Liv in a Life Well-Lived

Don't read this if you're a government-lubbing sucker. I have pure hatred for LGU officials. They are one-track mind puffins who likes to speak in Me-Great-Me-Wonderful language. Never once with those I have had the bad luck to work with have the mental capacity to open their minds. It's always I-know-best, I-am-superman, and I hope they could eat shit so they'd know what we have to deal with. Okay, okay, so they're not ALL bad. I mean, for goodness sake, my sister works for a Senator. But the majority of them has this addictive need to praise themselves. And if they know that they were lacking, they act defensively by accusing the ineffectivity of other officials. Cannibals, those animals. Wait no, that's a great injustice to animals, and cannibals themselves. They're the dirt of the scum. They're the lowliest because they seek to be the highest. And they all pretend! In a training yesterday, we had the "honour" of having the heads of departme

This wall --- Fortified with gumption And a thousand resolutions That I will never Simply ever Fall for you. This line --- Drawn by hand Etched fleetingly on sand Is the boundary I will never Cross for you. This stop --- Is one of the infinite ways I turn my head away When you pass I will never look at you. But, frustratingly When you hold my hand And tuck my hair Behind a blushing ear And my lips turn up into a smile Which I never meant to give… The wall crumbles The line blurs The stop ends And the world drowns In the thunderous pounding Of this traitorous heart.

“Judge a person by their questions, rather than their answers.” Voltaire. Good, hell, good. ‘Cos I sure don’t know any answers this point in my life. I know I pretend I do, a lot. But the awful truth is, most of what I know are liquid as of yet. So if asking questions is the start to finding answers, I’ll take that challenge head on. My first question is this: How much of childhood dreams should you hold on to? When do you give up? How do you know if you love what you do and you’re doing what you love? How does “real interest in people” look like? How long will people call you “promising” before they switch to “late-starter” and then finally, “failure?” I call myself a people-person, but how can I be good with them if I actually don’t like people very much? Much discussed as it is in books and movies, I still can’t imagine how people could fall in love, I mean, for real. How does one subsume oneself, how do you make space? How can you measure a life lived fully? How do I fit into God’s

Not so long ago, I watched an episode from Season 5 of House where a blind girl who had eye transplant hated what she saw of the world because when she finally could see, she realized the world wasn't pretty. And in the end, House figured out that there's tissue formations in her brain that is like cancer but not cancer and does not know how to function yet. So all she needed as treatment was brain surgery and not cancer treatment. Afterwards, without the mass in her brain, she could see the world as it really is. Amazing. I'm sure the chances of that happening is like 1 in 1 million. But what if, you were someone born centuries ago with the same affliction: you cannot see beauty in the world. And to others, you were just evil, a monster, because surely, you have not inherited the better part of angels. To see the world as perpetually ugly, an affliction of a devil-child, surely? It will definitely be a wild ride, since the inceptor of House wasn't even born yet. :D Gea

I read Gabe a short contemporized British folk tale about tiny monsters called Hobyas which eats --- well, many things. The story goes like this: There was once a farmer, his wife and his daughter who lived in a house of turnips. They also have a loyal dog which keeps watch over the little farmhouse. One night, while all was asleep, the Hobyas came to the house and decided to eat the house, and to capture the little girl for eating later. But the dog heard them and he barked loudly. The hobyas scattered and ran away. The farmer though got irritated by the dog's barking. So the next day, he placed the dog inside a turnip basket. That night, the Hobyas came back, but the dog jumped from the basket and barked again. The Hobyas ran and the farmer got angry again. The next night, he placed the dog in the basket and tied it up and locked it(This was written before PETA, obviously). When the Hobyas came back, no dog scared them away this time so they managed to eat the house and take the

Book in Hand: Grendel by John Gardner Song in Mind: "Somebody once told me the world was gonna blow me cos I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed...." I do. Unabashedly. I'm one of those 5'8" tall kiddos you find browsing through the Young Adult (YA) fiction aisles in Powerbooks. I admit I get self-conscious sometimes, bumping unto a 6th grader or so while skimming for titles. Once, a rich-kid midget (you know, those brave, extroverted, English-speaking ones) even asked me if I have some book in stock, clearly mistaking me for a salesperson. I bravely told the boy I'm not a salesgirl, but I would help him find one. He ended up asking me which book I would recommend for a twelve-year-old like him, though I think he isn't one hour above 10. And there I was hoping I could pass for 19 years old. After that incident, I decided to let myself out of the closet. So I enjoy YA Lit. So be it. Besides, my height gives me relative advantage over the other customer