ANNOUNCEMENT: My Worldly Muses

Hey guys,

it's been an eternity since I've last been here! Anyway, I just wanted to officially announce that I probably won't be publishing any further posts here, but I cordially invite you to check out (and maybe follow?) my new blog:

www.myworldlymuses.blogspot.com

You can also send me e-mails with this e-mail add for my new blog:

myworldlymuses@gmail.com


I promise I won't go MIA this tme, so, again, don't forget to check it out (it's still under construction,though - just starting again; you guys know the drill.)

Salut and see you,
XO

Dawning swim

A small pitiful creature
stranded in a carnival
left alone
victimized
as a stigma in this world.
It looks around
sees nothing
but a gaudy sea of masks
artefacts of great complexity
and a shore of pure joy
Yet there it is
lonely
confused;an infamy in the swarm.

Slowly it continues
Lost in the depth
of the sheer intricacy
of the profound abyss it is in.
Unsure
it struggles
against its fear
suffocating in the ferociousness
of the waves of unfamiliarity
and its streams of tears.

The waves grow bigger
as it plunges into the crowd
its breathing getting heavier
parallel to every step
and every sound.

Closing its eyes
it grows silent.
The pitiless creature
drowns
in the sea of gaudy masks
into the endless limbo
of darkness and lies.

random ranting

I don't even know why I created my own blog.
What's the purpose of having it if I don't have any concrete musings to write about? It's just pathetic - so incredibly lame, so dull, so obtuse.

You know what's funny? The praises I get on the "genuine quality" of my writings. I just do not understand how people can be so tasteless. I understand the concept behind the "beauty is in the eye of the beholder" whatnot, but I just refuse to believe the absurdity of people liking anything I scribble on. I am not even able to finish writing a consistent train of thought!
People must be unbelievably screwed up to even read this crap.

So congratulations!
You just wasted about a minute of your time digesting this post you will never even think of in the coming years of your life.



What big, whiny losers we all are.

Society & bladiblah .

Although we all consider ourselves living in an open society full of gender equality and emancipation, it is inevitable to say that in this world, we'll always be held captive, imprisoned and chained - unless you live alone, isolated and secluded on a far, far away island distanced from society.

If you look around, you'll notice what I mean.

Daily life is based on a very intricate system which sustains itself as every group of person (commune, community) fulfills the task he has been assigned to. Just like the principles of wildlife and ecosystems, we human beings are part of a (based on ecology's "food web") "social web" which exists apart from the food web we already belong to (autotrophs -> primary consumers -> secondary consumers -> tertiary consumers -> ... ).
Taking this into consideration, it can be assumed that this "social web" merely manages itself if every group of person continues the task that is expected from it. So what does this really mean?

If you ask me, I'd say that because of that, we are the victims and captives of our own selves - not only of our own beings and minds, but of our own lifestyle. Through the further development of technology and further "improvements" that facilitate our way of living, we have locked ourselves up in a cage whose key has been thrown away and may never be found. We are bound to each other, expecting others to fulfill his "job" to be able to do ours - and to be able to survive. We have become co-dependent, although we claim to be emancipated and self-sufficient - imprisoned in this cycle which impedes us from truly breaking free.
 In a sense, we are like animals (heck, we are animals) with our own "species" and our own "populations" which complement each other to form a whole.

Is this what truly defines us? Are we really individuals who strive for our own goals and own aims, keeping business to ourselves as we tread on? Or are we just part of a collective group which contributes to the whole system for it to work? What defines every single one of us? What defines an individual? And if this is the case, why does racism still exist?

Renee.

(P.S. I'm sorry for the waffling - I still have to work on my ability in sorting out thoughts and writing them down.)

random sh*t

If a name is a tag, a term to address you with,what is really being?
What are you and who are you if the words that describe you are subjective, invented words which just facilitate the lifestyle of man?
What are you and who are you, if, in every place and every situation, you transform into somebody else, depending on who you are with, to optimize your own convenience?
What is this inconsistency which man has evolved with, this inconsistency which challenges man to doubt his existence as he slugs on in life to "please and fulfill" his own/or someone else's desires, even those of a "higher" being?
What really defines us, as an entity, as a human being?
Are we opulent servants who were given emotions which we are supposed to ignore with humility?
... Or are we the products of evolution; of the gift of Nature that, hypothetically, "sustains itself"?


The clock keeps on ticking - and I feel lost in time.


-Renee

WTF.

It's discouraging to see the society around you, not getting better since no one seems to care.It's draining to merely observe your surroundings, losing energy as you see the face of evil.
What has our society done? How low can it get?!

...and the worst part is, I'm part of this pile of sh*t.

sharing scrumptdelicious cookies

The following does not have anything to do with cookies, that's one thing.
I just love him - and the whole world does as well.
And if you don't know him, well, hopefully you'll love him as well.



Here you go! :)
Paulo Coelho




RENEE

Worth the Listen

A 100% ear orgasm guarantee.

Renée.

mi primer intento (me and my lousy Spanish skills.)

Esto será la primera vez que intentaré escribir en Espanol. Sé que este texto tendrá muchisimos fallos, pero por lo menos lo he intentado, eh?

Soy Renee, tengo diecisiete anos y vivo en Berlin. Cuando tenia tres, mi familia se mudó a Espana por el trabajo de mi madre. Nos quedamos en Madrid por siete anos, y cuando estaba en la tercera clase, volvimos a Filipinas. Supongo que esto es la razón porque mi Espanol no se ha desarrollado tanto. Yo pienso que eso es una lástima porque la literatura Espanola es magnífica y, bueno, a mi me encataría escribir asi tambien (ojalá). Y al hablar? Hay muchas palabras que se me olvidan. Que pena, no?

