The Theme of The Day

Ever felt that everyday is just like a story, revolving around a theme which you unconciously or conciously create?

I remember in high school the golden rule of writing is to start or end or include in a paragraph, a topic sentence. One is not allowed to wander from the topic sentence, one is only permitted to work within the confines of the topic and expound on it a bit further, in order to eventually reach another topic (which is a new topic sentence in a new paragraph) that may be related, though not directly to the first paragraph.

Well I guess today is one of those days of revelation. Although this thought had struck me last Friday, it took me up to today to organize my thoughts well enough as to discuss it more fully in written text. This school year has been an unending surprise, one after another, most of which are entirely beyond the knowledge of those who perform them except perhaps me. The best kind of prize is a "surprise" heh!

The stories which I am about to tell will revolve around the financial aspect of luck, and thus many would find me incompassionate and selfish and perhaps just darn dishonest, but I guess experience is a good teacher, and so far I haven't learned my lesson.. yet.

Story #1
Munch Alley

What makes this day particularly special, other than my story, is a secret about "something stupid" that had occured earlier in the morning. Due to this event, my friends wanted to hear all about it, so we chose to munch in munch alley, a restaurant in EGI, a building just beside our school. Two of my companions bought sizzling squid, while the other, if my memory serves me right, bought liempo. I, on the other hand, settled for my usual tosilog (I have this thing for breakfast meals, you see.. Garlic being my favorite spice and meat being the only thing I know how to eat) My companions entrusted their money to me so I would be responsible for lining up and ordering their meals. After I gave the orders, paid and received my change, I returned directly to my seat to settle the division of the sukli. Curiously though, the money I had seemed more than what we had meant to have paid, so I walked back to the counter and requested to have our orders rechecked. It was accurate and the bill remained the same. Knowing fully how each friend contributed, I decided to compute the whole menu-pricing dilemma, in the end, resolving that the cashier charged my peers 20 pesos below what was written on the menu list, and thus my meal being 60 pesos became a free meal. I didn't find any reason to complain, (may grasya na tatangihan ko pa ba?) and was waiting for any of the staff to approach me to address to me the problem. Nobody came, and therefore, I ate and walked out with a free meal and a full stomach.

I am aware that my actions are contrary to the teachings I had been exposed to in my GMRC (Good Manners and Right Conduct) class and books. And although I've passed the subject with flying colors due to my "convincing" answers to their over-simple brained questions, words do not need to be reflected in actions to pass the said subject. That perhaps being a flaw in the course. I have been vocal in expressing this idea of the subject being a complete waste of time and good paper, but perhaps my school would insist on the said curriculum in order to wash their hands from guilt should any one of their students act inappropriately in events. The whole idea of answering morality questions in multiple choice or true or false test format is a bit too elementary, or kinder even. In addition, the quality of the questions being of mundane or overused nature, would inevitably yield a correct answer from the bored, unchallenged minds of the students due to the repetitive characteristic of the example. At times, quantity of the test items is taken into mind rather than their quality, and therefore the problems would not cause the student to reflect more on the actions of right conduct but on how to attain the best possible grade.

Story #2
MCDO

One time, two of my org-mates wanted to go to Mcdonald's to have breakfast. (Super size.. Super size me!) When we got there, one decided to order a Longsilog meal, the other an Mcmuffin (I am not really sure if this is what he ordered) I, on the other hand, being close to being broke decided to choose the cheapest meal on the lighted menu, hotcakes. The cashier was female and was rather less than my standards of friendliness (perhaps she's having her period... on second thought, eww.. don't ask what went through my head) She placed my meal on the tray and I joined the two guys I was with. We opened our meals together, the two boys having the right orders, except me. Rather than just hotcakes, my meal included a sausage, which costs P20 more than what I ordered. My two companions, obviously were thrilled at my luck, and being not too inclined to eat McSausage.. We divided the round patty into a BMV logo, and distributed the three equal pieces among us. Who said free foods always taste good?

