26 December 2013

Mary Lambert - "Body Love" LIVE Billboard Studio Session

Love your body the way your mother loved your baby feet and brother,
Arm wrapping shoulders, and remember
This is important
You are worth more than who you fuck
You are worth more than a waistline
You are worth more than beer bottles displayed like drunken artifacts
You are worth more than any naked body could proclaim in the shadows,
More than a man's whim or your father's mistake
You are no less valuable as a size 16, than a size 4
You are no less valuable as a 32a than a 36c
Your sexiness is defined by concentric circles within your wood
It is wisdom
You are a goddamn tree stump with leaves sprouting out

Yes, I am fangirl-ing right now. She is amazing.

24 December 2013

Depression ~ yet another useless monologue

Originally posted in http://www.chroniclesofdreams.blogspot.com last 1 a March 2007

What is this word that many use so loosely? Do they really understand it? Do they even know it? Do they even care?

You feel sad, maybe troubled, maybe frustrated – you say you’re depressed. You broadcast it to the whole world and ask people for solutions. Is that what you think it is? Do you really think you’re depressed?

No, you’re not.

Have you ever snuck into an empty room, as empty as you feel, and cried your heart out for no discernible reason?

Have you hurt yourself in places nobody else could see? Maybe banged yourself up bad on a few occasions, managing to hide whatever marks you had left – the torn skin, the bruises, the bumps and the scars.

Have you found pain enjoyable, if only to provide momentary pause to your misery?

Have you ever locked yourself in the bathroom, or anywhere else where no one can hear you, screaming in your anguish, and sitting there for hours with the water running, pounding your fists and your head on the wall, slamming your body against it, pulling at your hair, feeling lost and confused – and that throbbing you feel still can’t conceal the burning marks from the shrapnel that hit you from your internal battle?

Do you feel alone, even in a group? Do you choose to stay alone because you feel that it’s the only way you won’t be troubling anyone else with your dilemma, because they won’t understand anyway, and you’re not sure if they would even try.

Would you rather sit in your own little corner and be ignored by everyone who, if you were only up to the challenge, you would want nothing more than to please? Would you rather write random words, whatever that comes into your head, making incomprehensible sentences, and just tearing up the paper afterwards? Or do you write for the sake of writing, not caring if others read your thoughts, because you know that no one will be able to comprehend anyway.

Do you suffer in isolation BECAUSE of your isolation, and shrink at the thought of a crowd? Do you keep company, hoping for that warmth you so long sought after, but in the end just being thankful when they leave you alone… and later on regretting what you’ve earlier wished for? And perhaps this is not an eternal combat in which you rage, but something that comes and goes as it pleases – and when it goes, it leaves you its ghost, scaring you out of your wits, and promising its return.

Do you cower in fear of people knowing your true state? Do you tremble at the thought that someone will find out what keeps you up at night – what, you still can’t figure out. Do you hide behind a mask, behind a moat of lies, bubbling with deceit, do you wrap your soul in many layers, and surround yourself with a wall so thick, and guard yourself with so many clever traps and loopholes, that you form for yourself an impenetrable shield – but you’re not so sure if you want a shield.

Do you find peace only in the dead of the night, when you can stay up, all alone, with no one else around to bother you, letting your tears fall – because you need to let them fall – praying desperately to whoever is out there, to whoever may be listening, to change things, to wake you up from this horrible nightmare, to save you – to save you now! – To take you away…

Do you have mood swings - those wretched tremors in your system? Do you feel the emotions - that fire running through you, in your blood – passing through your veins, your lungs, your heart, taking over all of you – conquering you, when all you want is to be free from all those tyrannies that you have to endure, knowing that this power that your passions - these foolish sensation, these dreams and wishes – have over you is in fact yet another dictatorship! Do you feel the need to express yourself, but never finding the RIGHT words?

Do you feel alone, despite our massive population, despite the millions of people milling about around you? Do you find the seclusion echoing in that bare space it has left within you, somewhere within you, yet to be discovered? Do you feel cold and shattered – as if you were broken? As if there is something wrong with you. Maybe there is… Can you relate to my questions?

