adventures in neverland

(this is a very emily post post. pardon my pretensions, but i just want to get it all out. triple chos!!) nowadays, crass trumps class. people everywhere are forgetting their manners, leaving them hidden in their homes (if they ever have them in the first place). showing off (and flaunting wealth) has become the norm, not the exception. trying hards and wannabes are outnumbering the real ones. fifty shades of grey is outselling one hundred years of solitude. trashy gossip celebrity magazines and blogs upstaging time and, ehem, the new york times? %%%%%% what's going on? are we headed to the great apocalypse? is judgement day just around the corner? remember what they say, whom the gods would destroy they first make them mad or something. why do some nouveau riche insist on using ipad to take photos? it's just so tacky and an unnecessary display of wealth. what's wrong with the good old, handy camera? why do some people have to wear all those expensive logos (...

lately, i have become even more forgetful. sometimes, i would even forget what i ate for lunch. most of the time, i just forget to have lunch. not because i am busy (though most of the time, i am), but simply because i forget all about it. god knows how many times i have stood at the doorway of my former apartment building because i forgot the code at the main door. (good thing that in my present building, we have this card that serves as a key to the main door. no need to punch those codes that change every two to three weeks.) i have also spent a lot of money to pay a professional locksmith to open the door at my flat simply because i forgot my keys inside. &&&&&& whoever said that growing older is fun must be joking. or totally delusional. no honey, age is not just a number. or a state of mind. it's a whole lot more. it means having slower metabolism, so you gain weight easily. don't tell me i need to exercise or go to the gym, because as ...

life's twists and turns. i've been here before.  i should have not. but this is where i found myself after a moment of weakness. there are no lessons learned. each situation, each problem, each test is unique on its own. nothing can prepare you for anything. even prayers. the best thing to do is just accept that it happened, then move on. indeed we can never be free. i am tired, and i am not making any sense. i wish i were a vampire, then i could just sleep for a hundred years and then wake up to a new world, new generation, new set of people. ah, where is lestat when you need him most?

the rain was relentless like a virgin longing for his first kiss under the green lush tree one stormy summer day.. if the rain should fade and we don't have to brave the angry winds and unforgiving nymphs tell me, will you? can you? do you? are you? the bottle is empty the music is mushy my eyes are sleepy my fingers are dreamy i am still here will i? can i? do? am i? or......................                                      can we?

he was holding his cigarette the way  you do: safely clipped between the thumb, the middle and index fingers. as if scared that a strong wind might blow it away from you; or some stranger from out of nowhere might snatch it from you. i guess you were lyk that on everything that  you thought you owned. you wanted them secured, fastened close to you. i used to wonder what made you behave that way. so insecure, so afraid that sumeone you luv might leave you or be taken away from you. it took me years to understand it. to understand you. but i am digressing. let me go back to my story. &&&&& he was a stranger. a nameless guy with movie star looks. i don't know why i have always been drawn to guys that reminded me of you -- smooth, creamy white skin, neatly combed short black hair, sad dark brown eyes, long, lean limbs, a confident but elusive smile and soft, dreamy voice. see? my thoughts were strayi...

i don’t want to see anybody crying at my funeral. nor talking only good things about me, the great deeds that i have done, as if i were a saint. i was not. like my favourite artiste, who passed away recently, i knew i was no good. my mother, the frustrated dramatic actress, would probably shed a tear or two. she might even faint. let her be. i have seen it during the wake of her husband and then of her oldest son (so i heard. i wasn’t there). she cried hysterically in both funerals, like a mad woman. but i love her, so i gave her the license to showcase her flair for the dramatics that would put even her idol, nora aunor, to shame. it’s hypocrisy to the highest degree to cry in someone’s funeral when all you did was treat him badly when he was still alive. my older sister was like that. when my older brother died, she acted like the martyr, urging everyone to fly to another city to attend his funeral. even if this would mean spending a lot of money to go ther...

"----" "why are you so quiet?" "--.--....----" "....................!!!!!!!!!!" "because there is nothing more to say." "you never run out of things to say." "there's always the first time." ":)" "it hurts." "the first time always does." "your silence is even harder to take." "........." "please say something." "you won't lyk it." "try me." "you will hate me." "i do hate you." "?" "because you've stopped luving me." "i never said i luv you." ":(" "you did...when we were at the top of the tower. when the band played your favourite ella fitzgerald song." "round midnight." "no the other one." "cry me a river." "not that one." "i don't want to recite her entire album." "somethi...