tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69693916338854391162024-02-19T10:08:33.266-08:00Iced Monologue Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-91703742019384370912015-06-03T11:28:00.000-07:002015-06-03T11:28:12.614-07:00Murky, foggy love.<i>The grey skies look down at me, embracing me. I feel a great sense of comfort engulfing me, hugging me. I let it carry me. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I wake up to sounds in my mind, they seem to make me want to cry. But there are no tears coming, that well dried up years ago.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I look around me, anything I can stare at just to avoid your glare. I can feel your eyes burning through my skin so I look up at you. Emptiness is all I feel.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I find you running. Running from me, running from it all. I don't try to stop you. I know you cannot stop someone that doesn't want to stay, that never wants to stay. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>So I walk in a town unfamiliar and strange with a friend I know so well. I lean and she responds. I beg and she responds. I try so hard but her responses douse the fire only for a second. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>An Idea, that is what I fell in love with. But now I have to let go. </i><br />
<i>Is this how it feels to abandon your imagination for reality? Is this how it feels to let go of the false sense of control I have held on to for so long? </i><br />
<i>The fire is getting stronger.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The air I breathe is making me choke. I look down at my fingers, my tiny reflection staring back at me through the glittering glass shards decorating my palm. I panic for a second, and then I laugh. Because we are alive in this second. Through it all, we are alive in this second.</i><br />
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<i>And the grey skies are staring down at me again. Opening up to let me in. I let them carry me.</i><br />
<i>And so I glide, snug in the arms of the unknown.</i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-30574400785143667312014-10-23T13:16:00.000-07:002014-10-24T07:22:39.346-07:00Manacles...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="color: #a64d79;">Trapped</span>.<span style="color: #a64d79;"> </span>In situations, I promised myself never to be in. In relationships, I had no say in. With people, I should always have stayed away from. In a love, I can't get out of.<br />
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<span style="color: #a64d79;">Trapped</span>, what if I am, in this perpetually dark and dingy space for the finite lifetime I've been gifted with. What if in time, I am too accustomed to the darkness to care about the light at its end.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNemoxcLe6GZr1VtHY-BG-_Im6YoIACY9p2PZmyEjBJL_1ySjA76Cd7Yz6l4L5OfLYFVxwM6o-1iT6PTKJm5VEruZFBRoLYSIoQsmfcQZPwxWVtbC9ZAaXQA_bbdmSEE1dFwU3CZg69xrF/s1600/Freeing-My-Heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNemoxcLe6GZr1VtHY-BG-_Im6YoIACY9p2PZmyEjBJL_1ySjA76Cd7Yz6l4L5OfLYFVxwM6o-1iT6PTKJm5VEruZFBRoLYSIoQsmfcQZPwxWVtbC9ZAaXQA_bbdmSEE1dFwU3CZg69xrF/s1600/Freeing-My-Heart.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a><span style="color: #a64d79;">Trapped</span> are the words between my lips, slyly slipping in situations I lose myself in. But I don't think you catch them, I am afraid you never will.</div>
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<span style="color: #a64d79; text-align: justify;">Trapped</span><span style="text-align: justify;">, here in this moment with you. I stare, at your golden skin, shining in the tunnel that now I've come to realize is actually beaming. I stare harder, hoping you can feel my eyes bleeding with love, waiting to be returned. So you stare, stare back at me. But I'm too afraid to see what awaits me. By the time I gather the courage to look at you, you've looked away. And I find myself in shackles again.</span><br />
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I can feel it tearing at me, gathering strength, despite my every attempt to dilute it with indifference. My eyes are drooping, failing and falling. I let them be since I've learned through experience that there are certain things you can see only behind closed lids. People your open eyes yearn to see. Feelings your skin alive, yearns to feel. And its thoughts like these that make the blood rush to my mind, keep me awake night after night.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Through all these disconnected thoughts and barely exciting days, through the sea- saw of emotions and spring and rain, once I make it, I'll break these fetters of emotions and find my way to you.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-45699381340832428562014-06-01T14:00:00.000-07:002014-06-01T14:10:06.241-07:00Comfort is a state of being that constrains you from success.<i>Fear is engulfing me, tightening its grasp around my throat. Breathe, breathe. Harder, try harder. Stand straighter, taller. What are those words escaping my mouth? I feel my tongue rolling but I can't remember the words. The words I rehearsed over and over again. The words I filled every silence in my life with.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Gulp. That feels good, the water grazing my dry throat. Is anyone looking at me? Is my paranoia travelling to the other end of the room. Can they feel it? I don't want them to. My impatience is trickling in the form of sweat. I can feel it move down my arms. This is my best dress, one I bought ages ago for a different situation. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I need to leave, I need a mirror. I need to stare at myself, the person I was and the person I'm about to become. I need to remind myself that it's okay. It's always been okay, unless I begin to over think. That's when it all goes downhill. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>But we've been designed that way. To think of the worst, set ourselves up for disappointment, so that we aren't surprised when it slaps us in the face. But when have I ever been prepared. I touch my cheek remembering my last loss.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Push not pull. But I can't think straight. Straight! Slouching is a sign of defeat, a feeling I'm not yet ready to embrace. I take my place. I'm sitting among people I've never seen but I'm sure are way above me. What am I doing here, this feels wrong. But I know if I leave I can never come back, never climb up.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The moment of truth, rather the moment of lie. Where's my mask? I need my facade.</i><br />
<i>Is that a whisper? Can they see though? </i><br />
<i>Stop. I don't want these moments captured, I don't want to remember it, atleast not like this. </i><br />
<i>Eyes, 20 pairs of eyes, fixated on me. I've never liked attention and never despised it as much as right now. </i><br />
<i>I nod, and continue. Positive wobbling of heads, I remember my English, the words I rehearsed rush to my head. </i><br />
<i>Smiles, giggles. Wow, they understand my sarcasm.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I look down and thank out loud. I hear applause. I actually meant to thank my feet for staying still, but I didn't say that aloud. I feel exhilarated. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I slowly walk back to a familiar place, my comfort zone welcoming me back. But I know I have to step out soon, if I ever wish to hear the applause, if I ever wish to feel the magic again.</i><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-19832750212541856792013-09-15T13:50:00.001-07:002013-09-15T13:54:39.540-07:00Broken Strings.<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">I keep questioning myself everyday as the morning peels away
to show the darkness within. I want answers to questions I already know hold no
meaning. The meaning died with your parting footsteps, the slam of the phone,
the pain that comes with rejection. The pain I felt years ago, the familiarity
of which refuses to leave me alone. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">The clutter of confusion surrounds me and I find peace in
it. Peace in knowing that my life can take whatever route it pleases. Peace in the unknown, the unseen and the
unfelt. But the feeling of hands trying
to desperately clear the mess so I can see clearly, causes me much unrest. They refuse to accept that in this chaos is the map to my next
destination, the journey to which is mine alone.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">These baby steps I take are often clouded by the mirage
of you. And every now I then I fool myself into believing in its reality. I
want to make you stay and that is when I snap out of it, the sound of the slam
ringing in my ears.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">How can you proclaim to know someone when you know yourself
much less? Is it even possible? How can you make promises when you don’t even
know if you are capable of keeping them? How can you call it love, when you
have nothing to compare it against?<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;">To never love until you know yourself, to never hate until
you know them well. Criteria we never fulfilled. </span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><o:p></o:p></span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">The scattered beads of unrequited love covers every inch of my soul. </span></i><i><span style="font-size: large;">And on days like these my bed seems like a better place to
stay in...</span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-77243772944662168002013-08-16T08:46:00.001-07:002014-10-23T14:32:05.219-07:008 Most Awkward situations I usually find myself in.<span style="font-family: inherit;">Just the other day I attended a 'Family' party. We all know how exciting these are (<i>yawn</i>). Anyway, I was dragged to this pit of hell by my mother with the promise that I wouldn't have to attend another party the next week. I winced just at the thought of not accepting this deal. So off I went to the place where awkward conversations are not just necessary but quite normal. And even though it's been twenty two years since my birth my relatives are still trying to figure out whether I look more like my mother or my father. Anyway, I took a seat in the far corner of the hall hoping to escape any more cheek pinching hands and judging eye glares and wondered if anything could be more awkward than the current situation I was in at that point. Turns out there are:</span><br />
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<img src="http://www.reactiongifs.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/hi.gif" /><br />
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<b>1</b>.<span style="color: #c27ba0;"> In elevators</span><span style="color: #741b47;">:</span> Every time I step into a lift and it decides to stop at the floor below, my gum just gets lodged into my throat. I just never know how to behave. Do I stand in front of the person? I really want to look at my reflection in the mirror behind, will it make the other people uncomfortable? Let me ask them how their day was? Why did I just sound like a duck?<br />
I think it's because secretly we are all guilty. But why? I mean it completely makes sense why humans with perfectly working hands and legs would need carriers to move up and down.<br />
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<b>2</b>.<span style="color: #c27ba0;">When your underwear gets stuck in your butt in a public place</span><span style="color: #741b47;">: </span>How many times have you gone to the toilet while shopping in a mall just to free your bum. And if you are extremely confident then you probably just did it while shopping putting the people behind you in an awkward position. Most times the washroom, or just any quiet and lonely place is so hard to find that you try to pluck your underwear out by just squirming in it.<br />
