I Went Out and Saw…Ghosts

What makes people people?

Being privileged could sometimes be a matter of perspective. Some argue it’s always. Counting your blessings and curses and seeing that the good stuff outweighs the bad could make one feel privileged somehow. And yet do we really count our blessings or is it just advice we give to comfort people who are on the brink of tying their nooses?

More often than not, I find myself questioning everything, and the meaning behind anything at all. Are there aliens? What happens to you after you get sucked by a black hole? How big could an anus get? Is there a life after death or do I just get reincarnated into a microbe? Don’t you tell me I’m alone in using such questions for self-interrogation. Anyway, I asked the first question in this post because of one true experience.

Days ago, I braved myself to see the world. Yes, I actually went out of the house. And not only that, I went to the busiest portion of the city where the majority of the people you’d see are the dirt poor.

Financially.

I thought at first it’s only the lack of financial prosperity, but when I looked closer I saw that the saddest thing is not how shabbily they dress, not even how they work in a space where you can literally smell the scent of shit wafting constantly, not even when I never saw these people give out a genuine smile to another person, no. I’m okay with a non-smiling person most times–I do that a lot myself. It’s the way they look at nothing, the nothingness of space, with eyes that reflect exactly that.

I thought I was not seeing people but their ghosts.

Not that I actually know how real ghosts look like. I still don’t know whether I’m lucky or not for that but I know seeing one would spook me out. So, determined to prove I was not in the ghost plane, I poked the watch repairman.

I actually touched something solid! But then he turned to me with those eyes. Nothing changed; it’s as hollow as ever.

That day, poverty stared at me. And I looked back.

So…

What makes people people? I don’t know, but despair seems to be a part of it. At least if those creatures I saw are actually people. Heh, I know they are–despair had already been an acquaintance to me, too.

But what I saw was already an excess.

I never intended to count my blessings. Forcing myself to look at reality that day made me do it nonetheless. Money is already a part of humanity, but we shouldn’t let it get the best of us. I know I am more privileged than some of those people–that I could still eat three times and even have some spare time to blog–so it’s easier for me to say that. Maybe. But I won’t take it back.

If it’s any consolation, people who have lots of money never escape despair either. It’s part of not just humanity, but of life. The earth despaired when Michael Jackson died (it did!), mama turtle despaired when a heron ate her newly-hatched turtling (or she didn’t because she wasn’t even there).

What I’m saying is, it’s normal to feel despair. But we should not let it defeat us because as long as you’re still [technically] alive you’ve got a shot at changing things. Yes, even the whole miserable condition you are living now.

Even despair.

It just really pains me seeing people, even total strangers, look at the world with those empty eyes. Is life really such a dreary phenomenon for them? It’s all such a waste. We don’t have the certainty of another life except this one we currently have. You might believe in an all-powerful benefactor or not but you’ve got to admit that life is a gift–one that doesn’t last. So I don’t really see the point of living it like you’d rather be dead.

All of us–rich, poor, ugly, beautiful, black, white, yellow, red, straight, crooked–are vulnerable to despair. But it’s up to you to wallow in it. Or you could always choose to look at the lighter side and might actually be happy.

And then, it might only be my perspective…

Past Encounters: The Wimpy ‘Lil Weirdo

This gallery contains 1 photo.

Childhood is not childhood unless you’ve become either (or both!) of the two–the bully or his favorite butt. Yes, I’m talking about how you were such a weirdo the meanest-looking kid always get to taste/spit on your lunch. And how you could never wait to get out of your hometown because no matter what valuable …

The History of HiNaD a.k.a The Boringest Title/Blog Post Ever

“Whoa–this guy can WRITE!”

It was the second set of words I told myself last December 2011 when I came upon his blog. The first set was rather unintelligible. He expressed his ideas with humor, wrote intelligently, and with an uncanny mix of cynicism and sanguinity. Needless to say, I was hooked. And I was amazed by the number of people engaged in an entertaining and clever dialogue in the comments section.

I had no idea what WordPress is before that, nor did I have any know-how in blogging. I was just surfing the net; bored with Facebook egotism, and yet vowing to eat a plastic fork before I touch a single textbook during that Christmas break. So I continued mutilating the mouse, and through a series of unfortunately forgotten web pages, I clicked a link to his post. When I saw the possibilities blogging could do, I wanted in.

