Pensive moments…

As I was looking through my old files and deciding which ones to chuck out and which ones to keep for possible future reference when I found this composition of mine:

One of my requirements for a husband-to-be is that he should be able to come up with clever jokes and puns so that there will be no “dead air” when I am with him. If he could come up with “interesting” jokes, then surely, he would be able to make unique and poetic vows expressing his love for me. Another requirement is that he should make me feel like I am truly one in a million. Nothing can make me feel special such as knowing that I am the only woman in the world who was able to turn a guy’s vow to never fall in love or get married into a vow of everlasting unconditional love. Requirement number three is that he should be competitive and persevering. I like a husband who can think of rebuttals to my arguments and who is not intimated of anyone especially me, so, being competitive can come in handy. His perseverance will prove useful when he is trying to win me over since I am quite hard to get. The fourth requirement is that he should be rich, good-looking and virtuous. “Playboys” don’t impress me.

I have a lot of requirements but to cut the long story short, I want a witty and persistent husband. It will be a bonus if he is not witty enough to win a “war of wits” against me since I like to live up my motto, “No use arguing, I always win”. I discourage losing in purpose though this can be quite touching.

If I were to choose a character from Much Ado About Nothing, my choice would be Benedick since he obviously meets my requirements. Although I don’t want him to fall in love with me the way he fell in love with Beatrice in the play. I don’t want him to take pity upon me by loving me in return just because he overheard that I am in love with him. I wouldn’t want this reason to be in my list of reasons for being loved.

I wrote this one last December (or so the computer says). This one calls to mind another composition I made about my ideal guy. I couldn’t find the exact copy since it’s with my 3^rd year English teacher (who is now the principal of our school…la lang). I remember it was quite a detailed description of what he’d be like. I remember a sentence there that came from a song. It goes like this: I want to see the light of love burning in his eyes, burning for me alone. Or something like that…I really wish I could recall what I wrote there or write something close to it so that I could retaliate (well, in print at least) to my flavor of the month who constantly reminds me that I am no ideal girl of his. Anyway, I also wish I could write another composition about my ideal guy so that I have a ready-made composition in case of emergency…hehe…whatever that emergency may be. Oh yeah, I also found another composition while skimming through my old composition notebook (yes, I have two composition notebooks and both are extremely incomprehensible) and I found these er, poems (?):

Quandary

Why are you putting me

In this difficult quandary

Why can’t you just let me be

So we can both be happy?

I’m not nice and pretty

I’m not tall and skinny

I’m not smart and sporty

So why should you notice me?

And why should I like you constantly

When you’re putting me in this quandary

When I know that I’m losing the game

When I know that I’ll just end up in pain

Why must you make things hard?

Just hand back my heart

You never wanted it in the first place

You wanted someone else’s

Bakit?

Bakit ba kailangan mo pa akong pahirapan?

Bakit ba hindi mo na lang ako pabayaan?

Hindi mo naman ako gusto

Iba ang may hawak ng puso mo

Pero bakit parang gusto mo

Ako’y habang buhay na nahuhumaling sa’yo?

Ang puso ko ay nalilito

Pag ako’y nginingitian mo

Ako’y lalambingin, pasisiyahin

Napagod na pag-asa’y bubuhayin

Sa gabi, ikaw ang iisipin

Sa panaginip, ako’y iyong bibisitahin

Sa paggising sa umaga’y ikaw pa rin

Sa pagpasok sa ‘skwela, ako’y iyong sasalubungin

Tila kahit saan tumingin

Kahit anuman ang isipin

Kahit anong lugar ang tunguhin

Tila ang hantungan ng lahat ay ikaw pa rin

Bakit ba ayaw mo akong palayain?

Ako’y ba’y talagang nais mong paluhain?

Kung ganon man, bakit pa ako?

Wala naman akong kasalanan sa’yo

            Isa bang malaking atraso

Ang magkaroon ng gusto sa’yo?

