Today, One Quote

"Only to live, to live and live! Life, whatever it may be!"

When God Created Mothers

When the Good Lord was creating mothers, He was into His sixth day of overtime when the angel appeared and said, "You're doing a lot of fiddling around on this one."

And God said, "Have you read the specs on this order? She has to be completely washable, but not plastic. Have 180 moveable parts, all replaceable. Run on black coffee and leftovers. Have a lap that disappears when she stands up. A kiss that can cure anything from a broken leg to a disappointed love affair. And six pairs of hands."

The angel shook her head slowly and said, "Six pairs of hands? No way!"

"It's not the hands that are causing me problems," God remarked, "It's the three pairs of eyes that mothers have to have."

"That's on the standard model?" asked the angel. God nodded.

"One pair that sees through closed doors when she asks 'What are you kids doing in there?' when she already knows. Another here on the back of her head that sees what she shouldn't but what she has to know, and, of course, the ones here in front that can look at the child when he goofs up and she'd say 'I understand and I love you' without so much as uttering a word."

"God," said the angel touching his sleeve gently, "Get some rest for tomorrow."

"I can't," said God, "I'm so close to creating something so close to myself. Already I have one who heals herself when she is sick, can feed a family of six on one pound of hamburger, and can get a nine year old to stand under a shower."

The angel circled the model of a mother very slowly. "It's too soft," she sighed.

"But tough!" said God excitedly. "You can imagine what this mother can do or endure."

"Can it think?"

"Not only can it think, but it can reason and compromise," said the Creator.

Finally, the angel bent over and ran her finger across the cheek.

"There's a leak," she pronounced. "I told You that You were trying to put too much into this model."

"It's not a leak," said the Lord, "It's a tear."

"What's it for?"

"It's for joy, sadness, disappointment, pain, loneliness, and pride."

"You are a genius, " said the angel.

Somberly, God said, "I didn't put it there.”

"Mi Familia y Yo"

¡Hola! ¡Buenos tardes señora y mis compañeros de clase!

Mi familia es una familia alegre.
Nosotros vivimos en la provincia de Iloilo.
Iloilo es un lugar muy habitabale y es bueno para nadar y para visitar muchos iglesias y muchos catedrales. Es os son centenarios. Nosotros visitamos Iloilo cuando nosotros tenemos el tiempo.


De todos modos, yo continuo.
Mi padre se llama Isaiash. El tiene cincuenta y tres años. (Creo que si..) El es un poco viejo ja. El es capitan de un barco. Ahora, el esta en Iran. Cuando mi padre esta en Iloilo, el disfruta cocinar para todos nosotros durante los Domingos. Yo se que el ama mi madre muchisimo.

Mi madre se llama Carol. Ella tiene cincuenta y cinco años. ¡Espera!, ella no es asi. Ella tiene cincuenta y cuatro años. Antes, ella es empleada en una compania electrica. Ahora, ella es jubilada. Mi madre es baja pero ella tiene el corazon grande. Ella ama todos nosotros. Tambien, mi madre cocina el major Carne Frito. ¡Muy delicioso!

Ahora, una de mis hermanas y yo vivimos aqui, en Katipunan. Se llama Niña. Ella estudia en el colegio en la Universidad de Ateneo de Manila antes y ahora ella estudia medicina en la Escuela de Salud Publica y Medicina de Ateneo. Mi hermana es guapa y muy dedicada en sus estudios. Ella y yo amamos tomar cafe juntos. Ella es soltera aun.

De vuelta en Iloilo, mi otra hermana estudia en el colegio tambie. Ella es mi hermana mas joven y es la mas bonita. Mi hermana se llama Czena. Ella estudia ser una azafata en el futuro. Ella ama vestir se especialmente cuando nosotros vamos a la iglesia los Domingos o cuando nosotros viajamos a muchos lugares.

Finalmente, soy Isaiah. Soy el unico hijo de mis padres. Por la tanto, soy el mas guapo en mi familia. Estudio ingeniera civil. Soy joven aun y el mundo espera para mi. Tambien, se jugar al futbol.

¡Asi que vamos a hacer esto!

Ahoy Hanoi: Hoa Quả Dầm

If you happen to go to Hanoi in the summer, I'm not going to blame you if you'd find yourself one day spitting nothing but moans of exhaustion and complaining about nothing but the utter hotness of the day. Summers in Hanoi can really get heated and at times, yes, really sticky. On the skin, that is. Thick humidity in the city plus the undeniable heat and you know what you'll feel after a few minutes of walking around the generously wide sidewalks of Hanoi.

