I've always been big into poetry, but my passion sort of fell by the wayside in Jr. High. Till recent, that is, when My English teacher forced us to write up stanzas on the spot. While I strongly am against throwing out one's emotions and insights to the general public (and this I'm posting on my blog... haha), it did re-awaken the joy I have in poetry. These are just a couple splurges I did in class or as a late night night assignment. I'm no Frost, but I hope you find them enjoyable or ast least mildly pleasant.
Cumulonimbus
Summer Trees blow in breeze
Make her think of High Seas
Unfurl sails, catch the gale
Over cloud and under sun
Lives a boy having too much fun
O Boy
O Boy, you found me out your gate
Kind Boy, you almost came too late
Glad Boy, your grace grants all I want
Sweet Boy, who repay I could not
O Boy, soon my goodbyes by said
O Girl, I spied you outside my Wall
Sad Girl, my love could cure you all
Lost Girl, would you leave me behind?
Dear Girl, in you I would confide:
My Girl, I don't want to be paid
And there are others but I don't have them with me, so there will have to be a second installment.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Saturday, January 9, 2010
Then she was like, ''Nuh-uh," and I as was like...
You know all those jokes and books that say how much men don't know about women, how clueless they are about what to buy, what to say, and so on? How boys are always so confused about girls and can't make them out? Well, for all you guys out there who feel that way, here's a deep dark secret you'll never ever hear a girl admit to again: We're clueless about us too.
Sure, we act high and mighty; try to show everyone that we have flawless fashion sense, perfect timing, how graceful we are (most girls are laughing at themselves about that last one). While it's true we do have a knack for making things "pretty", when it comes to make up, most of us sort of make it up as we go. I personally think that's where it got its name.
Another thing: Clothes. There is no ONE style that's "in." What may be in for one taste, can be last month's "hott." Clothes are totally up to the girl; There is always a girl SOME where that can pull off any clothes item you could name. So what works for on girl may not be another's cup of tea.
Then there are the emotions. Some girls will deny it and try to act as stoic and cool like all their guy friends, but deep down, every girl is emotional, though usually for different reasons. And when girls seems to get mad at you and you don't know what you did, usually, you didn't do anything wrong. Eight times out of ten, the girl doesn't know either. When she bursts instantaneously into tears, and you want to know what's wrong. Then she says to leave her alone and she doesn't want to tell you. Half the time there is something seriously wrong that she isn't prepared to share, a quarter of the time it's classified as girl-only, and the rest of the time, she has no idea why she is crying and doesn't want to make a scene so give her a minute and she'll get over it.
Then there are the myths, mainly:
A)When she tells you to go away, she really wants to tell you all her problems.
WRONG!! When she says go away, she means it. She DOES want to tell someone, but obviously you aren't the one she wants to tell.
This brief guide is not fool-proof. Every girl is different. But a quick clue-in for the densest of you males: every girl is beautiful. But your girl is the most beautiful. If you haven't figured that out, you are in trouble.
Sure, we act high and mighty; try to show everyone that we have flawless fashion sense, perfect timing, how graceful we are (most girls are laughing at themselves about that last one). While it's true we do have a knack for making things "pretty", when it comes to make up, most of us sort of make it up as we go. I personally think that's where it got its name.
Another thing: Clothes. There is no ONE style that's "in." What may be in for one taste, can be last month's "hott." Clothes are totally up to the girl; There is always a girl SOME where that can pull off any clothes item you could name. So what works for on girl may not be another's cup of tea.
Then there are the emotions. Some girls will deny it and try to act as stoic and cool like all their guy friends, but deep down, every girl is emotional, though usually for different reasons. And when girls seems to get mad at you and you don't know what you did, usually, you didn't do anything wrong. Eight times out of ten, the girl doesn't know either. When she bursts instantaneously into tears, and you want to know what's wrong. Then she says to leave her alone and she doesn't want to tell you. Half the time there is something seriously wrong that she isn't prepared to share, a quarter of the time it's classified as girl-only, and the rest of the time, she has no idea why she is crying and doesn't want to make a scene so give her a minute and she'll get over it.
Then there are the myths, mainly:
A)When she tells you to go away, she really wants to tell you all her problems.
WRONG!! When she says go away, she means it. She DOES want to tell someone, but obviously you aren't the one she wants to tell.
