tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-65008781419968657242024-03-14T10:30:29.382+08:00gullible's travelsI write so I remember.kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.comBlogger412125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-37778997071172879142014-02-25T23:36:00.000+08:002014-02-25T23:36:16.158+08:00Saying goodbye to "How I Met Your Mother"There’s a little pain in my heart when I watch How I Met Your Mother wrap up the last season. Partly because I’ve been watching this show for a really long time and that it’s so much a part of my formative adult years. (I started watching when I was 18 and I am now officially in late twenties.) But also because I feel a little jealous that Ted has a happy ending for certain.<br />
<br />
You watch him trudge through the ninth season, going through the motions of his pain with Robin and Barney getting married and being the fifth wheel and remaining the only unmarried friend in the gang. But you roll with it because in one episode there is a flashback from a future many years from today showing you a beaming Cristin Milliotti, being everything Teddy Boy dreamed the “mother” to be.<br />
<br />
She’s a bassist like Ted imagined, she’s spunky, she’s pretty but she’s more than her beauty, she’s funny, her life is storied, and she fits perfectly in the gang. I know I’m supposed to know that it’s just a show that Bays and Thomas put together – but still. When you think about all the shit that Ted had to go through, you are relieved that there is that light at the end of the tunnel, the silver lining in the dark rain cloud – that despite all those shitty years of trying to find love and never getting lucky, Ted’s story has a happy ending for certain.
<br /> <br />
And my wish at this point was that my life was secretly written by Bays and Thomas. That at the end of all the shitty years of trying to look for love and failing to find it, there’s a fucking prize at the end. That like Ted, all the heartache is worth it because that person with the yellow umbrella makes up for everything.<br />
<br />
Here’s to hope. And here’s to Carter Bays and Craig Thomas. Thank you for Ted and for the hope of that person with the yellow umbrella.
I don’t think I’ll ever be ready to say goodbye to Ted Mosby
kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-70603124206908913332014-02-18T23:46:00.001+08:002014-02-19T00:02:13.571+08:00Birthday BloggingHallo! Wow can't believe the last time I wrote was 5 months ago! Let's do some birthday blog lovin!<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
I'm turning 27 in a few shakes. (Yay!) And this is the first time in a long time, I think in the past 5 years, that I uh, am feeling feelings about my birthday. The last time I felt "felt feelings" about a birthday was when I turned 23. It felt like a cute official welcome to adulthood. I felt old enough to be making my own decisions but young enough for my mistakes to be adorable.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Old, but I'm not that old</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Young, but I'm not that bold</b></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>- Counting Stars, OneRepublic </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><b><br /></b></i></div>
Turning 27 just feels so uh, real life adult. (Haha, sorry I don't know if that makes sense to people other than me.) It feels like being told, 'welcome to your late twenties. Whatever you do today will have lasting repercussions on your life. Try not fxck up too much.' I feel like horses are running all over my chest from the mounting pressure - pressure to clean up, pressure to be married and have children, pressure to at least be dating, pressure to be a functioning, contributing member of society, pressure to be 'made.' <br />
<br />
(Uh-oh, this post is getting a wee bit too honest, it's kinda scurryy. Hahaha.)<br />
<br />
But I feel excited, too. 27 feels far enough from the crippling self-doubt from all my teenage years. I think I won't be alone in saying that your late twenties also brings a happy sense of certainty about yourself. You are more comfortable in your own skin and have a better idea of what will make you happy. I see many good things cominggg.<br />
<br />
Hello 27. Let's make it great. <br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
P.S. Just to send it out to the universe, yes I want Enrique for my birthday.<br />
xx Kat Cruz <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-59007608544874738882013-10-28T12:47:00.000+08:002013-10-28T13:07:16.973+08:00Super Vivid Dreaming 2 - The One with the FightingNote: I wrote this piece many weeks ago. Sometime around September. Putting it up here cos the blog seems sad and abandoned hehe. And the last post I wrote I sounded too sure and too happy, and you know as with anything, it too goes away. So here's a naked post about many too personal things.<br />
<br />
A bit of back story. There's this boy who shall henceforth be known as G. He's dreamy and I only know him by face. I'd like to think he knows me by face cos we've locked eyes a few occasions, but that's it. And he keeps getting starring roles in my dreams. Also, it's Super Vivid Dreaming 2 because yes, this wasn't the first time.This is long and may toe the line of overshare. You have been warned.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
So. I dreamed about G. AGAINNN.<br />
<br />
Let's back up a bit. Remember last time when G started Super Vivid Dreaming Wednesday? That was the time we started calling him 'Fergie.'<br />
<br />
Based on my extensive tabloid knowledge, the Josh Duhamel-Fergie love story is an interesting one. Apparently, Josh dreamt about Fergie back when they didn't know each other yet. Some time later, they met at a red carpet event. Josh being the special human that he is went up to Fergie and told her, Hey I dreamt about you! Fergie, who also is a very special human being (and happens to be hot enough to pull things off) then said, how about we make that dream a reality? KABOOM.<br />
<br />
They started going out shortly after that and eventually ended up getting married. I think that's more than enough return for a suave, 'hey I dreamt about you' line.<br />
<br />
Anyhoo, in my reality, I uh, am the Josh Duhamel haha. That's how G became Fergie. No happy ending yet for this reverse Josh-Fergie. We have yet to see that red carpet event, I have yet to be hot enough to pull things off, and more importantly, we have yet to 'formally' meet. So in a nutshell, things have yet to happen.<br />
<br />
Enough with the back story, back to two nights ago. Exit Hollywood reality, enter my Super Vivid Dreaming Part 2. I found myself with Fergie in my old church. I don't remember what we were doing there.<br />
<br />
Oddly though, it felt so normal, as if we were supposed to be together and we were supposed to be there. I'd even go out on a limb and say we were a couple. I had these warm fuzzy feelings in my stomach and I think at some point we were holding hands.<br />
<br />
I was carrying this Chanel-like bag in a cream color - which I had no idea at the time, would play a pivotal role in this super vivid dreaming.<br />
<br />
We get out of the church and hailed, wait for it... a tricycle. (No, it's not a euphemism for a 'three-way.' And no, this is not some sexed-up dream so you can lay off the raunchy expectations on this one. Haha.) We hailed a tricycle, a three-wheeled mode of public transport where we both fit in nicely.<br />
<br />
I don't know how dream logic workds but IRL I have no idea how we - me, a size 12 girl and him, a boy who's over 6 feet and <i>not </i>lanky (sorry G! At least I didn't say<i> chunky</i> heee) -- can comfortably fit in a standard issue public transport tricycle that's built for small/petite/cute-sized Asians (which we both are not). But it is a dream so we do, and not in a snug way, but in a very comfortable, <i>this-feels-like-the-backseat-of-a-sedan </i>kinda way.<br />
<br />
I prop the cream Chanel bag on the floor of the tricycle (yes, that much legroom) and continue on with the ride. I'd like to remember this dream as the one where we were snuggling in the backseat. Not in a raunchy <i>grabbing-each-other </i>way, but in a steady<i> I'm-happy-you're-here-with-me</i> kinda way. What up details and feelings!<br />
<br />
Fergie says silly things throughout the ride (we don't get anywhere, btw), we make cute small talk, and in the dream I'm just convinced he's the funniest. I don't remember anything he said in particular I just remember thinking, damn this guy's funny! We were so adorable in the dream sequence, if this were a romantic comedy, this would've been the montage to showcase our couple cuteness.<br />
<br />
And then, <i>dun dun dun dun... </i>Fergie's shoe touches the Chanel bag and leaves skid marks.<br />
<br />
Again, dream logic prevails and I get so worked up. Normally IRL, I'm not that OC about my bags. It would've gotten to me but I wouldn't get <i>that </i>pissed. So dream me gives Fergie a piece of here mind. I tell him how not cool it was for him to kick the bag and leave black marks on the Chanel.<br />
<br />
Of course since this is the romantic comedy playing in my dream, I get mad in that cutesy, <i>I'm-mad-but-I'm-hoping-you'd-kiss-me-after-so-it-can-all-go-away </i>kinda way. I was fully expecting Fergie to be so apologetic that I will not be able to help but forgive him because he's being so fucking cute.<br />
<br />
But wait, twist and turns! Instead of saying sorry and being cute, Fergie gets all worked up too and up in arms explaining why it was merited for his to kick that bag. (I know wtf, right? Haha!)<br />
<br />
But here's the bigger surprise. Instead of getting mad that Fergie's not sorry, I get so turned on that he's worked up and angry and totally holding his own on this tiny argument of ours!<br />
