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(My brother just told the whole world how much he hates me. And instead of giving him my 2640-word worth of demons, I release them here.)

***

In a land where the sun rises not, where the moon never leaves the sky, there lived the ones whom we simply refuse to believe.

Not that they prefer it any other way.

They have ceased to call themselves angels for they could no longer find their way back where they used to call home. Nor were they demons for they have never pledged loyalty to the fallen prince.

For naming’s sake, let’s call them In-Betweens.

In that sunless world there lies an inn, a public house whose bar these folks often frequent. And here small groups would gather every seventh moon to exchange the sort they consider priceless, but what humans no longer hold as objects of value.

This is tradition.

This is fact.

Another mug of moonbeam, please, Leirum”, muttered a small figure covered in a cloak the same hue as the shadows. He was a lone figure in the bar…yet.

As you wish dear Leug”, replied the bar maiden, a figure with such beauty even Aphrodite could envy, and she has; still does. She gave the small cloaked figure what we call an innocent smile before she vanished.

The inn does not boast of any exquisite structure but of wooden stools and rounded tables, a large and comforting fireplace that has not yet ceased to give the inn life for as long as anyone could remember; and of course, the bar. Behind it is a place where knowledge lies only on the beautiful Leirum and mortal guests who could no longer give us their own accounts.

Here’s your freshly harvested cold mug of moonbeam, eh, just the way you like it!

Ah, thanks, Leirum.

So, what interesting business have you lately got yourself into, Leugarahp? And don’t tell me nothing much again or you’re not coming back to this inn.” And she laughed to let the other one know she doesn’t mean it.

It really is nothing much, Lei, just a minor role in preventing a planet-wide revolution in Uruk-Patel. Those green people really are a riotous bunch.

Wouldn’t you be if you live in a planet as miserable?

Touché. They were a noble race but they wouldn’t last long now. Pretty soon, you would have to meet them. At least they’ve been able to make interesting memories to last a lifetime.

Our lifetime?

Indeed.

She then busied herself with wiping her ivory mugs for the upcoming guests, a task she was fully obliged. “Tell me, Leug, have you been there when their first planet-wide revolution started?

With the Uruks? Played a major role back then, I say. Why, it was a mistake I never intend to do again! You wouldn’t believe thinking beings would be able to be responsible for such gore.

Hm, just as I suspected. You do have your smell in it.

Oh well. It won’t be long now ‘til those people die. Their second moon has just exploded, their life source greatly diminishing. The two queens, both formidable as you well know, have not yet reached a compromise. The people are getting restless and before we knew it they would start killing each other. You have my word in it. It would be so much gore, they like it that way. But they won’t know what they’ve done until it’s too late. They won’t be able to replace their losses now. The two queens only lay about a thousand eggs every moonrise. Not all of them would even be able to survive. Dying, that’s what they are, I tell you.

They wouldn’t be alone, in that case.

The voice came from the newcomer they haven’t noticed. As he rose from the farthest stool in the shadows, he pulled down his hood to different welcomes from the two figures in the bar.

I’m glad you made it, Lesaran.

You just don’t change do you, giant?

Lesaran laughed as he joined them in the bar, giving Leugarahp a patting in the back which send the little one scurrying on the floor, “Just as likely to change as you’re likely to grow, midget.

All three laughed. Even the fire joined to welcome the cheerful new guest.

What would you have this time, Les? And no, I still don’t have any whiskey. I simply refuse to befoul my bar with a drink as inferior as that.

Pfft, you and your standards. Just give me whatever this midget’s having then. Make it a full bottle this time.

Lovely. Now don’t you go telling any tales ‘til I come back, you.

Lesaran just smirked and turned to Leugarahp who, from his fall, was still shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but not with any contempt to the pusher, as was their way.

Is it true Uruk-Patel’s dying?

True as we are, brother.

She agrees?

You really think I know?

They sat in silence as Leirum came back with a bottle of newly harvested moonbeam and a plate of what looked like peanuts but were really dried Human Wishes, a favorite delicacy of Lesaran.

Here’s your drink and some munchers for you both. Where have you been for so long, Les? I’ve missed you. Everyone missed you.

Been to a couple of worlds, but mostly to my favorite spot. You know the place, you two.