Que más puedo escribir? Ah, ya sé: me encanta la vida. Me encanta ver el sol al amanecer y la luna al brillar por la noche. Me encanta ver las estrellas luminosas y los árboles gigantezcos en los jardines de la gente. Me encanta observar los animales al cuidar a sus hijos. Me encanta todo lo que veo al despertarme por la manana.
Lo que no me gusta? El comportamiento de la humanidad - los mentirosos asesinos y hipócritos asquerosos.
Yo sé que es "parte de la vida", parte de esta sociedad... pero para mí, la vida no es la vida para otra gente. Para mi, la vida es la naturaleza y el estado del mundo sin incluir las consecuencias de los hechos de la humanidad. Para mi, la vida es esa esencia que nos deja sentir, esperar, querer, odiar ... No sé como explicarlo (y especialmente no en Espanol!), pero para mi, la vida es muchisimo más de lo que parece.

Espero que hayais entendido lo que quiero decir.
Besazos.

(P.S: Alguien puede recomendarme un periódico Espanol, algunos autores contemporares/clasicos o músicos que cantan en Espanol?)

The Artist

Trickling droplets of water
dripping soundlessly at dawn
singing birds
rejoicing
as the artist drew on
picturesque sunsets of cotton
meadows of green
-- silence
poisoned by beauty
his eyes barely see.

Zigzags and scribbles
in dark crimson red
caressing to and fro
the frail whiteness of death
shedding perspiration
chewing his bread
completing the last stroke
the last droplet of sweat shed.

letter to a loved one

Dear ____,

it's three o'clock in the morning and I miss you like hell.
I have been sitting in my room for endless hours, thinking of you and me and the countless times we have spent together, blissfully blinded by our passion and love.
With an emergent restlessness have I pondered about the many ways I have wronged you, slashing several wounds through your heart as you slowly become immune against each one of them. 

I have not been a good lover, nor have I been a great friend, and through this letter do I desire to announce my heartfelt apology upon tenderly wishing for our lovely reunion once again.

Only 300 kilometers keep us apart, yet I feel as if you live in a surreal universe I am not even allowed to fathom of.

I understand that I have yet to learn the true worth of your care and compassion... and therefore do I now beg of you to strengthen the perpetual patience you continuously have shown me.
I am a sinner - and I fear that I will remain so for quite a while. For I am young, and temptations have not failed to dominate my curious heart.

Yet, I also appeal to you not to forget one very crucial matter: my unconditional love for you which, like a volcano, quietly remains fervent within me as it patiently waits for the next opportunity to erupt and explode.

You are the only silver lining there is - and ever will be.

I love you,
Renee 

(P.S: Happy holidays, everyone!)

:S

Writing is imprinting the unspeakable in words.

Good night, world.

Renee

Worth the Listen

This song is simply the new definition of addiction:

"Crossfire" by Brandon Flowers 




kisses,
Renee :)

identity crisis part 1

Hi, my name is _____, am seventeen years of age, and I don't know who I am.

Every morning, I look for something to hold onto - something inspiring... palpable... unique... something real and of life's true essence;  something that, no matter what anyone would do or say, I could really include to the collection of things and treasures I can really call mine.

Life has been a dump and a real downer as I've survived these last seventeen years with a certain dragging monotony that still haunts my daily life. I wake up every day as light comes into my eyes upon seeing the white, dull ceiling staring back at me with its chilly plainness. It hurts. It hurts so much - the rays of brightness, the piercing simplicity, the blanche routine.

I never asked it to be this way - I never asked it to be any other way, for that matter. C'est seulement comme ca - et il faut que je la subisse. You can't blame me, though, just as I can't blame anyone - just as I can't blame myself nor the world.

I'm seventeen - and I haven't done anything for anyone - not even for myself. I haven't done enough, nor have I done anything for a single soul that lives in this world.

I love life.

I love my family.

Friends.

I love this world.

yet, the only thing that I just can't love is myself...

Hi, my name is _______, and I just lost the definition of "______."



P.S: interpretationsfrei.

random-ish-ity

I'm inclined to believe that we don't exist.

We are the product of our minds; the product of our own reason and judgment.

This isn't our world - it is somebody else's.

...and love doesn't exist, either.

Bitter much? You can only imagine.

R.

Quote

" Understand that your success in life won't be determined just by what's given to you, or what happens to you, but by what you do with all of that — by how hard you try; how far you push yourself; how high you're willing to reach; because true excellence comes only through perseverance."

"Eve"

God, tell me how I landed here?
It's already nine pm and I still haven't started working on my biology presentation.
Can someone shoot me for my indolence?



"EVE"


Wandering, woeful, in a world full of wonders.
Weeping, yet wanting as I wish to win.
Wholesome, worn.
I stumble down.
Worried.
Wailing;
wandering and wondering why.


I wait to live. And live to wait;
Wench;
Woman;
Tell me.
What wanton wounds you accept to suffer?
Washing away your identity.
Whimsical,
the world's wrath.
Waiting to live, and living to wait.





Renee

P.S: FACEBOOK SUCKS! :(

My Summer (part 1)

Ok, so I am fully aware of the fact that my blog, writings and musings are the biggest flops in history....

Anyway, I´m in such a bad mood lately and I just can´t explain why. Maybe due to the heat wave that has been taking over Germany these last few weeks.

Damn it, it´s even worse than in the Philippines because we don´t even have air conditioning (not that I need it, but I'm telling you, I'm dehydrating here)! AND you´re not exactly allowed to open an umbrella. (Uhmm... I think only Southeast Asians will get this one.)