Story #3
UDMC Internet Station

This is my favorite, since despite my good intentions, I've been turned down constantly that I gave up! In this internet station, the policy is, before you can use their computer services, one must first make a downpayment of one hour which is 20 buckeroos. Having only 120 pesos in my wallet, which happens to be the only money left after I defiled my innocent little piggy bank to get some cash to go online, I took out a 20 and paid the lady. And so I started from 11:30 all the way until 3:30 in the pm. 4 hours thus, calculating would cost P80. I went to the cashier; by then the cashier person has changed since they have a shift due to the fact that the station is open 24/7. As I asked the price, the woman answered, "miss, kami pa po may utang sa inyo." And I was like, "huh?" she replied, "iyong una po na kumuha ng downpayment niyo, sabi niya binigay niyo raw P100" "Sure kayo?""Oho, so kami pa ang may utang sayo ng P20" the girl insisted taking out a 20 peso bill. "Miss, sigurado ho ba kayo? Alam ko 20 lang bayad ko eh." I told her. "Sigurado ako, sabi sakin 100 bigay niyo, kami iyong babayad pa ng 20 sa inyo""Kayo ho bahala" Oh well, don't say I didn't try. So, I came and left with the same amount of money in wallet, and an experience worth blogging about.

Story #4
The Bus Ride to DLSU

I had to go back to school since the driver was waiting there for me to bring me home. Ironically, I was already home when I realized that the driver was going to pick me up, plus of course the darn fact that he pawned his cellphone for the time being, thus no means of communication was available. In order to solve the problem, I had to take a public transportation ride. Being in the mood to feel tall, I rode a bus. The route of the bus would pass through Quiapo, Lawton, Manila City Hall, then Taft, it would end in Remedios where the bus would be making a U-turn in a U-turn slot available a little past Quirino Avenue. What is rather interesting in this story is that, I was the only passenger left when we reached Remedios. The conductor and the driver thus called me in front and began the interview. They asked where I was going, "to school" I answered, "at this time?""Yup!""Up to what time classes mo?""Hanggang gabi pa", I lied. "Hatid ka na namin sa school mo, malayo pa sa Remedios eh." the conductor offered. "Wag na po, kaya ko naman mo lakarin eh." I argued. "Hindi, umuulan rin, kami na." looking at the driver, "Gusto mo sunduin ka rin namin mamaya?" the driver commented. ALERT!!! "Wag na po." I answered. "Wala ka bang boyfriend para magsundo hatid sayo? Sa ganda mong yan." "Um.." I thought, "wala eh." Oh well. They brought me to school and I thanked them. I've had so many experiences like that it kind of bugs me, but hey, compliments are always accepted no matter how shallow they may be.

Story #5
A Free Bus Ride

Just this morning, I had a free bus ride. Once again, I wanted to ride a bus to school. I was running late for our class mass which would represent 10 percent of my final grade in Religion two. The cause of my tardiness was my stupid monthly visitor which caused another round of physical cramps, more famously called as "dysmennorrhea", that I had to let my siblings go ahead without me, lest they be late for their classes. Returning to the feature story, I rode a bus to school. It wasn't airconditioned which is the way I like it. I get nauseous in airconditioned buses especially if I sit in one for more than an hour. Guess its the smell of the vehicle. (Ever wonder how everything has a smell? The smell of a bank. The smell of garbage and of market places. The smell of Canada (pine trees). The smell of Binondo (horse shit). )

When I got on, the bus was partially crowded, but intersting enough a man, most Chinese would easily mistake as a "tsaw hwan" stood up and gave me a seat. Chivalry is not dead, there are still men courageous enough to display good manners and sensitivity. I remember going in an LRT with a pregnant woman, and the seated men would just look at us and look away. Just makes you wanna kick their dicks, hello! I was with a pregnant woman, the least they could do was offer her a seat. Imagine carrying a big basketball belly, which is no basketball, but life. Creeps, and some of them were Chinese, which is sad. Anyway, I got my seat in the bus, thanked the man, who stood up for the remainder of his trip.

For the whole ride, I was waiting for the conductor to approach me and ask me my destination, but I guess the bus was so crowded he couldn't remember whether I've paid or not. By the time, we reached Remedios, I quickly went down the bus and found a jeepney that would pass my school, I got away with a free bus ride. Ta-dah!