<br />
So instead of giving in and saying, 'no baby, it's no big deal,' I get into full on combat mode and get on with the argument. I keep throwing things at him (not literally, don't worry) to try to get a reaction from him. And the angrier he gets, the happier I get. Don't worry, I hear how sick that sounds haha.<br />
<br />
The moral of this dream is that there are 2 things that get me going:<br />
1. Boys with the 5 o'clock stubble (and pretty faces)<br />
2. Boys (with pretty faces) getting mad and being able to hold their own in an (unforgiving) argument with me (with wit and brevity and charm and a pretty face.)<br />
<br />
The END.kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-21256472566281955732013-06-09T22:42:00.000+08:002013-06-09T22:42:33.235+08:00Cheers to happinessI just realized today I am so much happier now - I guess, than I was ever was before :)<br />
<br />
It's a breakthrough. I was the girl who nursed her sadness - swaddled it like a baby, and "took care" of it. I was the girl who thought my sadness made me cool and my life appear "storied." I carried my sadness like a badge, with pride. But at the end of the day, when I'm alone in my room, I would kick myself for not knowing how to be truly happy.<br />
<br />
I don't know what happened. I was just going about today like my regular Sunday, and while I was mopping the floor of my room in the heat of the midday, it struck me. It was so random, I wished it was more special haha. I just realized that this time last year, I was so confused, and lost, and wandering aimlessly.<br />
<br />
Things still aren't perfect. I still have a lot of weight to lose. My bank account still has yet to hit my target. The love of my love still has yet to find his way to me. But somehow, things just are making sense - all the waiting, all the working, all the struggling, all the heartache. I haven't arrived at my destination but oddly, things feel like they're right where they are supposed to be. There is this burning certainty in my heart that when I look back, the dots will connect.<br />
<br />
I am still a work in progress, but thank you! The progress is "painful," sometimes <i>nakakainip</i> - but today, I found that joy in me. I found the joy in the journey. Cheers to happiness!kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-52542721349267843512013-05-13T16:42:00.001+08:002013-05-14T11:10:59.285+08:00What has happened since my last February postIt's May 13 and it's election day on the sunny island Republic of the Philippines. It's a holiday and all local TV stations are on 24-hour patrol on the voting precincts.<br />
<br />
Me? I'm pushing on my 48th-ish hour here on a lying down marathon on my bed. I've used up a roll and a half of toilet paper blowing my brains out of my nose. And my tiny yellow trash can is filled to the brim with crumpled up tissue. It feels like there are spiders in my throat and my tiny fever has been going on and off since yesterday afternoon. (I just finished a big glass of homemade halo-halo so, I'm no stellar at nursing myself back to health. I think?)<br />
<br />
First it started out as a lazy after lunch Sunday yesterday. I asked to be left at home. Skipped church and lounged in bed to nurse the bleh feeling. 5 hours of aircon and the unforgiving 3PM heat maybe made me give in. When the folks got home, I had full on colds and a tiny fever to boot.<br />
<br />
(Btdubs, my Kristen Wiig SNL ep finished downloading! Yay!)<br />
<br />
I've seen an obscene amount of FRIENDS reruns and some trawling online when I noticed that I haven't blogged since February! And since I write to remember, I'd just like to put down some things that played out since I last wrote.<br />
<br />
1. <b>I turned 26! Woop!</b> I was trying to remember what I did for my birthday and I was hard pressed for memories haha. I asked my Mum and she reminded me that Uncle Edwin and Tita Connie flew to the Phils from Aus for holiday. So there's that, we had <i>balikbayans </i>for close to a month.<br />
<br />
2. <b>I changed phones twice. </b>Considering it's me, girl who had her trusty Nokia for over a year, 2 phones in 3 months is a LOT. The first one, Globe gave my Mum a free BB as a loyalty gift. The second one, my Uncle brought home a Samsung he barely used. I still am using the Samsung now - which also introduced me to the world of Android and smartphones. Yay technology!<br />
<br />
3. <b>We went to Baguio.</b> Uncle Edwin wanted a family trip. We were originally supposed to go to Boracay but Mum figured there was too many of us, and it would turn out a bit too pricey. So we ended up in Baguio. Little Deedee went too, so it was extra fun.<br />
<br />
4. <b>Mahal and I started working together! </b>Mahal got on board the team and things just got more exciting! I'm so happy he's hitting it off with the team and that we have one more shared activity that we're doing together. So excited for 30 :D<br />
<br />
5. <b>Business milestone in April!</b> I got recognized and promoted for turning over good volume for the month that culminated in April. Also, sold my first TRA Program by myself. So, yay!<br />
<br />
6. <b>Went to Manila East with family and got a really bad sunburn.</b> I wanted to tan cos I felt my color's a bit too pale. I was probably too generous with the tanning lotion AND oil (yes, both!) that I ended up with a really painful burn on my shoulders. On the upside, I got me some color! :)<br />
<br />
7.<b> I started exercising again (!)</b> I think it's been close to 2 years since I last step foot in my gym. I was a gym rat before until I got burned out. My exercise started tapering off until I wasn't exercising anymore. Just recently I had a (mini) panic attack when I figured almost none of my clothes in the closet fit me anymore. Someting just had to be done. It's been over a month since I started doing Body Combat at home and things have been great!I just remembered how the sweating from intense exercise feels sooo goodddd.<br />
<br />
8. <b>I finally got to doing my personal dream board.</b> It's a personal milestone for me cos it's been a year since I said I will do one for myself. It's sitting on the wall right beside my bed - first sight in the morning, last sight at night. Exciting things happening in my future!<br />
<br />
9. <b>My crush on <i>this person</i> turned one year old.</b> Sobering thought haha. It's been a year (since I realized I liked him) and we haven't shared a decent conversation to date. Why I still like him, I don't even know. We've been exchanging weird looks for about a month now, but I don't think that counts. High school kids' love lives are sweeping the floor with mine! Hahaha! Hopefully, the next update is about my love life uh, coming to life. That's exciting :)<br />
<br />
10. <b>Went to the beach!</b> (But before that drove 5frickin hours up north first.) We lovingly call this Zambales beach trip, #superssteadyweekend. It was super funnnn! Went with Mahal and Surot and shared a room with Gb. I got more color, the beach was pretty, and we laughed a LOT. We really laughed a LOT. Good times!<br />
<br />
There, the past 3 months all wrapped up! Life is good :) Cheers to the rest of the year!kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-39789907537070754152013-02-12T15:35:00.004+08:002013-02-12T15:35:55.350+08:00Anton Chekhov on the 8 Qualities of Cultured People"Culture" has always intrigued me. What is it really? Why do I feel like it should be an important part my life? Why is to be "culture" something to strive for?<br />
<br />
Enter Maria Popova of <i>Brain Pickings</i>. My love for this writer is growing every week! The writing is is simple, concise, and to the point. The content is always something to look forward to. In true <i>Brain Pickings</i> of relevance, here's Maria on "culture."<br />
<br />
****<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
What does it mean to be "cultured"? Is it about <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=f60a043e59&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">being a good reader</a>, or knowing <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=d836875b3a&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">how to talk about books you haven't read</a>, or having a general disposition of <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=10b2ae90ef&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">intellectual elegance</a>? That's precisely the question beloved Russian author <b>Anton Chekhov</b>,
born on this day in 1860, considers in a letter to his older brother
Nikolai, an artist. The missive, written when Anton was 26 and Nikolai
28 and found in <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=31a9e1af3d&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><b><i>Letters of Anton Chekhov to his Family and Friends</i></b></a> (<a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage1.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=6693f63a0b&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><i>public domain</i></a>; <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=0d3a9dfecc&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><i>public library</i></a>), dispenses a hearty dose of tough love and outlines the eight qualities of cultured people – including <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage2.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=eabc4b074c&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">honesty</a>, <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=d1d768b126&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">altruism</a>, and <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=9d52c5c333&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">good habits</a>:
</blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
MOSCOW, 1886.