So I signed up right then. I explored how WordPress works, and I found it surprisingly easy; surprising since I always consider myself computer-dumb. But then, anything is relatively easy when you want it enough.

I didn’t write anything until April the next year, though. The reason is simple: I felt insecure about my writing.

It was the last semester in my four years of college, and during those four years I never really wrote anything other than those related to my field of study. I kept a journal but it was a requirement, and by that point I grew to hate any word with the prefix require-. So I burned that journal as soon as I’m done with that certain subject.

SHORT VERSION: College sapped the creative writing worm in me.

LONG VERSION: Back in high school, I was actually part of the school paper. Years before that, in my sixth grade, there was a line saying “I want to be a writer someday,” under my photo in the yearbook (I should have written something more practical but you know how idiotic sixth-graders are). I grew up loving books, and with it grew the love for writing. As what is often the case, they were almost inseparable. I almost forgot that love when I studied Nursing. Maybe because the course took up most of my time and energy, maybe there were lots of distractions (believe it or not, I was a normal person with a social and, uhurm, love life). Maybe I just used up most of the rest of my time hogging my sleeping nook. Whatever the reasons were, I stopped writing–the kind that’s done just for the mere love of it.

I don’t claim to be good at anything other than eating, but being out of practice for something in about four years could make you apprehensive to start again. But during April last year, a new graduate stuck in her mom’s house with a head full of ideas and a pocket full of dust, I can’t even start my exploration of the real world.

Before I knew it, boredom became the anthem of my life (well that and frustration, confusion, ubiquitous angst/what-is-my-place-in-this-world drama, et cetera, et cetera and so forth).

Choosing between mutilating my carotid artery with a nail clipper and humiliating myself by writing my first ever blog post on my actual birthday, I chose the latter.

Thus, in a way, HiNaD became my twin.

It was an idiotic move, I know. Who else but an idiot would pick the same birthday as himself for his blog? I could have celebrated two birthdays in a year and get double the greetings to satisfy my ego. But instead I chose to deny myself the privilege. Oh well, I blame the genes. I didn’t become an idiot by myself, you know.

Anyway, it was real fun from there on.

I have grown not only as a blogger, but as a writer and person indeed.  I wrote stuff I would normally not dare write about [my] family, my real life friends, and my country–one quite droll, the other rather serious. I wrote about the difficulty of being good, and made fun of old timers, calling them Satan in disguise.  I learned that every Homo Sapiens has hypocrite blood.  I encountered rude bloggers a.k.a trolls, and dissected their rudeness while mentioning a four-letter word ten times in a post. Even then, there were times that I couldn’t care less and just posted something stubbornly silly.

I also wrote about how it’s much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings, and how I thought I was mentally disturbed.  I discovered that professional doctors really believe happiness IS a disease (I KNOW, RIGHT?!). Then I tried to answer the question “Who am I?” and failed miserably. So instead I wrote about something I don’t know how to categorize…

But before all that, there was this mediocre stick man comic with a rather nice story to tell. Speaking of storytelling, *blushes* I rather wrote lots of them short/very short stories, my babies. For a collection–TotWK–I collaborated with Landix, a wonderful artist, bless him. I didn’t even realize I can write “horror” effortlessly until someone pointed it out here in HiNaD, bwaha!

And oh, yes! I discovered I rather like ‘em Goths. That and a lot of other very amazeballs stuff.

Wow, I did write lots considering I was practically on a hiatus for about four (?) months last year (I was preparing for the licensure exams). Looking back and reading those pieces/attempts-to-make-sense by my mind, I still find myself believing in almost exactly the same truths. Hmm, it’s a wonderful feeling, come to think of it…

(Oh geez, my head’s getting bloated with the awesomeness of Me again. Good thing I only review my blogging achievements once a year, haha!)

All of those things mentioned are wonderful, rewarding stuff–enough to make me continue doing this bloggy thing for as long as I could. But the BESTEST part of it all was/is/would still be meeting you.

Yes, YOU.

I Knew It!

(I’ve always known it, deep inside my very core, that I was made of star material. Heh-he!)

For some very personal reason that is, I suspect, rooted much to the kid I was/am, this has made me very happy. *Oooohheee* Have you read Neil Gaiman’s Stardust? It’s the best fairy tale I have ever read, albeit a little dark. And yet…it just makes the work more beautiful. For isn’t life not one, but light and dark combined?