But don't worry, don't stress yourself too much on that fact. For one, there are plenty of coffee shops around the area where you can definitely have a cool break from the sun, and a refreshing cup of whatever drink you prefer. And, if I may suggest, you might try to prefer a glass of iced egg coffee some time. It surely is a promising treat.

What's also promising is this: hoa quả dầm.

It's a sweet treat for the hot afternoon! It's a heaven of fresh tropical fruits mixed in a bowl with a scoop of strawberry-milk yogurt or two. Oh, wait, you actually have to do the mixing part, but of course it's no problem, right? Usually, in this little food corner in the Old Quarter, along Tô Tịch Street, they sell a bowl for only ₫20,000 VND, so it's something, I'd say, which you will and can actually get more from what you've just paid for. Trust me on this. The little food corner, also, is very easy to spot; the moment you turn right at Hàng Gai Street to it, you're already almost there. So, I don't think there's going to be any problem on that. At all.

Tell me what you think after you've had a bowl of it.

Ahoy Hanoi: In Taking the Public Bus to the Old Quarter

Taking the public bus that goes around Hanoi is fun! It's comfortable, it's quite cheap, it's convenient, and it's really easy.. well, after your fourth or fifth time. Haha! I take the bus from where I stay to the Old Quarter (almost) all the time.

Basically, all you have to know before are the following:

1. Know the nearest bus stop from where you are staying. Then, name it your "home bus stop". There, you'll see what bus numbers make a stop in your home bus stop. In my case, from my house, the nearest bus stop is just a hundred meters away so I walk to it every time; and the bus numbers that make stops in it are bus numbers 33 and 50.
2. Figure out which bus number in your home bus stop has a route to another bus stop in the city which you can make transit in to bus number 9. You can Google this one. Bus number 9 is the one that goes directly to and has its terminal stop at Hoan Kiem Lake. That's where you want to go if you want to go to the Old Quarter, and easily remember how you did it. In my case, I can either ride bus number 33 or bus number 50, then go down after I pass three bus stops from my home bus stop. From there, I transfer to bus number 9 and I'm nineteen bus stops away from Hoan Kiem Lake. I measure the distance by just counting the number of bus stops I need to pass by from where I got in to where I'm going because it's so much easier than remembering the name of the particular bus stop. It's hard enough to figure out where to go, what more to actually read tiếng Việt.

Now, when everything that's needed to know is known, all you have to do is this:

1. Go to your home bus stop.
2. Ride the bus that will get you to the bus stop where bus number 9 makes a stop.
3. Go down at that bus stop.
4. Ride the bus number 9.
5. Wait.. and enjoy the ride until you get to Hoan Kiem Lake.
Reminder: The route of bus number 9 will pass by another lake before reaching the Hoan Kiem Lake so remember not to go down at the first lake that you'll see during the ride because it's not the lake yet.
6. Go down at Hoan Kiem Lake.

And that's it! You're in Hoan Kiem Lake, and you're just a short walk away from the bustling Old Quarter of Hanoi. Job well done!

The bus fare is the same for almost all the buses, regardless of how far the distance that you will take. It's ₫7,000 VND, that's the minimum fare. Only a few bus numbers in the city collect a fare that is a bit higher, only those that go to the suburbs. You can always check the fare upon entering the bus anyway. It's usually displayed on the door and windows.

Be willing to give up your seat to the elderly or pregnant women as soon as you see them go up the bus, too. Bus passengers here do it almost instinctively and immediately, and I think it's good and just right. It is the norm here, take note. But if you don't want to do it (for whatever personal reason), I suggest you find a seat at the back of the bus so the "pressure" on you is not that much. Unless, a pack of senior citizens suddenly suddenly gets in the bus, then you basically have not that much choice. So, just go get your ass off the seat and suck it!

Getting back to your place from the Old Quarter is another story, I guess. You can try to figure it out on your own. 

Ahoy Hanoi: Mornings in Mai Châu

To take a rest from the hustle bustle of the city, I took a trip to the countryside a few days ago. Together with a class of some new-found Vietnamese friends, I sat on the bus for more than four hours on the high and winding road to Mai Châu. Don't worry though, if you are, because the pain in the ass will pay off. Look!