You mean they’re the dying breed?” asked Leugarahp.

Everyone always seems to be dying, but only some really do. Sometimes I wish I could.

Silence.

Leirum broke it by asking, “So where have you been then except Earth?

Lesaran was about to answer, but just then the doors opened. Two people entered – one a young man in his early twenties, the other a middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business suit, both looking terribly confused why they end up in such a place.

Hello! This is the Angels’ Inn. Do you wish a room for the night?” came the sweet and inviting voice of Leirum, with a spark in her eyes different from which before the new guests arrive.

Is this what you call this place? Rather gloomy to be an inn for angels, but it will do. Yes, I’d just like a room for the night, please.” answered the middle-aged woman as she crossed towards the bar, and sat beside Lesaran.

You dress awfully old-fashioned in here, don’t you? Do we have a party or something? Lord knows I’m up for a party. It’s been dry, work-filled days all week! Even God needed a breather, didn’t he?”

Oh yes, he did”, answered a smirking, bemused Lesaran.

The young man just remained standing in the center of the room and muttered in a small voice, “Um, I’d like a room, too, if you please.” He sat in one of the stools surrounding a nearby table.

Leirum answered, “Very well, then, two rooms for the new guests. I should go and prepare your rooms, but not before you two warm up and have your drinks. Now I suggest Hope’s Dregs for this awfully cold night, what do you say?

I normally don’t drink anything with dregs in them. Is that any good?” the woman asked Lesaran.

Very – it warms you up from within and leaves you a quite contented feeling. You should try it.” he said with the most charming of smiles to the woman beside him, who blushed before she said to the bar maiden, “Fine. One Hope’s Dregs for me then.

Lovely. How about you, young man?

The young man appears to be slightly surprised to be addressed and just nodded.

All right, two dregs of hope coming up. Oh I could feel this would be one of them good nights…

The woman turned to Lesaran and Leugarahp, who still had his cloak half-covering his face.

What are you folks drinking?

Just the old-fashioned moonbeam, same as here Leug’s having.” said Lesaran.

Moonbeam? Weird names, these drinks. But what do you expect from a bar named Angels’ Inn?” then she gave a laugh everyone knows to have no real trace of mirth.

All kinds of things, madam, all kinds of things,” replied Leugarahp, who chose that moment to pull down his hood.

The woman wasn’t able to utter a reply, and the man in one of the tables made a small gasp as they looked at what the hood has hidden until now. It was a face as old as time itself, and in it you could never really see true traces of beauty, especially if you have the human eye.

Hey, what’s the silence about? I thought my bar was known to be the source of all tales? But then again I guess everything just has to change, don’t they?” said Leirum, still with a smile as she served the woman and the young man their drinks.

Not really, sister. You know that too well.” was the reply from Lesaran.

Leirum looked at his brother for a moment before going back to the counter.

I think the silence was brought about by the usual reaction from the sight of me. Thank goodness there was no blood shed this time”, said Leugarahp, whose voice echoed a truth to his words.

Oh, you’re always a welcome sight to me Leug”, said Leirum.

The woman, too uncomfortable and embarrassed with the conversation, said, “So you three know each other well?

We’ve known each other a long time now. But you, why, we’ve only seen you now. How did you come to our place? Do tell us”, said Leirum, with a manner that even the most stone-hearted man could not say no to.

Now, this is most peculiar. I can only remember coming home from work, getting ready to change my clothes to go out to some bar, you know. The next thing I know, I’m out in the cold, standing outside your door with that young man over there”, she lowered her voice before saying, “He really is in bad shape, that lad. He looks as if every little noise frightens him. Thank this awfully delicious drink I’ve found better company.” finishing the statement with another sip from her mug.

Interesting story. Don’t you think you’re just in a dream?” asked Leugarahp.

A dream? My life’s been mostly a dream, you see. No real meaning. I won’t be surprised if this is another one.

Oy, you fellow! Care to join us here? It’s rather lonely down there in your spot, I say. At least here you can have close view of my sister. Isn’t she a sight?” said Lesaran with a laugh joined by the others except Leirum, who tried to look annoyed without success.

The young man, who thought he really has no choice on the matter, just as he always thought about all things his entire life, stood up and joined the rest on the bar.