Just like Everything.

Reality is just one side of the two-way mirror called Everything. The other side, the one we do not always see but always sees us…

That is Magic.

(Picture courtesy here.)

5 Reasons Why

…you should purchase this book:

1. It’s FREE.

2. It’s FREE.

3. It’s TOTALLY HILARIOUS.

4. It’s only for today.

5.You’d be an idiot not to.

So get it now right HERE!

*You need a Kindle to read this which, if you don’t have it, could be found here:

http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html/ref=dig_arl_box?ie=UTF8&docId=1000493771

Seriously. You should check this guy out! I know you want to do it. Of course you do–don’t you find it extremely funny to laugh at the wackiest misfortunes of others all the time? ON STAGE?Admit it. And as a famous person with the initials T.B once said, “Once you go Tim, you’ll only ever want him.“

I’d like to talk more, really, but shouldn’t you be clicking on some links already? Thought so.

Can you be any more obnoxious?

We Need More Dominics

If you could watch this until around the five-minute mark, you would never regret it.

Most people don’t.

 

What would you have done?

Giving You Another Set of Crazies

 

Crazy #4: Dale Isip

Another feller who gave me the VBA was Dale Isip. Dale is an addict punner. Seriously. He sees the world as if it’s one big pun. He sees an old lady  cross the street that was hit and run, well he would make it a pun. He puns when he eats. He puns when he sleeps. He even makes a pun when he shits. If made to choose over a soft serve ice cream with sprinkles from a truck on a hot summer day and making a pun? Well you know what he would do. Don’t believe me yet? Go to his blog. It would be loads of pun!

Hit: http://sixpuns.com/

Crazy # 5: Carol Carlisle

Carol is one of my favorite bloggers not because she gave me a Versatile Blogger Award but because of the fact that I suspect (and I really, really, really feel that I am right) that she is a bona fide W-I-T-C-H. Uh-huh. I think she is a white witch. Only a white witch would create a tinsel labyrinth every Winter Solstice (I think anyone who uses the word solstice must have witch blood in them) and love nature so much. It’s as if everything in nature are real people by the way she treats them (and they are, really…well in some way). It’s always fun when she summons me to pay her visit. If you are someone who has a playful, serene, and caring nature, then you might want to pay her a visit too. (Carol darling, if you gain more followers because of me, would you finally let me be your apprentice?)

Hit: http://piecesofstarlight.wordpress.com/

Crazy #6: Julie

 

This person has the nerve to nominate me for a Lovely Blog Award. I know, right?!! Want proof of her eccentricity? SHE LIVES IN A DAMN CARTON. And she’s dazzled by anything fire-y. I mean, who would be so enthralled over something that was discovered thousands of years ago and is so un-amazing it could come out of any ordinary lighter? I would totally understand if she lives in the North Pole. But for normalcy’s sake, she lives in Kangaroo Land. It must be hotter than being a fetus in a very fat lady’s womb there. Oh well, at least she hates authority. I think all people really hate authority when it’s forced upon them unless they’re the lead female character in Fifty Shades of Lit Porn. Am I ranting? That’s because I just stopped by her blog. Why don’t you drop by and get a taste of her angst? Nah really, I like the gal. Maybe it’s because she reminds me of a bit younger version of myself. She’s just crazier. See for yourself.

Hit: http://uponatlas.wordpress.com/

Crazy #7: TommyTopHat

Aah, TommyTopHat. Where would I even start? If I were to give the Lovely Blog Award to any one blogger I know it would have to be him (or her, for that matter). So imagine how flattered I was to receive it from him/er. What he makes or features in his blog is able to bring out the kids in me – the lonely, the cheerful, the weird, and the dreamer kids. He/She’s too good to be any real person I’d like to think of him/er as a fictional character. A very colorful one (despite his love affair with black).  And I know some of his secrets. But I’m not going to tell you that he’s a real kid at heart or that he’s a purple-blooded goth, not even if you bribe me all the Oompa Loompas I could stick and grill for lunch or even the best Sushis in town. But for the benefit of all ye good folks who happen to be lost in here, here’s my one ‘lil secret: whenever I log on to find an escape from the cruelty and drab reality, I take a peek behind Tommy’s curtain. And he has NEVER yet let me down.