Do you?

If you do, come to me… I need to know you… Please, I need to…

Are you out there? Are you like me too?

Confessions on Living a Lie

Originally posted in http://chroniclesofdreams.blogspot.com last 1 March 2007

One thing that often gets on my nerves is how people respond to the question “why do you study?’ especially how you could easily classify majority of these people into three groups according to the answers they give.

These are the Dreamers, the Oppressed, and the Martyrs. The Dreamers are those who emphasize the need of a good job and their hopes for a better tomorrow. The oppressed are those who feel that they need to study because their life depended on it, or simply because their parents made them study. Then there are the martyrs, who find it their duty so they could someday repay their debts to society, to family, and to God.

Really, have you ever heard of any lamer excuse for living?

Yes, life. For the fundamental stages of a person’s life, studying occurs in school, and if my comrades in this epic battle against terror teachers and mountains of requirements have only the aforementioned motivation for staying in school, then it is really a mystery to me why they still haven’t all dropped out.

Yes, I admit. I too was a dreamer, an oppressed, a martyr. Looking back to what I have done with my school life, I wonder if maybe I’m just weak, because you know what? I gave up.

For nine months, I stopped studying. Yes, I still went to school, and sometimes to class. I copied notes and shared what I understood with those who needed it. But my “studying” stopped there. I left test questions blank for lack of interest, and failed to submit my requirements because I no longer really cared. I skipped class, slept in class, daydreamed in class or didn’t go to school for days. The only things I ever worked for were group projects, burdened by the thought of dragging other people down.

Do you wonder what I did with all my newly found free time?

On my own, I lived. I lied down on the benches and stared up at the dusty sky, under the shade of the mango tree ridden with higads. I sat in the gazebo watching everything that’s happening around me, seeing a teacher trip or friends moving into a group hug. I walked around the school grounds and took in all the sights, smells and sounds – even the not so pleasant ones.

Whenever I had company, I lived. We would joke around, ask questions, talk. We would laugh, reminisce, and cry. We learned things we would never have found out listening to 1-hout lectures in our classrooms, and these are the lessons we cherished. It was because of these talks I got to know myself.

It was then I realized my mistake. The reason for my apathy is not of any medical nature, nor is it any form of delinquency; I just didn’t have any reason to study!

Thirteen years of school, since the dawn of my youth. Being a Scientian, I was obviously a bright child. I entered school without hardly knowing how to speak in full English sentences, and ignorant of the Filipino language. Thirteen years, I struggled with my natural laziness to keep my grades up.

Why? This I would confess in paper only once. Growing up, with the idea of being “the making and unmaking of the family”, is difficult. There is and always will be an image to maintain, a standard to set, a responsibility to fulfill. There will always be expectations, and nothing you do will ever seem to be enough, for each success will set more goals, and each failure will seem to garner more disappointment.

It was a tragic system that made one feel like a dog, having to go through the entire reward-and-punishment system. Each success would be awarded with a momentary breather, and every failure would tighten the hypothetical grip around one’s neck.

I studied to make my parents proud. I tried everything to make them proud; I tried to do everything I can, because I knew I can. Yet, with all the intelligence I have been gifted with, I failed to see that what I was doing was wrong.

For nine months, I dwelled in the shadows of failure and apathy; I swam in the waters of disappointment; I walked in the valleys of mediocrity. I took a break, shut out the world, and went on an internal journey, and re-emerged into reality a new being.

Why does this new person study? It’s simple, because she wants to learn. Because she is willing to spend five more years of her life trying to discover herself, to travel through the streets of conventional and unconventional education, in order to discover life.

This person wants to know life – how to stay happy, and make others happy; how to love selflessly and be loved back; how to remain in control of the things that need to be controlled, and how to surrender to the things that were meant to be; to live, love and die.

School, with all its nonsense subjects and requirements, is utterly pointless and useless, and a definite waste of time. It rarely teaches us anything we can use in real life. But the different people we meet along the way, along with our triumphs and letdowns, are the things we must truly study.

We study life because we wish to live. The moment we give up studying – the real studying – is the moment we die. We may live, but we are dead nonetheless.