Upon arriving at Mai Châu proper, we traveled on a little further to get to our accommodation which was in a local farm village. We settled in a traditional stilt house, which in Vietnamese is called nhà sàn (/nya san/), got our bags and stuff unpacked, ate the welcoming lunch set underneath the house, and then proceeded to trek our way up a mountain to check out a cave that is just nearby. Amazingly, the way up there is paved with stone stair-steps. So if you're not the hiking-type of person, there is still actually nothing much to worry about. ... Besides, the number of steps (because more or less, the number of steps going up round up to at least a thousand or two). But again, hard work in Mai Châu pays off. All the locals there know that.


Getting inside the cave was definitely a treat! It was as cold and as refreshing as an opened fridge. You must not miss it. 

On our bikes, on the way back to the village, I steered away and decided to make a quick turn to some place else to explore the fields... and explore I did. I definitely got lost in the plain's wilderness. I had to cross a rushing stream (that came out of nowhere), carrying my 30-kilogram bike and all my electronics inside a plastic bag. I circled around two different villages, one village after the other. Twice. I ended up getting stranded in the middle of the rice fields because some the farmers were milling their newly-harvested rice.. in the middle of the road. So, I just took the time to snap some pictures and watch the sun as it sets.


I arrived back to the village just in time for dinner. Before the night capped, there was a little campfire prepared for us, and it kind of became the local folks' send-off party to us as we head back to Hanoi the next morning. The night was hot!

About 135 kilometers out of Hanoi lies the rural valley of Mai Châu. The place is inhabited by different ethnic groups of the northern province of Hòa Bình. Out there are endless vistas of lush mountains and golden rice plains. The local culture is rich and is kept intact in long threads of tradition; their spirit, a warm haven and in tune with the rhythm of their vast fertile land.
If you want to check out more photos of the trip, you can click here.
Reading Suggestion: "A Letter to Mai Châu" by Andy Engelson

Ahoy Hanoi: The Poem "In Hanoi, again"

In Hanoi, again

by Jennifer Fossenbell

The city, she opens her fingers to let me reenter the creases of her palm.
The city, she holds her head in front of the sun, keeping me in the shadow of her heavy hair.
The city, she plucks and cleaves and boils and picks and kneads, her hands as clever as cats and quick as lizards.
The city, she sings her wares alley by alley, bent beneath her bamboo yoke, plodding plastic-shod from rise to fall.
The city, she sleeps the sleep of worn bones, quiet as a tomb, hard as history.
The city, she is not my mother but she holds me anyway to her bosom and sings to me songs I can't understand but can't ever stop listening to.

Ahoy Hanoi: How the Koi Became a Dragon

In Vietnam, there's a popular story that almost every Vietnamese kid had definitely heard about when they were growing up. Told oftentimes by their parents, or sometimes by their grandparents, the story is called "The Story of How the Koi Became a Dragon".

I first heard about the story from a Vietnamese friend when we were spending some time at a mall and came upon a particularly remarkable wall fountain display. You must not miss the inspiration the story carries, so I'm sharing it with you:

Listen up!

The koi, a kind of cold water fish, swim against the current to gain strength. Many a-thousand years ago, long before history has been recorded, thousands of koi swim as though they were flowing jewels up the Yellow River. Upon getting to a waterfall, most of the koi of the thousands got discouraged to go on and dishearteningly decided to swim back, to just go with flow of the river. Three hundred and sixty koi remained however, and were determined to get past the waterfalls and reach its top. Again and again, leaping and then splashing back into waterfall basin, the remaining koi struggled. With all the noise and splash of the water these koi were making, attention of the demons in the place were drawn to them. The demons laughed at the koi and, to add to the koi's struggle, added more height to the waterfalls. But still the koi refused to give up! They refused to give up for one hundred years! Then, at last, one of the koi made its final leap and got to the top of the waterfalls! The gods smiled and approved of this koi's achievement. They transformed the koi to a shining golden dragon as a reward for its heroic feat. Now, the koi-turned-dragon blissfully spends the day chasing pearls of wisdom in the sky and in the heavens. The waterfalls became to be known as The Dragon's Gate, and whenever a new koi gets to leap to the top of the wateralls, the koi transforms into a golden dragon as well.

The koi's perseverance and endurance in the story have become inspiration to many Vietnamese people (and probably to other people who've heard the same story as well) in overcoming adversities in their lives and in fulfilling their destinies. Now, you get a little bit of Vietnamese culture to appreciate and learn a lesson from.