This brief guide is not fool-proof. Every girl is different. But a quick clue-in for the densest of you males: every girl is beautiful. But your girl is the most beautiful. If you haven't figured that out, you are in trouble.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
English is one of the hardest languages to learn. And no wonder! The Eskimos may have 100 words for snow, but we had to invent a Thesaurus just to keep all our synonyms straight!
And then there's an evil place called Context, where a dove dove, invalid invalids means fake sick people, or we ask, "Does a buck mate with does?"
But I love our language. I think it's so versatile and universal, and even more, I love exploiting it! I adore puns and plays on words! And I love Greek and Latin roots to learn what new, big word means: Anthropomorphic, Ambidextrous, Ambiguity, Auspicious, Catalyst, Dictation, Prerogative,Philanthropist, Gregorian! I consider myself a writer and hope to write for the rest of my life.
In closing, I want a thesaraus for Christmas.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
An Ekename
Which is where the term nickname came from. I've been thinking about nicknames recently. From self-proclaimed, to inside jokes, to purely circumstantial, most of us have a few at some point in our lives.
My oldest sister used to call me Sunshine. I think it was my first, and I loved it. I believe it was derived from the song "You Are My Sunshine," since she was big on singing, and it fit the description of my halo of white fuzz that floated around my head during the early years. She had also deemed another sister, two years older than me, Brown Eyes, also in honor of the song (whose title just slipped me) and her large, dark eyes.
Another sister has taken to calling most close relations by their first initial. I'm "M", Brown Eyes is "C", along with one of our nieces; another is "G. The few exceptions are my parents for obvious reasons, the oldest sister, and "Z", whose name doesn't start with a z but her nickname does. Confusing, I know.
I actually have several. One, "the Red-Caped Avenger," was self appointed one evening a long time ago among close friends. Select few even know about it.
Another is completely unpronounceable in English, and originated from a girl in my 6th grade class who wrote my name in some fancy, intricate way.
Another still is one that came a friend discovering my real name came from the Hebrew Language, and she started to pronounce it thus, and that eventually it turned into "Misha."
Once in Fifth grade I wanted a nickname really bad. Everyone at school had previously called me my given name and I found it dull. Plus, all three syllables was such a mouth-full. So the first day of fifth grade I asked everyone to call me some chopped-up version of the original. And they did. And I hated it the entire year.
Nicknames, I learned, need purpose in life, just like the rest of us. You can't just go nicking off bits and pieces of your name for no reason. Or, even worse, some people will start super gluing extra prefixes and suffixes on, making their names heavy, cumbersome, and sticky.
I'm not saying the lengthening of names is bad. Why, Manda May the Marvelous rolls of your tongue and Captain Hershey Bar is quite descriptive. But nothing screams D&D/Star Wars worse than Ked-Krevin the Star Slayer or Dhorxthal, Lord of Dwepthilla, or even Mega-Ultra-Kevin-the-greatness-of-all-time.
There's the classic shortening of names like Bill, Kate, Tay, Kayla, Mandy, Jon, Nat, Phro, or Jeff.
And it doesn't get much better than the Insider Jokes that gave birth to Green Gremlin, Uncle Joe, and Rabbies!
Names get twisted into fabrications of our mind, so distorted we can't even remember the original, like how E-mail became email and A Narange became An Orange. Nicknames build relationships, and friendships and trust: for there is one and only one person who's allowed to call me "Snuggle Bug", one to call me "Kay" and no one to say "Mickey".
My oldest sister used to call me Sunshine. I think it was my first, and I loved it. I believe it was derived from the song "You Are My Sunshine," since she was big on singing, and it fit the description of my halo of white fuzz that floated around my head during the early years. She had also deemed another sister, two years older than me, Brown Eyes, also in honor of the song (whose title just slipped me) and her large, dark eyes.
Another sister has taken to calling most close relations by their first initial. I'm "M", Brown Eyes is "C", along with one of our nieces; another is "G. The few exceptions are my parents for obvious reasons, the oldest sister, and "Z", whose name doesn't start with a z but her nickname does. Confusing, I know.
I actually have several. One, "the Red-Caped Avenger," was self appointed one evening a long time ago among close friends. Select few even know about it.
Another is completely unpronounceable in English, and originated from a girl in my 6th grade class who wrote my name in some fancy, intricate way.
Another still is one that came a friend discovering my real name came from the Hebrew Language, and she started to pronounce it thus, and that eventually it turned into "Misha."
Once in Fifth grade I wanted a nickname really bad. Everyone at school had previously called me my given name and I found it dull. Plus, all three syllables was such a mouth-full. So the first day of fifth grade I asked everyone to call me some chopped-up version of the original. And they did. And I hated it the entire year.