Don’t mind him. He really is a joker, my brother.” said Leirum, as the young man approached with a nervous smile.

It’s okay. This is some drink, by the way. Never tasted anything as good before.

Leugarahp, who was sitting beside the young man, nudged him, “You won’t find a better drink anywhere in your world, lad. Even the finest wines you’ve got down there couldn’t compare to the water we have in this inn.

Once a humbug, always a humbug”, muttered Lesaran so that only Leirum and the woman could hear.

Leugarahp, who was now in a talkative mood after his second mug of moonbeam, asked the boy, “So what’s your story then?

Huh?

I mean how’d you end up here?

Oh…well, I was just in my room, you know, thinking of, of a lot of things. Life. Then I had this really weird thought, see. I never really intended to do it. I can’t remember now if I did. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside your door. She’s right by the way”, he looked to the woman beside Lesaran before saying, “I really was frightened. It’s so weird, you see?

Hmm. A lot of weird things happen to us in the course of existence, young man. Remember that. But tell me, would you rather have these weird things currently happening, or your plain, monotonous, uneventful life that you so wished to end back in that lonely room of yours?” said Leugarahp.

How did you…? It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway.”

Silence, once again broken by Leirum.

Now, now, gentlemen. Our guests must really be tired from a long, long day. I think it would be right to send them now to their rooms. Why, I’ve made them as comfortable as only an Angel’s Inn room could be.

Really tempting, that one. Oh well, I guess I’m getting old. I do feel tired now you said it. I’m afraid I have to say good night to you, gentlemen.” said the woman in the business suit.

Good night to you, madam. May you sleep in peace.” replied Lesaran with the smile that made the woman felt certain it would be a good night’s rest indeed.

How about you, young man?” asked Leirum.

I think I should also go. I’m sorry, but I do feel really exhausted.” And he really looked as if he is.

Then Leugarahp said to him, “That’s fine, lad. You shall have your rest now. Good night.

Good night.

And with that, the beautiful Leirum escorted the two human guests to their bedrooms; rooms from which no other soul have yet seen, rooms from which their bodies will never see another light of day.

When she came back to the bar, her brothers were still there.

Drinking.

Waiting.

You’ve brought them here, you know.” she said.

Aye.

But unknowingly. Unwillingly.

That’s how it must work, brother.

Aye.

Silence.

I think we should call it a night.” It was Lesaran’s voice who broke it this time.

Yes, I think so, too. I have to get back to Uruk-Patel. They need me now more than always.” said Leugarahp, to no one’s dissent and to Leirum’s full agreement as she looked at her brother with a smile.

Lesaran said, “And I must be getting on. I like Earth, but there are still worlds I have yet to be friends with. I think I should go to one of them.

You really should, brother”, said Leirum, also in full agreement with her brother’s choice.

Each of the men kissed her on one cheek before they put on their cloaks and went out to the night.

Then Leirum closed the Inn’s doors, never locking it for she well knows anyone might turn up needing rooms or just a drink at any time here in their land.

She sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, the kind of minutes highly different from man’s world. She contemplates how the Uruks’ fate lies in the mercy of her brother Pharaguel, the Angel of Destruction. And how her brother Narasel’s unquenchable taste for all the things the worlds have to offer would influence more people’s ends, he being the Angel of Desire. She reflects on all of these, among other things such as the ends of all the worlds and the event that would follow, before walking behind the bar, waiting in the shadows to serve another In-Between, or to prepare rooms to dying beings.

For such is her duty, the fallen beauty Muriel, otherwise known to her siblings as the Angel of Death.

 

What do you see when you close your eyes?

I see nothing.

Yet I see everything.

Open – eyed, I see you look away from me; see you look at no one. Making a point of it, perhaps? And when I close my eyes, I see that I exist.

At least I think I do.

But I need you to look at me. With that you’ll show me that I do, you know, exist.

Will you look at me?

I know you need it, too.

Thanks.

You can look away now. Or you could close your eyes. I rather enjoy the latter, but it’s up to you. Look away and you still exist in this world, close your eyes and you may end up in other worlds.

Escape…you like that, eh?

I know. I know.