</div>
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
You have often
complained to me that people "don't understand you"! Goethe and Newton
did not complain of that…. Only Christ complained of it, but He was
speaking of His doctrine and not of Himself…. People understand you
perfectly well. And if you do not understand yourself, it is not their
fault.</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
I assure you as a
brother and as a friend I understand you and feel for you with all my
heart. I know your good qualities as I know my five fingers; I value and
deeply respect them. If you like, to prove that I understand you, I can
enumerate those qualities. I think you are kind to the point of
softness, magnanimous, unselfish, ready to share your last farthing; you
have no envy nor hatred; you are simple-hearted, you pity men and
beasts; you are trustful, without spite or guile, and do not remember
evil…. You have a gift from above such as other people have not: you
have talent. This talent places you above millions of men, for on earth
only one out of two millions is an artist. Your talent sets you apart:
if you were a toad or a tarantula, even then, people would respect you,
for to talent all things are forgiven.</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
You have only one
failing, and the falseness of your position, and your unhappiness and
your catarrh of the bowels are all due to it. That is your utter lack of
culture. Forgive me, please, but <i>veritas magis amicitiae</i>…. You
see, life has its conditions. In order to feel comfortable among
educated people, to be at home and happy with them, one must be cultured
to a certain extent. Talent has brought you into such a circle, you
belong to it, but … you are drawn away from it, and you vacillate
between cultured people and the lodgers <i>vis-a-vis</i>.</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
Cultured people must, in my opinion, satisfy the following conditions:</div>
<ol style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
<li style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">They respect human
personality, and therefore they <b>are always kind, gentle, polite, and
ready to give in to others</b>. They do not make a row because of a hammer
or a lost piece of india-rubber; if they live with anyone they do not
regard it as a favour and, going away, they do not say "nobody can live
with you." They forgive noise and cold and dried-up meat and witticisms
and the presence of strangers in their homes.</li>
<li style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;"><b>They have sympathy</b>
not for beggars and cats alone. Their heart aches for what the eye does
not see…. They sit up at night in order to help P…., to pay for brothers
at the University, and to buy clothes for their mother.</li>
<li style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">They respect the property of others, and therefor pay their debts.</li>
<li style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">They are sincere, and
dread lying like fire. They don't lie even in small things. A lie is
insulting to the listener and puts him in a lower position in the eyes
of the speaker. They do not pose, they behave in the street as they do
at home, they <b>do not show off before their humbler comrades</b>. They are
not given to babbling and forcing their uninvited confidences on others.
<b>Out of respect for other people's ears they more often keep silent than
talk.</b></li>
<li style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">They do not disparage
themselves to rouse compassion. They do not play on the strings of
other people's hearts so that they may sigh and make much of them. They
do not say "I am misunderstood," or "I have become second-rate," because
all this is striving after cheap effect, is vulgar, stale, false….</li>
<li style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">They have no shallow
vanity. They do not care for such false diamonds as knowing celebrities,
shaking hands with the drunken P., [Translator's Note: Probably Palmin,
a minor poet.] listening to the raptures of a stray spectator in a
picture show, being renowned in the taverns…. If they do a pennyworth
they do not strut about as though they had done a hundred roubles'
worth, and do not brag of having the entry where others are not
admitted…. <b>The truly talented always keep in obscurity among the crowd,
as far as possible from advertisement</b>…. Even Krylov has said that an
empty barrel echoes more loudly than a full one.</li>
<li>If they have a talent they respect it. They sacrifice to it rest,
women, wine, vanity…. They are proud of their talent…. Besides, they are
fastidious.</li>
<li style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">They develop the
aesthetic feeling in themselves. They cannot go to sleep in their
clothes, see cracks full of bugs on the walls, breathe bad air, walk on a
floor that has been spat upon, cook their meals over an oil stove. They
seek as far as possible to restrain and ennoble the sexual instinct….
What they want in a woman is not a bed-fellow … <b>They do not ask for the
cleverness which shows itself in continual lying</b>. They want especially,
if they are artists, freshness, elegance, humanity, the capacity for
motherhood…. They do not swill vodka at all hours of the day and night,
do not sniff at cupboards, for they are not pigs and know they are not.
They drink only when they are free, on occasion…. For they want <i>mens sana in corpore sano</i> [a healthy mind in a healthy body].</li>
</ol>
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
And so on. This is
what cultured people are like. In order to be cultured and not to stand
below the level of your surroundings it is not enough to have read "The
Pickwick Papers" and learnt a monologue from "Faust." …</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
<b>What is needed is
constant work, day and night, constant reading, study, will….</b> Every hour
is precious for it…. Come to us, smash the vodka bottle, lie down and
read…. Turgenev, if you like, whom you have not read.</div>
<div style="font: italic 13.5px Georgia,Times,serif;">
You must drop your vanity, you are not a child … you will soon be thirty. It is time! I expect you…. We all expect you.</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
****<br />
<br />
Thank you Maria Popova. Thank you Anton Chekhov.kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-92129502544832879952013-02-02T17:54:00.001+08:002013-02-04T14:57:46.827+08:00In a parallel universe, I am a waitress AND a standup comedianTwo days ago, I was sitting in a very cold office selling myself as value-adding uh, addition (no synonyms coming to me at this point, so let's go with that) to an organization let's all agree to call <i>The Gateway to a Bright Future</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>TGTABF</i> is a creative group and it may not have been to my best interest to have said that, "I am not an imaginative person." Thankfully, the interviewers at <i>TGTABF</i> didn't take my word at face value and asked me a question that gave me a chance to redeem myself. True to form that TGTABF is indeed, the gateway to a bright future, i was asked a la Miss Universe,<br />
<br />
<i><b>Interviewer Ladies of TGTABF</b></i><br />
Let's say you have to be imaginative. How will you tell us about yourself in an imaginative way?<br />
<br />
<i><b>Me</b></i><br />
(thinks for about a minute)<br />
Uh, how close do we have to be to reality? Can I create my own reality, separate from my current reality?<br />
(A small surge of panic washes over me. I hope I don't give away too much weird vibes. Damn you aircon! It's so cold and I can't think!)<br />
<br />
<i><b>Interviewer Ladies of TGTABF</b></i><br />
Your call. It's up to you.<br />
<br />
(about a minute of semi-awkward silence passes.)
<br />
<br />
<i><b>Me</b></i><br />
Uh, I'm ready<br />
(Oh my god, I hope I am the right amount of cool and smart. Thizisittt.)<br />
I live in Brooklyn. I work as a waitress in the day. I am quirky and deep in my reading and very much into comedy. I waitress to pay the bills. Everyday, I have burst of funny ideas that come to me as I bring people their food. I try to tell the other waitresses in the hopes of getting an audience for my super funny bits. As i expect bursts of laughter, all I get are "huh?" and some tiny pity laughs. This happens a lot so I've learned to find a fit-ter, better qualified audience outside of the diner.<br />
<br />
Evening comes, I punch out, take my apron off and head a sort-off dungeon. At night, I am a standup comedian. I work a very pleased crowd and send them in roaring laughter. All the "huhs?" are worth it. All the times My jokes didn't get the validation they deserved are worth it. Damn it I'm funny!<br />
<br />
Study questions:<br />
1. Why am I a waitress AND a standup comic?<br />
2. What does that mean?<br />
<br />
P.S. The Interviewer Ladies of TGTABF actually asked me that. <br />
<i><b></b></i>kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-3095818833769925852013-01-10T20:38:00.000+08:002013-01-10T20:38:05.813+08:00Be My BoyfriendI know I should be writing more and not just copy-pasting things from Thought Catalog. But my words have been failing me lately and Thought Catalog has been spot on a little too much. Does that count for a win-win?<br />
<br />
I write so I remember. So here is me remembering. Dig in.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<div class="general_head">
<h1 class="fontsize_44 grid_12">
Be My Boyfriend </h1>
<span class="timestamp caps">Jul. 6, 2012</span>
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By
<span class="author_name caps bold normal_style relative">
<a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/author/january-nelson/">
January Nelson </a></span><span class="info_i relative" id="author_i"></span>
</div>
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</div>
</div>
</div>
<br />
I feel like I’m dead most of the time. Actually, that’s too harsh
of a word. “Going through the motions” would be a more accurate thing to
say. Less dramatic. Less of a cause for alarm, right? The “hilarious”
part is that I don’t even really know that I’m going through the motions
until something wakes me up. <i><b>Only when I feel alive do I realize I had
ever been dead.</b></i> Isn’t that typically the way though? Sometimes you don’t
even realize something is dirty until it’s been cleaned. Then you’re
like, “Oh, I guess that’s the way it’s always supposed to look. Who
knew?”<br />
<br />
I won’t lie to you. This is about a boy. It always is. It will<em> always</em>
be about a boy. Wanting, needing, getting, and eventually losing. The
second I met this boy, I knew he was going to be an important part of my
life. I rarely feel this way so when I do, I pay attention. I listen to
myself. I investigate. “Who is this person and why do I think they’ll
matter so much to me?” It’s so uncommon that I ever feel compelled to
really get to know someone. I’ll meet them first and if we develop a
good rapport, that’s great. If not, okay. It wasn’t meant to be. But
with some people, I feel like I’m meant to know them and will pursue
them relentlessly. Is this weird? Do others experience this? <i><b>It makes me
sound creepy. I swear I’m not.</b></i> I just know what I like. (And it’s easy
to know what you like when you seldom like anything.)<br />
<br />
So this boy — I want to date him. I want to know his childhood
secrets, his best friends, his family. I want to sit in his room and
just absorb everything I see. I want to be a detective and look through
his stuff. They’ll help give me clues as to who this person really is
and provide me with shortcuts. I want to take care of him. Seriously, I
want to take him in my arms and just… help him. I want to put his head
on my chest and lay in bed with him and turn everything else in the
world off so we are the only ones who are vibrating. I want to fall
asleep with you in the backseat of the cab and I want to make you cum
and <i><b>I want you to know that if you ever happened to choke on a sandwich
alone in your apartment and die, your body wouldn’t just sit there for
days like a lonely, sad, single person.</b></i> I would find you immediately.
