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Showing posts from October, 2007


The Five Love LanguagesMy primary love language is probably
Physical Touch
with a secondary love language being
Quality Time.

Complete set of resultsPhysical Touch: 10Quality Time: 8Acts of Service: 7Words of Affirmation: 4Receiving Gifts: 1

Information Unhappiness in relationships, according to Dr. Gary Chapman, is often due to the fact that we speak different love languages. Sometimes we don't understand our partner's requirements, or even our own. We all have a "love tank" that needs to be filled in order for us to express love to others, but there are different means by which our tank can be filled, and there are different ways that we can express love to others.

Take the quiz

...Take these broken wings and learn to fly...

Words are flying out like
endless rain into a paper cup
They slither while they pass
They slip away across the universe
Pools of sorrow waves of joy
are drifting thorough my open mind
Possessing and caressing me

Beatles songs are playing themselves in my head, and I don't know if that's a good thing.

These past few days I've gone from frustrated and sad and back at my inability to finish the story I want to submit to the Fully Booked competition. There, I said it for all the world to read. You might think that a bit presumptuous on my part--to want to submit a story to a big competition like that--but all I really want to do is write a good, complete, and readable story that isn't about love, and maybe, just maybe--the kind that's look-to-the-heavens-and-hope-to-God kind of maybe--win some cash in the process.

Thoughts meander like a
restless wind inside a letter box
they tumble blindly as
they make their way across the universe

But writing has proven to be a laborious and frus…

Flash Fiction: Keeping vigil

I’ve talked to her constantly all this time, and she does not answer. It’s been what, three, four, five days already? I’ve lost track of time, sitting here beside her. I don’t know the last time I ate something. I think I’ve even forgotten how it feels to be hungry.

The sadness, the tragedy of it all hangs over me like a death sentence—like being on the platform, hands behind my back, kneeling and waiting for the guillotine to fall. The void inside me knaws at itself, swallowing up everything around it, little by little.

I watch her as she sleeps, delicate and beautiful, calm. The three inch cut on her head and the corresponding stitches are decidedly out of place—jagged and crude things in a field of smooth, brown skin.

I’ve talked to her all this time, and she does not answer. Can she hear me? Does she know I’m here?

I remember all our fights. Every single one. The one where I forgot our anniversary; the one where I got home drunk from an after office party and forgot to tell her; the o…

Left-overs from my (classic) high-school angst

Going through my crappy stock of finished and unfinished written stuff, looking for something decent to put down here, I came across this. It's in Filipino, which I am not particularly good at, so you'll (yes you, my dear imaginary reader) have to excuse its shabbiness; besides the fact that I wrote this waaaaaaayyy back in high school for a Filipino class. Its also quite long, so to whomever finds the time to finish it all, thanks very much. ^__^


5:00 ng umaga.
Ginising ako ng malakas na yugyug ng kapatid ko.
“Kuya, gising na!”
Ako naman, sariwa pa sa aking mahimbing na tulog, ay naguuunat pa at humikab bago tuluyang bumangon. Dumiretso agad ako sa hapag kainan kung saan sinalubong ako ng isang mesang walang laman.
“Wala pa bang pagkain dyan?” tanong ko.
“Obyus ba?” ang inis na sagot sa akin.
“E, mahuhuli na ako sa klase eh.”
“Edi ikaw ang magluto ng sarili mong pagkain.”
Ano ba namang buhay yan! Nagtatanong lang ako kung may pagkain na, ayun, nagalit agad. Ayaw ko lang n…



I realize that I haven't been able to come up with something concrete these past few weeks, settling instead for the occasional song, or picture series ripped off from the net, or some crappy self-made poem. This is all owing of course, to the fact that I have been slave-driven these past few weeks by that unholy and stupid person I refuse to name, but if you know me, I'm sure you know who she is.

She is also the reason why I am at the office today, despite the fact that my stomach is doing multiple summersaults at regular intervals--needless to say, a completely unpleasant feeling when you're chained to a desk from 9 to 6:45. That her face is nauseating doesn't help one bit either. I'm just glad that she just hired a new toy--and is gleefully wearing him down--instead of directing her annoyingly repetitive and idiotic ideas and mispronounced English at me. 'FOCOS' daw oh.

Ah, crap, there goes my tummy again.


On a lighter note, I haven't allo…