Hit: http://manbehindthecurtain.ie/

***

…and here goes Tommy Top Hat giving me yet another award  *turns red, acne included*. This time it’s the Liebster thingy. And this one has made me so giddy because it came with eleven Tommy-esque queries. Here’s the best answers I could muster:

1: Who do you think would win in a fight between Elvis and Satan?

          Elvis seriously wouldn’t fight Satan. They’re comrade-in-arms.

2: Who is your style icon?

            The Jeans and Shirt lady. I’m as laidback as can be no one would practically pay any attention to me. But I would like to bring along a yeti as a familiar. He gets all the attention instead.

3: If you could marry one fictional character, who would it be?

          Yoh Asakura. Who wouldn’t want to marry a Shaman King? I would have to kill Anna Kyōyama first though. Baah, what a lot of bother. Maybe I’ll just have to woo Willy Wonka and swim in chocolate all the days of my life instead. Yumyum.

4: Have you ever had an encounter with the supernatural?

          I would like to believe I haven’t. But if I were honest…

5: What is the strangest dream you’ve ever had?

          I often dreamt of dying in various ways. And every time I was sure I would be dead the next second, I wake up. I mean…why is that? When you die in your dream, does it mean you’d also be dead in real life? So does that mean it’s not my time yet? It’s a mind-boggler.

6: If there was to be a movie of your life what genre would it be, who would play you and who would do the soundtrack?

          It would probably be a dramedy-psychothriller musical. I’d hire indie actors because I probably couldn’t afford mainstream ones (i.e. the beautiful Helena Bonham-Carter). In a desperate attempt to spice things up, I’d have The Residents do the soundtrack. That’s assuming I could convince some genie to give me their talent fees. And I would write the script, making sure all real events would be omitted. Who wants reality nowadays really? I have revenues to think of. Oooh wow, I’m beginning to suspect I’d be a great producer…

7: What’s your one most treasured article of clothing?

          Old, super-comfortable jeans. They’re great for survival. I wouldn’t want to be dressed in anything else when Megatron decides it’s time to crash earth you know. Or when the zombies finally wake.

8: What is your theme song?

          It is currently being written.

9: If your reflection stepped out of the mirror, what would you do?

          Plan the ultimate mischief! Bwahahaha!

10: Do you have any nicknames? How did you get them?

          Lots. People have a rude instinct for name-calling, that’s how.

11: What does V.F.D. stand for?

            Vagina For Delivery. It would be so common in 2048, trust me.

:)

Again, music saved me.

Listened to this and I know I have to get out of this rut.

A new day begins.

J to J – A Soliloquy

(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

*VII. Finale

“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.”

Fun! Fun! Great Fun!

What is?

Well, very amateur RECORDING, that is!

You see, it’s been a real treat to record these nonsensical flippertwits I made up for my stories.

1.Nika’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)

2.Nika’s Mum’s Song (TotWK: Music Box)

3.Devil’s Child Chant (TotWK: Devil’s Child)***

4.Song of a Gypsy Woman (TotWK: ______)

The third one‘s got to be my favorite!

HAHAHAHAHA!

Heed this warning, loves: one has a COCK crowing in the background, one is a SPOILER, and my favorite is a REAL PAIN in the ears. But it fits, seeing as it’s dedicated to one blogger who happened to call me a witch. You know who you are (clue: initials= T.B. and a charming idiot, but at least a real genius in the field – not of being charming, but idiocy). This idiot also likes all things M – like Moose and Miley cyrus – and Me, as well.

Now seriously.

I just wanted to ask you if you know how to pronounce this: “Cthulhu“? You don’t? Me too. Now I really have to agree – Neil Gaiman‘s probably got the world’s largest octopus head.

You take care, you.

‘Til then, J

Collaborations and Introductions

I know it’s a little late for the latter, but then again…

Three things.

Let me start by sharing to you the works of my, err, good friend, Landix.

“The Deal” created for the story Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Devil’s Child

Click to view full image.

“Le Pedofile“, this time for Tales of the Wind’s Kiss: Music Box

Click to view full image.

Now tell me you think they’re horrifyingly beautiful.

I know, I know.

It’s vital you understand here that Landix is a lunatic. I asked for his permission to place a link here to his website but the doofus declined. Yes. Crazy, just crazy I’m telling you.

