The Sweet Smell of Flowers

My friend sent me a text message. It spoke of a man and a woman celebrating their first year anniversary. The man gave the woman a dead rose. The woman reacted, slapped the poor man and left him without hearing his explanation. The dead rose - "This is me without you."

That's so sad.

I would have appreciated the dead rose even without the explanation. It would just show how well the guy knows me! A living rose would eventually die, but a dead rose would always remain. I am drawn towards the shriveled petals and wrinkles of the dried up rose, with its brown stems blackening and brittle leaves falling. The more compact and tightly held it is, the more perhaps I'd like it. You see, the flower would have to be cared for in such a manner that drooping or dismantling of petals could be avoided. It is not likely that one may find a rotting rose holding firmly in the streets of Dimasalang. It would have to be well thought of. In fact, symbolically, it feels that death cannot separate from beauty and thus love cannot truly be parted upon death. (this is the romantic side of me, in reality, hecka! corpse bride hello!)

My friend gave me a couple of dead well preserved roses last May, and I loved them - placed them on the pencil holder on my desk I did, so that I'll always see it. Unfortunately, it was thrown away by some creep who I don't know.

But roses aren't my favorite flower. In fact, if not for its constant usage in romantic scenes, I cannot really attest why they make so many women vulnerable. If you still don't know my favorite flower - I guess we may not be as close as you think we are. When we're in her car, my friend often looks at me or makes a sign at me whenever we see a vendor selling these flowers on the street (*clue!) I wonder though how someone could package it to make it look pretty rather than on a tied string. (* another clue!)

A guy tried to make a surprise birthday for me pestered one of my girlfriends about my favorite things. My favorite cake (which he got), my favorite flower (which he found out, but didn't want to buy so I got a white rose instead - here we go again with the rose.)

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Here's a twisted version on the creation of woman told to me by my brother. ( I kept laughing, especially when he makes his absurd comments)

God made Adam. God decided to make Adam a partner. While Adam is sleeping, God takes a rib from Adam and clones him. Now there are two Adams in paradise.

God looks at the clone Adam, "this won't do." So he manipulated the clone Adam's features. Saw his tinnie winnie and decided to pull it off. God pulls off clone Adam's dick which runs all the way to down there - leaving a big hole. The clone Adam screams in pain, the "Adam's apple" gets thrown out of his throat and his voice went to a higher pitch. Biological expert, God heals the wounds of the clone Adam's lost manhood thus the clitoris.

God wakes up the original Adam and says, "Adam, here's woman." Adam looks at his manipulated clone, thinks "God have mercy!". But God continues, "She's perfect, don't you think, because I created her" The term "perfect" then imprints itself on Adam's head. "Ahhh.. she's perfect because she is made to be perfect." Adam thinks, then becomes Eve's husband.

When the two perfect creatures were banished from Paradise, they later on decided to procreate. Thus with the constant crossing of perfection, it diffuses to the children and thus their later generations did not become perfect anymore. Diseases began, people turned ugly and thus the race of humanity today. And that is the profound secret of the universe which is kept locked and key in the depths of my brother's little brain (or so he says.)