Kung gayon, ako nga’y nagkasala

Ngunit ito’y noon ko pa ginawa

Ang panahong gusto kita

Nang malaman mo’y patapos na

Ngayon, nais ko nang lumaya

Nais ko nang umibig at ibigin ng iba

I have no comment on when these were made. Okay, for the sake of defending myself, I’ll say that ever since I was in elementary, I wrote poems as a form of catharsis (back then, I didn’t about this term though). I mean, I may write about being heartbroken without really experiencing it. My writing about being heartbroken was just a form of release of some negative feelings. In short, writing poems- actually, writing in general- is just a form of cleansing process and the situations are just means to carry out this process. The situations, though it may seem like it, are not necessarily true. Get my point? I hope so because you may go about thinking I suffered or (worse!) am suffering unrequited love which I am, er, not! Not going to go to…er, let’s not go to that complicated matter…hehe…okay, for the record, the last 20-25 words were just for effect. I swear! I think I’m going to go through some more old notes…er, but first some sleep because I still need to get up early tomorrow, er, later I should say…hehe c”,)

Dear disciple, the title is read as bun- cakes not bunk-akes- just wanted to point that out. Having cleared that out, I will now proceed to the reason why I wrote this blog entry: the story behind this ridiculously cute term. Hehe

            Firstly, the term is a noun that refers to the buttocks. This preposterous yet humorous term was invented by my very creative youngest brother, James. (Yes, disciple, you owe the sheer pleasure of reading this extremely pointless blog to my youngest brother…pay your homage…hehe) I first heard this term when I pinched his rear out of habit. As a reflex, he moved his butt out of the way. While doing so, he said, “Stop squishing my buncakes.” Upon hearing the term, I paused in mid-pinch and asked him to repeat what he said. He foolishly did my bidding and I started laughing at the new term. As I laughed my ass out, he finally realized his folly. I am so evil. Hehe… As I am typing here this weird and embarrassing blog (well, for my brother at least), my brother is currently appealing for divine intervention that I may stop writing about this utterance of his. Unfortunately, the gods- should I say goddess- are too damn busy typing about something funny to listen to his pleas. Whew, he finally resorted to doing something more productive than trying to stop me from writing this blog. If you must know, he is currently practicing playing the flute. He is currently playing, er, making a pathetic attempt of playing “Fly, Fly, Fly the Butterfly.” Gee, frankly, I dunno if I’d rather wish he’d go back to his pathetic pleas or let him carry on practicing hoping he’d get the next notes right but then again, I’d be making pointless wishes and hoping a fool’s hope when I could just wish he’d simply shut up. Oh good, somebody heard my plea. My brother is nailing the notes well.

            Sorry to cut this one short but then again, no point prolonging your agony and mine just for some stupid term a 10-year-old invented. I gotta go to sleep now and hope it’ll make me somewhat taller. Hehe…then again, that’s asking for a huge miracle but as if that ever stopped me from carrying on with my wishful thinking. I’m straying again, sorry. Where was I? Oh yeah, leaving. Okay, I’ll turn off the computer now…or at least I should be but I’m not because I’m still typing…hehe…

One fateful night, I had a whiff of something nice, something pleasant, something addicting. It wasn’t drugs though, mind you so don’t go on reading this blog thinking that the author is under the influence of drugs…even though it may seem so because of my obvious incoherence. Anyway, back to my newfound addiction…on that night, I couldn’t stop having a go at it every once in a while. It was fun. It was weird. It was foolish. Yet, somehow, despite the knowledge that what I was doing was extremely ridiculous, I still kept at it (and frankly, I still am). What’s even more ridiculous is that as the realization that my newfound addiction is about to perish, I found myself attempting to preserve my addiction, my foolishness. I knew that it was pointless to do so since my foolishness was bound to be reduced to a mere memory yet I still attempted to prolong its faint existence. I also knew that I should be attempting to obliterate it as fast as possible instead of preserving it because this addiction of mine had something to do with my flavor of the month. I knew that if I were to get over my flavor of the month, I should start by eliminating this addiction. Well, obviously, I was not yet ready to do so since I did not get rid of my foolishness. As I said earlier, I did not try to eradicate it but rather, I tried to preserve it and thereby prolonging my flavor of the month’s reign. That night, I found myself feeding the fire of my foolishness when I should have been douching it with icy, cold water.