But he’s also really good, so it’s not much of a question why I collaborated with him. At least to me.

Really now, Landix is not all that bad. A little crazy, but an artist and more importantly, a friend. You’ll be seeing more of him soon. Well, I hope.

Now second, my niche.

I started this blog without much of a niche – more of decided to make an outlet for my random thoughts, rants, and music I’m too chicken to share to my mainstream outlet – the magnificent FB. I was just putting random brain droppings time and again. But very recently, it just dropped on me one late night staring-at -the-ceiling-with-headphones-at full-blast session.

My niche would be to tell stories.

I know it’s another kind of brain droppings, but at least brain droppings you can categorize. Blame it on my control freak streak. But yeah, I have decided to communicate with the world in a new way. This time I’ll use an old friend, “fiction”.

I’ve always loved stories. I learned to read because I was told those boring-looking things called books hold so much of them. I look forward to my father’s bedtime stories as a kid. As a teen, with great reluctance, I wore glasses because I won’t give up this love for stories. The glasses grew thicker with time. Yes, until now.

Maybe it’s the little truths stories always have, even though we call them “fiction“. Many men, women, and children could attest to the great power some of these little truths hold. Still, some of them are also just as what they seem, little.

And yet, it doesn’t make them any less.

I guess I will always love stories. It’s really not something you can stop. It’s part of what makes you you. Or me. Yeah, you get it.

So, logically, I created stories simply because. Like water flows because it is meant to. Like the wind dances and, yes sometimes, destroys. Destiny. Fate. Or simply choice. A choice made with ultimate love.

And like how some people treat their dogs, their dolls, or those things I think come from another planet (they say it’s called cars), I treat these stories as my babies.

There’s only one thing I ask of you. Love them or hate them, but treat these stories with respect. At core, they really meant good. For no story is evil by itself. They are what we, people, make of them. Respect them, and they will pay you back for it.

They always do – or else.

Now for the third and most important part.

Readers, Likers, Commenters, Haters, Followers, Spammers, and my dear Friends, human or not…

I thank you.

For what? Many, many things. Perhaps for licking mooses, for fighting for kids, for sharing less noticed beautiful works of art, for adding beauty to the world, for being a shcmuck of a clown, and a gazillion other as important reasons.

But most of all, for acknowledging that THIS exists.Of course, you know what I mean.

Until then,

J

To Anyone Who Cares

What a sappy title.

It’s been only 37 days since I started blogging. You must know how idiotic I must feel when I entered the menacing world of the blogosphere – totally clueless, possessing just the right amount of naiveté (and still am) to think that my ideas are worthy enough to share to the citizens of the cyber world along with the elite circle of individuals who fashion themselves as bloggers. But more than a month has passed and I have not been tempted more than once to drink the rubbing alcohol in the dresser, so this blogging thing might have been a sort of success.

Success or not, in that short span of time I could honestly say that I have enjoyed every single time I spent WordPressing. That’s as true as true can be. Yes, I met rather a very, very few number of beings who repulsively shared the same characteristics as the entities that come from my behind, but well this is the cyber world. I’ve still reserved the inkling that maybe, just maybe, they’re different beings when away from the computer screen. Might be the radiation after all.

Anywho, the highlight of this post is to inform the people mad enough to have read one, two or twelve of my posts that I might be posting more, much more irregularly than the usual.

Yep, a hiatus.

See, I have just finished my degree last 29 March. I know, I know, a slight difference in our educational systems – but that’s rather inconsequential. Thing is, I feel that the 2 months of being the carefree, good-for-nothing sloth that I am is about to end. See, the actually thinking part of my brain tells me that I have to start forcing my nose down 3-inch thick books come 1 June to prepare for the Nursing Licensure Examinations this December.

I know.

*SCREAMS while you take the 5-second breather to deal with that little nuisance up your nose*

I should be delighted since it’s about time I put to use my dulling brain, elsewise it would stagnate to a present but unusable state. Heaven help you if that might occur. The world already has Hollywood a lot of problems as it is.

It’s just a tad less cheerful since it is part of this newly found resolve to cut my internet time. Not to the extent of living the good ‘ol hermit life, no, but merely reducing it to an allowance of a few hours per week. Or two. This means that I won’t really be able to read the posts of the insane people I follow (and other more sensible bloggers) with the usual regularity I used to. Oh, yes, I know they’d miss me (admit it) but not as much as I would miss taunting them. But this must be, for the world beyond summons. And I am but human enough to respond to its calls.

