This is a poem I’d like you to think about. It doesn’t have a title. I want you to give it your own title, your own interpretation, because I like to think that this one has different meanings for different people. Continue reading
My ideal Saturday:
Frances’s eyelids flutter open. Her dreams still caught on the hem of her pajama pants, she turns over and descends into a cloud of sleep. It’s ten in the morning when she finally decides to really, truly wake up and get out of bed.
She reaches for the laptop, her stomach grumbling in protest. It’s time to eat breakfast now, says the poor digestive organ. She then opens that familiar little icon on the desktop and begins to play. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this game, she thinks.
She realizes that yes, her digestive system is waiting for her. She scrambles down the stairs and is welcomed by a delicious scent. A wonderful, scrumptious aroma. Bacon. Who cares if she gets fat after eating it? Bacon makes horrible days bad days; bacon makes good days better days. Right?
After gobbling up the bacon, she parks in front of the laptop once again and does her own thing. Until, once again, that organ underneath her torso that contains gastric juices calls.
Frances wakes up at eight in the morning. There is no time for shenanigans. Her eyelids are drooping, but she can’t, she mustn’t, and she shan’t waste time. Her algebra problems beckon her. And after that, her meiotic and mitotic problems will take over. There is no time to waste. Time is gold. On the contrary, however, time is algebra. Time is biology.
After she finishes all that, she recalls that she still has Christmas gifts to take care of. This’ll never end, will it? Just when it does end, she remembers once again that she has another thing to do. Another quiz. It’s a Filipino quiz, meaning she can’t wing it. She can’t save it for Sunday either, because, well, let’s just say that other, more personal things demand her Sundays. Great Caesar’s ghost.
So this is a late “answer” to the prompt. My hero. Normally, I’d make a long description of my hero but I figured I’d let a poem do it instead. Nothing like
subtlety poetry right? Continue reading
So I saw this tweet about Taylor Swift and Harry Styles.
Taylor is like ice cream and Harry is like pizza alone they’re amazing but together, ew.
Well, you know what I think? I say, let them be together. They’re young. They love each other. They want to be together. Isn’t that enough?
Did you know? Taylor Swift has been getting death threats. Why? Just because she loved Harry Styles and wanted to be happy together with him. So what if they will break up in a few weeks, a few months, a few years? That’ll just mean things didn’t work out between them. But is that a guarantee? Why would anyone hook up with someone he/she loves just to break up with that someone later on? Dears, there are no guarantees in love. Anything can happen.
Although they’re both very famous people, the fact remains. They’re still people. They’re humans, just like us. They live their life in search of happiness. Who are you, who am I to stop them?
I get that there are many girls out there in this world who are in love with Harry Styles. Out of those girls, about, let’s say, ninety-five percent of them claim to be Harry’s wife. Excuse me while I go burst into laughter. Let’s be realistic here. I’m pretty sure that Harry hasn’t even seen many of his wives in person.
On the other hand, he’s real tight with Taylor. If he wants to be her guy, and she wants to be his girl, who are we to stop them?
Okay, so I think it’s obvious. I like to read a lot. If I were stranded in some deserted island and I was only allowed to bring one book, I wouldn’t be able to choose. There are too many books out there that have made their way into my heart. But only a few have completely touched my soul.
1. Sing You Home by Jodi Picoult
Although the thing this book taught most people is what it’s like to be gay in 2011, Sing You Home taught me the true meaning of being Catholic. Raised around the religion, I was taught to pray and to read the Bible and to love God. In fact, three times a week, I’m still taught those things. But after reading the book, I realized that being a Catholic is more than just loving God. It’s about loving your fellowmen, too, and respecting the fact that they’re all different people with different beliefs and different stories.
2. Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher
Bullying. The word leaves a metallic taste on my tongue each time I say it. I’ve always been a target for bullies. My earliest memory of being bullied was when I was around eight and I got into a fistfight with my classmate. Imagine; we were second grade! Ever since then, I’ve been bullied for many reasons, but the main reason? I’ve always been different. I’ve never really fitted in, and no matter how close I have been to fitting in, there has always been this microscopic gap, one which will always be left unfilled. So when I read Thirteen Reasons Why, I found myself nodding along. This book was written by an author who took his stand against bullying in a way that didn’t involve just saying, “I’m against bullying.” This book was written by an author with a gift for making people listen.
3. A Series of Unfortunate Events by Lemony Snicket
I know that this is a series of thirteen books. But I’ve always had a soft spot for this series. I don’t quite know why.
The first fandom I got into was Harry Potter.
I was in fourth grade, and was being prodded by a certain teacher to read Harry Potter (she was a Potterhead, yes). She did it quite indirectly, sometimes asking me why I wasn’t quite fond of the series. Eventually, I gave in. On my tenth birthday, I was given the whole series, tucked safely in a beautiful box. I started reading immediately, and needless to say, I loved it.
About a year later though I grew out of my “phase.” During one of our Writer’s Club meetings, they passed around free tattoos of Katniss’s mockingjay pin. Y’know, the Hunger Games. Curiosity got over me and I borrowed a copy of the first book from my classmate. All I can say is this: It was hard for me to return it. I was hooked.
My Hunger Games phase lasted longer than my Harry Potter one. I wrote countless fanfictions in my head, but the number of fics I posted came just shy of twenty before I got too lazy. Some of the fics were embarrassing, others were alright. Although, the story that received the most reviews (200+!) was a product of my bored mind. Shameful.
When I wasn’t writing Hunger Games fics, I was writing Ace Attorney ones. I’d played the Ace Attorney games before I discovered Harry Potter. Replaying them was real fun because my understanding of the plot grew with my age.
During Christmas vacation last year, I got really obsessed with Glee and bought the entire season one and most parts of season two. It was a waste, though, because I probably only watched each episode once. Anyway, I just found it hard to shut up about Glee and even asked my mother a few times to (please) head to the huge bookstore and buy the CDs on the way back from work.
I soon outgrew it. But I couldn’t forget the Hunger Games trilogy or the Ace Attorney series; I was just as obsessed as ever and I couldn’t seem to shake it off. At least, that was what I thought until my friend Gabby dragged me and my life into the black hole called Homestuck.
Ah, Homestuck. If you haven’t heard about it… more on it later. Maybe a separate post? I can’t explain it all. But basically it’s about this kid named John who goes through really crazy stuff. As in REALLY crazy.
It took me a few months to catch up to the latest update but I managed. How could I not, with Gab nagging me every time she sees me on Facebook and in real life? Suddenly, drawings of trolls started filling my free time (fanfics were too much work, unfortunately). Tumblr became my second home, various fanart of my different ships became my furniture. I swear, I even have a pen sketch of Rose and Kanaya kissing… in my music notebook, of all places.
My social life withered. My classmates just didn’t get it. They were the people who would reblog hipster stuff and tweet about their problems with people instead of their problems with ships. They fangirled about Harry, Zayn, Liam, Louis, and Niall – not about John, Rose, Jade, and Dave. They shipped celebrities, not characters. They didn’t take me seriously, and they still don’t. They probably never will. Oh well. Having a somewhat nomadic fandom life, I don’t take myself too seriously either.