Story #6
I got away with P1

This happened after my mass class which I would have to say sucked. Let me make a detour in my story telling of my financial responsibility escapes and focus more, ironically, on religion. Our class mass was a product of our teacher's stubborn and shallow reasoning. During the preparation of the mass, earlier in the term, our professor asked us individually what role we would like to take in order for our mass to be a success. Unfortunately, time was against us, and she had only 5 minutes left before the bell to interview the 40+ students in our class. One my classmates, with good intentions in mind, suggested that we group each other per committee and give her the list the following meeting in order for more efficient designation without the hassle of going overtime. She was offended by the suggestion since she felt we were taking her out of the picture. In my personal opinion, she does have issues. Although she may be intelligent and very convincing, she does close her mind to possibilities which are not at par with her flow of thought.

On our mass proper though, the problem was resolved. The room "resembled a chapel" commented our presiding priest. Unfortunately, I did not consider the said mass as valid, especially since the whole event was done sitting down even the consecration of the Holy Eucharist, which I find extremely blasphemous, not only on our part but also on the part of the priest who was praying and holding the "body of Christ" sitting down, not giving reverence. It is like lifting a piece of bread, not acknowledging the beautiful transformation that the said event was meant to do. "The God in heaven is the same God on earth." said St. Therese, and from that quote did I learn to revere even that piece of bread because it represents more than physical wheat, but of a spiritual food. Imagine me saying this after all the stories I've been telling you.

After the mass, I decided to go home to complete some more deadlines due the following day. I took the FX home. As I was looking for coins to pay the driver, I realized that I am 1 peso short of the 20 pesos fare. Carefully, I wrapped the 2 five peso, 8 one peso and 4 25 cents coins in the palm of my hand, waited until the FX stopped. Just before it would begin to move, I handed the coins to the driver. He didn't bother to check anymore, not only since it was all coins but also since he had to focus on his driving.

I had another experience like that last year. It was made purely out of desperation. I had no money at the time, and had to resort to opening my piggy bank and taking out the coins I have so diligently saved. It turns out that most of my coins were 25 cents. Having the need to go to school, and having no driver to bring me there, I collecter 20 pesos worth of 25 cents, and went to ride an FX. Now imagine the look on the FX driver's face when I handed him a handful of golden 25 cents.

Story #7
Speedbytes

I've had so many experiences in Speedbytes this term that it usually turns out funny whenever I think about going back there. One time, I had to use their computer to chat with a friend somewhere out there halfway round the world. I started around 10 am, and ended at about close to 4 pm. When I stood up, I had a terrible ache on my butt, and the man on the counter was smiling. I had made a record in Speedbytes history, 6 hours in front of the PC. As an incentive perhaps, rather than having to pay 180 pesos for their services, they charged me only 150.

Another interesting event that happened there was when I had to use their computer to find a very short note from my groupmates. I used the computer for barely 15 to 20 minutes. When I was ready to pay, the girl had already reset the whole system, and thus told me that my computer usage would not be counted and thus I was free to go. Talk about luck.

Story XXX
(Content is not porn, I just couldn't find an appropriate title)
Totally unrelated but still intersting
A Story of Compassion

This would be the last story before I end my entry. Like I said I had a feeling that life has a theme that we live by. I was thinking about a certain event which my friend has recently revealed to me. It was his perspective towards a choice I committed a couple of months back. I felt the injustice which I have done to him, although not directly my fault, which made me feel even worse. I was in the verge of breaking my ties with the other party that has offended him when I came to the question of my compassion.

The morning after this revelation, which happens to be just last Friday, I rode an FX to school. I had to make a rush on my paper about Hegel that I had to allow my siblings to go ahead without me. After the FX reached Lawton, it began to wheeze, eventually dying in the middle of the road. The driver asked the three men in the vehicle to go down and push. One escaped, the other two were left behind the car pushing. After five to six trials, the FX failed to exhibit any signs of life. The two frustrated men have given up and left the driver wailing to himself. The driver asked us, the remaining to females to go down and push. That's when we began to ask for our money back. The driver hesitated. I having given him a hundred haven't received my change yet. I answered the driver, "Manong, my deadline pa ako. Ayaw ko ma-late." This perhaps was the point when the driver took our money and returned them to us. I took my hundred in full. The other females though took just portions of the money they gave initially. Do I feel guilty? perhaps, but in any situation, I wouldn't be able to say "manong 90 nalang po balik niyo" since I know that he doesn't have that 90 to return. You cannot give what you do not have.