20 December 2013

Migration Continues

The post migration continues while I am being overwhelmed by the book I currently have on hand. Steve Berry's The King's Deception is a good read, especially for those of us who've been cloistered in offices, coffee shops and libraries for way too long.

I think these migrations are actually doing me a lot of good. They're almost... therapeutic. I get to read and reminisce on songs and essays I've done before, and feel good about how much I've gone through to be where I am today - which isn't really all that monumental, but good progress nonetheless.

Here's a random thought: I want to go on a reading date. One where my date and I would each have a good book in hand, and we'd waste the day away in a comfortable spot, reading. It's going to be meditative and sweet and lovely. I don't know if many people notice, but we all have different reading habits, some more annoying than others.

Someone I could spend an entire day with, just reading and walking around, holding hands and exchanging thoughts. That would be wonderful.

19 December 2013

Songs to Caleb, and Unfinished Music

Originally posted in https://www.facebook.com/notes/precious-gan/songs-to-caleb-and-unfinished-music/501208391075

Happy valentines day everyone!

I started having dreams about an unknown guy around the time when I was in the sixth or seventh grade. He usually comes into my dreams when I was sick, or generally feeling blue. After a while I started trying to record my dreams (life then was much simpler and I actually had time to regularly write things). By then I was already very much into writing poems and such. I guess it was only natural that at some point I moved on to writing songs, and try as I might, I couldn't help but have made a few songs dedicated to this particular figment of my imagination. A friend of mine later on gave him the name Caleb, but that's another story for another time.

So again, here's to you. To the guy who I hope to someday meet, who I hope to recognize for who you are, to love truly, and to never let go of. Here's one song I made for you back when I was just coming to terms with the fact that I am dreaming about you and though I can't recognize you, I'm waiting for you. And then there's another song, a new one I started and finished very recently, that's still waiting for you.

It's been at least 8 years since we first met, Caleb. Now I'm definitely older, though the years couild not really testify to my becoming wiser or more mature. I don't dream about you as often, maybe because I haven't really had time to dream these days. Life's taking up too much of my time. Still, I'm here, waiting. I'm not saying I'm waiting faithfully, I actually do once in a while feel attraction to other entities (coz once in a while I even have obsessions over inanimate objects), but I am waiting.

This also goes out to Sassa, who helped add the last two verses to the first song, who gave Caleb a name, and who helped me realize I wasn't actually crazy for dreaming about Caleb. (Apparently, I just happened to be very disturbed. Yes, friends from my later life, I was a very, very troubled kid. Haha.) Sis, I hope you have a happy Valentines day. I miss yew. :)

(Though I have a couple of songs with complete chords, somehow I can never seem to complete the accompaniments for the songs I've made for Caleb. Hm... Maybe someday I'll be able to complete them. Maybe?)

Boy in My Dreams(Song to Caleb 01, 2003)

Verse 1
G        D                          A             Gm7
Once I told you 'bout the boy in my dreams
G                                        A
You told me he must be the one for you
G      D            A           Gm7
But it can't be, no it can't
Em                      Am7
Didn't you know that boy was you

Verse 2
F#m                  C
I dreamt of you before we met that day
F#m                                D
I'll dream of you until my death day
A                                 A#
It's so weird that I just don't understand
G                    A
Of all people, why you?

I don't care about you that much
You're just a friend in this whirlwind heck of life
So why dream of you at all
I've never heard of such
Foolishness of my part
For such a sensible girl like me
To always think of a boy like you
A dream boy in my heart

You're just a boy in my dreams
Nothing else or so it seems
Don't mess up my head
I'm so confused by,
I'm so confused by,
I'm so confused by you

Verse 3 (Verse 1 chords)
What do I really feel for you
Am I in love or am I not
But no, you don't just rule in my dreams
You're in my heart, my fantasies

Verse 4 (Verse 2 chords)
You know I love you but I can't express
Do you ever feel the same way for me
You have a smile that I can't resist
I wish that you were mine

(Refrain and Chorus except last line)


Same Moon(Song to Caleb 2, 2011)