(SIGH, ROMANCE.)<br />
<br />
<i><b>I know I sound ridiculous.</b></i> Maybe I’ve watched too many romantic
comedies or something but I don’t think that’s exactly why I’m turning
into such a pile of mush. Having a crush, potentially loving someone,
is, like, the great equalizer for humans. We all act the same way, we
all think the same sentimental crap. I’m just the one who writes about
it.<br />
<br />
Simply put, I want to make this dude into my boyfriend. I want to
“wife” him up, as they say in 2012. I want to be his motherf-cking plus
one. And you know what? I think I actually have a good chance of making
it happen. I have a good feeling about this. There’s a tingling in my
bones. I feel misunderstood 99% of the time, like a misanthropic
nightmare, but I think I may have found someone who’s tuned into the
same frequency as me.<br />
<br />
Life feels easier to go through alone. I know many disagree and while
I’m the first to admit that I’m not the happiest person ever, I still
honestly prefer being single to settling with someone. I’ve done it
before and it feels awful. Like someone gently dragging you across hot
concrete. I’d rather be honest with myself than dishonest to another
person. I don’t have it in me. Maybe I did when I was 19, 21, 23, but
not anymore. Now I can only love the right ones. The only problem being,
of course, that so few are actually right.<br />
But not you. You sir are just right. <i><b>And I just can’t wait love the hell out of you</b></i>. <span class="tc_mark"><img alt="TC Mark" src="http://thoughtcatalogcom.wordpress.com/wp-content/themes/vip/thoughtcatalog/custom/tc_mark.gif?m=1333992719g" /></span><br />
<br />kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-59244820244795568532013-01-10T18:29:00.001+08:002013-01-10T18:29:54.367+08:00Joe's absI think I was one Facebook when I saw <a href="http://health.yahoo.net/experts/dayinhealth/six-pack-abs-12-weeks">Six-Pack Abs in 12 Weeks</a><a href="http://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=6500878141996865724">| Yahoo Health</a>. It has 2 of my favorite words, <i>abs </i>and <i>Yahoo</i>. So naturally, I have to click.<br />
<br />
When I did, this was what I saw. Everybody, meet Joe's abs:<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS9M2ejQaUmz9w6rmB7lwhuSRoa2Bsd_wUu4-senlxTFx-nkfIkBYQXb3T1OrXMBBXxgpw1JJx7qOdqk4L91mp49iOCBbS9wdWbWdEigLrCcqNHwo61XzeZgn-o7yM15bM5tRtr0iVxH-W/s1600/Joe's+abs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS9M2ejQaUmz9w6rmB7lwhuSRoa2Bsd_wUu4-senlxTFx-nkfIkBYQXb3T1OrXMBBXxgpw1JJx7qOdqk4L91mp49iOCBbS9wdWbWdEigLrCcqNHwo61XzeZgn-o7yM15bM5tRtr0iVxH-W/s640/Joe's+abs.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr align="left"><td class="tr-caption">Photo credit: Yahoo Health</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Great job to Joe for doing this in 12 weeks!<br />
<br />
But on another (more important!) note, how come I find the rightmost photo the <i>least </i>attractive? I mean, I get that 5.5% body fat <i>is </i>noteworthy. But Joe's face (yes, first name basis kami haha) appears a little too gaunt for me. Does it follow, that when you lose the fat you lose the chest hair, too? Yes, that's me trying to be funny.<br />
<br />
My best bet is Joe Week 1 <i>or </i>Joe Week 8. A little more cheek never hurt nobody :) Or I may be a teeny bit biased cos of the scruff?<br />
<br />
Which version of Joe do you like best?kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-83052843050317719622013-01-09T11:06:00.000+08:002013-01-09T11:06:24.984+08:00Just a ReminderOne day, I found Maria Popova and Brain Pickings on the internet. It was a happy day. Brain Pickings was kind enough to give out free subscriptions to a weekly newsletter sent to my email.<br />
<br />
A few days ago, it sent a list of the 10 Best Books of 2012. One of the books on the list was <i>Tiny Beautiful Things.</i> This is a quote from the book author Cheryl Strayed aka <i>Dear Sugar</i> of <i>The Rumpus</i>.<br />
<br />
Maria Popova writes:<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
The book, one of the year's <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=d5201c6aa0&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">finest reads in psychology and philosophy</a>, is titled after <a href="http://brainpickings.us2.list-manage.com/track/click?u=13eb080d8a315477042e0d5b1&id=46e72d99bb&e=53194bf7b1" style="color: #990000; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank"><em>Dear Sugar</em> #64</a>,
which remains my own favorite by a long stretch. It's exquisite in its
entirety, but this particular bit makes the heart tremble with raw
heartness:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Your assumptions about the lives of others are in direct relation to your naïve pomposity. Many people you believe to be rich are not rich. Many people you think have it easy worked hard for what they got. Many people who seem to be gliding right along have suffered and are suffering. Many people who appear to you to be old and stupidly saddled down with kids and cars and houses were once every bit as hip and pompous as you.<br />
<br />
When you meet a man in the doorway of a Mexican restaurant who later kisses you while explaining that this kiss doesn't 'mean anything' because, much as he likes you, he is not interested in having a relationship with you or anyone right now, just laugh and kiss him back. Your daughter will have his sense of humor. Your son will have his eyes.<br />
<br />
The useless days will add up to something. The shitty waitressing jobs. The hours writing in your journal. The long meandering walks. The hours reading poetry and story collections and novels and dead people's diaries and wondering about sex and God and whether you should shave under your arms or not. These things are your becoming.<br />
<br />
One Christmas at the very beginning of your twenties when your mother gives you a warm coat that she saved for months to buy, don't look at her skeptically after she tells you she thought the coat was perfect for you. Don't hold it up and say it's longer than you like your coats to be and too puffy and possibly even too warm. Your mother will be dead by spring. That coat will be the last gift she gave you. You will regret the small thing you didn't say for the rest of your life. Say thank you.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-11848415328945271432012-12-26T09:11:00.003+08:002012-12-26T09:11:44.838+08:00Christmas ListOn Christmas Day, I found myself making time for me-time. Granted the first few hours of my me-time was with Mahal, it was still precious me-time nonetheless :)<br />
<br />
I made my way yesterday to one of my happy places, Starbucks Temple Drive! I know it's "just a Starbucks" but I've made many personal breakthroughs (naks!) sitting in some of the (kinda ratty) chairs/cushioned seats! So this Starbucks will always have a special place in my heart :)<br />
<br />
I intended to catch up on my reading yesterday and do my personal goal setting for the coming year. After some much needed sharing and catching up with Mahal, he left for dinner with his friends and I started making my lists.<br />
<br />
So my Christmas List is not a list of 'naughty and nice' friends. I only call it a Christmas list cos I made it on Christmas Day haha. I finally have a Bucket List! YAY! I didn't know how exciting it was to write one until yesterday! And I know it's only the beginning. Now that I got the 'ball rolling' in my brain tank (bra! - haha it's always cooler said the Barney way) , I'm pretty sure I will be coming up with more things to do and more adventures to begin! So exciting!<br />
<br />
My current list is at 50 things and I can't believe how psyched I am to start working on the list. I really believe it's true what they say, that the best way to get out of a slump is to start setting goals. It probably doesn't sound like me cos it's not fluffy and it's too stiff and straightforward, but it really works <br />
<br />
Just some highlights of my list (and some really embarrassing revelations about myself), I apparently already know the names of my 4 children! I never pegged myself as that kind of person, but surprisingly, I am that kind of person haha.<br />
<br />
That's all for now from me. Have you written Bucket List yet? From my heart to yours, Merry Christmas :)<br />
<br />kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-9380105400930996792012-12-17T13:08:00.000+08:002012-12-17T13:08:08.012+08:00I Can't Tell YouThis is why I love Chelsea Fagan. I think the best writers are the ones who not only write their stories but also write other people's stories with their own :)<br />
<br />
<br />
Thought Catalog hurts so much, sometimes hahaha.<br />
<br />
***<div class="general_head">
<h1 class="fontsize_44 grid_12">
I Can’t Tell You </h1>
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<span class="timestamp caps">Dec. 14, 2012</span>
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By
<span class="author_name caps bold normal_style relative">
<a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/author/faganchelsea/">
Chelsea Fagan </a></span><span class="info_i relative" id="author_i"></span>
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<a href="http://www.shutterstock.com/cat.mhtml?lang=en&search_source=search_form&version=llv1&anyorall=all&safesearch=1&searchterm=longing&search_group=#id=118827544&src=65bef783be8768c39afc98878cfa5d0b-1-14" target="_blank">Shutterstock</a></div>
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I can write about you in every forum except the one you might read —
well, even then I might write about it, but I’d dance around your name
like a fire whose warmth I want to feel without quite being burned. <i><b>Yes,
if you’re wondering, it’s about you. That open letter, that song lyric,
that wink and nod in your direction</b></i> that is not quite explicit enough
to call me out on directly. I want you to see my words and be motivated
enough in them to take the first step yourself because,<i><b> </b></i>no matter how
much I want to burst into your life with the truth of exactly how I feel
about you, I know that I am not going to.<br />
<br />
<i><b>You would likely be upset if you knew how much I thought of you</b></i>, how
much what you are doing with your life factors into my daily routine.
