Your Life is No Life

Your Life is No Life

You wake up and wipe away the drool at the corner of your mouth; pretend it was part of your dream. Only fat people drool in their sleep; not you, you exercise. You blindly feel for your toothbrush in the sink, grasp it, squint to confirm the color is right, it is yours, and start brushing away the grime of your last meal. You spit and look at the mirror—shit, your reflection reminds you of shit. You close the bathroom door in search for some undies and a towel. You ignore your mom’s cheerful mood; mumble a sorry excuse of a “gumornin”.

You skip breakfast, you’re late. Your shower covered more than 15 minutes because the feel of conditioner on your hair is too good to rinse. You grab your allowance, bid a quick goodbye and wait for a vehicle to school.

The trip will consist of some secret romantic story you’re plotting for today—it never happens. A hilarious thought  breaks into the forefront of your mind—you laugh and hide it with a frown. You think about sex and wonder if someone can read minds; you think a command to let said mind readers raise their hand. No one does, you feel safe. You feel the vehicle stop and got down.

You have the sudden feeling of dread for probably leaving your ID at home. You frantically dig up your bag, it’s there, you sigh and look disgustingly smug at the guard. You start your countdown till the end of the day. You remember that friends make school a wonderful place, you ignore your countdown.

You start class with a smile until your professor enters the class and you find yourself with knitted eyebrows. You reconsider the countdown. Your class ends, your butt feels tingly. You go to lunch and wish one hour lasts longer—it doesn’t. Your professor gives you a quiz, you got low, and it’s entirely the professor’s fault. You don’t pay attention in the next class because you are venting your anger of the previous quiz to your classmate. Your professor announces a surprise test, you curse. Your day ends.

Your ride home blanks your train of thoughts. You yell for your mom to open the door because you cannot hold your pee anymore. Your mom is cooking dinner; your undies are almost wet. You take another shower, eat your dinner. You make up your mind whether to brush your teeth or not. You opt not to. You tuck yourself in your blanket and you start imagining your love story for tomorrow, a funny memory almost makes you laugh, you remember your most embarrassing moment and hide under your pillow. Minutes later you are sleeping. Hours later you are drooling. You wake up and wipe away the drool at the corner of your mouth; pretend it was part of your dream.

Inspired by an Eisley song..

Let’s Dream Away Our Love

And the meadow would be our sea..

The wild flowers our fishes-swaying and not gliding away

We would lie there and look at the sun as if the light were not blinding

Because the meadow is our sea, and all light will not shine through..

And everything we touch would be our own..

We’d feel the grass graze our fingertips, like waves so piquant, so liminal.

And we would turn to gaze at each other’s eyes, lost in our own bubble

Because everything we touch would be our own, and we could just swim away to impasse..

And we would forget about any semblance of pain..

Let the permeating scent of mint soothe our body to a high, breathe away anything else

Your hand would be my only anchor to any amount of sensation; it’s just you and me, and you and me

Because we would forget about any semblance of pain, and we will never see the day we cry..

And we would unfound the world..

Our only origin would the magnetic force that binds us; everything else would be an enigma

The sinewy muscles of your arms would hide me way from any gusty winds, hidden wonderfully away

Because we would unfound the world, and all that I would know about is the existence of the both of us..

And people with no love life at all are allowed to be sappy sometimes.

You Are Not For Me, But I Still Think You Are

I will never have the courage to say this to anyone. Okay, maybe I will change my mind and blabber all of these things to my friends eventually, but know that I am a big, fragile ball of emotions right now; and it’s because I am in a state of rock-bottom vulnerability. You will never know.. you will never know that every time you arbitrarily visit our school, somebody ‘s day—my day is brighter than any other sunny day.

And I will never have the courage to thank you for making me realize that yes, somebody might just be listening to silly wishes, because after all, part of my wish have come true. That’s another thing you will never know—that at some point in my boring life, I asked for someone like you. The only sour thing is, you came to pass by and not to knock on my door.

I will never have the courage ask your name. And I already do, but it’s nice to have proper introductions, and trust me when I say I have come up with every romantic way it could happen. Will they ever get out of my overactive imagination and solidify right in front of me? I guess, I will never know.

I will never have the courage to tell you to visit more frequently, because who am I to ask for your time? You will never know that I always picture you with me, and how I always promise to be myself if you would give me a chance, because I know we would be perfect. You just have to see me, talk to me, know me; but you will never.

I will never have the courage to tell you that this week is the best week of my life, because you were almost always present. You will never hear my voice nor see me look at you, because if there’s something worse than a coward, then that’s me.  You will never know that this is the first time in a long time that I’ve felt like this again.

I will never have the courage to tell you all of these, and I wish courage is just a shirt I can wear, because I really, really like you. You will never know that I’m tired of acting like a lady waiting for your move, because I know the meaning of “unrequited ” and “impossible”. I wish I weren’t a coward. I wish you’re not out of my league.