Anywhere, whatever situation we may end up in, we would always want to get out of it. All that in due time. It’s a built -in mechanism, I suppose – one we can do without, but can’t.

I wonder now.

In heaven, would we still feel the urge to escape? Was it what Lucifer felt?

Just wondering.

She entered the hall and, as always, all eyes were instantly upon her.

Most of those pairs were filled with raw lust, some with pure hatred, while others have what you can call that half-pitying, half-condescending look. And she was aware of all these, yet still did not betray any real emotion and acted as what her father expected of her – proud, graceful, and exceedingly superficial. For a thousand and one years she has done perfectly all that was demanded of her and she was not about to falter now. She laughed, and drank, and charmed all the men, and yes, even the women in the great hall. And as the night was about to end, she stood at once upon the boom of her father’s voice.

Faster than lightning bolts, all the other ladies disappeared, leaving her alone with the men to perform the last ritual.

This was expected, for this has happened every time her family gathers for a celebration. She stood in all her glorious nakedness in the center of the room as her cousins, uncles, nephews, and brothers fed upon her – relishing all that they could of her inexhaustible love essences. They fed ravenously as she made sure to look as one in complete ecstasy until her father voiced out his satisfaction. Then, as had happened with all the revelries for the past thousand years, all the men in the room formed a ring and watched with frenzied anticipation as her father, in all his kingly majesty, approached her to take the final feeding that will satisfy the desire he pleasurably formed all night. Thunder roared and lightning flashed as he ravished on her daughter, and when at last he reached full consummation, resulting in lightning sparks that seemed to turn the night sky to day, he marveled once again at his pure genius for creating her. Then one by one, all in less time to complete a mortal blink, they were all gone.

All except she, the world’s foremost symbol of love, who at that moment would have given everything to be anything but.

She garbed her shame and started towards the deepest dungeons, all the time maintaining the ever composed, proud, and insurmountably beautiful face. She did not once change her pace until she arrived on their chamber doors, opened it, and at last found herself looking at the man, the only man, who aroused in her the purest of love. The worlds of both men and gods looked at his face with repulsion, distrust, and contempt. But she who knows real love and genuine beauty takes one look at him, and only then could she find it possible to reveal her true form. If all beings, from monsters to gods, could not deny that she is Beauty and Love in one when they look at her, would have been blinded with sheer admiration when they see her reveal her truest, purest form in the comforting warmth of the man she loves.

Hush, hush, love…we’re together now,” consoled the fire god Hephaestus, as his broken wife shed all her life’s pretenses in his arms.

(Or why you are not meant to tap your own back)

Hiya No. 1!

I didn’t think you could do it, never expected you to. Why, you tried it only once before and it sucked and I know why you think you shouldn’t do it again. I do, too. But you decided to just do it; decided to just get on and write that stupid short story – that one about some baby from hell type of flippertwit.

Again, idiocy reigned.

And blast me twice, but you’ve really finished what you set out to do this time. Why, you even made an awful series out of that rubbish!

Hahahahahahaha!

I know this wouldn’t sound much of a success to anyone but you, now don’t give me that face you know it’s the truth! But well, yes, I believe it was really an achievement for you. And I’m proud of what you’ve done. Oh come on, I mean it! I know how you didn’t have enough guts to do it; all for a number of stupid reasons if you ask me.

They’re not stupid? Pfft! Not having an English degree, not being a native speaker, inability to fluently describe what an adverb is or to distinguish who from whom, too lazy to be any good with deadlines – how are these reasons not stupid enough?! And don’t even tell me you believe those bona fide writers really know what’s different from who to whom except the letter M.

Now you believe me? Well, of course I’m proud of you, moron. I know it’s not easy to let the world know how much of an idiot you are. And it really wasn’t so bad, was it? I mean the whole experience. After all, it made you happy. And it’s great fun to stop pretending to be smart and sensible and just let out the idiocy within sometimes.

So there you have it. I just wanted to say, “Well done!” and “Don’t get used to it because I know what you have to do come the third week of this month!

*Evil laugh time*

Mm, is this the part where I say, “It’s not you, it’s me”? No? Fine, fine.

How about bye, then?