The world tells us we are supposed to live in cold, disparate camps of
“together” and “separate” — but what about those who fall into neither
category? No, we are not together. No, there is no part of you that I
can lay claim to and nothing I am within my rights to demand, but are we
really separate? Is the degree to which you have touched my life
unimportant because it hasn’t been sealed with some kind of title?<br />
<br />
<i><b>And “I miss you” — is that only appropriate to someone who has left</b></i>,
someone you imagine will come back or at least longs to do so? What
about the people who have never fully entered our lives, who have passed
by it like a shiny car driving just slowly enough to get a glimpse at
the people inside? Are we allowed to miss someone whose presence we
sensed in our very bones, someone every fiber of our body told us we
should have reached out to but did not? <i><b>Is there an acceptable way to
phrase “a nostalgia for something that never quite happened,”</b></i> or is that
a sentiment which is relegated to the pathetic spectators of life?<br />
<br />
We praise honesty the way we praise kindness, and a lie of omission
is still a lie. So I suppose, by that definition, I am lying to you each
day that passes in which I do not say “I think about you, I wish I
could talk to you, I wish my fear was something I could put aside and
forget for even a moment.” I don’t mean to lie, you know. In a perfect
world, I would be the kind of person who feels something with great
conviction and acts upon it with unerring focus, who is sure of
themselves in a way that radiates confidence and puts others at ease. If
I were this kind of person, I would have come to you so long ago. I
would have told you everything I really felt.<br />
<br />
(Yes, even about that one night where I told you I needed to talk and
then let you go home with a “never mind.” You and I both know that what
I wanted to say was <i><b>“Every time I see you from across the room and
don’t talk to you, it is a punch in the stomach</b></i> which reminds me just
how much of a coward I can be.” But who wants to actually say that to
someone at a house party?)<br />
<br />
But I have long since accepted that I am a coward of this nature,
<i><b>that I am happy to write letters to myself instead of sit down with the
one person who needs to listen</b></i>. I will listen to music which at once
dulls the more acute pains of not having the courage to be honest with
you and allows me to imagine the life I could have if I did. I will lie
awake some nights, looking at your name, only a click away. I will hover
over your name and consider writing you, finally getting everything out
that I feel dirty for not having said, and accept that even a flat “no”
is preferable to hanging suspended in the unknown. <i><b>But then I won’t,
and I’ll pretend as though it never crossed my mind</b></i>. And you will ask me
how I am at a party some day, and look at me as though you really want
to know, and I will say “I am fine.” <span class="tc_mark"></span>kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-48539570565817954542012-12-03T13:10:00.002+08:002012-12-03T13:10:47.467+08:00I think I'm in-friend love with you
<br />
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I can't even begin to describe how awesome and spot on and amazing this comic is. GALING! I claim no ownership of this material. You may find original source here: </div>
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http://www.sadiemagazine.com/issue-no-11/arts-letters/comic/i-think-i-am-in-friend-love-with-you</div>
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May we all find that friend :)</div>
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**** </div>
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Issue 11 • Summer 2012</div>
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I Think I Am In Friend-Love With You </h2>
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Written by and illustrated by Yumi Sakugawa </span>
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<br /><img border="0" src="http://www.sadiemagazine.com/images/YumiFriendLoveOne.jpg" width="600" /><br /><img border="0" src="http://www.sadiemagazine.com/images/YumiFriendLoveTwo.jpg" width="600" /><br /><img border="0" src="http://www.sadiemagazine.com/images/YumiFriendLoveThree.jpg" width="600" /><br /><br /><img border="0" src="http://www.sadiemagazine.com/images/YumiFriendLoveFour.jpg" width="600" /><br /><br /><img border="0" src="http://www.sadiemagazine.com/images/YumiFriendLoveFive.jpg" width="600" /><br /><img border="0" src="http://www.sadiemagazine.com/images/YumiFriendLoveSix.jpg" width="600" />
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kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-53525231169194776392012-11-19T13:22:00.003+08:002012-11-19T13:22:36.660+08:00A friendly reminder from your nieghboorhood tollgateLast Friday, we drove down to several places in the South for business. Our last stop was Binan, Laguna. I made my way to the tollgate of the Mamplasan exit, ready to hit the Northbound lane. I pick up my toll card from the window and lo and behold, some wise (extra cheesy?) words from your neighborhood toll card:<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Love is a battlefield<br />
GET SOME SCARS</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Yown. </div>
</div>
kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-55047393248586599272012-11-14T09:29:00.000+08:002012-11-14T09:43:33.633+08:00ThirstyPhilip Yancey on one of his encounters with Henry Nouwen: <br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>"My one extended conversation with Nouwen came just after he had returned from San Francisco, where he had served for a week in an AIDS clinic... He told me what he had seen in the Castro district... Young men were dying everyday, and thousands more walked around terrified that they were carrying the virus. Even as shops displayed gaudy T-shirts and sexual products ranging from the playful to the obscene, fear hung like a fog over the streets. Not only fear, he said, but also feelings of guilt and anger and rejection.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>In the clinic, Nouwen listened to personal stories. "I'm a priest -- that's my job. I listen to people's stories. They confess to me." He told me of young men banished from their own families, forced to hustle on the street. Some of them had hundreds of partners whom they had met in bathhouses, whose names they had never learned, and from one of those partners they had contracted the virus that was now killing them. Nouwen looked at me, his piercing eyes bright with compassion and pain, "<b>Phillip, those young men were dying -- literally dying -- because of their thirst for love</b>"... The accounts all had in common a search for a safe place, for a safe relationship, for a home, for acceptance, for unconditional love, for forgiveness.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>...Through Nouwen's eyes, I saw a new way to look at such people: <b>not as immoral and ungodly, but as thirsty</b> -- as people dying for love. Like the Samaritan woman at the well, they had drunk their fill of water that did not satisfy. They needed Living Water. After that conversation with Nouwen, whenever I encountered someone whose behavior offended or revolted me, I would always pray, "God, help me to see this person not as repulsive, but as thirsty."</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>The more I prayed that prayer, the more I began to see myself on the same side as the one who had repulsed me. I, too, have nothing to offer God but my thirst. Like the elder brother in the parable [The Parable of the Prodigal Son], I can never experience the cleansing flow of God's grace or enter the family celebration if I stand outside the banquet hall, <b>arms folded in a posture of moral superiority</b>. God's grace comes a s free gift, but only one who has open hands can receive a gift."</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
(from <i>Soul Survivor</i>)kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-66063236973290816372012-11-13T21:36:00.002+08:002012-11-13T21:38:06.670+08:00The kinda love you hold out for :)<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-optSLrkM1olm1cYvRrPz0Y5HV4DLI3G8tQ7XG2fP3J5YTp4i4Gl0rHrCf-GryzJ6OfNW76dgLg1iBstqZ9-fTj7OA6e4Pjyn4B6gBBTetxloxe6JMCleM9-4IHmF-0iBFhOIZkSaYgK0/s1600/sunshineouttayourass.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-optSLrkM1olm1cYvRrPz0Y5HV4DLI3G8tQ7XG2fP3J5YTp4i4Gl0rHrCf-GryzJ6OfNW76dgLg1iBstqZ9-fTj7OA6e4Pjyn4B6gBBTetxloxe6JMCleM9-4IHmF-0iBFhOIZkSaYgK0/s1600/sunshineouttayourass.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From the movie <i>Juno</i>: Juno's dad on love - a little more graphic than usual</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-20180415809652648042012-11-13T18:50:00.001+08:002012-11-13T18:50:35.517+08:00The 30-day mental fastWhat is a mental fast?<br />
<br />
A mental fast is a detox to the mind, the way a physical fast is a detox to the body. I learned about the mental fast, one sunny day when I popped a Jerry Clark audio on my drive to Ortigas.<br />
<br />
It sounds simple enough, just 8 steps. And it promises a great return in 30 days. With the physical fast, you withhold food from your body to accommodate a cleanse and to sort of reset your bodily processes. With the mental fast, this is what you do for 30 days straight: <br />
<ol>
<li>No TV</li>
<li>No Radio</li>
<li>No Newspaper</li>
<li>8 glasses of water, 30 minutes of exercise everyday</li>