This is the particularly remarkable wall fountain display
found inside the Royal City Vincom Mega Mall in Hanoi.

Ahoy Hanoi: Getting to the City!

Xin chào!

That's how you say "Hello!" in Vietnamese, and particularly here in Hanoi. You pronounce it this way: /s̪in˧˧ ṯɕaːw˨˩/ (/sin-chaw/). Yep, good job. I think you got it right! Just remember to lower your tone a bit at the end; the emphasis is on the word "xin".

So okay, a few first things first:

There's no Hanoi International Airport.
In getting to Hanoi by plane, you land at Nội Bài International Airport. It's located at the north far-end of the city. It will take you around 30-45 minutes of travel to get to the city's center from the airport.

About your Vietnam Visa.
I suggest you avail of the country's Visa Upon-Arrival service online. It is very convenient and is processed really fast upon your arrival at the airport in Hanoi. You can check out Vietnam Visa for more information about this. There are actually lots of agencies online that offer such service, but that's the one I would recommend. They were efficient and on-time in delivering my visa approval letter. Oh, also check for visa exemptions for your country! Maybe you don't need any visa after all.

At the airport.
Upon getting your visa and having gone through the Vietnamese Immigration at the airport, you proceed to getting your luggage near the exit of the terminal. Exchange only a small amount of US dollars ($25-50 USD is enough) to Vietnamese dong (VND) at the airport; have the rest exchanged at the bank in the city because they buy dollars at a little higher rate. If there is no one to fetch you at the airport, be wary of the people that will approach you at the arrival terminal's exit. A taxi driver in Hanoi, for example, is dressed quite impeccably: in dress pants, wears white long sleeves, (sometimes) with necktie, and sports an ID card. At first look, you might mistake him as an airport personnel or a tourist aide (like in my case), approaching you to offer some help, asking you where you're headed to. If, unfortunately, you couldn't get your dollars exchanged because money changing counters in the terminal are already closed, you must settle all the necessary arrangements with your chosen taxi driver first before entering his cab. For example, that you're going to pay him in US dollars instead of Vietnamese dong, that he knows exactly the address you're headed to, etc. The taxi fare from the airport to Hanoi averagely runs from ₫400,000-420,000 VND (or $20-25 USD). Giving tip to the taxi driver after is optional, and is not discouraged. Just make sure he got you to the right address.

Here's a tip: have the complete address of where you're headed to both in its English and Vietnamese translation. Not everyone in Hanoi knows how to speak English, let alone read English. So, it's going to be really handy and helpful to the taxi driver and you to have the address written correctly in Vietnamese.

So, that's it. I hope you get to wherever you're headed to in Hanoi safely and stress-free. If not, then I guess.. welcome to Hanoi!

Katag

     In the University of the Philippines in Diliman, there is this cafeteria, the only one, at the ground floor of the old faculty center building, named Katag Refreshment, more commonly known only as "Katag", where the arrangement of their tables and chairs is as "weird" as nothing I have seen in many cafeterias so far. There are about thirty tables, though, by memory, this is just an estimate. Each table has four plastic chairs with them. Sounds pretty normal, right? The "weird" part, again, comes from their arrangement, the way these tables and chairs are arranged and put together. The tables, they are rotated "quarter-way", or forty-five degrees, so as they appear to be, from the food counter, diamond-shaped tables rather than perfectly oriented squares. The four chairs go to each side of the table's shape, that's four. The dining sets of furniture are, for another weird fact, arranged too closely together, so closely near together that actually the back rest of one chair touches the other back rest of another chair from the table next. What is even more weird: people eating in Katag do not find this very arrangement inconvenient at all. If they did, then the management would have rearrange the place long ago! The people there just get along well with their ordered food and the order of their dining spaces. Isn't that weird?

     This afternoon and in the recent past afternoons of the week, I had delightful times eating my regular order of baked mac and glass of Coke there. That was where I was before I walked my way in the academic oval to the film center today. There is a campus screening of the movie "Ilo-Ilo", and I cannot dare miss it. Also, the grove of Acacia trees at the right side of Quezon Hall has lost almost all their leaves, did anyone notice? Summer's coming.

Campus screening ticket for "Ilo-Ilo".

The Sports of Drinking

The Sports of Drinking

by Isaiah Cabanero

Round One…

You will need a buddy. And that buddy must be a good one at that. Just as in a table tennis game, you choose one who is as competitive as you are to play with. No one wants to play with a loser at first service, right?

