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I find myself staring at books on my Shelfari page. I find myself removing Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice from my Favorites shelf. I find myself wondering if it was the right thing to do. After all, Jane’s long sentences and use of the word “affected” were fascinating to me and I knew I wouldn’t soon forget her. I found myself wanting, as I laid on the futon on the floor of my old room, to be as witty as Elizabeth.

And of course, there was Mr. Darcy - intelligent, handsome, brooding ...

My brother and I both grew up fearing my father. When we were small, we never missed out having an acquaintance (and sooner association and affinity) with my father's belt. Way back, belts were made of thick non-synthetic leather and my, they hurt so much when they touch our skins. When lashed out near our waist (when my father aimed for the soft bottoms and missed out on them), they seemed to form a fleshy bulge as if we were wearing our own skin versions of the said belt. This was our price to ...

After reading Sevmik's blog entries, I realized I can now finally allow myself to indulge in what I sometimes refer to as "diarrhea of ideas" (shamelessly borrowed from Stephen King, re his "diarrhea of the word processor", a condition he describes as one of those moments wherein he just churns out a huge pile of incoherent text just to convince himself that yes, he's working, he's writing a novel hehe)--just let the fingers fly over the keyboard--a process which began like ...

I am a shy person. Yes, you read it right. I am shy. But most of the people who knew me think otherwise. They always refer to my eloquence at writing and delivering speeches. They never really know. I get all the jitters each time. May it be a simple introduction to an important speaker, an announcement of the winners in a contest, an explanation to a query, any form of speech (whether long as in a speech of thanks for winning an award in the Oscars, or short as in just plainly saying thank you), ...

Chalk dust finally settles on an uncleaned ledge. Classroom hallways are quiet even with the occasional twitter of the bird that has built its nest near the windows of my classroom. The gentle breeze caresses my wondering thought, as I sit in one of the chairs, willing my whole body and soul to the occasional oblivion of the room, engulfing me like fire set to dance.

Class records will pay its final tribute to the batch that was, along with its concomitant joys and pains. Books that ...

i met a disciple of Love who had the mountain breeze at the tips of his fingers. and everyday he sends it out to the lost and heartbroken to whispher words in a language of longing. but he tells me that sometimes it comes back to haunt him, becoming instead a caressing echo of his emptiness.

there was one who lived on top of a tall promontory where he can see the entire city unencumbered. he searches for the one being who can make him complete, but wished he was blind inside the bowels ...

the beautiful have their own way of destroying those that love them, blinding them with its searing light.

it has been known to render the senses useless, cause an overwhelming sense of yearning, induce pain, create madness, destroy reason. power is gained and lost with a mere glance at beauty. time stops, and the vaunted laws of physics are warped at the approach of the divine.

let's just say that i have witnessed an episode of such last night. approaching midnight, a ...