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<b>3.</b><span style="color: #c27ba0;"> Mistaking a shopper for the salesperson</span><span style="color: #741b47;">:</span> Remember those days when you would accidentally dress up in black just like the sales girls at Forever 21 and then get asked if you had size 12 in the same color. That's when you promise yourself never to wear a black tee with black jeans ever again. It was a bad idea to begin with. On the other hand maybe you mistook someone. In that case, RUN!<br />
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<b>4</b>. <span style="color: #c27ba0;">Forgetting the name of the person you met last week and bumped into again today</span><span style="color: #741b47;">:</span> It doesn't even have to be last week it could even be last night, some people just don't leave any sort of lasting impression on you. However, letting them know that by even forgetting their name is well sort of awkward.<br />
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<b>5.</b><span style="color: #c27ba0;"> Describing someone as 'that fat girl' to your slightly overweight friend: </span>Now I'm all for all sizes and shapes but sometimes when your friend asks for a description of your professor or even your hairdresser and you can't seem to remember their name (<i>See #4</i>) then physical descriptions do help a lot. Just remember who you are talking to and who you are trying to describe. Sometimes there is a correlation.<br />
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<b>6.<span style="color: #741b47;"> </span></b><span style="color: #c27ba0;">Telling your mom you are not on Facebook only to receive a friend request from her the next day</span><span style="color: #741b47;">:</span> '<i>Pshh Facebook, too mainstream for me</i>', you shrug and tell your mother, secretly wondering how she heard of the website you practically live on.This is one of the reasons why I am no longer active on Facebook, that is besides the obsession with the self it advocates for.<br />
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<b>7.</b><span style="color: #741b47;"> </span><span style="color: #c27ba0;">Agreeing with your friends when they hate on Justin Beiber music and then get caught singing along to '<i>Baby Baby</i>':</span> Guilty. Very guilty. You know those things you know you shouldn't do because people you care about will be disappointed in you. Yeah, this is worse than that. Do not give into your desires.<br />
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<b>8.</b><span style="color: #c27ba0;"> When your grandmother walks in on you when the only sexual scene in the entire movie is being played on your TV</span><span style="color: #741b47;">:</span> So you decide to watch a non cheesy- war-action kind of a movie and your grandmother pops in but you don't pause the movie because you know, you are confident that you are safe. And then without a warning it appears on the screen. The<i> 'oohs'</i> and '<i>aahs</i>' filling in the awkward silence just makes it worse.<br />
<br />
And just as I try to think of a more awkward situation I could be in just to make myself feel better I see an old relative approaching. I should have spent all that time thinking of escape routes from awkward situation. Maybe another time.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-65561062572451534252013-08-06T03:51:00.001-07:002013-08-07T02:53:18.969-07:00' And the sun will set for you.' <img height="265" src="http://www.apistudyabroad.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/AUS_1.jpg" width="400" /><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I still remember the day I finished school . How I promised myself I wouldn't cry because I was glad to get away from it all. The teachers, the dingy and dull classrooms and the tiring routine. I fooled myself into believing that I wanted to get away from the gnawing grasp of childhood and all it accompanies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I ended up crying on my graduation day. My eyes felt like water pipes the knobs of which had broken.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Four years later and I face the same situation once again. I should be better prepared now I think, but letting go gets harder as years pile up on me. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">My only ambition in school was to get to university. I hadn't really spared a thought as to what I was going to pursue after that. Now that it's over I feel almost empty and uncertain.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Uncertain of the future that leads to so many different destinations. So many different paths up for grabs, to be an ardent mother, a headstrong career woman, a traveler. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Most of us will wander around switching between things we thought we liked and things that are necessary for us to do in order to survive.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That is when we will think of the friends to whose company we had gotten accustomed, that have moved away in distance, however remain etched in our memories.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We will think of the times we cried, pulled our hair out in agony because we were assigned projects we thought were impossible. We will remember then how we successfully completed them together and feel a sense of great accomplishment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We will smile silently when our mind wanders off to a time when we doubled up in laughter with our friends while imitating our professors. And a teardrop will escape when we wonder where they are now. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">We will probably visit the same restaurants, drink 'karak' from the same tea shop and watch the same TV shows that we used to, but it will never be the same. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I've come to realize now how much I've grown in the past four years, learned so much from being around great minds, people and personalities and it hurts to bid it adieu.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This time I don't make any false promises to myself instead I'm glad I've had amazing experiences and met wonderful people letting go of whom moistens my eyes.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-7619328826003110242013-07-04T13:15:00.001-07:002013-08-06T04:43:19.177-07:00Real Retreat<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've noticed that I've started most of my last few blog posts with 'it's been a long time' yada yada and this time it has been super long. But I'm only writing right now because I don't want the last post to be the first post people read when they stumble upon my blog. I'm not very proud of it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So why don't I just go ahead and delete it, you ask? As embarrassing as it may be it's something I wrote and quite possibly found quite funny when I posted it. And just like many mistakes in my life, this one cannot be erased.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Talking about mistakes the theater class I'm doing this summer totally seems like one. I've plunged so far away from my comfort zone thanks to this course that it scares me. Notice I use the word 'plunge'.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I hate being out of my comfort zone, everybody does. Somehow for most it turns out be quite a revelation for me its more of a 'take a deep breath and get over with it' moment.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm okay with the 'make 500 collages and present them to the class 1 day from now', it's the realistic acting I don't get. How many of us are realistically portraying our true feelings everyday, anyway? I feel like I'm walking on thin ice, the need to be politically correct is on the rise. And as people keep getting more and more sensitive with regards to their religion, sexual orientation and economic status the ice just keeps getting thinner. Why is it so hard to listen to the truth much less say it out loud?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And then come the pictures, the goddamn pictures on Facebook, twitter and the new cool guy on the block Instagram. I've always questioned the truth behind pictures. The smiles that people hold onto for a second and as soon as the camera flashes 'BAM' the frowns are on again. I remember this one time my friends from university were clicking a picture and me and my friend both being the 'non cheesy', 'eww stop touching me' kind of people, HELD EACH OTHER. FOR A PICTURE. And as soon as the the camera flashed, there we were awkward and wondering what the hell that was all about. The picture however, is one of my favorite, the best of ours.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It just seems like all the common people are going places, hanging out with their friends, going to university and most importantly eating GOOD FOOD. Privacy? Phish.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> And then there are the celebrities that are desperately trying to hang onto every piece of their lost privacy. They've got attention and don't want it and we the common people are starving for it. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And as I go up and down the elevator practicing for my theater assignment I realize it's there where at least, I am my most real self. Awkward and unsure.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I guess all of us have our own retreats, where we let down our masks and show our real selves even if it is just for a flash of a second. CHEESE !</span><br />
<img src="http://us.123rf.com/400wm/400/400/jgroup/jgroup1005/jgroup100501535/9519860-retro-1940-s-stylephotographer-wearing-a-fedora-hat-and-holding-a-vintage-camera-with-flash-bulb-fla.jpg" /><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-27121025733229609282013-04-06T10:39:00.003-07:002013-08-06T04:43:44.314-07:00The Villain at the Movies.<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I haven't posted in a really long time but every nerve in my body is screaming out and until I type this down it threatens to continue. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I have been frolicking around this past week. Why? Because it's Spring Break!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well, I guess I should stop getting too happy now because today is the last day of my only holiday this semester. Sigh!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="http://www.dogsgossip.com/image-files/dogs-in-movies.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="172" src="http://www.dogsgossip.com/image-files/dogs-in-movies.gif" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, this break I decided to frolic around in the movie theater. Honestly, I go to the theater to hog on the awesome movie theater food (it should have a name, it's a cuisine on its own I think) besides watching a movie. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Usually, I order nachos with salsa which I refuse to share with anyone (and I know will end up half eaten under my chair), a huge glass of Pepsi and place myself on a seat.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Now, somehow, I do not know how I end up sitting on the side of a stranger. That is okay with me, I have no problems with silent, mum (dead) strangers until I realize that they are breathing.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://sketchedout.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/strangle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="http://sketchedout.files.wordpress.com/2007/10/strangle.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The movie is about to start and I'm all excited sitting on my seat, stuffing nachos with salsa into my mouth without even looking down ( until a jalapeno accidentally pops into my mouth) and this boy sitting next to me decides to sing along as the opening credits music is going on. So, I laugh to myself because that stops me from breaking the boy's neck. The one man choir, sitting next to me decides to not only sing along but hum to every tune that is being played in the movie (yes, it was a Hindi movie).</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="http://i.istockimg.com/file_thumbview_approve/13538821/2/stock-illustration-13538821-bad-breath.