A case of split identity

I have serious shit to do, like work stuff with real consequences and do you know what I’m doing?

Guess. Take a wild one.

I think perhaps some of you know. When the deadline approaches like when Dean Winchester grabs pie … I procrastinate aggressively. I’ve gone and made myself yet another side blog, and I’m not talking about the writing one I made last month.

This one is purely for serious thought not related to books. But HC&B has been my base for six years now and spreading out content (of any nature) away from this blog tears at my mind little by little, yet I go and do it all over again.

*frustrated scream*

It’s not as if I have the f*cking time. There’s no problem with compartmentalizing overall, I guess. It’s me running a marathon with a fire on my head. I do not have good impulse control when it matters the most.

Therefore, it’s time for drastic measures. I’m enlisting one of my sisters to help me put all my books in storage, leaving my desk bereft and glaring. I’ve tried this in the past, goodness knows how I tried, but never quite managed to not leave a book. I’m fed up with myself is what I am.

I’ll just have to survive.

Eyes and ears, m’dear

Here’s my latest scratchings over at the esteemed Poet’s Blog. Check us out, there’s such diversity abound you’re sure to find something that’ll make you smile.

Poet's Corner

Hear the things,

they speak with their eyes

Words are a lair’s arsenal,

look just how lightly they step

around promises, and juggle emotions

Look within you for your truths,

see what injustice strikes you like a fist,

understand what you stand for.

The outside, of many things, is a facade

the innards, soul and belief belie this

Flesh and bone, masks and smiles

housing within a starlight light,

or void blackness

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Youth does not belong to the young

Journal Entry

4th March, 2017

Sunrise

An unfiltered shot of a view from my kitchen window at dawn.

Youth belongs to the brave, not exclusively to the young so don’t let anyone fool you.

The young waste away in insecurity not uncommon for that age, worries about real problems and petty nonsense. Sometimes – no, oftentimes throwing away precious seconds like spare change. I suppose it’s all a part of the growing pains.

Hopefully, the older we get the wiser we can become. When the cloud shifts and everything is clearer and defined, well, that’s if we’re being optimistic. When we long for the pennies lost in that one ugly couch we all had years ago.

This is the age when living means Continue reading

Cliché 

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What’s the purpose of it all?

The universal question

Defies language

Defies location

.

Who do they ask?

Why do they?

Humbly I offer

my piece to the puzzle

You decide if and

where it fits:

Life is what you make it

Don’t ask anybody else,

don’t relinquish what

choice you have

.

Ask you, that’s who

The divine will give you hope

But what kind of living is it

when you keep looking for signs

Like living from hand to mouth

.

The divine will give you hope,

that’s all and good,

But take direction and

Let heart consult with the head

– d.s

Happy New Year!

First thing’s first, I was locked out of my account because I forgot where I put my list of codes to log in (typical) and  the text code feature wasn’t working, so yeah, I couldn’t post during Christmas week. A shout-out to Kris, the Happiness Engineer that got me back in. You rock, dude.

Got this cuddly widdle guy from here

I know 2014 has been absolute nonsense to some of us, sprinkled with the good things that propelled us forward. It’s 100% a possibility that is an understatement for many of people. Just thinking of last year, how close it is to this one still, rouses up some upsetting feeling in the pit of my stomach. I don’t like it one bit. Personally, sure I was conflicted here and there but on a more general level, a more connected-to-humanity-level I am disgusted with the senseless loss of life born of ignorance and hate, saddened and hollowed with the people lost from the air disasters and the boat ones and the train ones and those guys in the stampede in Beijing on New year’s day.

I don’t know what it takes to be someone to govern a country, city or town but it has to take a lot of brass. Every leader has his or her own agenda that affects ‘the people’ but I reflect especially on Russia and Ukraine, on whose affairs I’m not qualified on any level to speak on with any authority but that of a concerned and curious outsider, I ask not only those two leaders but all those involved in peace making in that conflict to do one thing: look at the people.

Yes, aid has pouring in as best as it could and I am at peace inside that people sill care enough (what does that tell about my outlook on humans? A post for another time probably). Again, I have not a clue about the mind numbing effort it takes to organize and make treaties and attend talks and make decisions affecting the lives of billions. But for a moment, can we all just step back from the political and religious extremism (I am not pointing fingers here) that usually start all this clusterfu-

Look, just step back, okay? Boys and men, and the girls and women in the battlefield. No longer fresh faced and ready. Angry and blank. Hot and cold. And look at the children huddled under rippling blue tarp in a hastily put together shelter some places familiar and those others foreign, alien; lost family members, festering wounds, chapped lips and spasming bellies, meticulously portioned food; mothers and fathers sick with worry, elders with bleak eyes and maps etched deep into their faces, souls ready to skedaddle out from their ears.

I am not saying that these leaders aren’t seeing because they most obviously do Continue reading

What a game!

Germany vs. Argentina. Damn.

Two of my most favourite teams. All I could have hoped for was for at least some one winning or at least a tie but not ever at nil-nil.

Ugh the gut wrenching that went on in our living room. Yellow cards, trips and flips. Stubbornly refusing to cede a goal, or that was, until Mario Gotze shocked us with that neat shot! Oh my God, that was a surprise.

Argentina might have lost but boy did they defend! (on the whole, that is, *ahem*) Romero, though. I honestly thought they couldn’t have gotten past him.

They both played brilliantly!