            Frankly, I still haven’t mustered up the will to look for a bucket of water to douche my fire of foolishness. I am still feeding it with more firewood and I am not showing any signs that I will cease to do so. It seems to me that I have an abundant supply of firewood to feed my foolishness for another semester. It seems to me that the universe wants me to carry on with my addiction, to carry on with my foolishness, to carry on with my strange liking for my flavor of the month. Yes, dear disciple, your master is still enslaved by her futile addiction. No, disciple, this addiction has absolutely nothing to do with Tio. Remember this equation Flavor of the Month ≠ Tio. Oh yeah, and I’m sorry I cannot divulge much specific information here for fear that I might give away too many clues as to who my flavor of the month is (which ruins the purpose of giving him a codename). Actually, I think I already gave away too much information. God, why did he have to be so damn uber-analytic like me?! Oh well, his over-analytical mind is one of the reasons why I find him interesting…hehe…

Yes, dear disciple, I already finished the Half-Blood Prince and this one is about it. Come to think of it, I now wish that I did not finish the freaking book. “Why?!” you ask me considering the fact that you aimed to finish the book in one day. Well, here’s why: Dumbledore’s dead and I don’t have the seventh installment to give me solace, that’s why!!! Yes, dear disciple, I loved Dumbledore so much that even though I have been forewarned of his death, I was still unable to detach myself from him. Well, you can’t blame me for being so attached to him. How can I not love Dumbledore?! He’s fatherly. He’s nice. He’s funny. He’s smart. He’s wise- so wise that he sometimes seems to be bordering to foolishness. He’s powerful. He’s rich. He’s tall. Best of all, HE HAS CLEAR BLUE EYES!!! I LOOOOOOOOVE BLUE EYES!!! ESPECIALLY THOSE THAT HAVE THE ABILITY TO SEE THROUGH PHYSICAL BARRIERS!!! I can’t resist blue eyes! Yes, even if they belong to some old geezer whom senility- if not Lord Voldemort- would surely soon get to. This old geezer happened to represent- even offer- a lot of things I’ve always wanted. Enumerating them would be tiresome and explaining them would be even more exhausting- gruesome even. The shortest and most accurate thing to say, er, write, er, type would be: I share the reasons why Harry is attached to Dumbledore…only I think that I love Dumbledore more than Harry does. I shall explain why… when I was reading the part where Harry was chasing Snape, I was feeling torn. A part of me raced ahead of Haryy and Snape was millimeters from tasting my wrath (wrath, mind you, is an understatement). Another part of me was racing with Harry, trying with utmost heart and soul to aim a curse at Snape. Still another part of me wanted to thwack a book with the thickness of the whole series at Harry’s head when I realized that the first curse he could think of was not the Cruciatus Curse. Yes, I hated Snape more than Harry did (proof that Dumbledore was right about Harry being pure and all that and that my friend was right about me having the great tendency to be evil…nyahaha!!!). I hated Snape so much that despite the knowledge that hatred should only be reserved to relevant things/people, I still admitted to loathing a fictional character. I also loved Dumbledore so much that despite the knowledge that love- MY love- should only be reserved to those worthy of it, I still admitted to thinking yet another fictional character worthy of it. Anyway, I hated Snape so much that even though 60 hours have already passed since I read that part, I still feel hatred seething all over me. I hated Snape so much that while I was reading