If Children Were Given A Chance To Write To The President

Research was boring. That was a fact none of us could deny even if fronted with some bucks-- or we could always lie, right? Anyways, why waste my time when I could do some work of my own as I decided not to listen? I've always loved kids and having met some this week, I tried looking at the world in their point of view. Well, I was thinking of Pink's song "Dear Mr. President" at that moment, so I came up with these letters supposedly written by children 6-12 years old. ^^


Dear Mr. President,

                 I woke up today without breakfast, so I went down the river to pick up some stones and shells to boil. When the time comes that I go to school, will I still do this? I don't want to get late. Besides, won't I get hungry if I only have soup? Mama told me we'll never get the right nuti-- nutrisian. I don't even know what that is, will I ever? If it's so important, why don't we have it? Mr. President, what did you have for breakfast?


Dear Mr. President,

               I was cleaning a car window earlier. It surprised me when a hand came up and stroked my chest. I thought the man was just looking for something-- my cute button, I guess. He asked me if I want a new job and I excitedly said "Yes". Mr. President, now all I have to do is lie down the bed and let them touch me. I'm 8 and I 'm earning money! Mr. President, do I make your chest swell with pride?


Dear Mr. President,

           Last night I was roaming the streets for some spare change. Out of nowhere, a car sped up the road. I didn't really see what happened, all I remembered was waking up in the hospital and crying. I was paralyzed from the neck down. My mom was crying and I couldn't even move my fingers to wipe away her tears. I heard them talking about "euthanasia" or something. She said we have  no funds for food much less my hospitalization. Mr. President, how long do you wanna live? If you would ask me, I 'd like to live long enough to learn how to run from cars again.


Dear Mr. President,

             My teacher asked  the class to make a drawing of our perfect world. I drew mine with the big wings of my pet dove. Ms. Wenson said I was so smart to know that doves symbolize peace. It was all accidental, but I still said that the idea was all mine. I came  home feeling guilty because of what I did.I lied to my teacher and the whole class. Tomorrow, I'll say sorry and tell them the truth. I would never do it again, I promise! Mr. President, have you ever felt guilty before? I bet not, because I'm sure you don't lie. You're the president.


Dear Mr. President,


           My dad hit mom and there was blood and objects thrown around the house. I just sat there howling with tears.I've never wanted something to stop so bad in that moment. The word "money' was all over their argument. I even heard them say "economy". Who the heck is Economy? I want to kick his ass! He made Dad hit Mom! Mr. President, please don't let Economy hurt anyone again, especially my mom.



Soooooo yeaaahh. I'll think of some more! ^^

My Memento Scrapbook or whatever

So, as my life felt like living in monotone, I have said before that I would make a memento book or whatever. Thing is, the whole deal is going well. Every time I put something in it (so far I have 3 entries), I can't help but feel my lips twitch up a little. I am currently enjoying it. Well, I am pretty much proud of myself for actually utilizing the plan. I have, for some cosmic reasons, abandoned lots and lots and LOTS of thought up activities. This going on right here is a drastic, positive change. I LOVE IT!

Oh, the book is yellow with green lettering of "MEMORIES" in front-just perfect. Although "MEMENTO" would have been equally perfect, too. ^^

Sometimes, you would think about the best way to live your life, and that would be it--a thought. Most of the time, you wouldn't think and just act on a particular moment, and that would be it--living.

His Graveyard made me think and well.. cry.

I have heard millions of praises for Neil Gaiman and after reading Stardust, I had a pretty good idea as to why that is. So, after countless of relentless nagging from my Ate to actually read some more of his books, I conceded.

Just earlier, I finished reading The Graveyard. It was enchanting to the point where you would ignore other plans just to finish it. I would not prattle about every detail, but this was a book ought to be read by all ages—well young adults and above.  The book was genius per se, but the message and how it was conveyed left me to tears of utter amazement.

Nobody Owens, due to the tragic murder of his family when he was only a year old, was adopted by the ghosts of the graveyard. He was assigned parents and a guardian-an esoteric guardian who disappeared weeks at a time due to a more mysterious job. Needless to say, everyone in the area became his friend while he grew up. He had different best friends to adhere to his age some dead and one well, alive--which was amusing yet weirdly realistic.  The adventures were filled with lessons and would just leave you stirring. The ending was both sad and auspicious that it branched to different realizations as well as interpretation.

Here’s mine.

In a dissected manner of viewing it:

Personally, what Nobody Owens experienced in the graveyard was in reality, a childhood spent in a small town where dreams were hardly viewed as possible except to a few some. The graveyard had rules, boundaries and limits. It had set an allusion that what lied beyond their place was dangerous and better off unravelled especially of a boy who, when he was young, a product of tragedy of that world. It’s like, a typical family raising their children in an overly safe manner.  Although, children were guileless, spirited and spontaneous that they tend to break these rules to set on adventures that they thought weren’t consequential. Bod had these adventures and these things he took as experience moulded him for the future.