<li>Avoid negative people</li>
<li>Associate with positive people</li>
<li>Read inspirational, motivational books for a mnimum of 20 minutes everyday</li>
<li>Reflect everyday for 20 minutes.</li>
</ol>
Today is my third attempt at Day 1 (please don't judge meee.) To be honest, I'm doing pretty well on some things - radio, newspaper, 8 glasses of water, negative people, positive people, and reading. To be even more honest, these are things I've already been doing prior to the fast.<br />
<br />
To be <i>even </i>more honest it's not funny anymore, I'm having a bitch of a time with the TV time. My shows and I go way back and in a twisted way, it has sort of become an emotional thing. Totally eliminating it from my daily diet is like going cold turkey on a longtime tobacco habit. It probably is more severe or less severe than I put it out to be, I have no way of knowing. But in any case, this is where I fall short.<br />
<br />
Fourth attempt at Day 1 tomorrow? :)kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-22742122278375697322012-11-12T15:06:00.003+08:002012-11-12T15:06:42.270+08:00Henry Nouwen on WritingI'm closing in on the last chapter of what may be my most favorite book to date. I've been on Philip Yancey's "Soul Survivor" for a month now and it has been an unbelievable experience reading his work. As is always the case with me and reading great books, I'm awash with a recognizable sadness that the "journey" of reading the book is about to end.<br />
<br />
This entry will be one of many (many many) entries I will writing about the great people, ideas, and fresh paradigms this book has gifted me with.This nugget on writing comes much later in the book, in the last chapter actually. But it resonated so much with me I cannot wait to not write about it.<br />
<br />
This is Philip Yancey on the last chapter of the book talking about Henry Nouwen:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>I read many books over the years before meeting him in person. Nouwen has been accused of having had no unpublished thought, and indeed some of his thoughts have been published more than once in different forms, and sometimes in booklets dressed up to look like books. Nevertheless, he served me as a wise older brother, a pioneer who nimbly explored trails of thought I found myself eager to follow.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"<b>Somehow I believed that writing was one way to let something of lasting value emerge from my little, quickly passing life</b>," Nouwen once wrote, a sentiment that expresses what every writer feels. Writing was an act of discovery for his as well as for his readers.</i></blockquote>
<br />
***<br />
This is a direct quote from "Soul Survivor," which also directly quotes from Nouwen's "Reflections on Theological Education":<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Most students think that writing means writing down ideas, insights, visions. They feel that they must first have something to say before they can put it down on paper. For them writing is little more than recording a pre-existent thought. But with this approach true writing is impossible. <b>Writing is a process in which we discover what lives in us.</b> The writing itself reveals what is alive... The deepest satisfaction of writing is precisely what it <b>opens up new spaces within us of which we were not aware before</b> we started to write. To write is to embark on a journey whose final destination we do not know.</i></blockquote>
kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-46063052733825025372012-11-06T13:05:00.001+08:002012-11-07T12:05:17.293+08:00The Inbetweeners US (2012)IfoundanewshowIfoundanewshow! <br />
<br />
I was tinkering with eztv last week and was curiously googling some TV show titles. Fall Season TV opened about a month ago and TVland is abuzz once again (don't those 2 words feel so textbook-y? I digress.) with a handful of shiny new shows.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu8-_bf_hD7HsSA8uwg0KdO3D-3P4LHys9q7fHXn2cml4JfgImkP9VE52Kx5ociLaiCT2H0rDz51JiByKpuQ5C3QFrPbdn7a1gJs4vIFPxPtCjQPSlIvl3wEalk_GZoOH1DFFK4oFuObOQ/s1600/the-inbetweeners-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu8-_bf_hD7HsSA8uwg0KdO3D-3P4LHys9q7fHXn2cml4JfgImkP9VE52Kx5ociLaiCT2H0rDz51JiByKpuQ5C3QFrPbdn7a1gJs4vIFPxPtCjQPSlIvl3wEalk_GZoOH1DFFK4oFuObOQ/s320/the-inbetweeners-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Inbetweeners US: Simon, Will, Neil Sutherland, & Jay</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
One show I googled was The Inbetweeners US. The premise of the show is this - you have the jocks, you have the nerds, and when you're not any of those, you have the inbetweeners.<br />
<br />
Apparently, The Inbetweeners was a critically-acclaimed award-winning British serires that ran in the UK from 2008 to 2010. The 2012 show has US at the end to tell it apart from the UK one. I read the premise of the show and I did not have any feelings about the show. I was not definite that I disliked it but I also wasn't excited about the idea.<br />
<br />
Then the Wikipedia page mentioned that the writer penning the US version (Brad Copeland for MTV) also wrote for "Arrested Development" and "My Name is Earl." Never watched Earl before but I am a big fan of AD. Arrested Development was genius! If I remember right, one TV critic (or was it just TV Guide? haha) said before that AD introduced a brand new kind of humor to television and inspired the likes of (multiple Emmy-winner) 30 Rock. If AD writers wrote Inbetweeners then I thought, it must be gooood.<br />
<br />
The Inbetweeners US is the kinda show that grows on you. It makes you smile to yourself cos it reminds you about high school and how both stupid and fragile you were haha. After watching 3 episodes, I just knew I will be watching the show to the end of the short season. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEO-Na9hfiTj7zgjmhpbna56KMzcvD4-C-HHpxdIYeHM_cokw0EasS7IFAP_yFcjBWcgHFhGNZZtS0DYOzU8l-Ba_UPZcx6QeazdzwnSRLdYfTMJGe-vfUfwu6_DThBdZZv93MM70hj9Xt/s1600/will.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="117" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEO-Na9hfiTj7zgjmhpbna56KMzcvD4-C-HHpxdIYeHM_cokw0EasS7IFAP_yFcjBWcgHFhGNZZtS0DYOzU8l-Ba_UPZcx6QeazdzwnSRLdYfTMJGe-vfUfwu6_DThBdZZv93MM70hj9Xt/s200/will.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
Will McKenzie moves from a private school to public high school. Will is stiff and awkward, wears pressed shirts with ties to school and has zero skills to survive in a public high school. He gets thrown into a group of boys who reluctantly but eventually embrace him into the group. He takes himself so seriously and it's funny cos nobody else does.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0fVBxI-2bvMAfutA9Pc9HN-0OEH19aFjl5gcc33D7cvTOG3RDwhkv5RtrwFqwNXcm7VxiIxqOFN2WXbPDoIJZIFfPSaOqF0jmpV_V-1d9HhzfHkdpjNirvgvjfbl56Q4Zw8Z8e7jOV7Y/s1600/simon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0fVBxI-2bvMAfutA9Pc9HN-0OEH19aFjl5gcc33D7cvTOG3RDwhkv5RtrwFqwNXcm7VxiIxqOFN2WXbPDoIJZIFfPSaOqF0jmpV_V-1d9HhzfHkdpjNirvgvjfbl56Q4Zw8Z8e7jOV7Y/s200/simon.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Simon Cooper is the first person Will meets in his new high school, Grove High. He gets assigned by Principal Gilbert to show Will around so he reluctantly obliges. Simon is the group's softie, his high school life revolves around this pretty girl Carly, whom he's had a crush on since forever. He also drives the "muppet yellow" car, the unofficial group ride and quiet witness to their many many happy adventures. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q4FG1Q-YD0llCXmCEZhaIISiHfLIlSMTq1E9uZGP3RbHBGKeABjHu5p212Pdm_cPKrt23CFqfQozKX8OP5WEyiAcx6vQkFfWBv05mNkpVSqA53KJDl0ZscFdQJ50fJrD6-BPF2cHaHj3/s1600/jay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Q4FG1Q-YD0llCXmCEZhaIISiHfLIlSMTq1E9uZGP3RbHBGKeABjHu5p212Pdm_cPKrt23CFqfQozKX8OP5WEyiAcx6vQkFfWBv05mNkpVSqA53KJDl0ZscFdQJ50fJrD6-BPF2cHaHj3/s1600/jay.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
Jay Cartwright is the self-proclaimed leader of the group. He is obsessed about sex and always talks in cliches and made up sex stories. He thinks he is leading the group to "coolness" (he is not.) He is also working very very very hard to be the school class clown. He has very little credibility and he always claims that he "doesn't lie."<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAIAqi9jDuXloGegIz64jiish35FCOBEyq4aGM2Ip0OP0mUgFYZ79s5_F1kfP29YkBYZYT11-_TJJMUCvOr8S6hS2NDfybtVsDwd6SP6virU1LS88gp3ASUMp8wYBBKtUgsw49QgjjhJm/s1600/neil.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguAIAqi9jDuXloGegIz64jiish35FCOBEyq4aGM2Ip0OP0mUgFYZ79s5_F1kfP29YkBYZYT11-_TJJMUCvOr8S6hS2NDfybtVsDwd6SP6virU1LS88gp3ASUMp8wYBBKtUgsw49QgjjhJm/s200/neil.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Neil Sutherland is the ditz. He's my favorite cos he plays dumb crazy gooood. (It kinda makes me wonder if he is actually ditzy or he's just really good. Either way, works for the show.) Plus he's cute! Neil is chill and relaxed and how you want to be like when on vacation except - that's how he is on a daily basis. He's the kind of person you can't offend even you work really hard to. To Neil, everything's cool - just don't call his dad gay.<br />
<br />
Considering high school has been milked of all possible entertainment value - humor, drama, coming of age, etc. - The Inbetweeners US is surprisingly entertaining. The show happily avoids the trap of making stories be about the glorious triumph of the "uncool" kids and their transition to "coolness." <br />