I don't wanna be another Cinderella
Waiting for someone to sweep me off my feet
I'd rather be Xena the warrior princess
Not wearing glass on my dainty feet

I don't want any silly love games
I don't want a race to the finish
I just want somebody to hold me
Someday, some night, some way

G           D             A               D
Give me something to hold on to, coz
E                                 F#m
Sometimes I wonder if this is all there's to life
G               D                   A                    D
And maybe you won't be coming 'round anytime soon
E                               F#m                        B
Just tell me we're looking up at the same moon

(Repeat from the beginning)

Ad lib
And I'll keep wishing, and waiting, and watching out for you
And maybe one day I'll turn around and I'll find you
I'll keep dreaming and hoping that one day soon
We'll be holding hands under the moon

(Repeat chorus one time)

In Response to "You Should Date An Illiterate Girl"

Originally posted in https://www.facebook.com/notes/precious-gan/in-response-to-you-should-date-an-illiterate-girl/495539316075

I should really be working on so many things right now. But there’s this post that’s just been bothering me lately and my columnist tendencies have me itching to respond. Below is the last paragraph of said post. I think the person who wrote it was simply ranting about how inadequate he feels next to this girl he is referring to, for whom he feels somewhat inadequate in comparison. Which is the sweetest, and dumbest, thing in the world. After writing this, I realized I started with a rant and ended with something that sounds very much like a lecture. That’s probably me subconsciously scolding myself for ignoring school work in favor of replying to a random person’s composition. Or more likely, that’s me scolding myself for submitting to every other single person’s hang-ups come February. I mean, I should be better than that, right? What’s weird is I’m not even actively seeking anything beyond friendships, and have already moved on from any romantic aspirations I may have still harbored for anyone for so long. Oh well. Angsty and confused, that’s always been me.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are the storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the cafĂ©, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so god damned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life that I told of at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being storied. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. I hate you. I really, really, really hate you.
– from You Should Date An Illiterate Girl by Charles Warne(http://thoughtcatalog.com/2011/dont-date-a-girl-who-reads/)

To Every Straight Male Emasculated by a Smarter Female
a.k.a. You Should Date a Girl who Reads AND Writes

This time around no sarcasm is in order. No tongue-in-cheek references or euphemisms for the sake of political correctness and diplomacy. This time I’ll be brusque, mean, and straight to the point. This girl may be having a bitch fit but this girl is a smart bitch with something to say.

You were right about one thing. A girl who reads will make your life god damned difficult; especially if you, yourself, are so damn difficult to deal with. A girl who reads is aware of what she basically deserves in a relationship and will not settle for anything less. She would not expect to be at the center of your universe, but she would not be pushed aside for every little thing you believe to be important. She would expect at least a few minutes of your day, not to stare at each other and smile emptily, or to grope each and every available part of your body. She would expect at least a few exchanges of honest thoughts and emotions. She would expect you to hold her hand when you walk, smell her hair when you sit side-by-side, kiss her nose when you say goodbye. She would tell you her dreams, and her hopes, and her plans, and she would want to know yours. You may not be the man she once dreamed of, but you are the one she now dreams about, and dreams to someday dream with. She will not accept life as it is, and wouldn’t expect the same from you.

A girl who writes will take it one step further and make your life hell. She would demand a full account of your priorities, and decide for herself where she would want to be placed. She would come up with reasons justifying why she should at least come before television, and would refuse to be secondary to anything along the lines of pissing contests or any competitions of such sort. More than an articulation of abstract notions, she would demand a few minutes of substantial conversation, perhaps a few lines on the highs and lows of your day, and she would expect a discussion afterwards. Feelings such as “happy” and “sad” have no place with a writer, who would much rather decipher the cause of your feelings of sudden optimism or inner turmoil. She would look at what is said and, more importantly, listen to what is not said or need not be said. She will read between the lines, sense the undercurrents, listen to changes of tones and take note of hidden meanings.