Your amazing-er self,

No. 2


“Final Kiss” by Landix (Click to view full image)

Now, now you heard it,

Tales most far from sweet,

Her music gentle, clear,

Yet each note hides a tear,

From Great West to Far East,

Rough North, Treach’rous South,

Where songs begin, nurtured,

Melody she sings to you now.

You may or may not believe,

She only speaketh what she sees;

No friends, enemies, allies, or foes,

The Wind simply exists -

To collect mem’ries long forgotten,

Tales without her would’bin lost,

An’ when End arrives she’ll bring it,

To Time, waiting on his post.

But End still lies in slumber,

The World sees not his face,

But you, m’dear, have met him,

Now you must leave this place.

So hold my hand now, don’t fear,

For I am only Death,

To other worlds we’ll venture,

A new tale you must set.”

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There are people you notice, and there are those whom backgrounds just tend to swallow. Perhaps if in one particular background a crime took place in which you happened to bear witness, then asked by the authorities to describe in full detail what you have seen, you would unintentionally left out these people from your …

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This gallery contains 1 photo.

If you hate a person, you hate something in him that is part of yourself. What isn’t part of ourselves doesn’t disturb us. -Hermann Hesse (1877 – 1962), Demian I stand here in the balcony and weep, not for any cause, woes, and hurts noble but for mine and mine alone. The one time I …

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It feels like a huge, dark, dead body is constantly growing inside my chest. It keeps struggling to occupy space meant for gas exchange. This is anger. This is resentment. And once again they’ve decided it’s already time to visit me.

Can you change what you are?

I mean, is it that hard to believe a person is bestowed with more than just his physical traits upon birth? I believe I was born with boiling blood. In my younger years I find it so easy to hate anyone or anything. I could always find a reason for enmity.  It took me quite a long time to realize what I hate the most is not any person or any other thing but this trait to hate so easily itself.

Although it is not without valid reason, every time I hate a person, I also have this notion that I am hating myself. Do I hate myself because I allowed them to hurt me? Do I hate myself for feeling? For caring? Do I hate myself because this hate has spread and now it involves and risks hurting people I care about?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Hate only brings hurt…resentment. And this, well this breaks you. This even brings the worst sort of crying. It’s the kind that brings tears that never comes out of those eyes.

Then you’d go thinking, “Oh, I would do anything just to make this hate go away!

But would you, really?

I would. Still, pride is holding me. Like it’s hate’s conjoined twin. Or better yet its puppeteer. And more often than not, he’s the worse to beat between the two.  And it keeps you from forgiveness – both asking and giving. I was assaulted, but I fought back. I fought hate with hate. This only brought more hate – the one thing I hate the most. Makes sense? I don’t know. I know it’s hard to find better words.

In the back of my mind, I know I should’ve kept my cool. That was the right thing to do. Thing is, the back of my mind is so much smaller than the dominating center. And at that moment this bullying part shouts “FIGHT BACK!“. I would give all ten fingers and a tongue if it’s a lie when I say I wish I kept my cool.

But like people who get in trouble, emotions got the better of me.

That leads to how awful I am feeling now. But as I dig deeper, as I force myself to face the truth, I heard a thought saying, “If I haven’t fought back, would it spare me this rotten, gnawing sensation?“.

The answer was no.

See, even if I haven’t reacted in the offense, I would still hate myself for not even having enough guts to protect myself. Maybe it’s just in a different angle, but the result would be the same – hating me.

I would give out a front tooth (and I intend to keep it; can’t even imagine what the hell you would do with it…unless you have a weird tooth fetish making me less than glad to find you reading this) if I could find a single THINKING person who has not hated himself once in his entire lifetime. I could not, that enough I know.

Will it be right to say then that all thinking people are broken because of this past/present self-loathing? I believe it is. Yet it would be another thing to say that these broken little things will never, ever be happy. Or whatever you call that sense of being alive, really living, and loving it. I know I call that happiness.

And I will be happy again.

For I am just a broken little thing, but in the name of my slightly broken right front tooth, why, I am far from destroyed.

*image credits here*

“It’s so much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings.”

I couldn’t have started this better than with the preceding quotation. It was spoken by Ali, a character from Black Gold – a movie that has touched me lately, and led me to this writing.