Sleep

Sleep deprivation is perhaps one of the most horrible tortures subjected to students. In addition to an inhumane workload, lack of sleep perhaps makes everything else lose meaning. Last Sunday, I came home at 3 in the morning from an internet cafe in order to finish a powerpoint presentation of John Naisbitt, a futurist (interesting title, don't you think?) who wrote primarily on the manner in which technology influences man, at the same time how man influences technology. The two-fold logic of technology wherein it is dependent on man, but at times man becomes dependent on it. Therefore man needs education in order to further the advancement of technology, while technology presents the more convenient and easy lifestyle man has been dreaming to attain. It is through technology, that the traditional forms of worship and family have been altered. There is now a "Global Village" where everyone is a kin to each other. Quite similar to John Lennon's "Imagine", John Naisbitt as well as Margaret (I don't recall her last name) spoke of the trend in the New Age, where digitalization would replace family and religion, where computers would be constantly surveying and taking note of human actions and movements, where division could be overcome(d?). In their books, Megatrend and the Aquarius Conspiracy respectively, they write about Globalization and unity and peace. But in my opinion, technology may present many wonderful escapes from the hardships of life, but would it actually make us better people?

Consider a life where all is provided, should there be a circumstance wherein these would be taken away for even a short period of time, would one be capable of handling it? Is technology really a solution to avoid hardships, then perhaps is it the same thing as avoiding life? With everything so amply provided, would we even consider to learn? As Naisbitt mentioned, "In a world that is constantly changing, there is no one subject or set of subjects that will serve you for the foreseeable future, let alone for the rest of your life. The most important skill to acquire now is learning how to learn."
Although the current advancements have undeniably made life more convenient, according to other futurists, technology makes life complex. It is true, I believe, before life seems simple, where one plants the food, waits and reaps and shares it with his neighbors. Now, with technology, the world is expected to adjust and adapt to a fast-paced, instant lifestyle where things are done in a split second time. Patience are for the fools because with it, we would seem to lack initiative.

Back to my story, I came home at 3 in the morning, fell asleep and woke up at 6 just in time to go to school for my presentation. The day remains faithfully fast-paced and loaded, not to mention the arousal of a problem regarding a deadline due the next day, Tuesday, for our video production "Chase in C Major". Turns out our editor would be busy the whole night and would only be able to accomodate us at 10 in the evening, which would obvious reflect in our work since we know he would be tired and perhaps irritable by then. I called my friend to ask for his help and thankfully he agreed. Unfortunately, when we arrived and have begun the intial process, it was realized that his program cannot provide us with features which we require. Thankfully, he suggested to install Adobe Premiere in his computer which is another editing program, the backslide is that he is uninformed as to how the program is used. I volunteered to study the program, which eventually led to me editing the whole program with my groupmate. We completed the whole presentation by 4 am, unfortunately the presentation exhibits a strobing, which our teacher later on blames on the perhaps incapacity of the computer hardware to facilitate such a large file. We are extremely grateful to my friend though since he provided us with all the bonding time with his computer when he could be relaxing. I came home at 5 in the morning, riding a jeepney from manila all the way to my house. By then, the sky was blue-violet, it was neither dark nor bright, and at that point, I fell inlove with sunrise.

The "magic hour" as photographers call it happens an hour before and after sunset, but perhaps the same could be said about sunrise. It is the time when the sky is pinkish, red, orange, cerulean; a mixture of hues all blending with each other. That now perhaps is my favorite time of day, an hour before sunrise, the sleepy hour for most who never experienced walking alone in the streets, with no traffic and great strobes of light, just the brightening sky hovering above you, revealing you the blooming beauty of today.

My lack of sleep though did take its toll, I couldn't stand straight the whole day. I feel like I am being rocked to sleep by my body. My vision, like a video camera begins its auto-focus setting, where things I want to see begins to lose focus and things I don't need to see focuses itself. Although these occur in split seconds, I cannot deny that they irritate me at times since I get worried if these are in any away contributory in the world's many attempts to ruin my perfect 20-20 eyesight.