But ... oh, well, I´m assuming that I´m not the only one who has had his blues... because anywhere you go here in Big B (Berlin), you´ll see the people frowning even more often than they already had done prior summer.

Apart from that, I´ve lately been losing interest in going out... considering the underground and buses here reek of the odor we human beings oh-so-nicely project. (God, I almost fainted the other day! But whatever. No one cares.)

Anyway, to make the long babbling short, I decided to tell you a bit of my awesome (that was meant sarcastically, you suckers) SUMMER.

Tell me, what do you associate the word "summer" with?

...

...

...
...

... (it´s for you to think! :D)

 

I know what you´re thinking of: summer flings, summer romance, beaches, parties, hot guys, hot Edward Cullens (God, I hate him!!!!), smoothies, flip flops, etc. etc. (Just think of Katy Perry in California Gurls....Freaking industrialists!). Yes, yes, yes. SUMMER indeed is the ideal time for all that!

But hey, I didn't meet any Johnny Depp, and as much as I hate to break it to myself, my summer (mostly!) consisted of something less fun for a teenage girl: work.

(imaginary applause in the background!)

Ever since Summer break began, I´ve been working for talk2move, an agency which fundraises for non-profit organizations such as WWF, Malteser and SOS Kinderdoerfer.

*and just FYI, if you want to take a peek:

http://www.talk2move.de/

http://www.wwf.org/

http://www.sos-kinderdoerfer.de/Pages/default.aspx

http://www.malteser.de/

At first, I was pretty nervous as to whether it´ll be an interesting job or just one where they exploit greedy children who want to earn sth., yet in the end, it actually proved to be quite a blast: the people were amicable (most of them) and well, although it was deadly tiring, it was a good cause from the first day 'til the last!

However, I felt under pressure most of the time... because it was really hard to find any sponsor at the streets who didn't think that we were either:

1) completely mental

2) a modus operandi

3) didn't have anything to do

4) young punks without a home

5) working for corrupt capitalists

6) just wanted the money for ourselves

7) ... just fill in the blank yourself

...and yeah, I think you get my point. So technically, almost no one stopped and listened... although the best part of the day was talking to people and having the most random conversations  and discussions with strangers you probably won't be seeing again.

I just loved being insulted yet praised at the same time! It was such an elating feeling; even more satisfying than being at church! (Forgive me God, for I have sinned.)

...But whatever, we managed.

My point is, having a summer job ISN'T only "having a summer job".
It's not just about the money; not about your own needs and wants nor about the fruits you reap by sowing.
Rather, it's about the experience and epiphanies you undergo while jobbing.
Every time I was on the streets with my aching feet and my half-broken sandals, talking and explaining and giving my best to try to convince people of the purpose we were engaged in, I noticed how many people really did and do exert effort to be able to change the world; to make a change.
Some of them, of course, were lying (you could tell by their reactions, the curtness and shallowness of their answers), yet quite a number really DID have an idea; DID have a clue and actually WERE doing something that really DID change someone's life drastically.
...And you know what? The majority of them were young people, students like them, you and me; like us.
I'm not implying anything, (I don't want to play the hypocrite here) but if you really think about it, the youth really DOES play an utterly relevant role in the future of society (Whitney Houston was right all along).
After all, we are the idealists ... and our elders are the hopeless pessimists who CALL themselves realists. (Hold on a minute, I respect my elders and I'm not referring to all of them... I just meant those who are right at the top. I think you know what I mean, right?)
As the youth of today, shouldn't we already be thinking of reforming the way we mold the generations after us into industrialist minds?
We ourselves hate it, why not try to change it?
I know it's wishful thinking, but we're not trying to change the entire world at once.
Up to now, we've been trying to walk step by step into the right direction, waiting for a change.
But the question is: why not be the change itself? (I know many prominent people have probably already said this, but I think that there's no better nor blunter way to say what this world needs us to be.)

(I'm SO sorry for this tremendously mediocre post. My thoughts have been flying lately and they've been a bit tangled.)
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Randoms of the day:

PHOTO:

Don't stare at the model, just stare at the top. I love love love it and I want it so bad.

LINK:

Do you love love loooooove Vintage, Bohemian clothing? Then go visit The Stellar Boutique . I swear you'll fall in love.

QUOTE:

"The illiterate of the 21st century will not be those who cannot read and write,
but those who cannot learn, unlearn, and relearn."

 

SONG:

"Darling I do" by Landon Pigg and Lucy Schwartz. And yes, I love Shrek.

 

lovelovelove,

Renee

My unfinished English assignment (ch.2)

Chapter Two:

Trina had been happy to find Ryan. She had been rescued by him; she could still recall. Or rather, she could still remember the little she had always known from that night. It had been a stormy winter when she had decided to run away. She had craved to find those who wanted and needed her, for she could not ignore the loneliness any longer. One night, she collapsed from exhaustion due to her long journeying and malnourishment. After that was the dream which she had always been having when her grief became too unbearable. It mostly involved endless seas, never-seen creatures and winding pathways, and her not finding an escape while a deep voice kept on calling her name.

Upon waking up, she was lying on a bed right where she started, finding a sort of stone on her lap. It was peculiarly shaped, something similar to a hazel nut yet with rectangular corners, five circles and an eye located in the middle. It was then that she saw a scar of exactly the same shape on her left shoulder. On that same afternoon, Ryan arrived, and soon thereafter, both of them became very fond of each other.
Unlike her, he had known his parents and had a past, although she still could not fathom why they had left him. He did not like talking about this much, so Trina never dredged up the topic.
The only thing she knew was that he had never told her who his parents were and that he disliked his last name above of all.

