backstage. I know a lot of people might think that it’s depressing. That it’s a station for losers who possess fears unknown by many but I breathe it, it’s my sanctuary. Lao Tzu’s theory of action through inaction. I didn’t need to speak, other says it for me and it is delivered beyond, It has penetrated walls while my mouth stayed shut. 
In the afternoon I visited a new bookstore. My Utopia has found me  and I am ready as hell to dominate it. Books are my secret friends, my hidden family , my delusional companions and we all thrive in a private community. I went there with a mate who is also turning 19 in a week. Our eyes catches the same things and at that  time we realized we have this common pursuit for thrill. We might have done what needed to be done. We headed home with laughter’s and secret we vowed never to tell. Does it make me a detached member of a family if I say I don’t really fancy eating out with my folks? Because that is how this day ended, I‘m the youngest and their conversations isolated me. Old people possess the wisdom that the young may never come to understand, but I guess that is the framework of life, we may learn the same things but we understand it differently. And that is why the young and the old don’t always meet. That is why we don’t like something every time. That is why we are unstable. If we were, we are so stuck. 

Take a bow: i'm watching you

TAKE A BOW              by FranKo

You spend a lot of time
convincing people that you're happy inside,
But I see through
Yeah, I see through the lies
You're wearing your disguise
And everyone's just doing what you do

Picture perfect faces,
Convincingly done,
They're out to catch a yellow bellied, red blooded, lady with a shotgun,
Point it at your followers and run
Well you got it all wrong!

Take a bow
They're watching you
Why and how
I'll never know
You

Strike a pose and make it pretty,
slide the note under the door
Just sit back, enjoy the view
He'll drag you to the ground
When nobody's around
And take a sign to turn you black and blue

Picture perfect faces,
Convincingly done,
They're out to catch a yellow bellied, red blooded, lady with a shotgun,
Point it at your followers and runWell you got it all wrong! 

I was born without a voice and I've been living in deafening silence since. But that degree of silence is my background track, it's my habitat , it is what i exist for. So I opted for what my sight  readily suggests and what are whispered in my ears. I learned to watch and listen.

This week our PI teacher gave us an activity, he handed each of us a paper. The front has a drawing and at the back a number is written. He instructed us to draw the front in a 1/4 oslo paper. These papers were puzzle pieces. When he completed the puzzle, it showed an image of Jose Rizal. The puzzle looked funny. We used different coloring mediums, different strokes, different shades. But if you take a few( or maybe a lot) of steps back, it shows it’s beauty. He explained that the differences of the puzzle pieces reflects our individuality. We have distinct point of views and we look at things from different angles. We may have the same eye structures and look at the same things but we, ourselves apply the difference. Who can see the real image? After each lecture, he delivers some kind of a pep talk. The topics are mostly random. He encourages us to write, to be skeptical and even to bend the rules. But this time, he talked about the cliché “ Being You””. He said that each of us are good persons, not better not best, we need not to compare ourselves. In comparing ourselves against other people, we gradually destroy our unique selves. 
Our humanities professor isn’t as talkative as Mr. PI. He’s the kind that you may listen too and say “” He’s so gorgeous it hurts”” ( Emily from LOL) and then you chose not to because he’s getting too factual, too boring. Wait, I’m exaggerating , he’s not that boring and he’s not that gorgeous either, but he can turn heads ( we needn’t to turn because there’s plenty of him to see up front). There are moments, when he clears the vagueness of reality and his words are literally being engraved in my memory. That day, he talked about racial discrimination in conjunction with our report on Tribal Scars , an African Literature. I thought we were created equal. That no matter what blood flows in your veins, no matter what shade of color your eyes are, even if you’re a blinding blonde, a redhead , a brunette or black haired, no matter if your skin is faded and pale , brown or dark we are just plain humans , no more and definitely not less. Racial discrimination is too big of a deal to ignore. Anger suddenly combusted within me. 
Listening to speakers is one of my infinite weakness. I don’t understand how they do it, How they can talk to the crowd without undergoing diaphoresis, dysrythmias and loss of consciousness. “” Don’t hate what you don’t understand " they say, I don’t. That’s just for math, something I hate because of lack of understanding ( it’s my biggest MATHMARE””. )
When my mind drifts, a speaker is born. But she’s afraid. She cant come out, her feet is tangled by vines. A massive hand is pressing against her mouth suffocating her. Then she gives up. She remains hidden. She watches and listens. So take a bow she’s watching you. 