Then, you will need the right equipment. If the sports of fencing requires you a fencing suit and a smallsword at hand, a round of beer for you perhaps is as needed. Or whatever your trip of drink is, for that matter.

Finally, you will need a motivation to play. If for Muhammad Ali, his motivation is to win at deforming his opponent’s face inside the ring, in the sports of drinking, you will need the right motivation as well. May it be because you just had lost a chance at scoring a “chick” at school after class, or you just suck at being your best in front of the crowd today, one needs an ultimate motivation to play the game.

Round Two…

Read on for the next rounds! You may click here. 

Jorge Luis Borges's "Ficciones"

Analyses of three of the stories in Jorge Luis Borges’s collection
Ficciones 
By Isaiah Cabanero 

           The three stories “The Library of Babel”, “The Theme of the Traitor and Hero”,  and “Three Versions of Judas”, all by Jorge Luis Borges, are chosen to be analyzed and/or reflected upon in this analytical paper purely because of the intriguing interests and powerful impressions each of the title exudes upon first reading.

To continue reading the article, click here. 

Tonight, One Quote

"The life of a man, male or female, if, say, compared to a complete sensible sentence, can, or at some point must, have commas within it for pauses or separation of ideas and, by the end of the thought, be punctuated with a period to declare the end. This is man’s life in a sentence, or his “life sentence”."

Nadine Gordimer's "Six Feet of the Country" & Wole Soyinka's "Telephone Conversation"

A Critical Paper of Nadine Gordimer's and Wole Soyinka's

 Six Feet of the Country and Telephone Conversation

By Isaiah Cabanero

“The moment a little boy is concerned with which is a jay and which is a sparrow,

he can no longer see the birds or hear them sing.”

- Dr. Eric Berne

The natures of the relationships the African population had, in general, with the other populations of the world, particularly the ones they had with the population of the whites, who first came to settle in for trade and agriculture, then eventually to colonize, the southern portion of the African continent in the decades past have had very significant impacts in world relations and literature. Most especially during the Apartheid period^*, when the natures of these relationships were at their gravest, the African population suffered grievous separation policies of the ruling white government not only racially, but also economically, socially, and educationally. This is both the subjects being presented and tackled in Nadine Gordimer’s short story “Six Feet of the Country” and Wole Soyinka’s poem “Telephone Conversation”.

In “Six Feet of the Country”, a white couple living in their farm in the countryside, just ten miles outside the city of Johannesburg, is faced with a situation involving them and their young African farm boy and his brother, who illegally immigrated to Johannesburg to find work but got severely sick along the way, lied ill in his brother’s hut for days, and then died, inside the premises of the couple’s farm. The couple now is thrust with the responsibility to take care of and bury the dead young man’s body. The conflict arose when the young African farm boy’s dead brother’s body is handled by the authorities differently than what he, in coherence with his family’s tradition, had hoped for.

In “Telephone Conversation”, an African is on the phone, calling up to a landlady in some location far away in order to get himself some space to stay in upon his arrival there after his journey. He confessed to her that he is an African, and then their conversation over the telephone went from negotiating the price of the space he’d want to stay in upon his arrival to negotiating the lightness or darkness of his complexion. Their conversation soon ended with the landlady hanging up her receiver on the other end of the line.

The two selections, “Six Feet of the Country” and “Telephone Conversation”, though one is a short story and the other a poem, can be creatively analogized to the elements of the foremost-mentioned quotation by Dr. Berne; taking one of the two as the jay and the other as the sparrow. Concerning oneself much of which selection is which from the other, as what is followed-up by the quotation, forfeits oneself of seeing the essence of the selections or the messages they preach. With this kind of reasoning in mind, the two selections can be analyzed together, as one, as if in an overlapping or super-imposing manner, with the lines of the poem tried to be weaved harmoniously into the mesh of the short story’s paragraphs. Some of the lines of the poem are further chopped into composite sensible phrases, and are weaved not necessarily chronologically into the sequence of the paragraphs of the short story, but more soundly into the most comparable and most parallel ones. This kind of literary approach is part-Deconstruction, part-New Criticism, part-New Historicism, part-Structuralism, and part-Semiotic Criticism. ...

To continue reading the article, click here.