So, yes. That’s all I really wanted to say.

Besides Shagiddy Shagiddy Sha Foo-Foo!

I really don’t know with the sleepwalker in orange, but I would be ecstatic if my stethoscope is nearly as fantastic as hers is!

Stethoscope

Oh ye of noblest amongst instruments

Crafted for the grandest of assignments

On this neck you hang with pride

As on to the ER I glide

To only find one utmost myst’ry

When I see no person’s gone awry

So with lightest of hearts I sit

As my phone rang its lovely beats

Once more I’d like your services, if you please

As pseudo-headphones to mine ears

I Therefore Conclude…

That I am not an intellectual. An intellectual is someone who loves to learn, tries to learn, and actually learns a lot. I got 2 out of 3. I just never seem to learn a LOT – if not any less than I do 15 years ago.

15 years ago I learned…

*To do unto others only what I want others do unto me.

(Now I do, did, probably will still do unto others what I’d offer my savings account, mini library, and promise to make a twitter account for them not to ever do the same to me. And vice versa.)

*To listen when a person speaks in front.

(So when a blabbering buffoon is on your side and trying to get as close without resorting to sticking a pole inside any orifice, um, you are excused, right?)

*To eat only nutritious foods. And only when you’re hungry.

(A lesson I have happily un-learned! Unless you don’t count eating a large chunk of chocolate when you’ve just had dinner against it.)

*To respect the elderly.

(With all due honesty, I have tried to uphold this for as long as I can remember. But there are tempting times Satan prepared himself  by hiding in the guise of a septuagenarian lady, making me want to grab her cane and use it to whack Satan out of that innocent body.)

Aww…that face!

*To say sorry when you hurt someone.

(But after a decade and a half, I have de-evolved from a human into a chicken for I find myself too much of a coward to utter even this two-syllabic word without the aid of dagger looks and a terribly messy situation.)

*To not speak nor go with strangers.

(I blame the one who said “strangers are merely friends you have yet to meet”. I wonder if that person ever had the reward of meeting and having a little chat with Mr. H. Lecter.)

Tell me you’re not tempted to run when you look behind and see this face 2 inches from yours.

*To mean what you say and say what you mean.

(This time I blame the books written in the style of beautiful, subtle sarcasm. And politics, of course.)

*To never tell lies.

(Ha! Now who would I blame? You? You? Or you?)

Fifteen years is quite enough time to have forgotten all these lessons. I am certain I learned a whole lot more back then. But due to lack of practice/application of these lessons poor memory, I only have these eight to share.

Let me make it clear that I am not saying the older you get, the dumber you’ll become. Fact is that there’s a turning point somewhere in the age line (they say it’s different for everyone…I do wonder who “they” is/are) when Fate itself drives you toward the long lost fountain of wisdom.

But until you reach that point, you have no right to say you are wiser than a 5 year old.

This kid knows it all. He does. Oh come on, he really does!

Any lessons to share?

Images courtesy of Google Images

First Love

A little girl whose years amount to three,

Has one peculiar taste people could see.

Instead of going out and play dirt with the kids,

She prefer to bury her nose ‘nside dusty lids.

Lids that cover mysterious other worlds,

Containing pictures of enormous ugly birds,

And robots, and cows, and castles, and seas,

These pictures made the girl immensely pleased!

But one thing there is, it makes those brows meet,

‘Twas the odd scribbles too extreme for her wit.

In every page she looks, those tiny, ugly scribbles,

Stares back at her making her brain gears wriggle.

Till the day she could stand the scribbles no more,

She asked granpa what are those ‘lil horrors good for.

Big old man chuckled, sending tummy fats a’ bouncing,

Told her ‘Those are called letters, and they are meant for reading.’

Day after day, a pencil comes smacking her head,

As the wicked old man taught her to read ‘til she bled.

And before long, ‘fore you could say ‘ichtroebgzjitschipklt’,

The girl mastered her alphabet.

Then her two, three, ten, twenty-eight letter words,

Making her the happiest girl who lives in her dusty world!

Another (jaundiced?) kid I know who loves dusty lids. I think it’s fate that he’s my brother.