Judging covers and all that jazz

You look at some people, at their outward appearances and you judge them to some length. It think it’s instinctive but I also think it’s important to treat it as a hastily scrawled sticky note. One can’t fully ever know a person, no matter how long you’ve known someone, heck, they don’t even know who they are half of the time. I can attest. I want to kick the habit of insta-judge but that doesn’t mean I’ll make friends with any and all. I believe it’s instinctive, this measuring up, for the purpose of self preservation for at some level whilst meeting for the first time (for however briefly) you try to pick up vibes, peaceable, proceed-with-caution or run-the-frak-away. That said, everyone fights invisible wars. Ugh, what I’m getting at is … how to put it?

This has a meaning. I’m sure it has.

Here I am. Great things are expected of me and such, you know how family can be (if yours is like mine), supportive with bright eyes and two thumbs aggressively up. Here I am, a chronic-insomniac who is slowly gaining ground in the battle of accepting myself, my fat lazy ass self. I subject myself to self-hate sporadically for various reasons. Sometimes I am so mad at me to the point that I am afraid of what I transform into.

Continue reading

Hummingbird

sky

I sit on the roof. It is a cap roof, if a wind should blow with gusto at a certain angle my house would be decapitated. Get it? I sit here dangling my bare feet whilst the sunrise emerge like a growing splot of spilled tea soaking into my grandmother’s Colgate-white table cloth, but in fact it was black in the beginning of things. In a multitude of pinks, lavenders and sly bright oranges, the colours bleed across the skyway.

I smell morning smells. Felt morning feelings. Saw morning sights. I stay awake to feel the world shake the night like a favourite fuzzy blanket, reluctantly. I think of how recently I was taken by the urge to chop off half of my below-the-waist chestnut hair. I can’t say why for I don’t know yet. I made my mother do just that a few nights ago. She did so, also, reluctantly. Another thing, I have taken to wear my post-braces retainer again. My gran frequently reminds me of what a waste two years of self indulged pain was. I finally decided to put the damned thing on, freaking aesthetic compulsions.

Continue reading

Strangers on my wall

Here’s my offering for this week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompts hosted by Ermilia Blog. I must admit this was was a half hearted attempt but I would truly appreciate your thoughts. Cheers!

via Ermila Blog

Another day has caught up with me. The night giving way to the morning, but not without a struggle, for I sensed the rain before I heard it pelting on the cold zinc roof. The chaotic many-tiny-fisted pounding echoed with the way I’ve took a habit of feeling these days. What am I doing staying up, reading books that only feed imagination? At this point Percy Jackson is having a ball finding his path on his way of becoming a hero. In what way was that helpful? When see people my age getting jobs and slowly becoming adults, it prods an uneasy spot in me that gives way to hopeless panic.

I can follow up on the AL biology texts I’d thrown in a corner. But it’s not like I get into that field. I haven’t a clue in which way direction to stumble towards. The wind howled past me, sending the closed window to my right into a fit of nervous shuddering. I fancy it was trying to make up its mind too, hearing my mental distress and was attempting to choose a proper cardinal point.

If I was honest with myself I would admit that I knew exactly what I wanted but I find that my sense of duty a somewhat reluctant obstacle. I mean, it’s not like I could pack up and go exploring. I’m almost broke and living with my aunt and her husband to whom both I already owe a lot.

I should probably find a profession that involves traveling and learning. Archeology was shot down pretty gently and I’m quite embarrassed for myself for submitting to that conclusion they’d drawn up so confidently; my “Indiana Jones” phase. There’s this restlessness inside me that stirs at the glimpse of the churning sea, or at the uneven horizon of mist shrouded mountain tops, the drifting scent of fresh dew and the far cry of a high flying bird.

Aunt Em says that I am pining for my parents. That I want to somehow go out in the big yonder in search for a long gone trail. How do I explain to her that I gave up on them? Continue reading

Post-Matt blues: Ruminations of a forlorn Whovian

Van Gogh inspired fanart. Via Pinterest, click to see the pin.

So I’ve finished Doctor Who and am where everyone else is at, awaiting the rein of Peter Capaldi. My body spasms in tears and the time in between them can extend for days. I cry in quiet little tremors and every tear is like an arrow that leaks through the cracks in my skin and strikes my singular human heart. It is finally sinking in that Matt is not The Doctor on screen anymore. I mean, and we all can agree, that he – like the other magnificent men – will always be The Doctor. Our Doctor.

It bites every time a face is lost to time, if you know what I mean. Matt, oh, Matt. Ugh. I can’t ever say anything proper. I love him unlike any other. The funny thing is that at the beginning, I acknowledged him as the enigmatic Time Lord before I realized he was an actor. I mean that in a good way, and there are some bad ways it could go because I understand that some actors don’t like to be stuck in our minds just as a particular character. Matt, nah. He seems to bathe in every second of it.

I … I just. Oh for the love of custard and fish bits! I’ll spit it out. His Doctor was one who was filled with the pain on the inside but tried to cover it up under this ever fresh coat of happy paint; fresh because he mostly means it. He was the optimist, the best friend (and the son-in-law, hehe), ever the fighter and believer in dreams and bow-ties and fezzes. Matt’s energy and well-spring of vitality always always makes me feel better about myself and this world, more than any of the previous two had. I haven’t emphasized enough on how much of a goof he was but it was so obvious to us Whovians. Continue reading