It led me to yet another staring-at-the-notebook session and from there I have come up with the idea  that the people who suffer most in life turn out to be either of two things: 1.)cynical and depressed individuals; mostly with antisocial tendencies, 2.)the most light-hearted, easy – going people in the world. The former one chose the easier path, the latter chose to go against what fortune, or lack of it, wanted him to become.

No, I don’t have any formal education in Psychology, nor will I claim to have gone through hell and its branches in my twenty years of existence. So there’s no watertight reason why you should believe this. Rather, this is a personal need for me to achieve the balance that is so remote these past few days.

It has been my refuge to convince myself that happiness is what you make out of life and not some destination, nor loot we should all seek to find. Like a hidden treasure we should make all the preparations to discover. And so I try, with ease fortunately, to face life with as light a demeanor as I can manage.

But life is a trickster.

Once you’ve found an effective way to adapt, it then changes its strategies and forces you to doubt people, their intentions, and your whole new outlook on life. Do we really cover up issues that need to be faced when we choose to sweeten it all up with a satirical approach? Is it wrong to focus on the positive side of things and ignore the depressing events around you which there really is little you can do about? Is it a futile feat to try to make a new path different from what most clouded souls follow? Would it do a person better if he tries to live as what society dictates to be a productive individual – one that has a stable job in a stable institution who pays stable taxes in these oh-so-stable governments?

I have already met so many cynics, and I admit I couldn’t blame them for how they’d turn out. The insults, abuses, prejudice, and mockery you could get from the world around you is enough to make one a cold – hearted individual. I used to respond to these people with a temper I would do my best not to come up with again today. But if I dig deeper, I know that what I really wanted was to scream until my larynx dries up from an inch of these people’s faces. Yes, I am not so different as to not possess that violent streak that  every human being was bestowed with from birth.

But I choose not to use it. As long as I can help it.

And yet again, like YOU, I have limitations and that’s why I have written this piece of melodrama. I made a decision to keep this blog with a mood as light as it can be – not to the extent as a 4-year old can relate to because I don’t have that pure a mind.

But yes, like YOU, I am someone who exists, and yet asks what’s the point of all of this.

Image courtesy of http://www.cherrybam.com/sad-quotes.php

So here’s my theory! Hahaha XD (Read: Michael Jackson, Death Dance, and a Delightfully Awesome Researcher)

A voice coach once said to me that singing the right notes is 10% voice and 90% ear – and I couldn’t help but agree. Even if you have the most beautiful voice quality in the world, if you can’t listen, identify, and hit the right notes, you wouldn’t have much of a singing career (OKAY, so maybe that’s not 100% true, judging on the singing superstars we have in the industry these days, but yeah, moving on).

Hitting the right notes + appealing voice quality are not the only ingredients into becoming a good singer. You also have to have that Rhythm.

Like many of the beautiful things in the world, such as Audrey Hepburn and a mug of hot coffee, rhythm is subjective. True, every aspiring musician must have it, but rhythm, like beauty, is different for each individual. Yiruma’s rhythm is in a very much different scale than that of Justin Bieber’s. That’s why we have the different genres. AND that’s why there really is no point in comparing one musician against the other. Taste is a person’s own business.

But even though rhythm differs from one musician to the next, each of them can’t call himself a musician unless they have it. I believe that anyone can call himself a musician if he can create music – and that does not include certain people (Read: DJ) “switching buttons and playing other people’s patented sh*t” (thanks, Leo! –check out his music here–). And yet, music, like rhythm, is subjective. Screaming Belting artists’ music might be considered eardrum killers for someone inclined to listen to the sedative form of music.

It’s only right then that the point of music is not to create something which appeals to everyone’s taste, but to create something another soul could identify with and make him feel he belongs to something, to anything…to nature, be it his own or the world’s.

Being a lover of music inSOME of its forms (I admit I can’t tolerate much of Metallica’s raucousness. Sorry, fans), it is inevitable to think and ponder where it all began. Personally, I feel good when I lose myself into the depths of the intangible world, as I am NEARLY doing now, but I’ll try to fight it and finish this…yes…

So where did it all began? Music, like communication and the earliest attempts of it, started with Man. When Man is, Music also is (if that EVEN makes sense!).

