communication

Here's me talking to you. Here, where you couldn't blurrblurrblurr me when i start to reason out.

I don't mind it when you tell me my hair is ugly. Or that my dress is not in style. But why the double standards when I try to turn the tables on you?

You say it's because you're a man and I say, so what? Just because you're a man doesn't mean you can be a total slob and, much less, be a judge of what's ugly and what's hot on me.

You assume all things about me: that I think this and I think that. That my intention was this and my intention was that.

I don't even mind that you try to impress your thoughts upon me. I know you're just trying to help. But, please, give me room to have my own perceptions also. I am merely human. I have opinions about all sorts of things. And although you won't agree with most of them, they're my opinions nonetheless. I will ask for your opinions (and I do) when I feel you'd know better.

This does not mean I love you less. I'm just tired of just taking it all in without saying what I feel. I do not try to change you. Please do not try to change me also, not even my laughter.

This is me: I laugh out loud. I am very candid. I do not want to change or suppress my laughter because you think it is not a woman's laughter. Wake up. I am a woman, yet I have this big, hearty laugh.

I can't change everything you want me to change. And I do not want to.

I won't do everything you want me to do. I am not a dummy. Please respect that.

So when you start telling me I think this and that and that even though I'm saying this and that, what I really mean is this and that, then be prepared to be treated like that also. It's not fair that you are the only one who can do all these things and get away with it. We are equals. Please recognize that.

So, here's me, just telling you what's on my mind. Here, where you cannot interrupt me or make me feel guilty for thinking and saying all those things.

I hope someday soon you'd read this.

i put the cross on the roads

I never believed one arrives at a crossroad by chance.

Our steps are our own. And even if we say that our eyes were blindfolded as we walked, it was still our choice to walk to whichever direction we did.

So let us not blame chance for confusing us. We brought this upon ourselves.

walk my thoughts

I'm fascinated again with 9 Crimes.

I want a balloon.

The right time and THE right time

The clock strikes 12. The alarm rings.

Lunch. Break-time. An excuse to leave your desk - legitimately.

Yet you sit there, unmoving, not waiting for anything at all. You're just... wondering at how much difference it can make. It. No one knows really what it is. For you, it is a lot of things. And a lot of things, converged at one place, at one time, can surely make a great difference.

People mill all around you. They oddly stare at you, wondering why you're left there, contemplating. The clock had struck 12 already, after all.

Yet you stay.

The clock strikes 12. The alarm rings.

Cinderella story. Curfew. Grounding opportunities when you're not home by then.

But that was past, and now, the party has just begun. You're a loser if you go home before then. So to save face, you endure a couple more minutes of grinding, loud music and rounds of tequila shots.

Does this bother you? No. Not quite. You just stare quietly ahead. Looking, but not really seeing the other people. Is it indifference or haughtiness, others ask. You know it may be both, but not quite both.

Time changes everything. And how difference time makes!

The clock has struck 12. It has set things and people into motion. But then again, it is not your clock.

So you stay.