I took the eye test earlier this year since it was a requirement in our university to take the eye examination. I was asked to stand a few feet away from the chart, and yet I successfully completed what many have failed to do, I read the chart all the way to the last tiny line. The attendant was obviously surprised, I was surprised and proud as well. Darn, life's little gifts, I shouldn't throw them away.

Medley of Reflections

You never know how important something is unless it is taken away from you. This statement holds true to what had occured to me a week ago. I had mustered up enough patience and courage to add another entry in my blog, having written more than eight paragraphsful, I felt it to suit my satisfaction. I clicked on the "Publish Post" icon and ta-da! "Server couldn't be found.." Bull! Whats my initial reaction? Click on back.. and yes I came back to an empty text box waiting mockingly to be filled up.. again. It was such a disheartening feeling when you feel that you have accoplished another masterpiece only for it to disappear into (cyber) oblivion, never to be retrieved again. Acknowledging that all efforts in completing it had been futile not to mention put to waste. In addition, the acceptance that the second attempt at the same issue would reflect a semi-radical change in the whole outline, not to mention perspective of the whole event. Ever had that feeling that the first attempt always seems a lot better than the second, third, etc. attempts at the exact same issue? I understand that partially the fault is mine since I had not taken the initiative to copy it before publishing it, and yet to lose what one has written, what one has taken time and effort and thought to complete is undeniably extremely tiring and stress adding, completely contrast to the supposed stress reducing effects that could be gained from writing down your thoughts. And so here I am once again, a bit wiser now, attempting to wrestle with the bothersome ideas that have been flooding my mind for the past two weeks.

It seems that I have become obsessed with the blog that almost every single occurence in my life is worthy to be included in such a publication. In truth, perhaps it is worthy, since it is of my own life, the blog is of my own doing and thus is susceptible to whatever content I deem it worthy to contain. To those who may read my blog, though I doubt there be plenty, I write not for your pleasure but for my own and thus forgive me should you find some of the text offensive, mundane, boring, violent, radical (and all sorts of criticisms you could formulate) although I doubt it to be so. Returning to what I was saying, the blog has possessed me into wanting to contain virtually every aspect of my daily existence, not to mention the golden thoughts that toy with the nerves running in my limited head. I list down memories one by one in the computer of my mind and decide "this is what I am going to write today." And yet when faced with this empty white box, in a beckoning anticipation to show off my bothersome ideas, my brain would realize that the power plug was just pulled out and that all data would be lost in an automatic shutdown. I would lose enthusiasm and wit and thus fail to even begin writing craps like this.

There are times though when I am very much driven to write an entry, but my mind begins to experience a shutdown of ideas wherein I find a loss of what I am to write down despite the millions of listed memories I may have come up with a moment or two ago. It is like, as one is faced with the blank text box, the mind mimics it and allows all ideas to smoke out of the chimney of the head, and embracing the limbo of the outside world. In order to solve this dilemma, I wrote down the memories on a piece of yellow pad, thinking that perhaps by doing such I would be spare from the worry of forgetfulness, and thankfully, this entry is a product of such doing. I have listed over ten paragraphs of topics which I am very willing to discuss, unfortunately I feel the time would not permit me to divulge all this shit in one sitting. I have class in an hour and I would also meet my groupmate for the preproduction paperworks, done postproduction, of our last project before our final project which is due next week.

Our final project would revolve around the self, more specifically events that has occured within the span from our birth to our current exitence. Sitting down, I have thought of some interesting occurences to propose as my autobiography, but none as "blast"ful and also simple enough to fit the requirements I have set.
(1) It must be short
(2) It would require minimal actors
(3) It would not exceed my maximum of 3 location changes
(4) It could be shot in daytime
(5) The story must not be dull, boring and "cliche"ic (eq. love love and more love story bull)
(6) The story must be exciting and show forth a deeper side of me
(7) The production should be feasible
and blah blah and more blah..

Thinking, I've realized what a boring life I lead despite the many fun events that have occured, it feels like I have never really lived at all, although I may have though that I have, I am missing out on life, and time is not a friend at all.