Because of this, she was curious as to why Pendek seemed to know much about his past.
She wanted to know more – and on top of all, she wanted to know whether this minuscule man had the key to unlock hers.

My unfinished English assignment (ch. 1)

Chapter one:

It was a hot summer morning in June, the fiery orange sun barely visible from the horizon as the train stood to a halt at the platform just in time for sunrise.
“Ry! We’re here,” a frolicking girl exclaimed, her happy high-pitched voice resonating in the empty wagon as she gently shook a boy’s broad shoulders to wake him up. After a few shakes, the young teenager beside her finally stirred, sheepishly smiling at the girl upon opening his left green and right blue eye.
“What? We have to go!” she repeated impatiently, this time tugging at his sweatshirt while grabbing her black bag with her other hand.
The boy, still in mid-trance, slowly stood up and yawned, stretching his arms upward as he attempted to reach the luggage overhead many times.
Just as he was about to succeed, he heard heavy, sluggish footsteps behind him.
Thud. Thud. Thud. What on earth was that? Thud. Thud. Thud. “I think it’s approaching!” he thought to himself in fright, noticing the now trembling floor and flickering lights. He instinctively took Trina’s brittle hand and hurried toward the train doors when suddenly, his left foot slipped on a banana peel lying on the corridor, stumbling backward as he fell hard against the ground. Pitch darkness came into sight.

“Ry? RY!”
Ryan woke up with a start upon hearing that familiar bubbly voice, quickly sitting upright as he felt excitement rushing through his veins at the thought of their new home together.
He gazed around. The excitement diminished: he had forgotten what had happened just now, and to top it all, he was apparently still in the train, heading to who-knew-where.
“Ry! You’re awake! Thank God, I was starting to worry!” Trina stated.
“I’m sorry we weren’t able to carry you out onto the platform… good thing I was able to catch you, though.”
“We? Who is “we”?” he thought, baffled.
“Actually, we tried at first, but then I had trouble breathing, and you know my left hand is sort of fractured… so we left it at that.”
All of a sudden, a deep hoarse voice interrupted the girl.
“Mr. Richards, was it? Forgive me for not introducing myself any earlier. I think I may have given you such a scare with my heavy feet…”

The teenager was startled as he wondered how someone could have known the last name he had been concealing for so long. Trying to figure out whose voice it could be, he turned his head from left to right, his eyes squinting as he did. Finally, he spotted him: there at his foot sat a slim, miniature-sized man barely as tall as his hand, his frog-like feet several times larger and wider than any other part of his body; the tangled hair on his ovular head long, his big eyes squared and his mouth hidden by a bushy moustache. His hairy body reminded Ryan of a cloud of pollen – just that it had limbs.
“… and if it were not for this adorable girl, I would indeed have been squashed by your falling mass of body… albeit you may have probably felt the wrath of my sharp iron shoes prickling your back…and not to mention---”
“Excuse me, not to be rude or anything, but what and who exactly are you? And why do you know me?” he inquired, angered, emphasizing the latter question.
Trina seemed to be surprised at his reaction. She then answered: “His name is Pendek.”
“Pendek?”

This time, the small man replied. “Indeed so; I’m called Pendek the Gnardak and I wish to warn you for the Eye of Truth has spoken: “Thou hast not been seeking glee, yet thou will find; for mercy abounds and a pure valiant heart thou have. I warn thee: do not astray. Temptations thou will confront, yet thou shall prove who thou truly are. Rewards of any kind shall come to those who endure, yet condemnation awaits those who fall.””
Dumbfounded by these words, Ryan glanced at Trina and then picked Pendek up with his index finger and his thumb.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, Mr. Richards, that you shall look into your heart and that you shall then understand – and that both of you shall come with me.”



 P.S: I don´t know what the ending should be! Any ideas?

Eyeing the I

Is it possible for something you love so much, something you really aspire for, to wound your heart irrevocably and deeply?

I´m not sure what has gotten into me, but I know that something is just not right.

I´ve been feeling pretty peculiar lately and I just don´t know why.

Ever since the start of this new year, I´ve been, as everyone else, trying my best to reach the goals my heart intensely craves for, destinations which somehow would render my existence here not only shimmer, but more importantly, meaning.

And somehow, for some unknown reason, fate just keeps on mocking me.

I know everything happens for a reason and that later, I´ll probably regret even thinking such self-absorbed things like these, but the nagging worries which have been seeping in overlappingly don´t seem to cease and well, I´m guessing that this post is probably the climax of these preoccupations.

I´m the youngest in the family, and those of you who also are will in all likelihood understand the advantages as well as the disadvantages of being the "little one":

people just don´t take you seriously and whatever you may do, you can just forget it and get another life.

For me? Everything´s going downhill, despite of the countless efforts I exert everyday. I keep on telling myself that it´ll be alright and that things are bound to find their proper place, but I´m getting tired of hearing the monotonous sound of my voice always claiming things which for some absurd reason, don´t happen at all.

Just like everyone, I have my very own dreams; dreams which I´d die happily with as long as they´re achieved.

That´s just like me (and you); I dream. I imagine. I pine, eventually stumbling into a surreal illusion I strive hard to realize.

Bittersweet reality, though, proves me otherwise, always disclosing the cracks and blemishes of my infeasible plans. Yet the worst part is that I KNOW that they´re not infeasible, but rather the fact that I´m not given the chance to make them happen.

It´s just like watching TV, seeing those oh-so-perfect people while also wanting the same, when suddenly you think twice and remember that it´s all just like some kind of charade; an outer facade which deceivingly conceals the errors, the cracks and imperfections lying underneath the tons of make-up they consumed to achieve so-called "perfection".