the chase, I found myself wondering what the potion Dumbledore drank was and how it was concocted so that I could brew an extremely large batch of it all for Snape alone (flavor of the month should be jealous of Snape by now for all the extra special treatment he’s getting from me, hehe). I also found myself wondering if it would be even more excruciating (yet another understatement) if the potion was coupled with the Cruiatus Curse. I found myself wondering where a time-turner could be foud so I can go back in time to save Dumbledore and catch and torture (an understatement yet again) Snape and the other Death Eaters. I’d also use the time-turner to do the latter repeatedly hoping to attack them also psychologically and also a more pleasant effect…for me, nyahahaha!!! I loathed Snape so much that my mind raced on and on until 5:30 in the morning about Snape and Dumbledore. I even had to read “The Silmarillion” to calm- or should I say, er, type ‘lull’- my scheming, villainous mind. Back to HP…As I read about the wizarding world mourning over the loss of Dumbledore, I realized that my solace could only come from the seventh installment where, hopefully, the death of Dumbledore will be SATISFACTORILY avenged. I also realized that I have to endure a long wait before this solace comes within my reach. Hopefully by then I have calmed down…so that the book will be worth reading from my point of view. Then I realized that not much solace will be found in the seventh book. That’s what I think so at the moment though. I mean, yeah, the Bill and Fleur thing is nice and touching but what the effing hell?! So effing what?! It’s not like they’ll produce offspring worthy enough to replace Dumbledore. Then there’s this seemingly good and hope-filled promise in the form of R. A. B. but he or she’s no Dumbledore. Dumbledore’s death may be justly avenged but not SATISFACTORILY since Rowling’s not even nearly as twisted as I am so you get the idea…I know I didn’t react this way when Sirius vanished but that’s the point exactly…he vanished. He didn’t die of Avada Kedavra the way Dumbeldore did. Come to think of it, how did Sirius vanish? I’ve quite forgotten the exact details so correct me if I’m wrong. Anyway, Sirius is no Dumbledore either. He didn’t appear in six books so you won’t get really attached to him. Sirius only appeared in half of them. Well, two in my point of view since there wasn’t much Sirius in those 3 anyway. Well, not as much as Dumbledore anyway. I just think that a father figure who appeared early on in the first book occupied the post of father already so when Sirius arrived the post was already taken (sorry if this sounds absurd but I don’t feel like making any sense at the moment…hehe). The point is the old geezer appealed more to me than the turned-out-to-be-innocent prisoner of Akaban did. Thus, my reaction (and lack of it for the latter’s death). Betcha I freaked you out, didn’t I? See how horribly twisted this seemingly innocent (or ignorant, take your pick and be my guest) little boy-slash-girl can be? See who the master is? See WHY I am the master here?(hehe…excuse the narcissism) Once again, dear disciple, pardon my incoherence. As you may well know by now that my sense is both senselessness and the one not senselessness…hehe…I’m not rational/reasonable. I’m not modern. I’m postmodern…hehe ulit and pardon the far fetched connection of this blog with Fil…hehe…you know your master, she has a very interesting brain…or so she likes to think…again, pardon the narcissism. This incoherent and confusing blog was brought to you by the death of Albus Dumbledore and the weirdness of the author. Per DTI-NCR series of idunnowhatimsayingertypinghereanymoreijusthopeyouhadagoodlaughifnotaheadache