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="288" src="http://i.istockimg.com/file_thumbview_approve/13538821/2/stock-illustration-13538821-bad-breath.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This one time, when I was finally having a peaceful 1.5 hours at the movies, the guy next to me decides to open his mouth to breathe. And Oh, the sweet smell of a human mouth shut for the last 1.5 hours. That's why you are supposed to eat popcorn, or nachos or crepe or something.</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I wanted to sew my nostrils together!!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The worst time I had when I was sitting next to a person who thought he had bought tickets for two seats. One for each butt cheek I suppose. Or maybe I was leaning on the side opposite to him so much that felt he sad for amount of space I was wasting.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">One major dilemma I face sitting next to a stranger is the handle of my seat, which one belongs to me? Once I placed my hand on the handle that I was sharing with my neighbor when he accidentally put his hand on mine. Who do you blame? The interior designer of the theater, the creator of watching a movie in the dark concept or the supposedly innocent creep sitting next to me?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Frustrating! Is this worth the money?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I guess this is why piracy is on the rise...</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-91251507313362816442013-03-02T10:06:00.001-08:002013-08-06T04:43:49.322-07:00The Virtual Binoculars<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Wheeee! </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I stared at that word for 5 minutes now WAITING for some sort of inspiration to strike me. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Magically, it seems I've capitalized the word waiting. I guess there must be some deeper meaning as to why my hands without any prior notice seem to have jumped on the caps lock key and capitalized that word. Maybe it's because I'm waiting for something and am afraid to admit to myself what it is.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Or, or maybe it's all this studying for my Psychology midterm this week that has played with my tangled brain nerves (the last time I studied biology was in grade 10) and now I'm over focusing on myself. As a side note, my book says that over focusing ones attention on oneself leads one into depression. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<img height="320" src="http://blog.lib.umn.edu/graz0029/wednesdaywanderings/human_psychology.jpg" width="212" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, I think I've been obsessing over way too many things this week (including my usage of the word one). It's actually just one thing, one person but that's all I can say for now. The person is lovely and also does not know of my obsession with him which kind of makes me feel like a STALKAAHH!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLk6lkTmXeacSUbRWrUnuskf3qLVNhNaZBMhSbx_celsjlDae8W12L-HF-jC7DvcXwonogLt_9UHlVWLHZfoeur8YZZZP7ZL-5UZaobxdPhCguFQThyphenhyphenfnH6nBHmxq6LAkOWIgRDEtc-tcg/s1600/p+(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLk6lkTmXeacSUbRWrUnuskf3qLVNhNaZBMhSbx_celsjlDae8W12L-HF-jC7DvcXwonogLt_9UHlVWLHZfoeur8YZZZP7ZL-5UZaobxdPhCguFQThyphenhyphenfnH6nBHmxq6LAkOWIgRDEtc-tcg/s1600/p+(2).jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Let me spell it right for people oblivious to what I like to call my secret talent (not so much of a secret now I suppose). People cannot be oblivious to it it's impossible (yes, Audrey Hepburn it is impossible) since innocently viewing someone's profile on facebook also qualifies as stalking. And people with no facebook profiles I guess nobody really cares about your existence on the planet.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Ever tried "googling: yourself ? You totally should, it's a form of over focusing on yourself (beware of the lurking depression) but it'll help you remove, delete, erase all the information out there that you wouldn't want your over curious mother, brother or boyfriend to come across. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Internet as much as we argue has limited our privacy, also helps us figure out if that cute guy in class has a girlfriend or if that stuck up professor has some dirty skeletons in the closet. The amount of information I've gathered about people I've been interested in romantically or otherwise is massive. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Internet stalking is like entering into a persons house, opening their wardrobe and shuffling through their bare necessities. Even though I openly admit I'd rather indulge in the latter. (:P)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<img src="http://cdn2-b.examiner.com/sites/default/files/styles/image_content_width/hash/9e/1b/1359134111_8306_stalking.jpg" /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-30029511863098062932013-01-27T12:14:00.000-08:002013-08-18T06:07:12.796-07:00Midnight Love...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I silently watched the family of four squish themselves onto the seat of a motorcycle meant for two. I watched as people turned their faces away at the sight of a poor woman knocking on the windows of their cars. I watched as the old man carried the heavy bag down the road, the endless road.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Grim faces, slumped shoulders. It was 12.00 a.m. I should have been asleep and yet I found myself spiraling down, deep into an ocean of thoughts, growing extremely aware of my surroundings. </span></div>
<br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">It's been terribly long since I've read a book my eyes refuse to peel away from. My fingers frantically turn the pages of 'The Zahir' because I identify with the author down to every sentence, every word. Every page makes me stop and wonder, look around, look inside, within me what I hold, what I treasure.</span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4Cc_1J3iwQLCNxX1wXsre98et-ORCd8zf_ot-LuLMZVjkCjmXlLxIniReXsM_APdJNUeNczJFAqB587jfmoiYUy7CUkEThWkGcHaklA6WEDgnyPV2K84bXVBKgaDHGdWObdxKU1A0Kw/s1600/The+Zahir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz4Cc_1J3iwQLCNxX1wXsre98et-ORCd8zf_ot-LuLMZVjkCjmXlLxIniReXsM_APdJNUeNczJFAqB587jfmoiYUy7CUkEThWkGcHaklA6WEDgnyPV2K84bXVBKgaDHGdWObdxKU1A0Kw/s320/The+Zahir.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">12.05 a.m. I must sleep, my eyes feel heavy and my heart too. Too many words trapped within. But this wasn't the moment to let it out. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'When will the moment be right?'</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">'Perhaps tomorrow, in a year's time, or never, and if that were the case, then we would have to respect that decision.'</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">The days seem to have frozen or rather I seem to have been frozen in a time different from now. I watch you walk upto me with love in your eyes but whose to say that's what it was. There is a thin line between love and hate and I seem to have overstepped. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">' But I will fight till the bitter end', she said. She lost. But was it really her loss if the man she loved was happy even if without her?</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">'All I know is that even though I can live without her, I would like to see her again, to say what I never said when we were together. I love you more than I love myself. If I could say that, then I could go on living, at peace with myself, because that love has redeemed me.'</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Redemption and peace, Isn't that what we are all looking for? Paulo Coelho seems to agree.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></span>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-72128972190362362272013-01-17T02:59:00.000-08:002013-08-06T04:44:04.796-07:00The Invisible People<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Oh the atrocity! This being my last semester in university I suddenly notice the attitude of various people changing towards me. Or maybe it's just me growing older and being able to see beyond the fake facade that people put up. Whatever it might be the past few years have opened up my eyes to the outrageous behavior of people that hides behind the great word, "tradition".</span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Just the other day I was talking to my mother about a girl I knew who was getting married to her long time boyfriend. To this my mother replied saying apparently she wanted to get married before her elder sister( her elder sister at that time was resisting the idea of marriage, no surprise). So I asked the obvious question, Why didn't she then? The simple answer, tradition. Younger siblings do not get married before their older ones, brothers do not get married before their sisters. When I asked why it was so and who said so, my mother gave me an answer that, well I kind of did expect.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She said the answer to both those questions were people.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">People that are nowhere to be found when I need encouragement. People that are nowhere to be found when I need help. People that are nowhere to be found when I want to share my happiness. People who are nowhere to be found when I cry in sadness.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Who exactly are these invisible people?</span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.colinthomas.com/assets/stuffimages/Invisible-people.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://www.colinthomas.com/assets/stuffimages/Invisible-people.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I for one have always been known as the rebel against hard and fast traditional rules in my society. Why am I supposed to wear flowers that I hate on my head for my wedding? Why am I talking about my wedding anyway, when I'm only twenty one years of age?</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">These invisible people seem to be directing my life since the day I was born and sworn to be an engineer because anything other than a being a doctor or an engineer would make me less appealing as a person. Somehow, me being a doctor or an engineer determines the purity of my soul.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Most people are afraid to rebel against such atrocious rules designed to suffocate happiness. And I know if any aunties looking for a prospective daughter in law happen to stumble across my blog, will deem me as being "unmarriageable" and "outspoken". So be it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeqaTdxtji5YbzbCcGzW6TXlPSCiudV5X3tst_jyCnelVSUJgyJAmWpVIgD5OT0s4PSsbZ_psgVzzRY6lcihH_Fy0olcnNh9pngMu2axsLIWymv_RoykkTj4b8mmPtz3S-Y3n5z98UkhE/s1600/tradition.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYeqaTdxtji5YbzbCcGzW6TXlPSCiudV5X3tst_jyCnelVSUJgyJAmWpVIgD5OT0s4PSsbZ_psgVzzRY6lcihH_Fy0olcnNh9pngMu2axsLIWymv_RoykkTj4b8mmPtz3S-Y3n5z98UkhE/s320/tradition.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's important to remember that the question was never, is it traditionally acceptable or not, the question is and always has been between right and wrong.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">And it's somehow traditionally acceptable to be wrong.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-4890069682409017592013-01-02T02:13:00.002-08:002013-08-06T04:44:13.165-07:00Lessons learned, goodbyes delivered.<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Days seem to race past while paranoid me tries desperately to hold onto them. Revel, enjoy the present moment while anticipating the subsequent.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img height="170" src="http://colorlabsproject.