Nicknames, I learned, need purpose in life, just like the rest of us. You can't just go nicking off bits and pieces of your name for no reason. Or, even worse, some people will start super gluing extra prefixes and suffixes on, making their names heavy, cumbersome, and sticky.
I'm not saying the lengthening of names is bad. Why, Manda May the Marvelous rolls of your tongue and Captain Hershey Bar is quite descriptive. But nothing screams D&D/Star Wars worse than Ked-Krevin the Star Slayer or Dhorxthal, Lord of Dwepthilla, or even Mega-Ultra-Kevin-the-greatness-of-all-time.
There's the classic shortening of names like Bill, Kate, Tay, Kayla, Mandy, Jon, Nat, Phro, or Jeff.
And it doesn't get much better than the Insider Jokes that gave birth to Green Gremlin, Uncle Joe, and Rabbies!
Names get twisted into fabrications of our mind, so distorted we can't even remember the original, like how E-mail became email and A Narange became An Orange. Nicknames build relationships, and friendships and trust: for there is one and only one person who's allowed to call me "Snuggle Bug", one to call me "Kay" and no one to say "Mickey".
Thursday, September 3, 2009
"Love is something you can shake when it brakes: in the end, all that matters!"
I wouldn't have thought my heart could take it, nor did I expect it would ever have to.
Tuesday, August 25, after Caitlyn saved several frogs from a prank they unconsciously played a part in, I saw a dim white shadow crossing our lawn during the crepuscular hours: Lucky was back.
A week without food (though I think his fat stores helped with that) and his medicine, without which his Grand Mall Seizures would be increasingly frequent, and he comes back. Dirty, slightly thinner than a the last time I saw him, and shaking like a leaf, he meows constantly as he sniffs my hands. I had collapsed i few feet away, coaxing him closer. I then cradled him for a few moments, him purring in his motorboat fashion. A carried him likewise inside, fed him, gave him medicine, and let him sleep in the garage for the next few nights till the medicine got back in his blood stream.
It felt like a cruel joke, taking him away, have me planning on a adopting a new kitten, and the night before the official adoption, cry "Cyke!" and give him back. But it mostly felt like a test. I hope I passed that week-long life's exam. I do know, though, that my friends and family certainly did.
Tuesday, August 25, after Caitlyn saved several frogs from a prank they unconsciously played a part in, I saw a dim white shadow crossing our lawn during the crepuscular hours: Lucky was back.
A week without food (though I think his fat stores helped with that) and his medicine, without which his Grand Mall Seizures would be increasingly frequent, and he comes back. Dirty, slightly thinner than a the last time I saw him, and shaking like a leaf, he meows constantly as he sniffs my hands. I had collapsed i few feet away, coaxing him closer. I then cradled him for a few moments, him purring in his motorboat fashion. A carried him likewise inside, fed him, gave him medicine, and let him sleep in the garage for the next few nights till the medicine got back in his blood stream.
It felt like a cruel joke, taking him away, have me planning on a adopting a new kitten, and the night before the official adoption, cry "Cyke!" and give him back. But it mostly felt like a test. I hope I passed that week-long life's exam. I do know, though, that my friends and family certainly did.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Goodbye, Old Friend
His name was Lucky and he was the best darn Cat this girl has ever known.
He was fat, lazy, loud, annoying, he hogged the bed, he get his white hair everywhere, and he was always begging for food. And he was wonderful.
I last time I saw Lucky was Wednesday, August 19, 2009. Dad had let him out for the night, because he was so anxious. He never came back. Which is, in of itself, strange, because he rarely strayed far from home, and when he did, all I had to do was call, and he'd come running (at his own pace).
I got Lucky for Christmas was I was three years old. I popping off the tape from the wrapped box he was in and he popped right out. I don't recall this, but all my sisters and parents say that when he came out I said, "Lucky!" like he was an old friend. We were deciding what to name him, and I wanted to name him Spot (I was only three, ok?), but Caitlyn convinced me to name him Lucky. From that day on, I think he was jinxed.
He had had cuts, gashes, and scrapes from fighting other cats and other undefinable sources. He had had three abscesses on his head; two on top, one on his cheek. The second one killed a few pigments in his skin, and he had a tiny white spot ever after on his head where it had originally been solid orange. He'd had re-occurring ear mites which we were never able to officially cure. He had this great ponch on his belly, like a middle-aged man with a beer belly, and it was wiggle and swing side-to-side whenever he tried to run. That and his neck were the only places he's store all his immense fat. The rest of him was scrawny. In fact, his belly was so large, he couldn't walk like regular cats; he sort of waddled.