* ---Time, I've been passing time watching trains go by...---*

My watch stopped ticking yesterday, after 5 long years, perhaps more, it has stopped performing its functions for me. It no longer provides me with the 20 minutes advance time which has often time saved me from the tardiness report. And when the digital numbers of my watch faded, it felt like my acknowledgement of time has faded as well. I could no longer tell others that it is "3 minutes to Angelus" or that in the next minute there would be the loud melodious Lasallian bell. I no longer take note of the strain or stress that time imposes upon me, and for once I feel alone and free. Its weird to experience such with the loss of a working watch. There is no longer the awareness that in an hour or two, my mom will pick me up from school, or that I have thirty minutes left to spare in completing this blog entry. The watch is my keeper, my organizer is my life.

The first time I used an organizer for its real purpose of organizing, I was already in second year college, a bit too late to make up for all the late assignments and deadlines and programs that I have been committing since late elementary, high school and early college. I used to think that organizers are a waste of good paper; that it is effective only during the initial period of its usage and in the end would lose its purpose as man begins to lose interest in its seemingly monotonous pages. I am not sure why I decided to give it a try during my second year, but it has helped me alot, which is a rather ironic thing to say since I failed my accounting class during my second year here in the university. It has kept me posted as well as "O.C." to the point that my clothes have all been pre-programed in order for me not to worry as to what I am to wear for a particular day. Thus, if the clothing doesn't fit the mood I had for the day, I cannot change it for fear of disrupting the daily pre-prepared clothing schedule. Its a rigid and closed practice and yet with it did I learn not only discipline but also that I have more clothes than I thought I had, only most of what I have are not particularly of my personal taste and therefore was not given enough attention to be actually worn in public.

---* ---* ---* ---* ---* ---*Expression of the Self---* ---* ---* ---* ---* ---*

There are times though that I don't believe my current wardrobe suits me. Most of which are handed to me as personal choices of my mother, with my best interests in mind. Me, being Asian and having a bra size of 38D (all natural mind you) is not that common, or so they say. With religion being one of the primary reasons of my mother's vocation as a parent, she completely discards all sorts of trendy, fitted or "revealing" clothings from my reach. In certain occasions when I take liberty in choosing my own style, I am already assured that there is a strong premise for her dislike in it. Not to mention an inevitable litany of the danger it imposes on my well being due to my body's "asset". It is not that I love to wear fitted, trendy or "revealing" clothes, but rather, I do intend to experiment with the possibilities of how my body snuggles up with all sorts of shirts and skirts and pants. I don't deny that sometimes media subjects me to consider trends as a unanimous accepted concept, but I also don't deny that I have often sat down and negated all "happy feelings" of being popular and accepted, that is not the way I want to live, but how perhaps I want to be remembered.

There are times when I want to walk around wearing just a sports bra on and a good pair of jeans. I find it unrestricted and movement friendly, but on the other hand, my mother would complain how I corrupt my siblings' innocence with my vulgar display of body. I question then, how come I have seen her naked, my brothers have seen her walk around in her undergarments and yet find no disgust in the event, while I, still young and firm and "compact" have been regarded as a form of nudity. Why are we so ashamed of the bodies which we have, when all we have are closely similar to the next person and the next and the next and the next. Why do we have to see so much lewdness in our display of confidence with our bodies? Could it be blamed entirely upon the media where pornography and sexual inuendos are plentifully scattered and available to vulnerable audiences? Or could it be blamed more so in our own personal mindframe that we find our bodies dirty and holy both at the same time. At the same time, I question, what is it with breasts and bums that appeal to men so much? When did butts become so alluring unless you're thinking of a humping dog. And when did breasts become such an icon, why bigger is better, when there is more in less? Why do women have to be boxed into becoming beautiful in such standards which are not often given in their hands to have control over?

?!?Mirror Mirror on the Wall, Who's the Fairest of them All!?!