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/03/inspiration-is-a-productivity-machine.jpg" width="400" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Honestly, I'm not a dreamer. I don't spend much time enjoying the present which is why I find many moments in my life have passed by receiving no appreciation whatsoever. And suddenly as I sit in my balcony, the cool breeze grazing my skin and feeling my hair relishing the moment, I begin to dream.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I stare at the open sky, blaring music fills in the silence, silence that reminds me of friends made and lost. Loss, regret, pain, sadness, words I never want to think about. Too much time is wasted on the negative, on trying to escape from our own personal traps without realizing that the escape leads to another trap.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But it's these very words that make my fingers tap on the keyboard, that bring out a surge of emotion that I can't seem to control. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I've realized in this one year that has passed by that people are better at a chameleon's job than chameleons themselves. And I get it, you change colors according to the surroundings that you are placed in. That is the only way to survive, I've learned the hard way.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://imagesus.homeaway.com/mda01/c6695f41-2198-49ec-bf1e-15663ada5d39.1.13" /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Right now I feel like that house in the middle of the woods that is surrounded by tall pine trees, hidden but seemingly noticeable to a tired traveler. A house where people find solace for a brief moment, say their thank-you's and leave. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That is the thing about these houses, nobody ever stays behind.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-66456307394735777872012-11-01T05:33:00.000-07:002013-08-06T04:44:19.779-07:00All the King's horses, And all the King's men Couldn't put Humpty together again!<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Parents seem to be very confused when it comes to treating you like a child or an adult. When you want to go out on a road trip you seem to be reduced to a small baby and at times when things are demanded of you, you morph into an adult. These thoughts seems to wrap around my brain and are slowly tightening, forcing me to define the exact meaning of maturity. The heaviness of this word burdening the ones who have attained it while the "less fortunate" desperately await it.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The concept of maturity seems very distorted to me especially in recent times. In most cultures age is considered to be a proof of your maturity level an ideology I strongly disagree with. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAADmwA7RgT-gq6N_iwMlVa-NDynOorEAt3YsHS1fBkKOhuuXUi1ywixcizcTfEGVJR3vrW06cL9SIdeCUslCh2EVWayCwGMmINPP9EXF8dDkQL4Q9L023uZZtvgFIEEqlw6W43d-222J/s1600/im.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXAADmwA7RgT-gq6N_iwMlVa-NDynOorEAt3YsHS1fBkKOhuuXUi1ywixcizcTfEGVJR3vrW06cL9SIdeCUslCh2EVWayCwGMmINPP9EXF8dDkQL4Q9L023uZZtvgFIEEqlw6W43d-222J/s320/im.jpeg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was watching this documentary on a news channel about a small Syrian boy, nine years of age. He was playing out in the muddy sand while a chopper hovered about his head. The boy got suspicious and decided to run home when the chopper decided to bomb the area. He woke up with a crying adult brother on his side and one leg missing. He turned to his brother, wiped his tears and promised him that he would stand up again. He told his brother that even though his leg was missing his spirit and will to live was still intact. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And at that moment while I was staring at the screen into this little boy's eyes I realized that from playing in the mud to running back home and waking up with a devastated older brother and an amputated leg, the boy had grown far more than age could measure.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv92GjR0sLiwkLIJ5PKGjkYN3B-jbxEZ4ig43_qP9AjROeUuyX6UlvMDSh9feHb5rITyRZ2UyCjAFTX1djkW8oX-lIrfEhL5oZ7LvWSB-zU-JUOjJyqfMThRkeWKcSCevElfaHlLq6OMPO/s1600/images+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv92GjR0sLiwkLIJ5PKGjkYN3B-jbxEZ4ig43_qP9AjROeUuyX6UlvMDSh9feHb5rITyRZ2UyCjAFTX1djkW8oX-lIrfEhL5oZ7LvWSB-zU-JUOjJyqfMThRkeWKcSCevElfaHlLq6OMPO/s1600/images+(1).jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's the situations that we are placed in and what we make of it that defines us. It forces us to grow up most times than what people assume is a gradual step into adulthood. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Increasing broken homes,hearts and spirits; betrayal, jealousy, war, disasters and the unsuccessful attempts at keeping up with the pace of this fast changing world, force us to grow up and face reality. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwPW70b0JNF2oq9N5sfQZVMtQGiFAGxsCG7BlQPaRheXLpQjeQImwNs0XizwjabnyimxYWj_xFJODkGy2FviLg4FnWt3VLYVgW8pso_gW40ASJulaFO0bGIlT_YwBwrgYutiKzMDpGNKb/s1600/images.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqwPW70b0JNF2oq9N5sfQZVMtQGiFAGxsCG7BlQPaRheXLpQjeQImwNs0XizwjabnyimxYWj_xFJODkGy2FviLg4FnWt3VLYVgW8pso_gW40ASJulaFO0bGIlT_YwBwrgYutiKzMDpGNKb/s1600/images.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And as I see pictures of 13 year old's splashed across my Facebook wall indulging in activities that have a legal limit imposed on them, read articles on elementary school children being raped and watch sword and guns replace balloons and toys in the hopes for revenge to substitute for all the pain the world has put them through, I question our actions and judgment as adults. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Don't judge a book by it's cover. It's the pages that have worn out and entire chapters of most innocent lives that have gone missing.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-15184797730442322022012-10-21T12:27:00.005-07:002013-08-06T04:44:50.620-07:00Gloom, Love and Lots of Words.<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">t feels like eternity since my hands tapped on the keyboard frantically, trying to jot down every thought that flows through my brain magically and every time I find myself short of time, paper or enthusiasm. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The ray of hope and happiness seems to have disappeared, my aims merely thoughts that failed to materialize. It's been long since I read or came across something that would move me. Something that goes beyond dead movie stars and flying men. Am I amazed? Yes. Does it leave a lasting impact on me? Absolutely not. And yet we spend so much time sobbing over irrelevant atrocities and rejoicing over outrageous theatricals.</span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9qYTZ23_wireipn4mwPJeyth23kkoFo-hLQW2Bh0x9YR00LCVncRb5DH9pJ7K3hrjTCatVboZ1jFxS_pYnZzT4ysqm7DaYllAVoLjPcNnJkQAO2KCaHeVjpO82zAb62FGv0N_PqOVNj_/s1600/blog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE9qYTZ23_wireipn4mwPJeyth23kkoFo-hLQW2Bh0x9YR00LCVncRb5DH9pJ7K3hrjTCatVboZ1jFxS_pYnZzT4ysqm7DaYllAVoLjPcNnJkQAO2KCaHeVjpO82zAb62FGv0N_PqOVNj_/s320/blog.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The cramps are making their way up from my feet to my legs, I'm too tired to blink but my fingers are relentless. How I've missed unloading, I hope you don't feel used. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It feels good to have found something that will welcome me when I'm tired and stressed out. Something that won't complain when I sometimes find myself unable to communicate. Something that makes me stay awake at night despite the creeping fatigue engulfing my body. I guess it's called passion. That makes me wonder if it's what I took you to be and I feel a shiver crawling down my neck.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> hate the unwanted, uninvited shivers that are often accompanied with uncomfortable and less remembered memories. I shouldn't have spoken of you today, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way yesterday. But what use is repentance without redemption and you left me no choice. Rather I left you with no option.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0P9lT16RjbOZ14NJaF9ESohKvQQDc7oXndDMROQlwkw608YO86tNShsN4l4AXsgYrRkRcNfn9zegDDy2a0Tt_6F_RnPRXJ5Q9mOTMEKqfKVlIs-PXyNrMyuJr87cuoE8AzzLO8GGVkkvX/s1600/blog3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0P9lT16RjbOZ14NJaF9ESohKvQQDc7oXndDMROQlwkw608YO86tNShsN4l4AXsgYrRkRcNfn9zegDDy2a0Tt_6F_RnPRXJ5Q9mOTMEKqfKVlIs-PXyNrMyuJr87cuoE8AzzLO8GGVkkvX/s320/blog3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And the letter you wrote to me I still carry it around more out of habit than attachment. And when my trembling hands manage to yank out the crumpled paper from beneath the crisp notes, I often find myself wondering. Is it just the moment that makes us say things and do them, and when the moment has passed each seems to be forgotten?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If it's so and your love for that moment is justified forgotten and your subsequent hate forgiven. Then so shall my hate for you be forgotten and infinite love forgiven....</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-37238514781350202452012-10-02T12:14:00.002-07:002013-08-06T04:45:59.941-07:00Unnamed and Untamed<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Psy kept yelling into my ears as I made my way upstairs. My friends reassured me to help calm my nerves although words never left a lasting impact on me. I fixed my hair and clothes very quickly, cleared my voice and controlled my limbs from behaving like they did not belong to me. Imagine him doing something silly like the Gangam style dance move, I told myself.That helped creep me out!</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqA0ug8k-Sgwu250c5LwmfOEOZniYjBR2TDvhlReX4baQ31wb2ZJk1DLUk5aoHBOE2Nw-4bOBtkSJF52I7DXrzpN7Lyp2RexndxtyntwIEBxCyCOU7j4Rj7MAocSAh1QF20BdRUr5GhTal/s1600/blog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqA0ug8k-Sgwu250c5LwmfOEOZniYjBR2TDvhlReX4baQ31wb2ZJk1DLUk5aoHBOE2Nw-4bOBtkSJF52I7DXrzpN7Lyp2RexndxtyntwIEBxCyCOU7j4Rj7MAocSAh1QF20BdRUr5GhTal/s1600/blog1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I did not sleep well the entire night, the effect a person you know very little about and who knows nothing about you can have on you. I had imagined possibly every direction that meeting could go, atleast I thought I had. I only saw it going two ways, it would remain as bad as it was or get worse. So much for being positive! When it comes to something highly superlative, going with the worst option is less heart breaking I suppose.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What was I really afraid of? Rejection? Why would he reject me when I never asked for his approval? I just wanted it without me having to demand for it. Some questions don't have answers and most feelings no reason.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">September 30th and as the clock kept ticking I kept waiting for October 1st. Digital Filters, signals, absolutely summable and some indecipherable murmurs crashed against the walls of my ears. I wasn't taking anything in, not until 11.50 a.m.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9B8gAYzMCmRj5axYwUh2JVTNbOa6XSdSQsYOYB9psKNuXbjtpmjYOITN4tU8OHjcUCfJAJVCPznpnCQFccDw9zSzMlEn6X8n5EDYNWXsw2rFBTmKhROt2jkW1AHhQ4f81LYYQIh8Crn4/s1600/blog+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ9B8gAYzMCmRj5axYwUh2JVTNbOa6XSdSQsYOYB9psKNuXbjtpmjYOITN4tU8OHjcUCfJAJVCPznpnCQFccDw9zSzMlEn6X8n5EDYNWXsw2rFBTmKhROt2jkW1AHhQ4f81LYYQIh8Crn4/s1600/blog+2.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Butterflies fluttered somewhere deep down. I swallowed all the nervousness down my throat and opened the door, his reaction made me want to run back home right away. I stayed, had a sour face on but stayed. His hand movements and the words shooting from his mouth snatched words out of mine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I watched the ice break, toppled right in front of me.The day only went uphill from there on. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If there was one superpower I could posses it would most certainly be reading his mind.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-86760183291532778172012-09-29T08:50:00.001-07:002013-08-06T04:46:17.711-07:00Bittersweet delight<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">At the top of my head, a million things. A few disdain, most exciting each taking up great amount of space in my cluttered mind. A great amount of my brain power is being used up fearing tomorrow. Fear intertwined with excitement with a slight pinch of a delightful feeling. That ecstatic feeling, the overwhelming jumps in your stomach; people say its mice some say its butterflies. My mind hasn't settled on a favorite yet though mice scrambling anywhere in or out of my body does make me cringe.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm trying to organize out of habit more than anything else but right now I'm not even sure who I am. The things I was so used to doing, my way of living life is slowly slipping away from my fingers.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDJjNWq_aB2_wIGO2gg_1Yj-LNFdoCyf6eDMUoNxyFj-keKCOVjPSjrpBk3aQqhwbNLm5ffTk7lYFgsOXbsCTG4FGlUd3O0yr0rT3-DNZTn_1OFptT5QZ-QZlIxnh1cfW-sZ_zmyAx1Q7/s1600/blog1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDJjNWq_aB2_wIGO2gg_1Yj-LNFdoCyf6eDMUoNxyFj-keKCOVjPSjrpBk3aQqhwbNLm5ffTk7lYFgsOXbsCTG4FGlUd3O0yr0rT3-DNZTn_1OFptT5QZ-QZlIxnh1cfW-sZ_zmyAx1Q7/s1600/blog1.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Slipping away from your fingers, a negative connotation attached to this phrase. I'm glad that the life I lived, the way I was used to living it has escaped every clawing finger that is addicted to familiarity. Unfamiliar, that describes the past few months of my life. Walking into unknown territory, keeping a brave face on. I hope with all the restored sanity in me that I am doing a pretty good job.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The sun is trying to light my face on fire so I duck because I know its relentless and will stop at nothing. The tiring heat helps me drift into a spiral of thoughts sort of like a never ending domino effect, one thought leads to another. You are never alone if you have your thoughts for company and so I continue to have a conversation with myself shamelessly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The patches of green trying hard to stand out among the vast golden desert that is passing by me. And suddenly I'm observing myself, the sudden gush of happiness, the roaring confidence, peace that hope brings along with itself. I'd never felt so happy than I was at that particular moment. I was fully aware that the moment was fleeting and it would soon be replaced with the fear that my undetermined future brings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">But the effect was lasting, must be something to do with groundless happiness. No reason yet you smile free from the fear of having it taken away.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-QFzYI3AywuPienUswmbShdnTL7Ox-0ztA9jQ4b3-q1ZRKmWLA4hgHVNeWY17ioUD-j_R1t6ZLbDjateVNsUPQiBGR_VEbBIaXI_awBLHhTlNuh96MM1OGU0fP8EGH0rqlNn7Pkqekeo/s1600/blog2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS-QFzYI3AywuPienUswmbShdnTL7Ox-0ztA9jQ4b3-q1ZRKmWLA4hgHVNeWY17ioUD-j_R1t6ZLbDjateVNsUPQiBGR_VEbBIaXI_awBLHhTlNuh96MM1OGU0fP8EGH0rqlNn7Pkqekeo/s320/blog2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I want to stay here for long, for long as I'm alive if possible. It's taken me ages to find my way here and as I put my walls up I realize it might take ages for someone to get to me. </span></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-78676301420632337742012-09-10T07:41:00.000-07:002013-08-06T04:46:32.859-07:00Red Blues and Colorful hues<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I always fear for myself. Worrying that tomorrow I might not be as happy as today, won't wake up to the glowering sun shining in my face. What if I end up living the rest of my life with someone I cannot love or worse with someone who does not love me? Will these fears ever leave my bedside for if I am looking for freedom in its true sense then I must let these fears go, ride away in the darkness with all that inhibits me.</span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVcdCEmWHZQCrPFLI3bh5Tu6Texi7gB5q0bJi-DEp9Jyqq12LC-GxrtcNs1tiMI0AHNSQRTxaigbV_l9SVVtRy5bBvI-NqTbsO61JisW2JGWN5Q1wx1vf7BrBA8zE4fozOj3oqqbNFh38/s1600/heart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkVcdCEmWHZQCrPFLI3bh5Tu6Texi7gB5q0bJi-DEp9Jyqq12LC-GxrtcNs1tiMI0AHNSQRTxaigbV_l9SVVtRy5bBvI-NqTbsO61JisW2JGWN5Q1wx1vf7BrBA8zE4fozOj3oqqbNFh38/s1600/heart.jpg" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's hard for me to pinpoint the exact reason as to why this particular emotion, love is so important to me. I feel like I'm walking and this person comes and stands in front of me so I move right and the person mimics my steps and blocks me again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I flashback to when I was fourteen young and naive, oblivious to strong feelings in fact I found it funny, to be in love crazy enough to let your sights wander from your actual aim whatever it might be. I still find it funny, absurd and silly most of us do and yet we allow it to manifest within ourselves. Keep chasing after it in reality and in dreams. Though the idea of love in reality seems quite unreal. A realist is hardly ever a romantic and love hardly ever a reality. Love's probably an extension of dreams maybe even a prequel but definitely not reality, it feels surreal and once it's over you scramble to hold onto the remains to assure yourself that it did happen.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Reality is too mundane to be associated with love and love too heart wrenching to be called a dream so we are caught up in between fighting to be free.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">P.S. I blame it on Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, movies that carry sweet melancholia on their back. Must watch.</span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-63133474970404445842012-09-09T04:43:00.000-07:002013-08-06T04:46:39.808-07:00Cultural Infestation.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu3xGeyrhwPonFq5gcgP9ieTOY7N7u0awQ98zhmyFu2J6yujdX9i77JfxqnL2sbDBzi1mZeSG-G6EK4W5aowEFXPjs6sIRtbgxTuq9HzeVhLxAjfNZs3LMLUBwr1LqkdmY3H_N4sjagHl/s1600/beauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmu3xGeyrhwPonFq5gcgP9ieTOY7N7u0awQ98zhmyFu2J6yujdX9i77JfxqnL2sbDBzi1mZeSG-G6EK4W5aowEFXPjs6sIRtbgxTuq9HzeVhLxAjfNZs3LMLUBwr1LqkdmY3H_N4sjagHl/s320/beauty.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">When someone tells me that so and so is beautiful my brain automatically forms an image of a pretty girl with nice flowing hair, fair skin, thin with shining eyes and a glowing smile. My mind is programmed to think so, I'm sure all of us are. Never have I substituted beauty for a young girl with a confident smile, courageous eyes that show that they've been through enough pain, smile that exuberates modesty and intelligence that promises a great future. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Why am I suddenly realizing the error in my ways, trying to uproot what has settled so firmly in the very core of my being?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Very recently my mother and her aunt arranged a proposal for her cousin brother. A cousin brother who according to them is quite the eligible bachelor. So after asking around they found a girl who according to the word of mouth (otherwise known as the written word) is doll-like. I am going with present tense because I have not really seen her to pass any judgement. So the whole family and when I say whole you must imagine a room full of people set out to examine and judge the doll. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">This aspect of arranged marriages makes me cringe where the girl dresses up, cakes up half the world's makeup and plasters a less than natural smile on her face. The boy's family arrives, leaves the should-be couple to talk for as long as they want while they sit outside interrogating and making up awkward questions. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So they finally leave and on their way home pass the most snide and rude comments ever. I know and I'm sure you do too because so many times we've either heard them or unfortunately even been a part of these conversations. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDwWAgaPpsJ-iEFQY4u2ATJmGTGoyopRWjc9CHOW3lB-VFuikeT3FYQqkfUeVSMp4izeo9DQkPtUtCWYCeAlTePfqVMU_pfxSu5bt0wcAM4eDkGKtznAON_E9jWRj5LfOKYyePKX0T8Bu/s1600/marriage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDwWAgaPpsJ-iEFQY4u2ATJmGTGoyopRWjc9CHOW3lB-VFuikeT3FYQqkfUeVSMp4izeo9DQkPtUtCWYCeAlTePfqVMU_pfxSu5bt0wcAM4eDkGKtznAON_E9jWRj5LfOKYyePKX0T8Bu/s1600/marriage.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The end result of this entire setup was just a comment. The girl is darker than she appeared in her photograph and too thin with no figure and personality. Apparently she wasn't as doll-like as previously suggested.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">No offence to anybody but God in my perspective. It's like you put in so much effort to make something and someone less than ordinary comes along to criticize your work.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What angers me though is that beauty has somehow attached itself only to the physical aspect of a person and the only aspect to be considered when you meet a woman. I am not saying that we should give up on looking good. No! In fact we should all make an effort to look good because it undoubtedly boosts our confidence and let's face it people do look at us differently. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">According to me people who make an effort to look good and dress well are generally happy and positive people compared to people who just pick up their stinky clothes found under the bed and walk around with unwashed faces and last nights eating overdose still decorating their cheeks ( we all do this when we are depressed, don't we?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">In addition to looking good you spend considerable amount of time building up good character and a great life and someone comes along criticizing you for things beyond your control like skin color and metabolism, well just be glad that you did not end up with them!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> I've also seen people criticizing brides when they come for their wedding. Oh your lipstick color is disgusting, your dress color is so light, your makeup is too heavy or your hair is too made up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Even men are not spared on this day. Oh the poor girl did not deserve such an ugly man! Its like a rose and a cauliflower, do not make a pair. Though I must say that men take criticism much better than women especially when it comes to a beautiful face.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The word ugly is dispensable and depreciating. We think that we are just whispering to our friend or telling our relatives what we honestly think of the girl. But remember the word of mouth travels faster than any mode of transportation available to us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If you are not attracted to someone it's fine, say so but pointing out flaws and discussing them with other people is just evil. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A compliment on physical beauty is the greatest confidence booster and sometimes a motivating life changer. An insult on the other hand shuns people into the deepest pit of depression surrounded by low self esteem and self worth. And I've literally seen this happen, people's comments lead a nice girl into marrying the first guy that comes her way irrespective of anything in order to escape any more shattering comments.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The organ in our body that does more harm to others than good is our tongue. So let's use our words to make lives beautiful and not to torment others. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3jSiXHtN_Xqx-_50bYeaugKGQhGzDoAOpXd-SdJ7YtILSYU894bBp06DdQaGITRthgLUHohPc8Sa-V8y2eDyPdo73XxvaapGBKS5J6O2IKvY2yiGnV85HOM0y8uctEQN6MSFO-GlNmjtW/s1600/backbiting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3jSiXHtN_Xqx-_50bYeaugKGQhGzDoAOpXd-SdJ7YtILSYU894bBp06DdQaGITRthgLUHohPc8Sa-V8y2eDyPdo73XxvaapGBKS5J6O2IKvY2yiGnV85HOM0y8uctEQN6MSFO-GlNmjtW/s1600/backbiting.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Besides what attracts us to someone is beauty enough whether it's physical or emotional. When you really like someone it's anyway hard to pinpoint the reason why and I would hate to have only pretty face as a plus point to talk about.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-8704909251407623362012-09-02T01:14:00.000-07:002013-08-18T06:07:12.800-07:00The Language of Flowers...<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">There are many human emotions that I've never gone through and many that I will probably never go through. It makes it hard for me to identify with people that do, hard to put myself in their shoes, nod my head in approval or be able to find an excuse for the madness that their feeling might eventually lead to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The most alien feeling to me is that of not belonging, of being abandoned by the very people that are the reason for your existence. Moving from one foster home to another, one dysfunctional family to another hoping to find something to prove you wrong that not all people ride on the back of the devil that evil lives alongside good that one does not exist without the other.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Good books have an impact on me that I can only try to describe. I'm sitting on my bed with cushions and teddy bears surrounding me relaxing and the next thing I find myself on the street, evicted out of my house because I'm eighteen and am expected to have money to fend for myself. I am no longer the child looking for love, I'm now the orphan that believes in anything but love.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>The Language of Flowers , </i>a book as beautiful as its title suggests. The feeling of being homeless, unloved and socially awkward are ignited in me by this book. But the main thing that this book taught me is that words are not the only way to express your feelings. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My heart breaks for Victoria, an orphaned adult who battles with feelings of love and misanthropy. Her silenced lost words are made up for by her love for flowers which she uses to convey her every emotion. The impact that her flowers have on people leads her to become a popular wedding florist. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Each flower represents one word, one very powerful word that combines all your feelings into an aromatic plucked flower.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> After I was done with the book which I must say intertwines the meaning of flowers with Victoria's life and secrets beautifully I wanted to know if this dictionary was authentic. To my surprise and delight the dictionary of flowers is very much authentic and widely referred to.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So, I decided I'd substitute greeting cards with flowers. Giving greeting cards on any occasion kind of feels like a duty, without it my gift seems incomplete. Most times I don't even know or remember what was written inside the card. With flowers its different, there's a lot of thinking that goes into giving one and the message is profound and meaningful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's true ofcourse that flowers will eventually wither away and die compared to hardbound greeting cards but just like the aroma many people leave in our lives the meaning of these flowers and how they make their recipient feel lives on way beyond their death. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Hawthorn, Hazel and Baby's Breath surrounded by Forget- Me- Not's just for you...</i></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCRVLTJBAEnnrIgWWkca7krwGsXN8ZnTQvrw3uc0LtzwKQ6MGS5Lx_eD4y8AkB-rp7pau71iZrSAD4tiOoWyvHRLv7PosIw_cnnXxr_ed2qna6Ug_GVboOfkFA0ba5jiboG8VxFzCA39q/s1600/hawthorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizCRVLTJBAEnnrIgWWkca7krwGsXN8ZnTQvrw3uc0LtzwKQ6MGS5Lx_eD4y8AkB-rp7pau71iZrSAD4tiOoWyvHRLv7PosIw_cnnXxr_ed2qna6Ug_GVboOfkFA0ba5jiboG8VxFzCA39q/s200/hawthorn.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">P.S. Here's the dictionary that you can use to convey your words to a loved one : </span></span><a href="http://www.randomhouse.com/rhpg/features/vanessa_diffenbaugh//flower-dictionary/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: large;">Dictionary of Flowers</span>.</a><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-85988842752505633892012-08-29T03:44:00.002-07:002013-08-06T04:46:55.734-07:00I could really use a wish right now....<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"><b>23rd August 2012</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">10.00 p.m. Unfamiliarity creeps into my skin, not what I expected. Honestly, I wasn't really excited for my best friend's wedding. As my plane landed on the ground I'd never steeped foot on my heart beat nervously. I couldn't really pinpoint the reason for my anxiety I was too lazy anyway from the travel. But the moment I entered my hotel room, dropped the bags on the floor and washed my face all I wanted was to meet her. So I left, all my fatigue forgotten in the hotel room, rushing to her house.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>24th August 2012</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">3.45 p.m. I'm not really a museum fan but if you are gonna explore the non hill station and beach areas of India you have to make do with the limited options. So the next day we were off to see the Charminar, and the Salar Jung museum where I discovered that history is quite interesting. Not studying 60 pages per chapter for your 9th grade examinations but just standing back and observing, pictures, clothes, relics, weapons, the life lived preserved behind glass walls and etched in paintings.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I must also laud the Hyderabadi cuisine, the foodie in me was at an all time high. Absolutely splendid food in every restaurant we ate, I'm sure I've put on a few kilograms.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">2.03 a.m. I'd decided I wouldn't cry at her wedding wouldn't turn it into a sad event for myself. I left before the "bidaai", hugged her reluctantly, scared her husband jokingly and left the hall frantically. I'd see her the next day, I promised. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>25th August 2012</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1.30 p.m. The next day however, my mother's excessive eating led to a major stomach upset so we stayed in the hotel. I love just sitting in hotels, watching television, emptying the mini bar. The only bad part about most of the hotels outside Dubai that I've stayed in is the water problem. Why is there no water pipe beside the toilet seat? Why? Why? I spent a lot of time in that washroom thinking how I'd extend my hand till the bathtub to fill my mug with water again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">11.00 p.m. Anyway as expected we hogged excessively again at dinner time. Hey, it's not our fault it's like keeping an unprotected safe in front of a criminal and expecting him not to steal it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So we took our heavy stomachs to bed that night hoping we wouldn't end up feeling squirmish the next morning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>26th August 2012</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">6 p.m. Time to get ready to attend my best friend's reception. By the time I reached the hall, she was already there flanked by her husband's sisters. I went upto her excited to ask about her wedding night. We giggled like the 10 year old us, dancing in the corridors. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8p0NyRVctxvkJ6CgPL_dqmECudlYMLwk8zY1wusvSRY61x7ajt5Bquo8Si_uztVmVFwcm0nRLKJG2vDh7pXyYrdMZCoS4iMwNl9-BnsU9BK01etzwzy-MWMw_UKqlTff2YbxWn2Oi61Xz/s1600/DSC05241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8p0NyRVctxvkJ6CgPL_dqmECudlYMLwk8zY1wusvSRY61x7ajt5Bquo8Si_uztVmVFwcm0nRLKJG2vDh7pXyYrdMZCoS4iMwNl9-BnsU9BK01etzwzy-MWMw_UKqlTff2YbxWn2Oi61Xz/s200/DSC05241.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">1.00 a.m. It was time to leave I had an early morning visit </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">tomorrow</span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;"> to the film city in Hyderabad. So I hugged her willingly for the first time ever and she patted my back saying, " I wonder when we'll meet again". I looked at her puzzled because she promised me she'd be visiting Dubai in October. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That's when everything flashed in front of my face, all the times we pulled each other's hair, spat at each other, attended birthday parties together, sat together in class, fought in the bus till we reached in front of our apartments that were right beside each other. </span><span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Through thick and through thin, we made new friends as our houses grew apart in distance, our classes changed but we always had each other just a phone call away. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">We have been talking to each other almost everyday since the last 21 years, we grew up together and now we don't know when we will see each other again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And as I reached the foot of the stage I caught her sister's hand and bawled like a baby. A big cry baby, I choked on my tears, waved at her from afar and left as soon as I could. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Not once did I tell her during my entire stay there even when she asked me the next day why I cried that I'd miss her. I really do, because I know that it will never be the same again. Ever. That was the answer to my anxiety and uneasiness.</span></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">And it seems like yesterday, It was just a dream</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Those days are gone, they're just memories.</span></i></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">When you really love someone things might change drastically but it's never over. It is just the start of the next chapter, I just have to keep turning the pages and not let my legs tire from all the moving on.</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-41245056259027898272012-08-17T02:38:00.000-07:002013-08-06T04:47:03.481-07:00The Restroom Dilemma<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Apparently a Bangladeshi woman garnered up the most fines in Dubai for speeding in the last three months. The amount came up to a staggering two hundred thousand Dirhams and I couldn't help but wonder if she was driving the bat mobile by any chance. She was probably being chased by a stalker or maybe the brakes in her car have broken and she's still driving around Dubai collecting fines. The rules people break and the price they must pay.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I am not really a rule follower or a law breaker but ever since I started university I've broken a lot of them and made quite a few new ones. For instance, my aversion towards public restrooms. I had made this pact (ofcourse with myself, I cannot imagine who would care about my restroom habits) to never use anything in a public restroom except for the mirrors. But since my entire life now revolves around my university I had to enter the forbidden territory. And the price that I have to pay. Sigh.