A girl who writes can tell when you lie, even when she convinces herself you didn’t. She would know when you hide things, and will let you because she has a lot to hide herself. She would pretend to be perfect, and hope you do not notice her imperfections. She would adapt to what she believes you would believe perfect, because a girl who writes knows how to change her tone to reach her audience. She would lie, and she would joke, and she would slowly unravel. She will be ashamed of her unspoken thoughts, of her emotions that she could not find the right way of expressing – how embarrassing, for a writer to be at a loss for words. She, who prefers the simple language to get her thoughts through; She, who would so easily pinpoint others’ errors; She, who simply wants to be loved for herself, but is afraid of being feared for who she really is.

A girl who reads, and a girl who writes, knows how rare a find she is. But even more, a girl who reads and writes knows how rare a find you are. You, who cares deeply; You, who feels inadequate; You, who tries to be everything she hopes you to be, yet fails adorably.

She will want to be everything YOU believe her to be, feeling the pressure from you putting her on a pedestal. She will see herself from your eyes, and she will hope to be the only girl in your eyes. You see, the girl who reads and writes knows reality, she knows how easily happiness may be snatched away. She has seen more than anyone should see in a life time, and knows how lucky she is to have you. For her, no other guy measures up to you, and she hopes that someday you’ll see her in that way too. She looks not for perfection, but passion that comes from knowing how good the two of you are together, She would not look for a life worthy of a story, she could make up enough of those to last her decades. She asks merely for understanding and respect, not a fairy tale. All she wants is you who loves truly. And when I find you, I will love you, and I will never, never, never let you go.

This Time, For Real

Originally posted in https://www.facebook.com/notes/precious-gan/this-time-for-real/420476571075
Note: Link in Part 2 no longer works, but the related post has already been migrated to this blog

I think the best thing about moving on, as in REALLY moving on, is that it makes you realize how strong you actually are, and how lucky you are not to have ended up with that last person you were with (to nobody's offense). Moving on lets you dream again, maybe not of happily ever after, but a happier after. And if there's anything I learned in my nearly two decades of existence, dreams are a very powerful thing.

I'm including two works in this note, the first is an article from PDI, the next is a random free verse poem I wrote about the love story I want for my life. Funny thing is, when I wrote it, I didn't actually have any particular person in mind, even though I was still very much into a relationship at the time.

Well, "Caleb". Whoever you are, wherever you are, I still haven't found you, but I don't mind waiting. Just please don't take too long, and don't give me a hell of a time when you finally appear in my life. You owe me that much for making me wait so long when we could have spent so much time together already. Then again, if you came too early and we end up wasting what we're meant to have, that would really suck too. Okay, never mind. Just so you know, I'm waiting. Don't take too long, but don't rush either. <3

My daughter's letter to the man she will love someday
By Cathy Babao-Guballa, Philippine Daily Inquirer
Date First Posted 22:05:00 08/08/2010

RELATIONSHIPS ARE always a difficult terrain to navigate.

As a woman, you spend hours pondering—alone or with your girl friends—the intricacies of the human heart. You always hope and pray that the next generation will get it better than you did.

Below is a letter I found in my daughter’s website (I have her permission to share this). She wrote it to “the man I will someday love.”

I was expecting to read a gushing, romantic, idealistic tome. I was humbled instead by her sentiments. It’s filled with sensible expectations.

I pray that this will make every girl believe that hope does spring eternal, and even if your heart has been broken a few times, you can always put the pieces back together, and make it right the next time around.

Take your time. Don’t rush and don’t just “settle.” If it’s part of His plan, God’s best awaits you out there.


Dear You,

I will admit that sometimes I really do wonder if you exist.

There is a part of every little girl’s heart that envisions her prince charming. At age three, it is usually of a man who can save her from the wrath of an evil stepmother, wake her from eternal slumber or give her that true love’s kiss.

In elementary school, he becomes the boy with the least cooties, the one who’s willing to cross the playground to share his Oreos even if it makes him a target for the week of all the other boys.

Come high school, it’s that boy you stand with at prom, who your father stared down at the door, who provided you with an experience complete with photos you will cringe at a decade later, a corsage that yellows in the refrigerator, and a faded memory of a night that seemed almost too magical to be real.