I can imagine Man gaining consciousness of what he is, of where he is, and found himself listening to the sound of the leaves brushing against each other, of the wind making melodious gushing with everything it meets, of the tree creatures making their hoots in the night, and the calming effect of a brook’s glide with the rocks in its path.

Oh yes! I can imagine how intoxicated Man must have been with his first taste of music.

It is something that cannot be taught; rather, it’s something that happens. Like feelings and the birth of a star, pollination, and male erection.

So are we right to say that Music started with Man’s communion with the world around him? With Nature?

Partly. Because there’s still another form of music that started a bit earlier – Man’s awakening to the music within. The Inner Nature. The one you hear on a night when you’re all alone, with the world against you in a 1000 to 1 odds, and the future looking darker than any black hole ever discovered.

I totally lost myself there.

Have you ever felt the same way?

*Image courtesy of http://koroitfourfive.wordpress.com/megan/

There was once a lady with a human mind – one that wants something so badly one moment, and desire the exact opposite the next. HUMAN.

She woke up all cranky and ugly, answering the people who greeted her with the enthusiasm fit for the day of one’s meeting with the Grim Reaper. Despite of  the efforts exerted by the people around her to cheer her up (or maybe because of it), she remained as Little Miss Stormy the whole day. And the root of it all was the failure of her prince charming to greet her on the first second of her birth date.

And so this person, who’s disputably the perfect embodiment of the word shallow sensible, went on making everybody’s day as depressing as it could be. She never went out of the room regardless of the calls of her mom, grandma, brothers, uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, and pet dog. She wallowed in self – pity as she stared for minutes on end at that seemingly overpowering speck on her ceiling.

Boy, that was the best birthday of her life! Or it could have been…

It could have been, if she only went out the door enough to see the banner, with all the greetings and wishes the people she ignored the whole day, made for her.

It could have been, if she have bothered to respond to all the people who greeted her via text message, posted in her online accounts, personally shouted (they have to since the door was an unrelenting opponent) their greetings to her, and those that even tried to call her.

It could have been, if she had been humble enough to open that door and taste the source of the stimulating smell coming from the world beyond her  door that she had been savoring for hours. But pride kept her.

It could have been, if she only appreciated the effort her prince charming gave out to compensate for his “fault” by sacrificing being the object of his boss’s tirade only to woo and try to get her to smile and open her door to the world.

It could have been, if only she hadn’t been so silly and frivolous.

It could have been the perfect birthday celebration, if she just tweaked her attitude. Even for just a little.

But she didn’t. And so she remained the cranky, old woman the whole day of her 20th birthday, and lived to write about it.

Image courtesy of Google Search

**P.S.

(The last sentence was not meant to imply that old people are generally cranky. Only some of them are. Some are perfect little angels. Others remain to be nasty demons behind wrinkled masks.)

I learned one new fact of life today.

Happiness Patient J.D. Unresponsive to ECT, Depressant Serum

It seems that as you age you continuously experience new stages of self – discovery. What you think of yourself when you were 18, however certain you were about it at that point in your life, will almost never be the same when you turn 25.

Boo-yah.

Some people say they have been self – assured early in life, but I don’t believe it. Because life changes you, it is a factory where we are all products that need to be  upgraded and enhanced regularly. And those that cannot be changed turn out to be inappropriate and are sure to belong in the bin labeled rejects.

So it’s surprising to me how, say, a piece of literature with a theme concerning self – discovery could be limited only to a category of teen/young adult literature. Ironic, since you can see middle – aged individuals certainly still uncertain about their own identities.

But why do I concern myself with these things?

You see, I plan to experience different things from what I have always been doing – it simply fails to give me a sense of happiness. I am not so proud as to want happiness per se, I merely want a sense of it. There was just no passion (yes, that’s the right word) in what I am used to do.

And lack of passion (or excess of it)  is in fact deadly. It has ended the lives of many notable men, and women of course.

That is why I am about to make this blog  a sort portfolio of the things I would love to AND would do – pictures, stories, social commentaries, rants, random idiocy – and it doesn’t mean it would be in a chronological order. I’m so bored with chronological.

Who isn’t?

*An image I particularly like one googling session. Courtesy of thingsweforget.blogspot.com (obviously :p).


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