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHI0qk1WGUIXoMtp-Jjx83ZFUmEAFvIDoS9Zso3veesj7l71t2v2bZ0OQBqkJv964IDF-chjkv9nmxF0FiD6pDc4rjIjsLMJZMlKBIEAOh9GeU2Zk8RIoCavYkW9SZPIOxN27PlOIYnoDb/s1600/toil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHI0qk1WGUIXoMtp-Jjx83ZFUmEAFvIDoS9Zso3veesj7l71t2v2bZ0OQBqkJv964IDF-chjkv9nmxF0FiD6pDc4rjIjsLMJZMlKBIEAOh9GeU2Zk8RIoCavYkW9SZPIOxN27PlOIYnoDb/s320/toil.jpg" width="256" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As a kid the first place my family would enter in a mall would be the restroom, something about being excited I think that made my mother and sister pee. I felt the same way when it was time to open gifts or when I was allowed to play on the computer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Anyway, their tiny bladders would always lead us to the restroom where I would be found waiting outside listening to tunes which for some reason are not considered to be an obstruction of privacy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">That is one of my problems with the public restrooms, the cubicles which have been very intelligently left open from the bottom and top. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Why? Because the toilet inhabitants would like to exchange things while committing their "dailies" in the washroom or because sometimes people would just like to peek into their neighbors cubicle out of curiosity. The only thing that manages to make it out of those open spaces are compromising sounds which will help you determine what the person entering the cubicle is actually doing in there. The thought of it makes me conscious.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I'm not really the kind of person who wouldn't take a sip from a straw that my friend used but to sit on the toilet seat that a stranger just used, that's another story. My mother came up with an awesome idea, to cover the seat with tissue papers (Hah). The idea is awesome unless you spray water on the tissue paper by mistake and instead of being stuck to the seat the paper is stuck to your behind. So we found another solution which is the toilet seat cover also known as the "ass gasket" which I would suggest everyone must use.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Also while you are on the seat it's best to shut your nose and even eyes ( if you have the worst luck ever and find yourself in an Indian airport toilet) because some people think it's their private restroom and consider it to be the duty of other citizens to clean behind them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The only thing that's at rest in the <strike>pestroom</strike> restroom is my bladder the rest of my senses are only waiting to scram out of the cubicle into a wide open space with fresh clean air.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">You know that feeling you get when someone talks about red ants and you can feel them crawling all over you, I think I can smell one of the worst restroom's I had ever stepped foot on. That must be my cue to stop.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">P.S.I would share a very interesting toilet incident with you but that would make my blog stink, so maybe in private. Also more about the toilet seat cover at : <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Toilet-seat_cover" target="_blank">Toilet Gasket</a></span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-10645233660855567172012-08-15T02:23:00.000-07:002013-08-06T04:47:03.478-07:00Skeletons in the closet.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwDIjo4wOyv8XhRl22AfWf-JBVEQqMwipsVBJpTBkibToO3vWfTBZ5IuxtdtC-io2FGfYjcIj1glVWx3QXYQAfxCyV37EeObO9XAfTqIb3Dh9Anw65L3P8iQtdduCnbHuYbmJWIIHVpfv/s1600/cam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJwDIjo4wOyv8XhRl22AfWf-JBVEQqMwipsVBJpTBkibToO3vWfTBZ5IuxtdtC-io2FGfYjcIj1glVWx3QXYQAfxCyV37EeObO9XAfTqIb3Dh9Anw65L3P8iQtdduCnbHuYbmJWIIHVpfv/s1600/cam.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">The other day I came across a rather shocking article on the MSN homepage regarding Hollywood stars moving into acting after a short stint in the adult movies industry. On top of their list was Cameron Diaz who was apparently making home movies at the age of 19. The article also happened to mention the efforts made by the people concerned in keeping the tape private but obviously in the Internet age hardly anything can ever be private anymore. So I guess not everybody is what they seem, no matter what you do to keep it in, the truth about you always bursts out through the door.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Like my clothes for example. I prefer to think I dress well, ironed clothes, prim and proper. Nobody would ever doubt that the clothes are picked from a huge mountain of lost dresses, tights, sweatshirts (for the not so perfect days) and jeans. It actually takes me 20 minutes to dig through the closet for the right dress, another 20 minutes to iron it so that its crisp and crease free and finally it adorns my body. (Closing my wardrobe filled with colorful skeletons also chalks up quite a bit of time).</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirs3zppxKZys-bpE-GsLhs43Sj6V2Svx1ZIzKNDhEOuCvalSbbZsr7a_sP7_wNe2_WfpVV_hDLTT6G1oH5zV3Zl9DmrA9BpoNknw9hLNiHNR3yl6Sm7A74o3afkFFL4TyzTHbh7DIZZuy2/s1600/messy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="284" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirs3zppxKZys-bpE-GsLhs43Sj6V2Svx1ZIzKNDhEOuCvalSbbZsr7a_sP7_wNe2_WfpVV_hDLTT6G1oH5zV3Zl9DmrA9BpoNknw9hLNiHNR3yl6Sm7A74o3afkFFL4TyzTHbh7DIZZuy2/s320/messy.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">I remember watching this cartoon called "The Kids Next Door" where these five kids have to save a friend from drowning in his closet that is filled with hordes of clothes. That drowning kid defines me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's not something I'm very proud of, it's like a secret part of my life that needs immediate addressing. But once I'm home tired and lazy all I can think of is sitting on my bed with a bowl of ice cream and watching some "feel - good" movies. Hanging my clothes neatly on the hanger stands in the way of all of this. So in the hurry to get comfortable I just yank open the door, throw in my clothes and close it before my mind fully registers the plight of my wardrobe caused by my utter laziness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I try not to think about it until the next morning when I have to drown myself in last nights skeletons that I threw in, my mother throws a racket when she sees the mess but I'd rather take her nagging than pickup my clothes. I also have to put in an extra effort to cover up my mess because certain nosy guests love to open my wardrobe as a part of their investigation (No I did not kill your dog!).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">It's a disease, keeping my wardrobe clean just doesn't come naturally to me. It's a talent that can be acquired and it is a lot of hard work for those that are not gifted.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: large;">Some days I feel a wave of encouragement and enthusiasm surge in me to clean up the mess ( it's usually to avoid some other time consuming work) but a few outings later my mini Everest of clothes starts to rise again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Truth is, it might take me awhile to find the right clothes for the day in the clutter but it takes me even longer when its hanging neatly on the rack. Nobody understands that and fact is neither do I.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Some of us just find discipline in the mess and as long as it's within the four walls of the wardrobe it shouldn't really hurt anyone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Unless of course someone opens it, for such emergencies I have "The Kids Next Door" on speed dial. No worries.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">P.S. When I said shocking article I hope you sensed the subtle sarcasm. Also, if you are curious to know who the other celebs that made it to that list are then here's the link</span></div>
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<a href="http://arabia.msn.com/gallery/Details.aspx?AlbumId=662539|654165&PicID=662502&Num=1&catId=25&region=uae." target="_blank">From Adult Movies To Acting</a>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-41109838289600017842012-08-13T02:31:00.000-07:002013-08-06T04:47:19.279-07:00Woeful Tale Of The Many<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc_HtLkHxonTSs78obzpw7Ilw17hyQlxGGfkvIblfK7vOoyxaElH5G-c4lS913ZMwMaQo2lZHshBdeeDdAa9XI7Cjo2YAjtISJ1I76m0HynN4ueZkqaPxSeDTS-Sahuj1ZGYMyULO8uH4/s1600/rome.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUc_HtLkHxonTSs78obzpw7Ilw17hyQlxGGfkvIblfK7vOoyxaElH5G-c4lS913ZMwMaQo2lZHshBdeeDdAa9XI7Cjo2YAjtISJ1I76m0HynN4ueZkqaPxSeDTS-Sahuj1ZGYMyULO8uH4/s320/rome.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i><span style="color: #e06666;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I</span><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> walk along the roads of Rome, the walls of every building drenched in history. The colors are far too dull for my liking but the town is bustling, cheerful voices making up for all the lost color. As I walk further on I see an old building the red fading into orange, I touch the dry walls, the walls that were supposed to hold our memories, you promised.</span></span></i><br />
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My brain holds many tiny insignificant memories that are triggered at the sight of familiarity. If I allow one memory to leak out the rest burst in through the doors. Time moves on, but the places where memories are forged remain the same. How far can we move away from them?</span><br />
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<span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><i>Cars honked as people impatiently quivered in their seats. No smiles were exchanged, no eyes were met, people stared blankly forward, their minds submerged in the papers piling up in their cubicles they had yet to reach. But his face could not be missed in that crowd after all it was frozen in her memory. She wanted to look away, but her eyes refused, her legs moved forward despite her every attempt to stop. His hands, his strong hands were wrapped around another's and her heart pulled the brakes on every sense that had awoken.</i></span><br />
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Sometimes I just feel like dropping all my belongings on the ground, leaving my mess of a life behind and moving. Moving somewhere, anywhere. This is why I love video games and reading. I feel like I've transported into some parallel universe, witnessing someone else's life, their happiness and tragedies, the people they cared for and the betrayal they received in return.</span><br />
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<i><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">She stared blankly at the person in the mirror, every inch of her face coated with make-up. Someone held her hand and walked alongside her. She was going to be married, all of her, all the unfulfilled dreams, the unfinished business her. </span></i><br />
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Sometimes when all my friends have classes to attend I just go to the student lounge, take a chair and look around. Notice friends laughing with each other and sometimes at each other. I see girls dressed at their best, gossiping with their friends with a coffee in one hand and a laptop in another. I see boys and girls sitting quietly in corners studying for a test, an exam or just for the sake of it. I must seem like a weirdo, like a stalker. Stalking the youth and how they deal with being at the crossfire of two generations, one that refuses to let go of customs and traditions and the other that is rewriting them.</span><br />