Nineteen years into this life, however, and still unwilling to give my heart away, I am still that same little girl who hopes for her prince charming. And although I wonder why it has taken you this long to sweep me off my feet and whisk me off to your palace on horseback, I know that it is probably because meeting you will be better than any fairytale I could’ve read as a kid.

A couple of heartbreaks and a few years wiser though, I will admit that there are times when I question your existence. Because I have yet to meet the guy who makes me hear songs like “All My Life” or “A Whole New World” in my head when I see him does not mean I don’t hope that it’ll ever happen.

I may already know you or may still meet you someday—something I leave completely up to God because I’m pretty sure our story will be epic.

However, I can’t promise you that I’d make the world’s most perfect princess. In fact I’ll probably keep you on your toes and amuse you with my eccentricities—there are a lot of them. I’ll probably steal a bunch of your T-shirts and turn them into shirt dresses, or drive you slightly mad with my obsessive compulsivity and my need to fix your collar constantly.

I can promise to be your best friend however—that person you can rant to after a rough day, the hand you can hold when you get sad, or the person you can text when situations get awkward.

I’ll probably mess up your hair sometimes and hug you for too long, but that’ll only be because I absolutely adore you. I’ll bury my head in your shoulder during scary movies and make you feel like superman when you kill those flying cockroaches that really shouldn’t exist. I’ll cook your favorite food on your birthday and try my best to make friends with your mom.

I’ll respect your nights-out with the boys and make you seem like the perfect guy to my barkada. I’ll watch basketball or soccer games with you, and not complain when you cheer too loudly at the TV set.

I’ll know the difference between giving you space and being constantly there for you—even if it means sitting and playing video games with you or taking hot chocolate runs when it rains.

I’ll listen to your music and we’ll go on epic adventures together—seeing the world, taking awesome pictures, eating awesome food, and never running out of things to tell each other along the way.

I won’t be waiting for you to sweep me off my feet and take me on a magic carpet ride, because I know I won’t need anything like that to fall for you—I will love you for you.

You will be that someone to make goofy faces with in pictures, to lace fingers with when I’m lonely, and to take long walks under the stars with on the beach.

You’ll be the guy who takes me the way I am—and will laugh as I burst into Disney song or pick out pink wallpaper.

You’ll be that someone I envision a future with—us filling out visa forms as we travel the universe, picking out our first dog together and arguing about what to name it, or being snap-happy stage parents in our preschooler’s annual mini-plays. And I keep hoping that maybe someday when we find each other, you will become that someone whose smile I wake up to in the morning and the last one I speak to every night.

So to the man I know does exist, and who will help me maybe make sense of the world someday, this man I can’t wait to love. Please know that I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. But for now, I wait. Fingers crossed and palms held together, I hope that you’re out there somewhere, waiting for me, too.

With the hope I will be yours for always,


E-mail the author at cathybabao@ gmail.com

My Love Story
By Precious Rochelle O. Gan, Bittersweet Honesty: Dare to Dream
Date First Posted: 21:02:00 06/28/2008

I don't want my love story to be of any interest to anyone.
I want it simple, insignificant, barely making ripples in the water.
I don't want my love story told and retold,
As if it was a legend that must be known to all.
I don't want to feel the pains of being heartbroken again and again,
Nor of being left alone for a long period of time while he goes to war.
I don't want to wait indefinitely for a love that may never be mine,
I refuse to be a desperate damsel in search for the perfect man,
Or be left by a man for another man.
I don't want to be the subject of a tale of a love lost,
Or of the reunion of childhood lovers.
I don't want to wait until the end of my days,
And I do not want to tell of a love that can never be.
I want to read the colorful stories of romances of heroines
And smile to myself because that's not me.
I want my love story to be short, simple and sweet
That no one will care to know about my life of love.
No one will know of it, and it will be completely mine,
Never to 
be witnessed by all except the wind and the sky.
Completely unique, forever entombed in my heart,
It will be my little secret, shared with only one person.
And when we are gone from this earth,
We will carry our story to our deaths,
Forever gone from the earth,
The most insignificant love story never told.