A Harry Potter prequel written by J.K. Rowling

An Account of One of James's and Sirius's Adventures:
 
          The speeding motorcycle took the sharp corner so fast in the darkness that both policemen in the pursuing car shouted ‘whoa!’ Sergeant Fisher slammed his large foot on the brake, thinking that the boy who was riding pillion was sure to be flung under his wheels; however, the motorbike made the turn without unseating either of its riders, and with a wink of its red tail light, vanished up the narrow side street.
          "We’ve got ‘em now!” cried PC Anderson excitedly. "That’s a dead end!”
          Leaning hard on the steering wheel and crashing his gears, Fisher scraped half the paint off the flank of the car as he forced it up the alleyway in pursuit.
          There in the headlights sat their quarry, stationary at last after a quarter of an hour’s chase. The two riders were trapped between a towering brick wall and the police car, which was now crashing towards them like some growling, luminous-eyed predator.
          There was so little space between the car doors and the walls of the alley that Fisher and Anderson had difficulty extricating themselves from the vehicle. It injured their dignity to have to inch, crab-like, towards the miscreants. Fisher dragged his generous belly along the wall, tearing buttons off his shirt as he went, and finally snapping off the wing mirror with his backside.
          "Get off the bike!" he bellowed at the smirking youths, who sat basking in the flashing blue light as though enjoying it.
          They did as they were told. Finally pulling free from the broken wind mirror, Fisher glared at them. They seemed to be in their late teens. The one who had been driving had long black hair; his insolent good looks reminded Fisher unpleasantly of his daughter’s guitar-playing, layabout boyfriend. The second boy also had black hair, though his was short and stuck up in all directions; he wore glasses and a broad grin. Both were dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with a large golden bird; the emblem, no doubt, of some deafening, tuneless rock band.
          "No helmets!" Fisher yelled, pointing from one uncovered head to the other. "Exceeding the speed limit by – by a considerable amount!" (In fact, the speed registered had been greater than Fisher was prepared to accept that any motorcycle could travel.) "Failing to stop for the police!"
          "We’d have loved to stop for a chat," said the boy in glasses, "only we were trying -"
          "Don’t get smart – you two are in a heap of trouble!" snarled Anderson. "Names!"
          "Names?" repeated the long-haired driver. "Er – well, let’s see. There’s Wilberforce… Bathsheba… Elvendork…"
          "And what’s nice about that one is, you can use it for a boy or a girl," said the boy in glasses.
          "Oh, OUR names, did you mean?" asked the first, as Anderson spluttered with rage. "You should’ve said! This here is James Potter, and I’m Sirius Black!"
          "Things’ll be seriously black for you in a minute, you cheeky little -"
          But neither James nor Sirius was paying attention. They were suddenly as alert as gundogs, staring past Fisher and Anderson, over the roof of the police car, at the dark mouth of the alley. Then, with identical fluid movements, they reached into their back pockets.
          For the space of a heartbeat both policemen imagined guns gleaming at them, but a second later they saw that the motorcyclists had drawn nothing more than -
          "Drumsticks?" jeered Anderson. "Right pair of jokers, aren’t you? Right, we’re arresting you on a charge of -"
          But Anderson never got to name the charge. James and Sirius had shouted something incomprehensible, and the beams from the headlights had moved.
          The policemen wheeled around, then staggered backwards. Three men were flying – actually FLYING – up the alley on broomsticks – and at the same moment, the police car was rearing up on its back wheels.
          Fisher’s knees bucked; he sat down hard; Anderson tripped over Fisher’s legs and fell on top of him, as FLUMP – BANG – CRUNCH – they heard the men on brooms slam into the upended car and fall, apparently insensible, to the ground, while broken bits of broomstick clattered down around them.
          The motorbike had roared into life again. His mouth hanging open, Fisher mustered the strength to look back at the two teenagers.
          "Thanks very much!" called Sirius over the throb of the engine. "We owe you one!"
          "Yeah, nice meeting you!" said James. "And don’t forget: Elvendork! It’s unisex!"
          There was an earth-shattering crash, and Fisher and Anderson threw their arms around each other in fright; their car had just fallen back to the ground. Now it was the motorcycle’s turn to rear. Before the policemen’s disbelieving eyes, it took off into the air: James and Sirius zoomed away into the night sky, their tail light twinkling behind them like a vanishing ruby.

Source: http://www.mugglenet.com/potterprequel.shtml

Hey Buddy,

Tonight is something.