The fact that his guardian/s kept their work clandestine was for me, how the ones we love are doing everything without our knowing to keep us safe; that even though you are gapped by years of experience and intelligence, where their actions are directed are to your own good.

During his stay in the graveyard, he had a chance to go to the real world; here he discovered both positive and negative things. He first met greed, avarice, anger etc..; he also learned things he once thought were fallacious or fictitious were actually real. He felt love as well as heartache. It was already clear to him that a person to like you deeply would only be true once you are accepted as who you are.  He was also taught that what the dead could remember, the ones who are alive possibly could not. This particularly stroked me, as the dead only became figments with their memories intact while people live on hoping to forget the tragedy of death.

No matter how peaceful a place was, trouble would always find you. The good thing was, by the time evil caught up with Bod, he already knew how to deal with it. Time was his friend and it was kind enough to show him how he was the only one changing and to be appropriate, he needed an environment that could be par with his own.

So when the graveyard, the adventures it had given him and the people who stayed with him decided he was ready for the world, he took this as a chance to be great. It was up to him if he wanted to bring the memories of his childhood with him; if these people should always be his inspiration; if he would again visit the graveyard.

Our childhood is like the graveyard- it is nothing but buried memories to some, while to others, it is where they build their tombstones made of gold—ones they can go back to in order to get nostalgic inspiration.  The graveyard gave life to the few years of our life, but it isn’t the certain life to live; for someday, we will leave the confines of that graveyard and live real. It is up to us how to use the graveyard in the future or if not to use it at all. When we leave, we can bring some of the things it gave us, or we can erase the graveyard in our minds and start from scratch. It all depends on our graveyards.

Or maybe this is the simple message:

The graveyard is the history of everything in our life, and it will let us go after they have completely moulded us for real life.

THAT IS ALL! Thank you, Neil Gaiman!

Hormonal imbalance or what?

Should men be conceited, women are conscious.

Apparently, not only counseling can make you see things in a clear thought process--books can. Lots of it can technically prove a statement. Say.. people of the same interest are most likely to fall in love? It depends entirely on the person who perceives it. Like, someone who studies literature is apt to find someone who studies the same subjects worthy of attention. Or maybe, an actor from an obscured town would meet someone from the same place and actually make magic. And with these examples, all can surmise that the books my realization was based upon are cheesy romance novels. The problem is, what if I don't find someone whose interests equal mine? Because, all things considered, I don't have a specific passion. My interest are jumbled and non-categorical.

What bugs me-a female- is what part of myself is interesting. If miraculously, googling yourself can show all the unique things that make you attractive and unparalleled, I would, by all means, stop wallowing and pronounce myself capable of a mature relationship. But instead displaying my utter happiness for a matter that seems so out of reach, here I am suffering from existential crisis.

So, existential crisis might be a bit exponentially heavy a term for what I am feeling at the moment. The point is, maybe I 'm just secretly yet desperately trying to extend attributes I don't have. So, I want to rediscover my true self and be comfortable with it.


1.You are a Nursing student, one of your interests is helping people alleviate pain.
2.You enjoy books imbued with fantasy, romance, homosexuality, dark themes, and drama.
3.You love movies with subtle plots and poignant lines.
4. You love music with simple but deeply moving lyrics.
5. You watch comedies with satire, a bit of parody and carnal stupidity.
6. You support the LGBT in your own emotional way.
7. Odd things interest you, like weird animals, unconventional art, hidden stories, and  bent historical facts.
8. You take interest in Serial Killer's psyche.
9. If someone brags about reading/watching something that is to them the best thing ever, you read/watch it  for proof or just to prove them wrong.
10.You prefer imagination that's why you hate graphic novels (yet you still won't miss movies based on books you've read even if there are only a few) .
11. You love movies with narration.
12. You love working with eye make-ups.
13. You don't want to be called stupid although you're not really that smart.
14.You attempted to learn lucid dreaming.
15. You get lost inside your mind too often.
16. You obsess with things excessively (remeber slash fandom? SXS, J2?).
17. You plot your own love story to the nines.
18. You try too much to make a statement.
19. You write when you just don't know anymore..

TBC..

One of my plans to know my life is not in the static line.

 **I shall collect a memento from every place  I go and put it in a Scrapbook.
 **Put in the date, the name of the person you're with and a sentence or two about your thoughts.

Keep in mind, that you are special! If people don't see this, then you are not to incorporate said people in any way into your life but  mere pebbles on the way. As what I have said earlier, how interesting a person can be depends on the individual who perceives it; there is someone out there who sees or will see you as the only girl unequaled. Yep, you just have to utilize the proverbial wait. ^^