17 December 2013

Homage to Sherrilyn Kenyon

So I've been seeing a lot of book lists lately and while I'm tempted to join in, doing so requires some research because I tend to only remember stories and not titles. I can't event remember authors if he/she's not one I usually read. In the meantime, I'd like to pay homage to every Sherrilyn Kenyon book ever, because for the past years, her books have kept me whole. Here are twelve quotes that have truly left an impression.

1. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should."

2. "Sometimes things have to go wrong before they can go right."

3. "Life isn't finding shelter in the storm. It's about learning to dance in the rain."

4. "In your past lies your future."

5. "The strongest steel is forged in the fires of hell."

6. "Acheron always says that our scars are there to remind us of our pasts, of where we've been and what we've gone through. But that pain doesn't have to drive or determine our future. We can rise above it if we let ourselves. It's not easy, but nothing in life ever is."

7. "It’s easy to look at people and make quick judgments about them, their present and their pasts, but you’d be amazed at the pain and tears a single smile hides. What a person shows to the world is only one tiny facet of the iceberg hidden from sight. And more often than not, it’s lined with cracks and scars that go all the way to the foundation of their soul."

8. "Strange how you always remember the pain someone gave you, but seldom the hurt you caused them."

9. "There are some pains that run too deep for anything to absolve them. The best we can do is pick up the pieces and hope for the strength we need to keep going."

10 "How could one sentence uttered in anger cause so much damage? But then words were the most powerful thing in the universe. Cuts and bruises always healed, but words spoken in anger were most often permanent. They didn’t damage the body, they destroyed the spirit."

11. "How can anyone be afraid of love?" "How can they not?" When you love someone... truly love them, friend or lover, you lay your heart open to them. You give them a part of yourself that you give to no one else, and you let them inside a part of you that only they can hurt—you literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. And when they do strike, it's crippling—like having your heart carved out. It leaves you naked and exposed, wondering what you did to make them want to hurt you so badly when all you did was love them. What is so wrong with you that no one can keep faith with you? That no one can love you? To have it happen once is bad enough... but to have it repeated? Who in their right mind would not be terrified of that?"

12. "You know, it’s amazing to me the wounds we carry for eternity. But what has fascinated me most these last few years is how the right person can heal them. I remember a wise man once said to me that everyone deserves to be loved. Even you." 

16 December 2013

I Have a Happy Crush and it's a Wonderful Feeling... Sometimes

I have a law school happy crush and it's a wonderful feeling. When one has been badly scarred by a past relationship, and life in general, knowing you can still feel butterflies in your stomach is a wonder to behold. And it's amusing how a short conversation with a person you don't have much in common with can brighten up an entire day. Or cause uncontrollable reflexes like unconscious smiling and other tingly feelings.
But it's also embarrassing and nerve-wracking and scary.

It's embarrassing, because when you're attracted to someone, people can tell. Sometimes it's the more obvious signs, like they catch you looking at him when you have no business to. Or it can be more subtle, like that smile you can't seem to keep off your face, that tips people off that you may or may not be attracted to someone in the immediate vicinity.

It becomes nerve-wracking when teasing you becomes everyone's new past time. Even more so when they decide to take it upon themselves to "make it happen". Why? Because moving on to my third point...

It's scary because a happy crush is intended to remain a happy crush. But the more you spend time with the person, partly made possible by these friends who want to "make it happen", the more you risk falling in love.

And I don't need to fall in love right now. I crave it, sure. Strong as I believe myself to be, I remember how much more loved and self-assured and happy I was during the good times in my past relationship. That feeling is addictive, and try as I might I haven't totally rid myself of the hunger for it. Which is not just scary, it's terrifying.

Because what if, because of this terrible jonesing for a love-filled relationship, we mistake crushes for so much more, and in the end, become definitely crushed, broken to the point of no repair?

04 December 2013


Everyday I need to remind myself that ending everything is the most selfish thing I could do. That I am truly loved and death could only bring misery to the people for whom I have held on for this long. I need to do this every single morning. But sometimes, sometimes it's just too much of a chore. I don't know how much longer I can do this.