In his youth, his tail was a little too long for him. It would dangle over his back like a carrot dangling in front of a mule. We thought one day it would get so long, it would obstruct his vision. It never did, but he eventually grew into it.
The way to his heart was definitely through his belly. Not only would he eat himself to death if we let him, his spots took the form of hearts all over his body--especially when he curled up in his way, with his back legs straight against his head.
Near the end, he developed Epilepsy, which I hear happens to some cats once they get old (Lucky lived for 12 years). He would have seizures and strokes if we didn't get his medicine. For the first month or so we had no idea what was wrong with him. I thought he was dying. Just one day, I go upstairs, and his was twitching and foaming at the mouth, he started circling and hissing... Then I saw his first grand mall seizure: I thought he was dying then, too. He didn't die. We took him to a vet and he got medicine. He was never the same after he got sick: he didn't yowl at the door to go in and out very two seconds any more (nothing missed) but nor did he sleep on my bed and head butt me in the middle of the night when he wanted petted or stare out the window at night, listening to all the night noises of the pond. He didn't purr as often, nor play/fight with Pounce (other cat) any more. But he would still wink at me with those big green eyes and stretch out and put his paws on the counter when he wanted fed.
I still can't believe he's gone. He was here, looking at me, purring, wanting fed and petted, following me around while I did my outside chores, just a few days ago. And now I have only one cat to feed and she doesn't even have to worry about her food being ravaged by him. I keep seeing little movement in the corner of my eye and expecting him to be there, wanting fed or petted, or just trying to get around on his daily rounds about the house. There's no one to knead the stuffed tigers in my room (which he did every time he walked him there, even after his illness) anymore.
Yesterday, Mom took me to the a cat adoption place. i met a kitten by the name of Spirit. She wouldn't leave me alone, and crawled all over me and Mom the entire time. And there was the male cat at the pound named Squirrel who jumped and climbed like his namesake. And had an inquisitive face to boot. I'll admit, I'm falling in love with both. I'll have to choose only one, I know.
Whichever I choose it would not be a replacement. Nothing, No one, could ever replace that Cat in my heart. I miss him, I mourn him, and I will never forget him. Never. The first and most developing years of my life will shine golden because of his friendship. he was a Godsend. I really think so. There is no way I could have made it through Elementary, Middle, Or Junior High school without him. Whichever cat I decide to adopt, it will be a new love, and new friendship.
I know Lucky couldn't live forever. I knew he would die. I knew it would be hard and it is. But I must move on, remembering him before and after he was sick, the sweet, stupid, loving cat. I know I will see him again.
He was fat, lazy, loud, annoying, he hogged the bed, he get his white hair everywhere, and he was always begging for food. And he was wonderful.
I last time I saw Lucky was Wednesday, August 19, 2009. Dad had let him out for the night, because he was so anxious. He never came back. Which is, in of itself, strange, because he rarely strayed far from home, and when he did, all I had to do was call, and he'd come running (at his own pace).
I got Lucky for Christmas was I was three years old. I popping off the tape from the wrapped box he was in and he popped right out. I don't recall this, but all my sisters and parents say that when he came out I said, "Lucky!" like he was an old friend. We were deciding what to name him, and I wanted to name him Spot (I was only three, ok?), but Caitlyn convinced me to name him Lucky. From that day on, I think he was jinxed.
He had had cuts, gashes, and scrapes from fighting other cats and other undefinable sources. He had had three abscesses on his head; two on top, one on his cheek. The second one killed a few pigments in his skin, and he had a tiny white spot ever after on his head where it had originally been solid orange. He'd had re-occurring ear mites which we were never able to officially cure. He had this great ponch on his belly, like a middle-aged man with a beer belly, and it was wiggle and swing side-to-side whenever he tried to run. That and his neck were the only places he's store all his immense fat. The rest of him was scrawny. In fact, his belly was so large, he couldn't walk like regular cats; he sort of waddled.
In his youth, his tail was a little too long for him. It would dangle over his back like a carrot dangling in front of a mule. We thought one day it would get so long, it would obstruct his vision. It never did, but he eventually grew into it.
The way to his heart was definitely through his belly. Not only would he eat himself to death if we let him, his spots took the form of hearts all over his body--especially when he curled up in his way, with his back legs straight against his head.