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<i><span style="color: #e06666; font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Slick black hair tied back neatly she wore a crisp blazer and a confident attitude as she scrammed out the door for an urgent meeting. She was parched but didn't have time to stop for coffee, the bottle in her bag was empty. At the end of the day she was tired out of her brains, she slumped into her bed making plans for the next day. There was no place for empty moments in her life, she wouldn't let them in. Silence scared her, it screamed of loneliness so she switched on the television and fell asleep.</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">I was reading a blog post where the blogger was talking about her female role models and I realized I don't have any. There was no woman in this world I could connect with, with the same background, the same battles, the same disappointments. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The shackles of traditions and the pain of disappointing people you care about, of broken hearts and second chances, of blame and redemption, of holding on and letting go, each one's personal ballad.</span></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-46569505122941186202012-08-11T04:18:00.002-07:002013-08-06T04:48:00.805-07:00All the queen's men....<div>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Television shows are on an all time high, be it Indian, American or British though I don't really enjoy Indian T.V. shows very much. Almost every show starts off with a poor girl with a big heart and a small dream(puke), throw in a rich guy, some evil people that could range from her mother in law to the milkman, add some extreme drama, thunder and crazy ass music and voila you've made yourself a bad tasting Indian T.V. show.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">American T.V shows on the other hand take a group of normal citizens, sprinkle some glamour on them and add designer clothes alongwith boy candies to make you crave for the next episode. Not long before you realize that the boy candies are homosexuals, the acting is way below par and the storyline is just way too cheesy. Pretty Little Liars, Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries are shows that made me feel that way. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">On the other hand there are some highly unrealistic but very interesting shows that have my loyalty for years. More for the men than anything else.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">5. <i>Dexter Morgan</i> : He is one of the sweetest blood analyst/ murderer that you'll ever come across. I highly doubt that I'd ever want to come across him, some good things are best viewed from afar. He's torn between living in his past that leads him to kill people and moving on into the future where he yearns to have a family. It's something that we all face at some point in our lives, not that we have to choose between murdering our siblings, relatives and random wrong doers in the neighborhood (The feeling is sometimes hard to hold back) or living peacefully and normally. But we all have to at some point stop chasing our past for all the wrong that happened then and allow new people and experiences to change us in a positive way. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqErE16hhhTyOE9thnfKgAm313YfeVF6oRqT84nYUp_5ofEisW0adN26zAjsy6_QFtGRWHJwVeJ8mUrpwuFhgqPx1ehxz53XmboqhXjAHxquVRcF75YXgmnVPTeVH7yMehs-cjLpWc3-sD/s1600/phil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="137" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqErE16hhhTyOE9thnfKgAm313YfeVF6oRqT84nYUp_5ofEisW0adN26zAjsy6_QFtGRWHJwVeJ8mUrpwuFhgqPx1ehxz53XmboqhXjAHxquVRcF75YXgmnVPTeVH7yMehs-cjLpWc3-sD/s320/phil.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4. <i>Phil Dunphy</i> : The ideal dad and the ideal husband. He is so smart and stupid at the same time it makes me swoon. Apart from his (un)cool lingo and his swan like posture due to all the cherleading apparently, he would be a nice person to have around. He's like a young boy trapped in the body of a man who loves Disneyland, that episode actually made me cry. One can actually be too old to sit on their rides. However, what I find hilarious is how he is so weird around his mother in law, Gloria Delgado.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWlV2pJxWcnhJbMMCwEwmVx8xnYwDJXMjueWR7SWPI2hk-nA4E-qOHp8YITsl1MD6be8zcwHwPOLyxRdYVLaFoGGGHZbZ94vDBy1QgzSmkD1glBImVjkoXG3gLYojxBQN1raL7gt7MwxR/s1600/winch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWlV2pJxWcnhJbMMCwEwmVx8xnYwDJXMjueWR7SWPI2hk-nA4E-qOHp8YITsl1MD6be8zcwHwPOLyxRdYVLaFoGGGHZbZ94vDBy1QgzSmkD1glBImVjkoXG3gLYojxBQN1raL7gt7MwxR/s1600/winch.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3. <i>Dean & Sam Winchester</i> : I clubbed the two as one person because one is boring without the other. Some days I'm Team Dean others I'm Team Sam. Though I think I prefer (the devil bloodless) Sam over Dean. I absolutely adore how they whack ghost bums out of houses and people's bodies with such gusto. The sarcasm in the show is epic, I could totally get along with these guys. The brothers as a pair on paper seem as bad as a hobo in a limousine but its amazing how they find in themselves to accept their differences and look beyond each others shortcomings.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD998BrRfz9IoMRl9UFDjwUFUMJTGQOHtQg82-9GIXWgkFqbFkY4G1kJhL3uixr1aXJ-2cnac5P3u6XTNkjQxeoQ2Bt3oS5XGiJLhMFYUHptwpBZWnepid3wxvucjrBtwvH8n5bmWBfxjD/s1600/chandy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD998BrRfz9IoMRl9UFDjwUFUMJTGQOHtQg82-9GIXWgkFqbFkY4G1kJhL3uixr1aXJ-2cnac5P3u6XTNkjQxeoQ2Bt3oS5XGiJLhMFYUHptwpBZWnepid3wxvucjrBtwvH8n5bmWBfxjD/s1600/chandy.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2. <i>Chandler Bing</i> : The <strike>queen</strike> king of sarcasm. He makes funny double up in laughter. I've never come across anyone that can make me laugh so hard, the way he walks, talks and thinks is just hilarious. He is not afraid to make goofy expressions that make him look like a retard, I sometimes wonder with the way he moves his hands and legs if there are actually bones there. If there was one brain that I could sit inside and investigate it would have to be his, it must be a fun fest in there. He is the most realistic version of a man I'd want to live with.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1<i>.Harvey Specter</i> : This introduction requires some crazy ass Indian T.V. show music. Harvey Specter is the classic egoistic and fair self made man who sometimes comes across as snobbish. He is handsome, even with those black things above his left eyebrow which seem like a fashion accessory if anything. As an employee and as a colleague he might often come across as selfish and arrogant but as a friend he is quite loyal and trusting, he believes in second chances which is why he hired his big brained part time con man associate. I believe in second chances too, you never know who you might save from drowning.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">If I were a boy I'd be a combination of Harvey and Chandler, or you could say what my ideal man should be like.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Until I find him I'll keep myself happy by watching these television shows.</span></div>
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<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6969391633885439116.post-65151678586526944512012-08-09T02:53:00.000-07:002013-08-06T05:53:59.886-07:00Dealing with being a "twenty something".<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">So the time has come. The time has literally come when I call myself a "twenty something". Just had my first reality check when I asked someone how old they were and they replied by saying "twenty something". It occurred to me that it was time to hide my age with vague replies, shove it under the mat, under the bed where all scary things reside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"> Until now I never really understood the whole hype that comes with women hiding their age or much worse lying about it. As a teenager I always considered it to be quite cowardly, why can't people face who and what they are? Ofcourse then I was in the ideal situation, the perfect age, the perfect craze. Hah. Teenage years are anything but perfect.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHauAUQI08POgiCpW4HfTyHstw_cj_pW8G7VRSvv9pd5RVRLMC1lenQfpThK4ierLd_9Q7xZIhmT1YnEHFrOeX4uTq9BbvHpAbEvZGl5PqVFoIcYebfwQ5SgaDLwCDUSJhY488ux-2PZdn/s1600/bday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHauAUQI08POgiCpW4HfTyHstw_cj_pW8G7VRSvv9pd5RVRLMC1lenQfpThK4ierLd_9Q7xZIhmT1YnEHFrOeX4uTq9BbvHpAbEvZGl5PqVFoIcYebfwQ5SgaDLwCDUSJhY488ux-2PZdn/s1600/bday.jpg" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As a young adult, things are literally beginning to hit me (Wham!) in the face. I must hide my age, protect my identity.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">"How old are you now, beta?", an Indian aunt favorite. I really don't know how my age is a measure of anything much less maturity, trust me I have friends who behave like they just got out of playschool.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">What exactly can you determine from a women's age? How pretty she is despite of her age, ah maintenance. How young her kids are even though she is quite old, ah career oriented. How she is still unmarried even though years are piling up on her, ah ugly. It's madness, utter madness.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">For me my age is just a reminder of how much time I've wasted doing nothing substantial. I'm "twenty something" after all I must have some records of my own besides sitting on all five big thrills at Disneyland in one day. Yes, five. Crazy, huh?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Well I guess until " twenty something" you are only preparing for "twenty something plus one" that's when all the real stuff happens.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Friends getting married, and I keep emphasizing this in almost every blogpost because they are getting married! Getting a job is another one, the perils of finding one and living with it. I have yet to decide what career path I want to take up on. Yes, I am almost an engineer and no, its not necessary that I either end up as an engineer in a company or as a businesswoman of some engineering firm, I could also be a scientist or a professor. However, my mother wouldn't be very happy, according to her too much studying leads to hair loss. I was under the assumption that hair loss was weather or stress related and as much as I hate to sound like some character from The Big Bang Theory, studying does not stress me out. Judge me. Also, I hate that Einstein does very little to support my argument with my mother.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GA7Z3U1D_B0TTrz97rLYeqgUHBGTUIEmtQpMQMgqnEWwwirvcBePJ4veAwA-Bcx_thd_2rMKfXfyQyjOeAfttXnkFsoYZJgQcjBKdxyvENa4cdMU2ZuUV5WGztFZl44Vvg5eQ31misGL/s1600/disneyland_tshirt.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7GA7Z3U1D_B0TTrz97rLYeqgUHBGTUIEmtQpMQMgqnEWwwirvcBePJ4veAwA-Bcx_thd_2rMKfXfyQyjOeAfttXnkFsoYZJgQcjBKdxyvENa4cdMU2ZuUV5WGztFZl44Vvg5eQ31misGL/s320/disneyland_tshirt.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Moroever, with age I feel even more judged, my intelligence, my beauty, my attitude everything is being "x- ray"ed (like Kim Kardashian's butt, that still cracks me up. Oh the irony!). People think that as a "twenty something"you must let go of your childish habits. Apparently, the learning phase is beyond you, now it's time to apply. I disagree.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">My wardrobe is still a mess, I still play video games, Disneyland is still my favorite place on planet earth and I still love all sorts of funky candies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Growing up does not mean I have to let go of everything that makes me who I am. Just because I morphed from a teenager to an adult doesn't mean I suddenly turn into a Ms. Know-It-All. I still have a lot to learn, friends to make, and fetishes to discover.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">As a "twenty something" I might look different and might be perceived differently but my core feels just the same.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">P.S. In memory of my 21st birthday. Also, beta is Hindi for child. And the Kim Kardashian incident, oh you must google it for a laugh.</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12909675151690362375noreply@blogger.com0