reel real

My fascination in movies is dated back when my cousins included me in their infinite movie marathons. There has always been an inclination, there has always been an attachment. These cousins grew out of it, they started to  focus on their own lives and I was not yet ready for that. I was left alone, sitting in that couch , watching for dear life to pass by without even my passive participation. I’m still that girl. I haven’t changed. I haven’t made the move to change. I ignored the call of life. I focused on their life. The life in films. Why do I take them so seriously? Why cant I treat them like  a side line thing? A year ago, I whispered the answer to a mate of mine, while walking side by side I told her that it made me experience things that I am unable to feel in real life. They bring me foreign feelings, something addictive that it had to be taken in large doses to satisfy the urge. The chance of experiencing them out of the reels is so distant almost hopeless. She smiled silently and that was it. As the darkness swallowed me one night, I thought about how simple sometimes complicated life was for the characters. Every moment had climax, had color, every scene is revolving. Every conversation becomes a catalyst for another explosive twist. Every word deserves to be heard. The details are wonderfully sewn together and the pattern is never the same as the other. And I want that. I envy that. My own green monster has nauseating smell, it drives me crazy. It drives me to the valley of pessimism and finding my way back is always an unbeatable struggle. It’s likened to the aftershock of movies. Something has been taken away and at some point I come to admit that I might not be the same again and it always falls on the brink of loss. In “the alchemist”, it was written that you will never learn what you learn in books in life and vice versa. Maybe that is what it is like for me. I don’t learn that easily what life has been offering me and I need to see it fictionalized before it sinks to my whole persona. I need it to exist in life. I need the unreal to be real.  

Flowers on the Wall

Do you suppress yourself during social events?, limiting your actions so you could avoid getting noticed even if it means you are going to be on the death end of the rope? Do you look at your shoes whenever you have to pass by someone who you have no idea how to interact with? Do you look away like a stalker when you accidentally made eye contact with a stranger? Do you obey the rules so you could remain in the sidelines? Are you always seated in the back row or at the sides? Do you answer a question a little too long because you are thinking how to react rather than just spitting out what you have in your mind? 

Welcome to the club!!! You are a Wall Flower.
Well the term flower kinda depicts something that possesses untouched beauty. The untouched reflects me but the beauty is a definite no-no. Who said anything about beauty being  a physical superficial thing anyway? But these days it kind of revolve around that aspect. I too, am a wallflower, wait scratch that. I am not a wall flower but I am something on the wall. I am a wall________. What inspired me to write about this post? It’s the night of August 31, 2012. The so-called SOCIA with the theme ELITE REVOLUTION. 

W.H.O says that health is not just about the absence of diseases but it is the complete physical, mental, psychological, social and spiritual well being. It’s already my 3rd time to witness the so-called college socialization, the speaker says it’s a to do for our social aspect. Third time’s the charm, they say, but such quotes keeps failing me because I am pretty much the exact same person that who I was when I stepped foot into that hall as the person who is typing at the moment. I read the CAndY magazine issue for August which I borrowed from a classmate of mine ( who is a definite wall FLOWER, emphasis on the FLOWER). They featured the happiness campaign which has a column on “ Cheerful Crushing”. How about that? Wall flowers are prone to crushing, it makes you giddy at first but it is nothing but a disguise to mask that you have to back off at the end, I guess there’s no fairytale made for such creatures. Except if you pull out the courage in the climax which looks easy enough to watch but hard enough to actually perform in life.

Yamato Nadeshiko : The wallflower is a Japanese anime that is a must watch to all anime fanatics. Nakahara Sunako is one of the coolest girl I’ve ever watched and the best part it, she doesn’t know it. She redefines eccentric. She collects horror DVDs, she lives in an immensely dark room where she keeps cadavers, skeletons and mannequins which she refer to as her friends and she have names for them all. She lives in a house with four heartthrobs and two of them have the hots for her. She calls them dazzling creatures and she tries to avoid having to interact with them because whenever she sees them her nose bleeds like a fountain ( for real  ! ). 
The Perks of being a wall flower by Stephen Chbosky : is a novel about Charlie who is the friend of the guy who committed suicide. I haven't fully read the book, i'm still waiting for the hard copy to come although i have read half of it in PDFs. What intrigued me into this is the title. Are there really perks of being one of the so called wallflowers? i think there's a line where charlie says " We are infinite". I really have to grab that copy, i hate it when i forget the main lines of a book or a movie. Infinite, dictionarywise means beyond measure. Charlie is in his teen years like me, what is in this age bracket that it deserves highlighting? is it because it's the stage of confusion, the "knowing yourself" crap? Maybe i'm standing in the same brink of confusion, maybe i belong in that crap. Don't blame me, I'm a teenager.