I have the feeling that my dreams are comparable to this, a mere deceitful charade; a state of mind which remains far-fetched.

I´m tired of being so chained, my freedom being deprived by people who are equally chained but who just don´t want to see reality for what it is, the circle of slavery we all are caught into... because for whatever reason, humans are too blind to acknowledge that life is dull regardless of the infinite beauties, both natural and artificial, it may possess.

...I´m scared of turning my head around and confronting reality face-to-face, admitting the fact that I´ll never complete my dreams.

I like to sugarcoat it as optimism, yet because of the world, I´m obliged to call it naïvite.

Or maybe it´s just me.

Maybe I´m too conceited.

Maybe I think the world revolves around me.

Maybe I think too much.

Or maybe I´m just starving.

Either way, I feel terrible.

And this means that I can forget my diet once again...

and that I probably won´t be enjoying the gift given to me from above.

Anyway, good night to you all.

RENEE

P.S: No, I´m not depressed and I´m not emo. I just have my issues, that´s all.

Worth The Listen

I´ve decided to initiate some sort of weekly ritual here at Squiggly Scrawls. I´m probably not the first one who has thought of doing something like this, but I¨ll do it anyway... for the sake of someone out there.
Besides, it will also help me stop neglecting my blog by posting simple, short posts every single time I´m addicted to a song...so that would be pretty much always.

Soooo, this is the moment you have all been waiting for...
here is the one...
the lamest...
and the most tasteless...
*drum roll*

Worth the Listen List !

For starters, I would like to show you my for now personal favorite song by Stars, a Canadian pop-indie rock band. This song just drives me high.
Sexy voices, a composite of several soothing instruments (e-pianos, harmonicas?, drums, cellos...) playing in the background, possibly relatable lyrics and a lovely duet, this song definitely makes it to my top 5 of the week and even month.

"Your Ex-Lover is Dead" is a calm, relaxing song perfectly suitable for whenever you just feel like kicking back from all the stress, leaving your pumps and skirts in an unused corner, letting your boss´s /teacher´s ass wait a bit longer, while you pamper yourself with this catchy melody resonating in your ears, reading your favorite corny romance book and drinking a delicious frappuccino.

This is definitely a song that you just haaave to add to your worth the listen list:



It´s already driving me high,
Renee.

FREEDOM

Have you ever noticed that people nowadays are fond of talking about life and freedom? Thinking, quoting, discussing, even writing laws about them?
We often mention how good it is to be free as a bird, as insouciant and carefree.
What we don´t seem to notice, however, is how frequently we seem to take these words for granted.


At this moment, there are estimately 6,824,000,000 people on this planet, eating, dancing, singing, loving, hating, sleeping, celebrating, mourning, regretting, thinking, reading, etc, as they live life according to "their own masterplan", according to their will ... or according to others´.
So what are the words life and freedom everyone´s talking about?
Today, I spent most of my precious time at home, studying (thank God for not letting me procrastinate as usual) for the heaps of exams heading toward me this upcoming week, when I suddenly stumbled upon a blog on the internet concerning freedom and life as I just finished reading the news online.
I didn´t know what to think about it; at first I just thought it was just another mundane and common emo blog with its poems and posts teeming with hopelessness and misery (some were really poetic, though), until I scrolled further down and continued my perusal and landed on a post called "Pathetic Illusions"---until which I was utterly flabbergasted.


Here´s an extract of the blog which I sent to someone on Facebook (the only part I had still been able to save before my mom suddenly appeared in my room, initiated a virus scan and cleared the internet´s history):

"Today I killed my hamsters, my cat Crook, Sheilas dog Arnie and hit my 3 year old sisters head with a hammer. At first I hesitated because I was scared of what everybody else would think then, but in the end, I decided to kill them except for my sister and to simply explain the others what had been coming through my head all this time. Besides, my parents are on a business trip, so Id have to take care of the mess sometime else.
Now, dont think that Im a psycho, I did this for a reason. Do you know how powerful countries decide to start wars just for the sake of proving the countrys power? I did the same and technically, that was my reason, too. I wanted to prove how I still had the power over my body and also the freedom the world has not yet taken away from me. I wanted to prove to myself that I still am an individual who doesnt have to follow the norms, the rules. Someone who can still do what he wants, unlike you and everyone else.
Youd think Im crazy, but I think otherwise: this world is the one who is. People dont do what they want just for the sake of getting others approval and consent. People deny their identity, deny their actions, just because of their fear of recieving others contempt. Why is murder illegal when death row is legalized in other parts of the world? My opinion is: why dont you all shut the fuck up and wake up? Life may suck, but its only because we all make it suck. I killed my pets, and I dont regret it."

To tell you the truth, I still am shocked to the core and my normally big appetite seems to have disappeared since the pictures she posted in her blog of her pets´ corpses are still furiously emblazoned in my head. I´m not sure as to whether she genuinely meant it or whether she merely bluffed.
...but the only thing I know is that I fully agree with Paulo Coelho, one of my favorite authors of all time:

"Freedom is not the absence of commitments, but the ability to choose-- and commit myself to--what is best for me."

Anyway, what do YOU think?

still craving for my personal freedom,

Renee.

Banana phobia

I have to confess something: I love bananas. I don´t know why, but I have this extremely intense inclination towards these yellow, finger-shaped fruits which make the bowel movement procedure much easier. I just love eating them--- the perfect dessert after a hearty meal.
That is, until yesterday.