I now realize that the world loves irony as much- if not more- as I do. Just a few months ago, I was wondering how it feels to have a real crush…one that you could actually bump into while walking the real world. Anyway, now…I hate having real crushes. By real crushes I mean having crushes on people you see practically everyday not on celebrities that you do see everyday only they’re on television and you’re not…you’re sitting on the couch watching them and that you can call your husband without their knowing…hehe… Anyway (again), I hate having real crushes because you can’t daydream about them the way you daydream about celebrity crushes. You can’t call them your husbands because you know they’d find out and your world will fall apart. You can’t pretend to sign your name with their surname attached to it because you know you’d get in trouble for that. You’d be toast. You can’t daydream about them treating you to some expensive restaurant because you know that they can’t afford that. You can’t daydream about them giving you flowers or chocolates or any kind of present because you know that they’re not like that and that they can’t afford those either- especially if you don’t settle for a stem of rose and demand a bouquet of flowers; if you want a stuffed toy so huge that you and your friends can actually sit on it not a cute, puny teddy bear (in short, you like your presents to come in plural and/or superlative forms). You can’t daydream that you’re the only one for them because you know, and you can’t ignore the fact that you’re nobody special to them. You can’t imagine that they love you as much as you do because you know you can never be more than friends (you are actually struggling to be close to him). you can’t daydream about them giving you compliments because you know what they like and you don’t fit the definition of what they like- not even close. You can’t daydream about them having a crush on you too because you who their crushes are and you know that they are not you. You can’t pretend that you have a chance because you are reminded everyday that you are nothing compared to their crushes (duh! That’s why they had a crush on them in the first place, idiot!!!) and that you will never come close to being like and all the more better than their crushes. The worst is that you can’t pretend you don’t like them because you see them everyday so you are constantly reminded why you had a crush on them in the first place and that you know you can’t do anything about it but keep your thoughts and feelings to yourself. Wait, there’s something worse…and that’s you can’t pretend you know why you have a crush on him and everybody else doesn’t either so there’s no one to help you find the answers…you just know you like him without knowing why and you just keep on liking him even though you know he’s not doing anything to make you like him…and that knowledge sucks! Big time!

There…I now managed to make another offering for my new demigod, flavor of the month…although I think this demigod’s epic is approaching its denouement…in layman’s terms, I think I’m about to ditch this demigod soon despite the fact that I wrote two more blogs somewhat inspired by him- or by his absence actually…sorry I was just trying to find out how long I could go on writing without writing about anything at all… gee, last I checked the word count was 534 and now it’s…619! (Rey Mysterio!!! La lang…) just thought I’d let you know how much crap you take in in reading my blogs…hehe…okay this makes 643 words…645 if you count 643 and words…okay, now there’s 655…656…657…658…659…670…and so the count goes on and on and on and on and on…okay…the final count is 716 and this includes all the other words that come before the last period. There. Happy now? I am. Hehe. Yes, I am evil and don’t even think about degrading me to mean or bad. Get it right, okay? It’s evil. E- V- I- L- evil! Evil laugh.

I just killed a freaking cockroach!!! Yay!!! I have just saved the world from 16,000 more insignificant, purposeless, disgusting creatures!!! (Pardon my shallowness…me killing a cockroach is as rare as my skirt days and I find it really hard to muster up the courage to swat the puny yet disgusting pest with someone else’s footwear- I love my footwear too much to reduce it to mere devices for cockroach obliteration…cockroaches are too insignificant to receive such honor. I don’t know what’s worse: killing the pest or cleaning up the mess…)

Speaking of insignificance, I wonder: how did so much loneliness, so much love choose an insignificant shell as its hiding place? How did it find its way into a place where one might not have found it there if it were placed on a spotlight in broad daylight? It’s just sad to think that so much loneliness, so much love goes unnoticed and seemingly unwanted every day. It’s just so sad to realize that a lot of people out there are longing to be noticed, to be cared for, to be loved and here I am offering what they’re longing for yet, ironically, nobody’s taking what I’m offering. What’s even more ironic is that I’m also one of those people who are longing for attention, warmth, affection. I know it sounds weird for me to offer something I myself long for but that’s exactly what’s puzzling me. Then again, I can’t give myself what I’m offering…that would make me even more self-centered (self-sufficient even) than I already am…that would also be ridiculous. Anyway, maybe there’s some guy out there who’d see through this insignificant shell that barely passes as human and all the more a girl (ask my blockmates if you want proof) and see the priceless treasure (pardon the corny metaphor…I also think it’s ridiculous but I can’t think of anything else so you’ll just have to live with it) stored inside. Or even better: a guy who’d see the shell as – if not more- priceless as the one it contains. Pretty much like a photo of an important person. The photo is treasured, revered even, as much as the person in it even though the photo is just a representation of the person, not the person himself or herself. Anyway, I hope there’s some guy out there who’d find me important for what’s inside me if not for who I am…although it’d be better if it were both. I hope that some guy, some SINGLE guy out there who’d prove me wrong about what I think about myself and guys (by the way, I’m more of a visual learner, one who learns better through demonstrations. I do understand lessons in words – I’m no idiot- but the lesson would be more effective with graphic/physical representation. In short, show me, don’t tell me…get it? Oh yeah, the demonstration would appeal more to me if it involves, er, fireworks…Chemmates, you know what I mean hehehe). I’d like to think that such guy exists and that he’s just waiting for the right time because he knows he’d be toast if he makes his move right now. Hehehe