Near the end, he developed Epilepsy, which I hear happens to some cats once they get old (Lucky lived for 12 years). He would have seizures and strokes if we didn't get his medicine. For the first month or so we had no idea what was wrong with him. I thought he was dying. Just one day, I go upstairs, and his was twitching and foaming at the mouth, he started circling and hissing... Then I saw his first grand mall seizure: I thought he was dying then, too. He didn't die. We took him to a vet and he got medicine. He was never the same after he got sick: he didn't yowl at the door to go in and out very two seconds any more (nothing missed) but nor did he sleep on my bed and head butt me in the middle of the night when he wanted petted or stare out the window at night, listening to all the night noises of the pond. He didn't purr as often, nor play/fight with Pounce (other cat) any more. But he would still wink at me with those big green eyes and stretch out and put his paws on the counter when he wanted fed.
I still can't believe he's gone. He was here, looking at me, purring, wanting fed and petted, following me around while I did my outside chores, just a few days ago. And now I have only one cat to feed and she doesn't even have to worry about her food being ravaged by him. I keep seeing little movement in the corner of my eye and expecting him to be there, wanting fed or petted, or just trying to get around on his daily rounds about the house. There's no one to knead the stuffed tigers in my room (which he did every time he walked him there, even after his illness) anymore.
Yesterday, Mom took me to the a cat adoption place. i met a kitten by the name of Spirit. She wouldn't leave me alone, and crawled all over me and Mom the entire time. And there was the male cat at the pound named Squirrel who jumped and climbed like his namesake. And had an inquisitive face to boot. I'll admit, I'm falling in love with both. I'll have to choose only one, I know.
Whichever I choose it would not be a replacement. Nothing, No one, could ever replace that Cat in my heart. I miss him, I mourn him, and I will never forget him. Never. The first and most developing years of my life will shine golden because of his friendship. he was a Godsend. I really think so. There is no way I could have made it through Elementary, Middle, Or Junior High school without him. Whichever cat I decide to adopt, it will be a new love, and new friendship.
I know Lucky couldn't live forever. I knew he would die. I knew it would be hard and it is. But I must move on, remembering him before and after he was sick, the sweet, stupid, loving cat. I know I will see him again.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Imagination: Definition by Example
A bit of a Psychological Test: read each word(s) and see what It makes you think of. I'll post my own answers below. no explanations involved, just a few words of what it makes me think of:
Playing Chicken
Text
Sports Car
Cloud
grass
big birds
Carrot
Blue hair
Khaki's
Pretzel
Bow
Melon
Night Games
Kite
Shoebox
Yellow
My anwers:
Playing chicken: Girls Camp's freezing pool.
Text: my sister fixed my cell phone in about three seconds.
Sports Car: a stalker who drives a red car with heavily-tinted windows.
Clouds: Ships.
Grass: Monkey toes!
Big Birds: a quill made from a turkey feather.
Carrots: Being very self-concious to around a Neighbor
Blue Hair: Dragon Ball Z.
Khaki's: a fake jungle river in Disneyland in Adventureland.
Pretzel: Hanging out at my best friend's house
Bow: A bright red bowtie.
Melon: Jimmy and Plank (from an old cartoon)
Nightgames: freaking out my neighbor (different one)
Kite: my kite in the shape of a Bird.
Shoebox: a baby sparrow that's fallen from its nest.
Yellow: Pioneer Trek! and our amazing Safari Tent!
Playing Chicken
Text
Sports Car
Cloud
grass
big birds
Carrot
Blue hair
Khaki's
Pretzel
Bow
Melon
Night Games
Kite
Shoebox
Yellow
My anwers:
Playing chicken: Girls Camp's freezing pool.
Text: my sister fixed my cell phone in about three seconds.
Sports Car: a stalker who drives a red car with heavily-tinted windows.
Clouds: Ships.
Grass: Monkey toes!
Big Birds: a quill made from a turkey feather.
Carrots: Being very self-concious to around a Neighbor
Blue Hair: Dragon Ball Z.
Khaki's: a fake jungle river in Disneyland in Adventureland.
Pretzel: Hanging out at my best friend's house
Bow: A bright red bowtie.
Melon: Jimmy and Plank (from an old cartoon)
Nightgames: freaking out my neighbor (different one)
Kite: my kite in the shape of a Bird.
Shoebox: a baby sparrow that's fallen from its nest.
Yellow: Pioneer Trek! and our amazing Safari Tent!
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