Credits: The Selby
"I would oogle at the couples out in public, the ones that couldn't get enough of each other, the ones that didn't care what other people though, the ones who were just mad about each other and i'd compare it to our meaningless love."
credits : Sartorialist.HAPPEH! ;)
Perhaps it's a blessing in disguise aye. My last few days of 2009 seems to be scintillatingly warm & vibrant. I have a bunch of amazing friends larh! Love them to bits. Hehehe. ;3
At the end of the day, it's about the quality, not the quantity. <3
2009 have left me many bittersweet moments. A lot of grieve, and yet at somewhat throughout all the calamities - a lot of joy. I suppose with empathy you learn to appreciate pure delight more. In proceedings of the year, I made a bunch of new friends. Some that left, and some that stick, and some who were just down right impossible and obnoxious. Whoever and whatever they're made of, imma hear to tell you that you all have made that perhaps minimal but eloquent impact in my hell heck of a year. Be it good or bad, you guys have been a blessing in disguise. Parts and parcels of life, I always say. You guys each have taught me a lesson that I won't be able to benefit from without meeting the either brilliant or dim witted minds of youse.
Within this year, I've gotten closer to people whom accept me for who I am. I also learnt not to be as naive as always like to think that just cause people are nice to yr face doesn't mean their intentions are sincerely genuine. Yeah, life's a bitch like that sometimes.
Oh, I do once again stand by my theory that everyone do have skeletons in their closets. I have unveiled quite a bunch of 'em. However dark or mystifying these untold actuality can be, I find a certain engaging beauty out of these silent conundrum. I believe all those forbidden truth in some ways make you and break you, mold you into the person you are today when you look yourself into the mirror and see your own vividly enthralled reflection. Sure, to a stranger or an estranged friend, it may look just like any other reflection. But if you stare a little longer and if someone sees you profoundly enough, you'd find that there're set of secrets lurking at every corner, hanging around to be liberated, perhaps at your most vulnerable moments or the day you choose to trust someone, both quite a beautiful scene to forbear if I must say.
That being said, I've met an equal amount of people who are downright ignorant and are still as immature as hell albeit their non existant intellectuality. So content at where they're at they refuse to bulge. What happened to nothing is permanent but change? I used to think change was an atrocious evil thing, but after much comprehension and what nots - isn't it with change only that we evolve, we become ze better nobler person of sorts? Or is that a rather too philosophical for us to fathom?
Whatever tragedies that strike me this year, karma somehow counterbalance it by letting me meet these few truly fresh unconventionally bizarre yet interesting people that I thought would be extinct by now considering how some can be obscurely contrasting to the cynical stereotype I have implanted upon the community. Who knew aye. Haha. Perhaps there's still some essence of unadulterated sincerity left in mankind. Perhaps humanity is not entirely a lost cause. Just maybe only larh.
I grew up the most this year. I learnt to be more grateful towards people I love and respect, to trust when it seems beyond ridiculous to, to enjoy the simple smaller yet equally sentimental things. The crisp smell of morning fresh air, chilling with the lovelies to mid morning. Obscene amount of lip-smacking, artery-clogging chow, countless chocolate lounge session with different individuals with each their own distinct lucid stories to tell. The pure unadulterated, unpretentious laughter among people that who never cease to amaze me.
Wherever life takes me, Imma grateful that I can look back at 2009 and smile because it happened. I did not just a waste a year full of nonsensical binge drinking and aimless partying. I met people who had vivid stories, made me learn from their virtues, ditch a few of 'em preposterous, ludicrous one that I concluded are too shallow for my keepsake.
I suppose Imma writing this to myself considering the meager to none fellow readers I've got, I wonder who would actually tolerate my insane amount of long-winded jibberish that came out from my complicated entangled thoughts. It's been a helluva of an emotional whirlwind filled with unscripted escapades this year. I wonder what's in stored for me in 2010? ;3
Nah nah nah,
Everly annoying and stubborn,
Mandy, x.
Women are always complaining that the men in their lives suffer from “Peter Pan Syndrome.” It’s a standard, catchall criticism that chicks levy willy-nilly on dudes for any number of relationship misdemeanors or faux pas. It refers to the title character in J.M. Barrie’s classic, turn-of-last-century play and novel about a precocious young boy who refuses to grow up. And modern ladies love to slap this armchair diagnosis on any male behavior that is inconvenient to their self-interest.
If a guy chooses to play Assassin’s Creed II on his day off instead of strolling through the farmers’ market with his sustainable-food activist girlfriend and molesting squash, is he suffering from “Peter Pan Syndrome”? That same dude could have dreams, but they’re probably dismissed as a symptom of “Peter Pan Syndrome.” Real dreams, like being a parapsychologist, or a shark hunter, or a strip club DJ. Whatever, mock away. It’s not like “locavore” is ever going to be an actual word that normal people use. And personally, I think it’s very mature for a grown man to note that having a child can totally harsh a buzz. I’d like to add that not folding one’s clothes is an aesthetic choice. Same with dishes.
It is a very modern point of contention between the genders that men aren’t growing up, or at least, growing up according to the standards and expectations of the women in their lives, that men are lazy, hairy toddlers who want to retreat to their man caves, drink beer, and watch “Iron Man” Blu-ray extras. This is an unfair stereotype. There are plenty of men out there who make a living, dote on their families, and shoulder more than their share of responsibility, while at the same time being lazy, hairy toddlers who want to retreat to their man caves, drink beer, and watch “Iron Man” Blu-ray extras. It’s called “complexity.” Men have more layers than you suspect. We’re like pancakes that way.
