“Every time someone has to post about their “fml” moments. I just heavily believe it’s a cry out for attention. It’s like “Oh hey gaiz, I am heartbroken so now will let everyone know”. As if the first thing that comes to mind is posting about it on facebook or something. I’m also irritated when people like to express everything they are doing and then proceed to like their own status about it over and over and over. And then no one else likes it. I think that’s kind of depressing to look at.” —
Pandamonium Express: I am heavily irritated
“To the young, “Mom” and “dad” are just concepts, not actual people. As I grew up I had to distinguish the two, separating “dad” from “biological father”. Just as saying “I’m sorry” and “I apologize” only has a thin line of difference, that small line is huge. “Sorry” expresses empathy and sincere (at times) condolences. “Apologizing” is the act of expresses acknowledgment of guilt and wrong doing. The choice of words will make the difference at times.” —
“To the young, “Mom” and “dad” are just concepts, not actual people. As I grew up I had to distinguish the two, separating “dad” from “biological father”. Just as saying “I’m sorry” and “I apologize” only has a thin line of difference, that small line is huge. “Sorry” expresses empathy and sincere (at times) condolences. “Apologizing” is the act of expresses acknowledgment of guilt and wrong doing. The choice of words will make the difference at times.” —
“As I was putting my laptop into my backpack and walking out of my room, I noticed this odd sensation about myself. I shouldn’t really say sensation, because it correlated more about my backpack. For some odd reason, I felt it was…. wrong. I put it down and pulled out everything, and to my surprise, I had forgotten my mouse. And it made me question myself as to whether or not I just subconsciously remembered that I forgot to pack it, or if I have just become so familiar with how much my backpack weighs that the minuscule difference of a mouse was enough to send a signal to my brain signalling that something is off. As if the weight on my shoulders-pun semi intended- felt unbalanced, I just had to check my backpack. And so I realized yet again how routine my schedule seems to be, with this 11-7 work schedule 4 days a week. I’m so used to running through the exact same thing, from packing my stuff, getting to work, opening the door, turning off the alarm, turning on the light, setting up my laptop, turning on the cash register/computer, and commencing my day.” —
“That’s right, you’re not. I’m a firm believer of you are what you think you are. And really, I just can’t stand low self esteem people, most notably girls that constantly preach and reblog it. I have no tolerance for negative proclamations of the self. I mean if you’ve got nothing nice to say, then don’t say it at all, especially if it’s about yourself. Because I for one, will just laugh and feel sorry for you. So please, stop bringing the mood down and fishing for compliments.” —
Pandamonium Express: To the girls that say they’re not good enough.
As a kid, we should all have vivid memories of playing on the swings. From sitting blandly in them twirling yourself into a circle until the chains get tightened and then reversing yourself back, to sometimes being superman and laying belly down on them and pretending you’re flying, to the most classic and original way, swinging back and forth. As children, we used to swing. I remember doing all of the above as a child, but now remember there was a distinct trait that I had problem with: looking down.
Call it a fear of heights, and I’d like to think you are right. As I swung higher and higher, my morbid fear of falling would escalate alongside my exalted sense of anticipation for the peak.
High risk, high reward.
I never reached the top of where the other kids were able to swing, because every time I’d be scared and jolt my legs back down to cease my momentum to a stop. I wanted so badly to be able to swing all the way up , but never got halfway.
It’s just like your expectations. The higher you attempt to go, the riskier it’ll be. But even if you fall from it, you’ll have gotten to see a sight that those who dared not go higher were never graced to view.
Kids are growing up searching for love, for sex, for attention. Wanting to have jobs, wanting to drive, wanting to party, and in few cases already doing so at an early age. Getting into relationships and spouting the nonsensical words of “I love you” at an early time. Kids wanting to grow up and be adults. Why is it that everyone I see these days looks down upon these kids? Can you truly say that that point you didn’t want to grow up? That you wanted to be rid of all the burdens of being confined by your parents, of not having money, of not experiencing the intimacy of relationships.
Give them a chance to live their life and grow, because we were once like that. People need to grow up and learn everything the hard way, and if they sound stupid then let them be. You have no right to impose your own damn nonsensical beliefs to those that have yet to experience them. Let them have their own time to shine, because soon they’ll look back and begin to cherish it just as we have. We just can’t stand looking at our past selves can we?