I really must have had too much fiction in my system. Thanks to movies, TV shows and books I have lived in delusion ever since the aforementioned forms of entertainment were introduced to me. I believed what those deceivers told me- that being myself (i.e. tough, inconsistent, somewhat boyish, unconventional yet still quite ordinary, etc.) would make my dream guy be attracted to me. It took me a long time to realize that the perfect dreamboat finding true love in an ordinary- if not unconventional- girl seen in the movies stays there. All this time, I thought fitting in while still in some ways unconventional would make me worth a guy’s affection. I thought being myself would do just that. So when I was “extremely enamored” (I exaggerate, ofcourse) to a certain guy, I tried being myself “the most” to get close to “living a dream.” Now I realize that the only thing I got close to was getting wrapped up in a straight-jacket and getting a reserved padded room all to myself. I realized that in trying hard to be who I think I am I was being less who I really am. Now, there’s another guy (don’t waste your efforts on asking who he is…you won’t get it out of me) who brings the real me without me trying to do so. It just flows naturally and now (sorry if I keep using this word) I’m afraid that this guy will suffer the same fate of the one before him. Maybe I should say I’m afraid that I will go through the same fate I suffered because of the one before him. This new guy is less dreamy than the one before. He is more real, more tangible, more reachable. This is why I’m afraid of history repeating itself with this new guy. It’s easier to let go of a dream than one that is real/concrete. Yes, letting go of a dream is torturous but letting go of something real is more painful and harder to get over with. It’s easier to find a better dream than finding something better than what you had. Not that I had- or will have- that new guy. I don’t plan on doing that. I know I’m being absurd for looking for a better therefore ‘more impossible’ dream instead of grabbing the one within my reach. Well, grabbing one within my reach is not like me. I like chasing dreams and ideals. Maybe this is why I am still secretly, in some way, chasing the dream I have proclaimed unwanted. Maybe this is why I’m not running after the “real” guy, the one within my reach. Then again, for me, there is no such thing as “within my reach” in world because saying so would draw borders to what I can and cannot achieve. Having borders would limit me, box me up and then, I won’t be myself. I will cease to be the great dreamer that I have always claimed to be and claim to be always. I don’t only reach for the stars, I go beyond them. Way beyond them.

Anyway, what’s the use of dreaming if you limit yourself to what you can reach? Where’s the progress, the fun in that? Besides, why would you want something you have within your reach? It’s human nature to long for something- or someone- one does not possess (excuse the term…it’s not that I’m reducing human beings into mere possessions). Like what most people say, “libre mangarap” and “the best things in life are free (and for me dreaming is one of them).” What is reality anyway? There’s no universal definition of it so its limits are therefore arbitrary.

What else do I want to say? Uh, I can’t remember. I guess the person who said that imagination ends where writing begins experienced what I usually do in writing essays. When I’m not in a suitable situation to write, eloquent, well-articulated ideas come to mind and when I do start writing them, they’re not even half as eloquent as the undocumented thoughts I had earlier. When I was in the shower, I finished a very beautiful composition about fiction in my system. When I started typing, the resulting composition is the awful incoherence you’ve just read. I swear the thoughts I had while washing my hair were way better than the jargon you’ve just deciphered. How you know that this is true? Well, you’ll just have to take my word for that. By the way, congratulations for making it this far without losing your sanity.