Tonight my friend told me that her father has cancer. Stage two. Cancer, it's the most common torture of the time. I told her "it's okay" and we said our "good nights".

It wasn't. It was not okay as I walked back home to my place. I felt like every step I make hesitate to step on the ground, and as if my butt drags me back to where my friend and I said our "good night"s. God, it was an unknown pain inside I was feeling. I kept thinking of forgetting something. I felt a hug was missed. I felt bad. Seriously bad, it almost had sickened me as well as the share she'd told me.

I didn't know what exactly to do! Should I go back? Run back after her, and give her the hug I felt forgotten and missed? Or should I just... I don't know, don't mind the thought? I couldn't take it. It's so bad a feeling I felt really bad. Damn it! i say.

I ran back, rushed down my place and back outside. I rushed to her building as quickly as I can feel, damn it pushed the elevator up myself up to the ninth floor, rang the bell, her door opened, and gave her my hug. I told her "it's okay" though I know it's not. She told me "it's fine" and thought I left my bag at hers. I told her "it's okay" and told her "good night".

She to me is special, and she deserves the hug. I just want to let her know that I do care and that it's okay even if the world knows it's not at the moment. 

Tonight was a good night. Not doing what I had just done, I must have felt sickened by myself 'til morn. Destitution perils not only the destitute, but, sometimes, perils the one that destitutes more. 

I felt drunk. I regret not the hug.

Your buddy

Tonight, One Quote

 

"As common windows are intended only to admit the light, but painted windows also to dye it, and to be an object of attention in themselves as well as a cause of visibility in other things, so, while the purest prose is a mere vehicle of thought, verse, like stained glass, arrests attention in its own intricacies, confuses it in its own glories, and is even at time allowed to darken and puzzle in the hope of casting over us a supernatural spell."

 

Read more about it here.

Today, One Quote

"When a man is denied the right to live the life he believes in, he has no choice but to become an outlaw."

Tonight, One Quote

"... that while a man is an insoluble puzzle, in the aggregate he becomes a mathematical certainty. You can, for example, never foretell what any one man will do. But you can, with precision, say what an average man will do. Individuals vary, percentages remain constant. So says the statistician. I am not an average man."

Hey buddy,

Whatsup mothafucka? It's almost eleven at night over here at my place. I just got back from walking out ya know. It's a nice thing to do, I thought. Was planning to grab a can of beer on the walk back to my place but the fucking liquor ban raced me through it tonight and won. I got a can of Coke in behalf. It kind of sucked, I know. My stomach's a bit in disagreement of why I got it even. It feels! Anyway, I thought it cool to write to you once in a while. I'm startin' to feel a bit lonely here. More lonelier than last month, honestly. Even more lonelier than I've ever been before, ya know. It's a feeling of loneliness that's still unfamiliar to me, and to my body. I believe I cope by eating, or I don't know coz I'm not really sure. I've been eating A LOT really these past few days. I can't be left unfed for more than four hours. Or else, I'd think that I'd better die than starve. I'm getting the feeling of starvation more frequently than any man along this Katipunan Avenue has ever been. I feel for the African nation now. ... My music pausing intermittently. It's making my focus loose. Wait a sec...

Hi. I went to pee. It's all the cola I just drank. Finally it went out of my system. Anyway, what was I gonna say again? Yeah, I got some exams coming. Major exams, and some papers to write, too. Wait a sec again, sorry... Sorry, hey. It was my best friend from high school. He just sent me a link to pornsite. I don't why, or I don't know what got to him tonight ha ha but this is unexpected. I know I hoped for quite a time already he'd actually send me these kinds of stuff, coz ya know that'll make me say we share this more brotherly bond, but I never expected he'd actually be able to do it. Ha ha! Clap clap bro, clap clap. Okay, anyway, where was I again? Sorry, I think I have this short-term memory loss thing going on in me now. It just started a few weeks ago, or so I just noticed. Also, I think my eyes got bad just recently. Probably because of all the readings I've been doing for my literature classes and for my personal thing, too. But I don't wanna to put much priority to them now. I got major exams coming, remember? Wait, sorry, brb in a sec again... Okay, sorry about that again. This site called reddit.com my best friend told me about is just funny. They got some cool stuff to read actually. 

So, anyway, I guess I'll end writing to you here for tonight. I am yet to find more things to talk about and more words to represent them to you, my buddy. Yeah? Alright, I'll write to you soon definitely. 'til next time!

Your buddy