When I was in high school, the boys were always making fun of me. And I know why. In contrast to my other female classmates, my front is more pronounced, even during my first year of high school. Also to emphasize that fact, I unwittily wore colored bras under my translucent white uniform, which would really call forth more attention than I ever thought of. Why am I saying this? Perhaps this torment has led me to become the way I am, no longer afraid to speak candidly about sex and sexuality, to be malicious and vulgar and frank with issues most people consider as taboos. One prominent conversation that I remember was from a good guy friend of mine when I was in third year high school, he mentioned, "Kat, are they still teasing you?" and I replied, "ya they still do, but hey I am used to it by now, so it doesn't bother me as much as it did before, in fact I'm kind of proud of it." and he answered, "well that's bad, because you're compromising yourself and your ideals."

I believe in what he told me, I was giving myself up for the pleasure of other people and in the process begin to enjoy myself as being seen in that light. But, if I play my cards right, I am sure that I can toy with boys. I can get what I want, on second thought, I don't get what I want because I get what I want in the way that I don't want it to be gotten. It is like being a pornography artist, when one can savor the limelight and attention by means of exposing one's many blessings, others in fact, one's not so many blessings. It is the process of conformity effected by callousness and desensitization to what we, or our "pure reason" (Immanuel Kant's theory) had initally ordained to be ill. And thus perhaps did I also harvest my dislike and fear of boy-girl love based relationships. Since love is abstract and cannot be fully determined, one cannot fully grasp the intentions of the other party. Mistaking love with lust, love with infatuation, love with need for company, love with friendship, love with responsibility, love with selfishness, equating love with all such concepts that does not really equate to love, what then is love?

I fear love to be a lie, a fallacy. Since it can exist for a moment and then exits for eternity. In fact, why am I so negatively inclined when it comes to love? Perhaps I don't comprehend its entirety, or perhaps I do. When I was in high school, I was keen and alert. With every boy that kneels with sweet jibberish flowing from his mouth, my mind tickles my tongue to blurt out, " Do you really love me? or are you up for something else?" A guy could be after a girl because of his low self confidence, with a girlfriend, he compensates his lack of love for himself by achieving the love of another. A guy could be after a girl because of her beauty and thus would this dastard parade behind his catch like an old dog finding a chewbone. What I am driving at is that the purpose doesn't always equate to selflessness but to selfishness. Do you want me or my boobs?

(.)(.) My thoughts are deeper than my cleavage (.)(.)

I have always been thinking how to say to people that I am much more a person than what my body is. Being called beautiful may be seem so great a compliment, but I find more meaning perhaps in being respected not due to my physical attribute but to the personhood and the ideals that I uphold. My body is not of my choosing. My race, my nationality are not part of the multiple choice test I received when I took on the assignment of being born into this mortal realm. The contours of my nose, the shape of my eyes, the lines on my hands are not of my own choice or decision, and therefore not worthy to be taken as basis of my compatibility with others. The length of my legs, the curves of my waist, the size of my butt may perhaps be enhanced especially with current modern technological findings, and yet majority of my physical body remains nothing more than just a representation, an instrument of a higher, much more complex being, the being of myself. And so to be considered by others due to physical arousment or attraction are what I call, "stupid love". It is not love at all, but an admiration or envy.

"Love me for what I am for simply being me, don't love me for what you intend or hope that I would be. And if you're only using me to feed your fantasy, you're really not inlove so let me go, I must be free." - Carpenters

If someone could delve into my mind, and appreciate me for my radicalism and thought, who could parallel my intellect as well as passion, then that perhaps is of a higher form of association than physical intimacy. I always think of going out late at night, walking in a deserted park or street or cementary, and perhaps talking to someone, if not myself. Spending a night with someone who could relate, debate and rebate all the invested feelings and thoughts you have given him, that perhaps would be the most ideal. To know a person is to deny oneself from his/her physical limitations, see past all the blemishes and pimples and cracks that line their faces, but instead see them as a person. Another individual with their own unique storyline, their own personalized character, their own identity. To see the person as he/she sees himself, to accept him/her wholly and not conditionally, to come to understand that what is he is, is so, because he is given the right to choose the way he wants to be. To be really serious with a person, one perhaps should see beyond the limitations of the eyes, but instead to meet each other and see each other within one's minds.

I am who I am therefore I am because I choose to be, and if you can't take that then be off with you, small fry.