I once read somewhere that to see a thing one must adjust one’s visual apparatus in a certain way. If the adjustment is inadequate, the thing is seen indistinctly or not at all. Take a garden seen through a window. Looking at the garden one adjusts one’s eyes in such a way that the ray of vision travels through the pane without delay and rests on the shrubs and flowers. Since one is focusing on the garden, one doesn’t see the window but look clear through it. The purer the glass, the less one sees it. But one can also deliberately disregard the garden and, withdrawing the ray of vision, detain it at the window. One then lose sight of the garden. Hence, to see the windowpane and the garden are two incompatible operations which exclude one another because they require different adjustments. I got this from “The Ruin of Representation in Modern Art and Literature” by Jo Anna Lynne Isaak (I don’t want to risk being charged with plagiarism). Anyway, I think to Tio I am merely the windowpane he looks through to see the garden. To him, I am barely visible if not entirely invisible. This used to make me feel sad but being the self-centered person I am (if this is true, you’ll be the judge), I managed to make find a way to turn the tables in favor of me. This is how I think of it: without the windowpane, he won’t see the garden. Another way of looking at it, although it is somewhat cheesy, is this: if he only bothered to adjust his vision to see the glass, he’d appreciate it. He’d realize that without it, the beauty of the garden would remain unappreciated, unknown to him.  He’d realize that if he looked more carefully on the glass, the garden would only be a background of his reflection. He’d realize that the glass, in some way, reflects his own beauty in contrast to the garden’s beauty. I learned from literature that to love someone is to see one’s beauty in the other. He would have seen his beauty if he only bothered to look at the glass, not through it. Then again, I also learned from literature that what is seen in the mirror is a poor approximation of the self. So, what he’d see in the glass would be a biased image of himself. If he realizes this, he’d know that he is not who the glass is showing him. If he further contemplates on this, he’d thank the glass for doing so. For one, he’d thank the glass for showing him who he could be. For another, he’d thank the glass for portraying his positive qualities and not his faults even if the glass had the power to do so. Then again, I am no glass. If I were, I probably won’t be pure enough to let the beholder see the beautiful garden beyond me. I’d probably be translucent if not opaque so as to limit the ray of vision to myself. Anyway, I am a human being with eyes that does pretty much the same thing and experiences pretty much the same thing. Besides, I don’t think Tio goes this far in contemplating.

In case you want to know what is- or should I say was- in it for the glass if the beholder looks at it not through it? Well, pretty much the same thing. The glass sees its own beauty in the beholder’s eyes. The glass realizes what it does for the beholder and how much he appreciates what the glass is doing. Then again, reality bites and this was not- and probably never will be- meant to be. Besides, if Tio were the beholder, he’d probably look through some other window and before he does so, I’d probably break and quit being seen through.

to my ever so faihful minion who is always updated regarding the progress of this bullshit i call blogs…

firstly, i’d like to thank you for your support. you’re one of the inspirations i have in writing my blogs. i’d like you to know that you’re one of the reasons why i keep posting blogs for your entertainment.there will be two more so watch out (yes, watch out because all my blogs are dangerous) for them…i forgot to save them in my diskette before i left for the computer shop so i couldn’t post them now.sowee…

secondly, i’d like to congrtulate you for surviving 7 blogs without losing you sanity…if you had one in the first place…hehe…

thirdly, i’d like to ask you a favor…please send me comments about the crap you’ve been reading here…i’d like to know what goes on in that brain of yours…i still don’t know what you think about the previous blogs and frankly, i’m dying to know…everytime i ask you, you keep me hanging…you answer in incomplete hints…hehe…so pleeeaaase let me know…you have roused my curiosity and the only way out is to satisfy it…hehe…sorry if that sounds bad…i couldn’t find a better way of putting it and i’m under time pressure…

that’s it for now…once again, i thank you my dear, faithful minion…remember that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger!!!i hope you’ll make way for my request…hehe…

sincerely yours,

the pensive dreamer…c",)

p.s.

may iba na akong inspiration for my blogs aside from you…nde n c tio…hehehe…