Yesterday, I was at Beate Uhse (and for those of you who don´t know what it is, it´s an erotic shop where you can buy absolutely anything that fulfils your lascivious fantasies), accompanying a friend of mine to buy a little something she had been craving for these last few months.
I´m not there often... and in fact, the last time I was ,was when I bought leather thongs for a friend of mine as a prank gift for her 17th birthday (which was freaking expensive, mind you!).
You see, I´m not really into such kind of things......
I´m not sure why. I mean, I am open-minded.
(But maybe it´s because of the fact that I´m not exactly comfortable about e.g the thought of sticking something bigger and wider than a cucumber into any part of my body...unless it´s edible food, of course. And with edible, I mean 100% edible. And into the mouth. Oh-- And unless it´s a manifestation of love.)
Anyway, when we were there, I encountered the most peculiar-looking things.
Vivid, perverse images started to appear in my head, disarraying my train of thoughts and also the lunch I had had in my stomach. I felt as if I were in some horrid pornographic nightmare.
My friend then called my name...and I still thank God in my prayers for not letting me puke there and then.
So I went to her, and after having paid for the present, we went straight to her house where she had assembled several people for a costume houseparty she wanted to give.
The party wasn´t even half as bad: people were dressed up pretty creatively (I was dressed as the typical White Lady): there were Batmans and Zorros, Angela Merkels, ghosts, prostitutes and thugs... even wannabe psychotic doctors; I even met a nice gender-confused cowboy.
So after hours of dancing and chatting, I was on my way to my friend´s parents´ humongous bedroom where I had left my bag earlier,and upon entering the room, I was confronted with one of my lovely friends, teary-eyed, cracking up and stark naked.
Almost automatically, I asked her what was wrong, all the while thinking that I would have to hit her boyfriend into pieces any second now...
and well, guess what had happened? Let´s just say her boyfriend had put the banana that was laying on the dining table into the wrongest place.
I was shocked. My heart stood still---and then laughed. I laughed and laughed and laughed until I was about to asphyxiate myself from too much laughter. By the end of the evening, we were at the hospital(she donned on some clothes first, of course)... and well, ever since, I´ve promised myself NOT to go near to that hospital.
It was one of the most American-Pieish days of my life.

Moral of the story? Be careful with bananas. They´re more dangerous than you expect!



Renee

P.S: This is by far the most inept post in my blog, so...God, forgive me for I have sinned.

(WARNING: PICTURES MAY BE REVOLTING)

I just checked my e-mail and came across an old e-mail that had been forwarded to me a few months ago.
I wasn't (and still am not!) quite certain as to whether these pictures and article are genuine or not, but either way, I think it's something which is definitely worth showing the world.

AND AGAIN: This isn't mine. I'm just the messenger girl.

"Shocking to the conscience! Let's pray for them...

This is horrible, outrageous, and barbarous!

Brief translation: Shocking news circulated in China.

A town in Canton is now on trend taking baby herbal soup to increase health and sexual performance/ stamina. The cost in China currency = approx $4000.

A factory manager was interviewed and he testified that it is effective because he is a frequent customer.
It is a delicacy whereby expensive herbs are added to boil the baby with chicken meat for 8 hours boiling/steaming.

He pointed to his second wife next to him, who is 19 (he is 62), and testified that they have sex everyday. After waiting for a couple of weeks, he took this reporter to the restaurant when he was informed by the restaurant's manager that the spare rib soup (local code for baby soup) was now available.

This time, it was a couple who already had 2 daughters, the 3rd one a daughter again who the couple aborted when she was 5 months old.

Those babies close to be born and die naturally cost 2000 in China currency. Those aborted ones cost a few hundreds in Chinese Currency. Those couples who did not want to sell dead babies, placentas can be accepted also for couple of hundreds.

The question is: is this a consequence of what appears to be an excessive care for health or a backfire of China's introduction of the ''one child in a family policy'', since the majority prefers to have male babies and  poorer families end up selling their female babies?


Dear all,

This is so gross but at least we all know what is happening in this world.

"Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing."

Please pass on for a union of prayers. "

P.S: I hope you're not reading this during your lunch break. And by the way, some pictures to stimulate your appetite:

Pure randomness

It's been about a month since I've last been here, and frankly, my negligence hasn't made much of a difference, because honestly said, nothing much has changed (school, studies, books, friends, going out, parties... whatever).

Everything's just as it was and has mostly always been; although there is something that is pissing me off a lot these weeks. And that something would be called the pissing pissy weather.

March, April, May: usually my favorite months of the year; the time when the sun comes out of its dark corner and starts to smile upon the hopeless world; when flowers decide to bloom and be pleasing again for people who do care (an equivalent of none).
Yet as I may guess, this year is rather the contrary of my expectations as the only thing I get from all of this hoping is pissy,wet, depressing and wetter rain ... and dark clouds which lurk in every dark and bright corner menacing to burst into more pissy rain anytime soon.

I normally wouldn't make much of a fuss out of this; it's not exactly much of an issue, but frankly, just for the sake of being materialistic once and again (because everyone is, anyway), I miss wearing them.

Yes, I admit it. I miss wearing my stupid sunglasses 

and silly sandals

and silly shorts

without having to wear any fukking leggings underneath them.

Sometimes I just ask myself: God, when will the weather stop making everyone have the blues? And pissing?

When will the world just stop all the complaining which amounts to nothing but more misery in the end?

And God, why am I one of the greatest queen of the biggest miserable losers?

Pathetic, so pathetic. I might as well just delete my blog if I keep on writing this senseless crap here for everyone to see. Maybe I just will.

Anyway, whatever. I have to leave and continue this pathetic lima loser's life by hanging the clothes my sister and I had put into that annoying moaning gigantic washing machine which just explodes and shortcircuits every time.

Adios, my beloved lovely loving losers.

                                    Renée    


P.S: This makes me happy every time. And by the way, if you took me seriously, then dude, get a life, won't ya? (Why won't the freaking video show?!)