I’ve always wanted to write a love poem to a girl. I’ve always wanted to convey my feelings articulately, specifically mentioning the particular ways that I am attracted to her. From her smile, her eyes, her hair, her shimmering vibe that glimmers effervescently in the light among the shrouded blobs of people that surround her; I want to tell her that I know I’m in love with her. And I surely say know because I don’t believe that you can think you’re in love, for the moment your heart has doubts it is no longer love but rather your mind telling you to believe this is real, and as surreal as it may seem, you’re going to have that shining gleam in your eyes and see with a the delusion of thinking that she’s that special one you’ve been searching for, and amidst all the confusion you will fall harder and deeper into that false sense of security.
But maybe that fall is what it takes for me to be able to write this love poem! Maybe I’ll find out out to divulge my feelings into this mess called love through sappy wooing and doing of romantic gestures. I won’t say I’ll love you forever, but rather I’ll say I love you twoever, less than three but more than enough, that I’ll love you to ever the chance that we split I will carry on loving you from a distance, with my heartbeats beating on your eardrums in a symphonic rhythm that connects our otherwise inseparable souls.
I know I’m going to miss you countless times, but that’s expected. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but damn this fondness makes the absence longer! The waiting game never felt so bittersweet before, as the reward seems to be the target of my adoration and pain, mixed with a variety of helpless anxiety and lingering desire to be in your presence.
But what am I waiting for exactly? I’m waiting for the chance to spend time with you mentally, taking a walk through your mind and plucking off the flowers in bloom from the garden of secrets. Slowly but surely, I want to be the first variable that comes to your mind upon hearing the world “love”. I want it to be me over the square root of you, and call me irrational but I believe this relationship should be detachable, with me giving you a part of my heart and you giving it right back along with yours, creating a mutual give and take of trust and care that will make you feel like a billionaire of rich embraces and kisses. I’d say how I love that my palms are always so sweaty when we hold hands, how I always step on your foot when we hug, and how when I lean in to kiss you I miss and kiss your eye. There’s so many ways I’d write a love poem to you, but for now, I’ll just leave it at “hello”.
I know of a little boy that always immersed himself in his toys and games, deploying all ihs power rangers and combat heroes to save the fallen princess from the mess of evil that lurked around the corner of his closet. The only friends that little boy had were the ones with joints and limbs that could be moved around at his whims and fancies.
This is not to say that he’s cynical or controlling, but rather that he’s enrolling his mind into the school of imagination. Many people tend to ridicule this little boy due to the fact that he spends all his time playing with his toys and video games, wasting his childhood away with something that will vanish as he ages. I sometimes look at that boy and wonder went through his mind during that time, but I must remind myself that a child has such a pure mind. A completely new world of dreams and adventures dwells in the little boy’s head. An escape from the harsh reality that is “I have no friends”.
The harsh reality of being insecure, being used by others, having a broken family, and just being unhappy with life. The world is an escape from the harsh reality that these little toys and games are always there to save this boy. These toys were the sole escape from the pain that encompassed his life. Who can blame this boy for wasting his childhood away on action figures and fabled virtual stories, when it’s the only genuine thing that never let him down?
With time, this little boy grew into a constant dreamer, as he would imagine the worlds he’s visually been through time and time again, but never to his dismay would he deny that it was all just a fantasy. At one point he knew that he was living inside his own head, seemingly stuck in a loophole of never ending happiness. Life without a little fantasy and leap of faith is pretty bland afterall. And with time I became labeled a “gamer”. But it’s something I take pride in. Is it so bad that I know the konami code is up up down down left right left right B A start select? Is it so bad that instead of saying “I”m hungry” I say “Not enough vespene gas”? Is it so bad that I do a barrel roll for no apparent reason? No, it’s not, because life is a game to be played with, and I’ll hold the controller as player one.
But then again, in the minds of everyone that’s a pretense we want to believe. There’s no use of stating what potential a relationship holds, if currently there is no seed planted in the other’s mind that maybe something will really sprout from it. From being cheated on, having to fight and compete with other guys, and simply having interest in someone chasing another, that thought of “I could treat you right” has always been a mindset I lived with. But I wasn’t chosen, and that’s just a decision I have no right to change. You didn’t choose wrong, he wasn’t the better person, I didn’t screw anything up. It’s just how life works. Sure I could believe I can treat you better, but it means nothing because you chose him, and thus I know my place.