<br />
The inbetweeners don't become cool. They try very hard to, but as real life usually goes, they don't succeed very much. I guess that's part of the show's charm. The show is a happy retelling of the misadventures of inbetweeners and how things go down in the "in between."<br />
<br />
It's funny and stupid and honest and an endearing reminder of youth. And the perks of youth and your infinite free passes to stupid decisions. And how fleeting it is. Haha. Watch it!kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-65266623933047988412012-11-05T10:55:00.001+08:002012-11-05T21:40:52.176+08:00No Super PunchI felt like I had to hear it. Stories let the lessons sink deep so you don't forget.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
Marlon said he would settle for no less than a knock out. He was 11 and in the heat of the semifinals of a contact sport, karate. He fought many matches and won all of them - by knock out. He was in the semis because he beat about 10 or so boys by knocking them out.<br />
<br />
His "move" was going for the temple hit - sure knock out, he thought.<br />
<br />
He took his place on the mat and the match began. He vowed no body shots - only temple hits for the knock out. His ego said body shots are cheap shots. Cheap shots are for the weak. And the players who win by knock out win by hitting the temple with one big "super punch."<br />
<br />
While he was busy waiting for the perfect timing for his super punch, his opponent took the time giving him body shots. One body shot after another. Marlon gave no body shot, he only put his guards up, and went on to wait for the perfect timing for his knock out shot, his super punch.<br />
<br />
A few rounds into the match, he started to feel his insides cramping up. All the opponent's body shots were taking their toll. Marlon's body was shutting down from all the body shots he received.<br />
<br />
Marlon didn't see the game to the end. Next thing he knew, he woke up at home. He never found the "perfect" timing for his knock out super punch. His opponent evidently won, by taking the more consistent, and as Marlon calls it, "cheap" body shots.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
<br />
I've heard the "no super punch" moral of the story many times over. Yet, now and then, I realize I think that way still - path of least resistance, I guess. After all, other people's successes always seem like they were won that way - with the one winning "super punch."<br />
<br />
I guess that's how the non-winners always see it. We see the ending, the one last hurrah, the icing to the cake. The non-winners rarely get acquainted with the dirty word - consistency. We hear a lot about talent, and luck, and timing. Maybe we hear about consistency too, but we are too preoccupied all the other glamorous ideas, we pay little attention to the things that matter more.<br />
<br />
More than for anyone, this story is for me. This story is to remind me that everything counts; that everything I do either moves me forward or takes me back; that there is no action with no consequence.<br />
<br />
This is to remind me that small everyday disciplines as well as small everyday errors in judgment add up to the final score. That there is no one magical stroke of luck to turn things around in the same way there is no one unlucky twist of fate that will be the one determining factor to my end result. Everything adds up.<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><span class="userContent">Champions do not become champions when they
win the event, but in the hours, weeks, months, and years they spend
preparing for it. The victorious performance itself is merely the
demonstration of their championship character.</span></i></blockquote>
kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-74026901895890294472012-11-04T16:15:00.001+08:002012-11-05T10:42:03.425+08:00Dan in Real Life saves the day :)I've been chasing the happy high (no worries, not through narcotics haha) for a while and always been coming up empty handed. Last night, girl got a break :)<br />
<br />
I was decided on spending a quiet evening at home to finish my current book which I've been reading for 3 weeks already. (Btw, great book, will write on a separate post.) I put the book down for a while, took a break and started with just fixing stray files on a random folder on the laptop. I ended up going full on OC on my music folder file.<br />
<br />
I started playing some audio files to identify which folders to put them to. Next thing I know, I was on a trip down musical memory lane! It was amazing how much feelings and memories are ever so vividly brought back by a familiar song :)<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVObY04QHEJgRduEQjgRt3JAygMgp0_pI_eJjvsO_cSf9Ia18Y-BghOdVO0nUn8QA8lA96-E6ZFq1x6_HT7Aboju1suE6KtmZS2-XA8Nptry4mGwUs5Tgiwa3r8sWkEBIqBbe5lzoDgzYG/s1600/album-dan-in-real-life.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVObY04QHEJgRduEQjgRt3JAygMgp0_pI_eJjvsO_cSf9Ia18Y-BghOdVO0nUn8QA8lA96-E6ZFq1x6_HT7Aboju1suE6KtmZS2-XA8Nptry4mGwUs5Tgiwa3r8sWkEBIqBbe5lzoDgzYG/s320/album-dan-in-real-life.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I tinkered with a folder labeled "Dan in Real Life Soundtrack". (Sidebar: I LOVED that movie bigtime. I went through a phase in college when the only movies/books that I thought were cool were the ones with sad endings. Angsty was my favorite word then haha.)<br />
<br />
I played this song "Modern Nature" song by Sondre Lerche. I forgot how much I LOVED Sondre Lerche! Back then, it was like stumbling into musical goldmine - they were a super obscure musical act, they made a soundtrack to a relatively unknown movie, and their music actually sounded great. It was slow, and fluffy, and heartfelt, and sad, and the just the right amount of pop and country. And just all kinds of cool!<br />
<br />
I closed my eyes for a bit and it was like 5/6 years ago! I had an iPod Shuffle back in college and I would always have my earphones on on my commute to and from school. When the song played, it was like I was brought back to THAT time when I was 19! That time when I was in college and felt super cool and super smart and super certain. Life was good then. I LOVED 19. 19 was a great age.<br />
<br />
I didn't expect the surge of happiness that the music brought. I also found music from Sponge Cola and Silent Sanctuary circa '07, that Toploader song "Dancing in the Moonlight", The Cure's "Just Like Heaven" (my ALL TIME favorite song), Bloc Party's "This Modern Love", One Tree Hill and HIMYM music (Nada Surf's "Always Love" FTW!), and my ultimate release-your-anger song, Moonpools and Caterpillar's "Soon." These were the songs I had playing day in, day out through the tail end of college. Good times.<br />
<br />
I had to make a Let Me Make You Smile mix :) haha. Thank you great music.kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-76774372392771676502012-10-22T21:27:00.003+08:002012-10-22T21:33:22.969+08:00Breaking the ice/dusting the cobwebs, etc.I feel like I'm lost in my own head.<br />
<br />
Wow. Like words to a (cool) song. I'd love to say that I meant it in a very poetic, very profound way - but really, I just feel (can I say literally?) that way. The next few things I will say will probably sound so annoyingly pretentious (I will plead it's just honesty, but judge away, anyway).. I'm just hoping this little hint of self-awareness assuages it a bit.<br />
<br />
There are no feelings. Like you're right smack in the center of the woods and any way you take will take you just about the same time to get back to place familiar to you. Like any way you take is pretty much fair game.<br />
<br />
I feel like I'm right smack in the center of neutrality in my head. I'm not closer to happy than I am to sad. I'm not closer to anger than I am to whatever feeling is opposite of anger. <br />
<br />
(Interestingly, I read this morning from a book called "The Book of Useless Information (things you didn't think you need to know - and probably don't)" that the most used word in conversation is "I". And I probably used up my quota only 100 words into this entry.)<br />
<br />
I have several things I want to write about. My lazy butt reasons that I haven't found "the" writing timing to sit down and make sense of my messy thoughts. I am writing today so I break the ice/dust the cobwebs/insert similar symbolism about starting again, etc.<br />
<br />
So forgive the brain farts I passed as "thoughts that merit a blog post". Consider this stretching prior to an easy 10K :)<br />
<br />
p.s. I am trying to discipline myself to avoid tweeting random cryptic stuff (that most of the time don't mean anything OR mean something less profound than they seem). This is to train me to write, to train me to think to pursue trains of thought, and maybe develop some delayed gratification. (Nothing cripples ability to practice delayed gratification better than that small surge of (fleeting) happiness a witty 140-character tweet allows you.)<br />
<br />kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-82301501048504728782012-10-06T00:56:00.002+08:002012-10-06T00:56:35.397+08:00The entry I wrote instead of tweeting random cryptic stuff that don't really mean anythingI've deleted 2 opening lines before I actually succeeded in opening this entry. So um, hello. I've been meaning to write for about 2 weeks now.<br />
<br />
I've been writing and rewriting and composing (albeit unsuccessfully) this entry in my head I entitled "Para kanino ka bumabangon?" It sounds so much better in my head. Now that's it's written down, it sounds a little too melodramatic.<br />