The story of a Modest Man (ch1, continuation)

''Daddy?'' I asked, a suprisingly questioning look plastered over my face although as a kid, I still wasn't able to grasp the severity of the situation.
My dad, flabbergasted, stopped abruptly and looked at me with evident horror in his eyes.
''Enric! What are you-- what are you doing here?'', he managed to say, a subtle stutter emphasizing his breaking nerves. As a child, I was innocuous, but as I state this here and now, I would say it all started on that very day: indirectly, my childlike subconscious saw through him as he stood there with bloodshot eyes; eyes of a thirsty murderer.
''Daddy!'' I ran towards him, my arms eagle-like as I willed to accept his lasciviousness into my arms. Something lulled my heart: since then I felt no heartbeat.
He took me into his arms and kissed me on the forehead.
''Enric, son, this is Tora Kimura. She's my new assistant at work.''
I remember staring at her on that sunny day, thinking of a preying feline as I quietly eyed her cold dark eyes piercing into mine, her lips austere and her long black hair mischievously caressing the wind.
She leered at me. I stayed unflinching. Then I smiled.
''Hello,'' I said dearly with my childish voice. She smirked rather amicably in response. ''Hello, Enric.''
My dad turned to me. ''Well, son, what do you want?''
For some reason, I felt a pang of child-like uncertainty, as if what I seemed to want was mere illusion, and what I really wanted was, in that moment, a far-fetched reality.
I hesitated, and then pointed at the Etch-a-Sketch boy who sat on a bench right behind us three, his posture assimilating that of a gargoyle's.
''Kenji, come here, my dear,'' exclaimed Tora with a lovely, yet salient edgy tone.
The boy raised his head, the wind caressing his mousy, black hair.
He gaped at her, then at my father.
His gaze shifted toward me.
He remained seated while minutes passed by; a gargoyle gawking at a pointless destination.
He kept on ogling me, so I eventually returned him the favor.
Outside of our bubble, Tora continued to talk to my seemingly oblivious father, his hand slowly wandering from her back to her behind.
The sunlight suddenly blinded my eyes.
With that, my destiny was changed.



(to be continued)

From ''The Over 30 Club''

I was perusing my e-mail just now, and noticed, as anyone does, how much junkmail I received.
As it's holiday and basically all of my friends are out of town so there's not exactly much to do, I decided to look at the crap people decide to send others because they don't have anything else to do.

So I came across this.


''When  I was a kid, adults used to bore me to tears  with their tedious diatribes about how hard  things were. When they were growing up; what  with walking twenty-five miles to school every  morning....Uphill...  Barefoot...BOTH  ways… yadda, yadda, yadda

And  I remember promising myself that when I grew up,  there was no way in hell I was going to  lay a bunch of  crap like that on my kids about how hard I had  it and how easy they've  got it! 

But  now that I'm over the ripe old age of thirty, I  can't help but look around and notice the youth  of today.  You've got it so easy!  I  mean, compared to my childhood, you live in a  damn Utopia! 
And  I hate to say it, but you kids today, you don't  know how good you've got  it!

I  mean, when I was a kid we didn't have the  Internet.  If we wanted to know something,  we had to go to the damn library and look it up  ourselves, in the card  catalog!!  

There  was no email!!  We had to actually write  somebody a letter - with a  pen!   Then  you had to walk all the way across the street  and put it in the mailbox, and it would take  like a week to get there!  Stamps were 10  cents!

Child Protective  Services didn't care if our parents beat  us.  As a matter of fact, the parents of  all my friends also had permission to kick our  ass! Nowhere was safe!

There  were no MP3's or Napsters or  iTunes!   If you wanted to steal music, you had to  hitchhike to the record store and shoplift it  yourself!

Or  you had to wait around all day to tape it off  the radio, and the DJ would usually talk over  the beginning and @#*% it all up!  There  were no CD players!  We had tape decks in  our car.  We'd play our favorite tape and  "eject" it when finished, and then the tape  would come undone rendering it useless.   Cause, hey, that's how we rolled, Baby!   Dig?

We  didn't have fancy crap like Call Waiting!   If you were on the phone and somebody else  called, they got a busy signal, that's it!  

There  weren't any freakin' cell phones either. If you  left the house, you just didn't make a damn call  or receive one. You actually had to be out of  touch with your "friends". OH MY GOD !!!   Think of the horror... not being in touch  with someone 24/7!!!  And then there's  TEXTING.  Yeah, right.  Please!   You kids have no idea how annoying you  are.

And  we didn't have fancy Caller ID either! When the phone rang, you had no idea who  it was!  It could be your school, your  parents, your boss, your bookie, your drug  dealer, the collection agent... you just didn't  know!!!  You had to pick it up and take  your chances, mister!  

We  didn't have any fancy PlayStation or  Xbox video games with high-resolution 3-D graphics!   Wehad  the Atari  2600!  With games like 'Space Invaders'  and 'Asteroids'.  Your screen guy was a  little square!  You actually had to use  your imagination!!!  And there were no  multiple levels or screens, it was just one  screen... Forever!  And you could never  win.  The game just kept getting harder and  harder and faster and faster until you died!   Just like LIFE!

You  had to use a little book called a TV Guide to  find out what was on! You were screwed when it  came to channel surfing!  You had to get  off your ass and walk over to the TV to change  the channel!!!  NO REMOTES!!!  Oh, no,  what's the world coming  to?!?!

There  was no Cartoon  Network either! You could only get  cartoons on  Saturday Morning.  Do you hear what  I'm saying? We had to wait  ALL  WEEK for cartoons, you spoiled little  rat-finks!

