“Where do I begin,” (that famous line from a familiar song) to tell a story where I’ve been. Been somewhere, anywhere, nope, truthfully nowhere.
Now I don’t know how to start. They say time heals all wounds, and if missing something is a wound, and starting all over again is a form of healing then let me have a thousand scars for although I’m not a masochist, I welcome the pain of waiting. And if somehow one can’t understand what I’m conveying, it’s okay not to be understood once in a while. Why would I expect others to understand if I, myself don’t understand where I’ve been, eventhough I always claimed I know where I’m heading.
Subject verb agreement, punctuation errors and a lot of grammatical lapses. I am not an English writer and it does not pain me when I tender my resignation letter and realized that he’s not reading my letter. Yes, he is not hearing me, he is looking at my letter telling me how in the world can I write a resignation letter with misspelled words and grammatical lapses. That deceitful feeling of finally getting even by giving him a hard time deciphering what I meant when I said I’m leaving. Or is it just the real me when I blabber with incongruent statements because truthfully I am a weird eccentric person who is not good in saying goodbye.
So I closed the door and walked away…. But in no time I’m back in his arms, restartng what could have been, what might have been, what should have been and all those in betweens.
Been There. Done That. How I wish I could truthfully say that. 🙂
Walking in Honolulu, I saw this cute small car that has Hello Kitty prints all over it. Just like anything that reminds me of my childhood days, I didn’t let the moment pass without capturing it through my lens as fast as the memories start flashing again.
I grew up loving San Rio’s Hello Kitty. I remember playing around with my neighbours with this cute little cat stuff.
One sunny morning my boy playmate invited me to his house so we can play around with his new car matchboxes, racing cars in a small make believe paperboard race tracks and to his disappointment I would spend more time with his sisters, not because he is not a fair playmate but simply for the reason I enjoyed tinkering his sisters’ hello kitty pencil cases and stuffed dolls.
I used to think that Hello Kitty is a cat, who wouldn’t? Her name is Kitty, she has whiskers, and she looks like a cat until our neighbour’s guest told us that Hello Kitty is a girl.
What?! All of us refused to believe her until she told us she’ll be back …and yes she did, this time bringing a japanese book, with japanese words printed all over the graphic book.
She said Hello Kitty is not a cat. She is a girl and gave us a ton of reasonings why she can’t be a cat. To our disbelief, we never talk to her since (for a week I think). We never even bothered to play with her again until she brought her older sister and their new huge hello kitty dolls all dressed in pink ribbons.
We all forgive her easily because we can’t help not to touch those cute little ribbons on Kitty’s hair. That’s the good thing being a child, we got hurt easily but we forgive quickly. 🙂
Suffice it to say, she’s right all along. Hello Kitty is not a cat, although we prefer believing she is, just like we believe that Santa Claus lives in the north pole or somewhere in the neverland. Oh, the sweet joys of childhood memories.
I wonder why I have few photos in any shopping malls i’ve been to.
Let me guess. All of them almost look the same? Nope not really. Every shopping mall is distinctive in its own way. Each one has its own unique ambiance and feel.
Now I know why I have such a few shopping mall photos. It’s because i’m not really a shopaholic or a shopping diva. I get an orgasmic feeling (oops, pardon my words) in visiting museums or dropping by in flea markets.
I’m such a cheapskate when it comes to splurge shopping but it doesn’t mean I don’t get excited everytime i hopped in a mall.
It still offers a variety of experience:
– the excitement of letting my fingers run through a mountain of color coded items during the rummage sale and ending up not buying a single thing.
(This is not intentional. I’m not here to give store people a hellish experience. It happened just once, nope, just twice, alright, i admit several times but i do buy when i see something i like.)
– the smile in my face when i see an artful window display.
– the hedonistic pleasure I derived from watching people as I sit on the bench pretending to be waiting for someone when in fact i’m just sitting because i don’t have a single cent to spend on that too good to be true discounted signature items splashed all over the mall.
(Did you see that va vaboom lady carrying a handful of LV’s with her daddy? I’m not being bitter here. Envy is a green eyed monster, jealousy is blue, my eyes are neither of the two)
–and that endless rebuttal with a friend proving my point that yes he is really her daddy, not the kind of thing that causes diabetes. Until someone nearby butts in telling us to mind our own business. Priceless!
(Look who’s talking, unwanted eavesdropper, if only I could tell her to mind her own business too.)
There are things that money can’t buy. Cliche as it may sound, the best things in life are still free.
Life is like an ocean. It comes in waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, sometimes it’s overwhelming. And just when you thought you’ve seen it all, you’ll be caught by surprise that there’s more to come.
Realizing that life is a cycle. Still being thankful that there will always be something to be grateful for. And knowing deep inside that there will always be something beautiful to look forward to.
Yes, the best wave of your life is still out there. Learn from the waves and enjoy the ride.
Abstract people. Have you met them? Do you recognize them? Do they ever bother you? Do you understand them?
Understanding them is like viewing a painting. Your interpretation is limited to your understanding. Your understanding is limited to your truth.
Looking at the painting, how could you refute the visible signs of the brush if you’re only seeing the canvas? And how can you accept the beauty of its diverse colors if you hate to walk in shades of gray and live your life only in black and white?
And what is your truth? Is the sun your truth or the moon on a dark night? Is it the rainbow after the storm or the pot of gold after the rainbow? Is your truth your refuge when life is a curse or it becomes your oath when life is a gift?
Abstract people. Most of the time, you don’t understand them. Sometimes, you are one of them.