<br />
I've been meaning to talk about big things, grown up stuff in that entry. Feeling ko parang breakthrough piece - the kind that after writing, I'll be on my feet, working on fixing my life, knowing exactly what to do. But for reasons I do not have a grip on, I cannot, for the love of all good things, bring myself to write!<br />
<br />
Maybe it's so much more than writing that entry? Maybe I honestly do not like to sit down to try to write that entry because I'm scared that if I don't know the answers to my own questions I'm screwed? Who knows? (Maybe me? I'm just too chicken to man the fxck up and have the balls to live with the answers? Why am I using too many question marks?)<br />
<br />
So while I'm cooking up reasons why I am NOT writing, I am spending an obscene amount of time looking at this person's picture, where else - but on a pretty Facebook profile picture. I am happy to report that I get many kinds of happy feelings looking at this person's picture. A little too happy I am embarrassed. Nah, embarrassed is too fluffy a description. I get too happy I am awashed by shame. (Douchey?)<br />
<br />
(From this point on I will be talking about my feelings for this boy, okay? Notice how I subtly steered the stories to this boy - okay, maybe not that subtly. No apologies, tho. Not to say I am not <i>not </i>embarrassed.)<br />
<br />
We shall dub thee, boy in question, Baby Boy. I've been talking about Baby Boy for quite a while now. It's gone to embarrassing lengths how I try to ~subtly (at least I think I do subtly) insert him in random conversations with my friends. It's been a few months of staring from afar, catching sly glances, and embarrassed exchanges of mumbled hi's and hello's - never decent conversation, never clear audible hello's, never brave eye contact and grown up acknowledgement of each other. Boo.<br />
<br />
Thing is, I don't even know him. I only have a vague idea of how his voice sounds like, and well, that's about how much I know about him. My affection is solely anchored on uh.. his pretty face. Oh oh, and how dapper he looks in plaid, pressed shirts! That's uh, how very deep my personal knowledge and friendship with him is.<br />
<br />
The million dollar question still begs for an answer - why on earth can I still NOT shake off this giddy grade school flush I get when I think about him/ see him? Gah. Medyo di na makatarungan that he eats up this much brain space - shet, spoken like a true blue thirteen-year old slash full-fledged high school girl!<br />
<br />
A part of me wants to share my secret wish pag 11:11. But a bigger part of me is embarrassed lol. So tonight, adult decision making wins, no self-incriminating sharing. Let's see if I will find enough courage to spill in my next writing binge.<br />
<br />
I'm wrapping this up as this writing binge has done its job of helping me get rid of all these weird, unexplained feelings in my tummy - did not say found explanations, answers to questions, etc, etc. I just know I will keep trying to ~subtly insert Baby Boy in (all) my random conversations. I know I will keep trying to man up, pull together a decent smile - with teeth, and say an audible hello, and maybe fail for the most part. I know I will keep plotting ways so we walk by each other, accidentally "bump" into each other, and other things I will not say will be 'beyond' me.<br />
<br />
As is evidenced by this large chunk of time I spent binge writing about this, Baby Boy evidently, will be enjoying a lot of airtime/screentime in my brain.<br />
<br />
That said, I am now ready to hit the hay.kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-47277000676885708002012-09-26T15:02:00.003+08:002012-10-05T22:11:22.227+08:00The Story of the Persian SmugglerSo thankful for the privilege to hear this story shared by Sandy last Saturday. It's so simple and so powerful. Sharing this wonderful story.<br />
<br />
*** <br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>The Story of the Persian Smuggler</b><br />
A<b> </b>long time ago there was a notorious Persian smuggler. He would cross borders regularly, bringing with him many and different goods on camels.<br />
<br />
Every time he would cross the borders, the government would take great pains to go through all the goods on the camels, taking every effort to find the smuggled goods. Every time, they do not find any.<br />
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Time came when the Persian Smuggler retired. Out of curiosity, the government asked him. Since he's retired and government cannot pursue any case against him for lack of evidence, the government wanted to know where her hid the smuggled goods.<br />
<br />
The Persian Smuggler said, "That's easy. The goods were the CAMELS."<br />
kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6500878141996865724.post-35075139103983202542012-08-29T15:29:00.005+08:002012-08-29T15:34:03.913+08:00Thank You For Being My Best Friend <div class="general_head">
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<a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/thank-you-for-being-my-best-friend/">Thank You For Being My Best Friend </a></div>
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<span class="timestamp caps">May. 8, 2012</span>
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<a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/author/mila-jaroniec/">
Mila Jaroniec </a>
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Dear Best Friend,<br />
<br />
I originally wanted to write you a letter about why you’re my best
friend and saturate it with all the generic reasons and adorable
anecdotes, but I’m not going to do that because you already know why
you’re my best friend, duh. If you didn’t, we probably wouldn’t have
remained friends all these years. Ten years? Thirteen? I actually have
no idea.<br />
<br />
Of course I don’t — I have no concept of time whatsoever. If it were
up to me no one’s birthday or graduation or other important event would
be remembered, because that’s the type of person I am; I can’t make it
anywhere on time, or even on day, and I tend to forget where I’m going
to begin with. But you remember things like this, and you know exactly
how long we’ve been best friends. That will be the first thing you tell
me after you read this. Thank you for knowing that. Thank you for
knowing all the things I don’t.<br />
<br />
Thank you for always being closest to me even when we were in
separate time zones and separate stages of life. Thank you for not
letting us get split by dumb facts like distance or time. <b>Thank you for
never giving up on our friendship, for never shrugging and being like
“Eh, things change, people change” and drifting away vaguely because
we’re victims of circumstance.</b> We all get distant to a certain degree
when we make huge transitions but you didn’t let me get very far because
you knew what was truly important.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Thank you for taking care of me in every way possible, for being
there when no one else was or wanted to be and when you didn’t even have
to be.</b> Everyone has those friends who are close but not really; who you
always feel kind of awkward and weird about asking for help and like
you have to clarify you’ll do them some kind of favor in return, but
you’re not one of those. You never got mad when I didn’t call you for
weeks on end because I was too busy being someone’s girlfriend, but you
were right there to pick up my heart-splinters when things predictably
shattered. You were and are there for everything, no bargaining or
explanations needed.<br />
<br />
Thank you for being a different friend than everyone else, different
from the friends who are only there for the fun things, the art museums
and shopping and benders and brunch. I’ve never been to an art museum
with you because I’m sure we would end up arguing over whether or not
Basquiat was any good, and we both know going on a bender isn’t worth it
because you always pass out first, but I still feel like I can do
anything with you and it won’t suck. <b>Thank you for always being fun even
when we’re not having fun. I don’t know how else to explain that.</b><br />
<br />
Thank you for believing in me when I was too weak and exhausted to
believe in myself. Thank you for pushing me, for repeating those
affirmations that don’t mean anything in inspirational films but mean
everything when someone who cares about you says them. <b>Thank you for not
judging me when I did something really stupid, but also thanks for
telling me I was an idiot and probably shouldn’t have done the stupid
thing. Thank you for always being honest.</b><br />
<br />
Thank you for doing all the things a real best friend does; for
letting me sob into your shoulder when I need to and handing me the
flask when there aren’t any more words. <b>Thank you for always knowing who
I am and reminding me of that when I forget.</b> Thank you for being
genuinely concerned with the outcome of my life and always listening,
even when you’re tired. <b>Thank you for telling me the things no one wants
to hear and sparing the bullshit advice</b>. I can’t think of many other
people I’d actually take a bullet for.<br />
<br />
<b>And yeah, I know everyone likes to make grand emotional claims like
that in Courier typeface against some Polaroid of a lonely lamppost, but
the difference is I’d actually do it.</b><br />
<br />
Love always,<br />
Your Best Friend</div>
kat.cruzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15497669399183435855noreply@blogger.com0