And  we didn't have microwaves.  If we wanted to  heat something up, we had to use the stove!   Imagine that!     


And  our parents told us to stay outside and play...  all day long.  Oh, no, no electronics to  soothe and comfort.  And if you came back  inside... you were doing  chores!

And  car seats - oh, please!  Mom threw you in  the back seat and you hung on.  If you were  lucky, you got the "safety arm" across the  chest at the last moment if she had to stop  suddenly, and if your head hit the dashboard,  well that was your fault for calling "shot gun"  in the first place!   

See!  That's exactly what I'm talking about! You  kids today have got it too easy. You're spoiled  rotten!  You guys wouldn't have lasted five  minutes back in 1980 or  any time  before!

Regards,
The  Over 30 Crowd ''




Now, now, it's not exactly rotten. I smiled and even giggled when I read it.
It just can't help to tell you the truth; I even related!

RENEE


P.S: Hope you have a fantastic Spring break!

The story of a modest man ( start of ch.1)

I can still recall the day that I technically found out, even if I didn't know what it meant.

It was a sunny day like this one sometime April (or was it May?), the birds frolicking, the sun smiling, the trees blooming and children carousing at the carousel I've always played at since who-knows-when while I stared at the ground, hoping not to be noticed by any other child and thinking of my siblings' new stuff.

I can't exactly remember how old I was then; what I do remember though, was that my mom was sitting on a bench right next to me, hands flapping wildly and embittering her friend Dulce's mood as she was forced to listen to my mother's ranting on how Sputnik 6 was launched for some egocentric reasons while the dog passagiere (I think they were called Pchelka and Mushka) dies due to unknown, unjustified reasons my mom just couldn't seem to ignore.

I think I was turning 3 (or 4) years old then; because when I was about that age, Dulce's sombre face was what I saw every time my mom and I went to the park to play.

''Yes, it's incredible. What did they even bring the animals for?'' Dulce inquired, a hint of  pretense accompanying her voice.
''I'm not even sure. They haven't even told us citizens the truth! In my opinion..."

Right then, I couldn't hear my mother's reply to the question made out of pure formality, as I sternly fixed my gaze onto a dark-haired child wearing a jumper (wasn't it warm enough?) and black shoes, while he passed my mother, Dulce and me by, his dainty hands shaking that red, rectangular toy I had wished I would have received from my parents: the Etch-a-Sketch.

I slowly stood up, my hands supporting my body's weight as I pushed the ground to compose myself, and cautiously pursued the steps the other kid had been taking.

I turned my head around for a small instant, only to see my mother (whose name is Sarah, by the way) too busy discussing with the disinterested Dulce to even care. I continued my pursuit.

I'm not entirely sure how far or how near my unknown destination was, but to my younger me, it appeared to be the distance between New York and Mexico City, as my stubby legs followed the Etch-a-Sketch boy.

After God-knows-how-many minutes, I finally arrived.

And to my pleasant surprise, I even saw my dad, wrapped around in the arms of some Asian woman whose ass was now visible in her silky dress as he carressed it with his callous hands.

P.S:  the other post was the prologue. Happy Easter, everyone!

The story of a modest man (prologue)

It's funny how after several years, a single night has evoked every memory I've been trying to forget - the unchangeable past I try to remold - ... and it's simply ironic how what I had loved and cherished above all, disillusioned me from the delirious dream I had been living in, turning it into a nightmare - only worse, because it was - and still is - reality.

If ever I am something,  then I am a person of simplicity. Regardless of all the thick layers and fancy drapes and covers and masks my face is frequently enveloped in, you can still recognize the deeply carved lines etched on my face; lines which for me symbolize struggle and conviction - the old, plain Enric - the old ordinary me who would never ever spark any interest at all unless I did something extremely pathetic which I normally do anyway.

I was born in a cosmopolitan city to my parents - Mr. Anton Navarra, a struggling businessman who did and does everything - and I mean literally everything -  in his power to sustain the needs of his family- and my mother - the truthful lawyer whose cooking her children seldom craved for and who, well, basically was everything I wished my future wife would never be.

Siblings? Yes, yes, I have some: Ron, former class president, lead quarterback and topnotcher in class who is currently taking a scholarship in MIT, waiting to change the world; Emma, senior, the cheerful cheerleader, voted sexiest hottie of the year and winner of the science fair 3 years in a row; PJ (a.k.a Paul-Jean), the "better-more handsome-hotter-cleverer-more cunning and fun-twin" (guess who the lame twin is?); and last, but not least, the newest addition to the family: Rose-Marie, 3-year-old-apparent-genius who can already divide.
And Enric, guy full of wishful thinking.

The green monster's back

Why am I so incapable of motivating myself?

Renée

Jots of trash

I wish I could tell you it so that you'd be elated,too.
Have you ever had the dilemma of dying to tell someone you love about something you love but you're incapable of doing what you're urging to do?
There's a heavy burden etched in my heart which just won't disappear.
I've been confronted with numerous radical situations my whole life.
Sometimes earlier than I ought to, and at times much later than I should've had.
One thing they have in common?
Every situation was the moment that could change the next; and the next the proximate; and the proximate, eventually, a lifetime.
This second is A moment.
I'm holding onto that one thing I'm aware I'm more than just lucky to have.
It's something I know that is one in a billion, something abstract yet irreplaceable.
...but people around me are demanding me to let it go, convincing me that it's more harmful than heavenly with their colorful words and graphic illustrations.
AND with their own lives.
It's something I found and which was waiting to be found;
something I rescued which saves me everytime.
It's this second; a moment.

...

Why should I keep up to anyone's expectations but mine?
I don't want to be that ostracized victim.

Renée