I don’t think men with so-called “Peter Pan Syndrome” are the problem. I think many women, especially those who use the term “Peter Pan Syndrome” and pronounce the word “mature” as “matoooor,” suffer from “Wendy Syndrome.” That’s right. I’m referring to the girl who accompanies Peter Pan to Never-Never Land, or even my older sister, Wendy. In the famous story, Wendy and her brothers join Peter Pan and his Lost Boys in their epic fight against Captain Hook. At the end of the story, Wendy chooses to return to England, and to grow up. Pan refuses. A woman who suffers from “Wendy Syndrome” has aged prematurely and acts more grown up than is justified by her experience. She’s fussy, clucking, and obsessed with appearances.
Why would Wendy want to leave Never-Never Land? I mean, Peter has a great job—fighting pirates. Adoring co-workers. A nice tribe of natives as neighbors. The real estate is fantastic: There are beaches, mountains, tree houses. And the commute isn’t bad, just the second star to the left and on till morning. Peter Pan is free, passionate, and just wants to have fun, like ‘90s-era Sheryl Crow. Why would Wendy give that up? Seriously. Why would she want to return to nasty old Victorian London? The city that gave us Mary Poppins, the barren, black-magic nanny with the chimney sweep boyfriend who eventually dies of emphysema? Or Oliver Twist, an orphan who barely escapes the white slave trade? What is so special about that industrial soot-choked metropolis of misery? What’s the downside to an enchanted island, besides the fairy infestation?
If Wendy wanted children, she couldn’t have done better than staying in Never-Never Land. It’s. An. Island. Of. Little. Kids. Wendy returns because she’s not comfortable with the abandon Peter Pan offers. She prefers the comforting shackles of social norms. To Wendy, exchanging soaring through the clouds for croquet with The Joneses is a fair trade. Clearly, she settled for settling down. It’s an ageless place – she could have grown up any time. But Wendy set a limit to the adventures she allowed herself. Wendy broke Peter’s heart, because she wouldn’t fly with him one more time. Wendy put her foot down and grew up, leaving Peter with Tinker Bell, a thimble-sized badass who never shirked a pirate hunt. Poor Tink, if only Peter loved her back.
Next time you bemoan men behaving like Peter Pans, desperately holding on to an idealized, recent youth, take a moment for self-reflection. It won’t hurt. Could it be that you’re suffering from a mild case of “Wendy Syndrome”? Should you be in a hell-bent rush to act a certain way? Is it possible to have adventures and still be responsible? To waste time giggling and playing video games one night, and the next night engaging in captivating dinner conversation with people who keep back issues of The New Yorker by the toilet? According to some versions of Barrie’s story, Peter returns every spring until Wendy grows up, and then Peter starts sprinkling his dust on her daughter. At the very least, Wendy recognizes that Peter Pan can teach some important and enduring life lessons. The airborne imp isn’t so bad.
By: John Devore.
So yes, we could kiss. I could kiss you and you could kiss me.
There's no science, plane ticket or clock stopping us.
But if we kiss, it will end the world. And I've ended the world before.
No one survived. Least of all me.
I was so busy missing you, I missed someone else standing right in front of me.
Now I’m missing them instead.
You could ink yourself until everyone knows all the things you love. You could wear uniforms that gave you all the authority in the world. Lose weight until there was nothing left. Paint the face. Suck in your gut.
But in the dark, stripped down to your bones, all that remains is you.
We do way too much of the former and not enough of the latter, and this is what keeps us from taking responsibility for our thoughts, feelings and actions.
K: Stop living your life like youre in some kind of movie.
A: Excuse me?
K: Stop trying to cast your love instead of just meeting him.
A: When I meet him, I'll know.
K: Im not so sure. Love isnt always a lightning bolt, you know? Maybe sometimes its just a choice.
A: Well, thats easy for you to say! You're flying to Argentina to meet the love of your life!
A: Thats just it. I dont know that Paolos the love of my life, but I've decided to give him the chance to be. Maybe true love is a decision. You know, a decision to take a chance with somebody, to give to somebody. Without worrying whether they'll give anything back. Or if they're gonna hurt you, Or if they really are the one. Maybe love isn't something that happens to you. Maybe it's something you have to choose.
K: So what do I do?
A: Well, you could start by putting all of those fantasies of true love where they belong, into your work of fiction.
It as if I heard myself for the very first time, the sounds I always somehow knew I had it in me tucked away somewhere yet never could pinpoint meticulously enough to comprehend. The echoes of unadulterated pain. Usually I'd be too consumed in bearing the mask of social repertoire to acknowledge my underlying emotions. So when you're pushed to a confined space and you can't possibly run from the situation no more, you'd counterattack. And it's when you finally let those words pelt down, flow out from that locked up metal box of that we once called heart, you ultimately let out what you thoroughly feel in a blunt i-don't-give-no-two-fucks-no-more temperament.
There's oddly another silence that occurs after. As if all those once bottled up and concealed emotions now are surfaced and bare, you finally struck by a sudden rude awakening of reality.
"...the most-searched U.S. song lyrics of the year - Lady Gaga’s 'Poker Face',and of all the things Americans want to learn how to do, it’s “how to kiss.”
Guess what's the overall top search among the top 3 search engines...
Michael Jackson! Woots.
Ask.com’s Top Overall Questions of 2009
