The Definitive

This is the innocent face that will be spending the evening at her boyfriend's house, charming the pants off everyone with her quiet smile and polite conversation. Her mint green blouse and clean cut capris will give her the appearance of understated feminity and poise while the way she will carry herself will confirm it. She will act in a manner that will leave a fairly good impression on most people but not a lasting one because that's just the way she rolls.

This also happens to be the face that has spent the past two hours complaining not too vocally about how bringing her eight-year old sister to the party (as mandated by her parents) is about as desirable as falling into a vat of boiling pus, because honestly, Casey is about as annoying as all the eight-year olds in the world combined.

This is also the face that later made its way to the washroom to get a hair straightener. As she was doing so her sister meekly said "Ateh, I'm sorry".

"For what?" the face would nonchalantly reply.

"For wanting to come."

This is the face that has been ridden with guilt since then and is currently feeling like she deserves to fall into a vat of boiling pus. This is the face that is promising that she will be more tolerant with her sister despite her constant tendency to bug the living piss out of people.








I love you Casey. Ateh can't help it if she's an asshole.

It's as we were idly circling Northbrook Mall* for the umpteenth time** that my sister and I wound up at Sharper Image. After exhausting the luxurious massage chair and being harassed for the last time about the "50% sale on all the massage chairs in the store" by some unshaven sales associate, I finally decided to get my ass up and look around. Yeah buddy, sure. My fourteen-year old sister and I will get to work on your sales commission from that $2,000.00 massage chair just as soon as we smash open our Hello Kitty piggy banks***.

While fussing around with whatever shiny object caught my eye and being glared at by expectant sales people, I noticed this interesting little object:


Okay world, let's have a little talk. I know I haven't exactly been the poster child for industry and perseverance. If anything, I've been the anti-poster child. I've been campaigning, rooting and blatantly cheering for the other team but I'm taking a break from my creed of lethargy just so I can point this out. This thing. This contraption that plays with your cat so that you can have free time to bum around and watch the latest episode of The O.C. Has it really come to this point guys? To the point where you can no longer spare five minutes to pet your cat, to toss a ball at its sorry ass or to pay a smidgen of attention to it? It's not an overly exhausting task nor will it take you more than ten minutes of the time you would otherwise be spending picking your ass.

And this. This piece of shit that picks up bugs for you. Do you follow me guys? Picks up bugs for you. For $25.00. I cannot fully process the fact that people are willing to spend any amount of money for something that automatically picks up bugs for them when back in the Philippines we relied on whatever object that has a semi-flat surface, including our palms, to squash any offensive insect that may fly our way. Buying this is inexcusable.


Right and left, people are coming up with the most mundane things to make our life "easier" when in truth they do nothing but make people more reliant, incompetent and dare i say it, lazy. Because you know, eating globs of grease and engaging in the least amount of movement possible (Yes, guilty, whatever. But hey, I've been doing Tae-bo so fuck you.) isn't enough, we have to cap it off with shit like this.








*More fucking Louis Vuitton stores than the southern hemisphere but not one book store? Is pretty and illiterate that big of a trend?
**Not one, I tell you.
***We do not own any Hello Kitty piggy banks but we do own crafty pig jars that are equally dorky.

The story will start as soon as I learn how to speak—a little foreign girl raised to speak a language other than her own. The girl who sat in the middle of a leaf-specked courtyard with ribbon-tipped braids, being questioned as to why she couldn’t recite the Philippine pledge of allegiance in the tongue she was supposed to. I inspired understandable curiosity among my beady-eyed peers, and as I repeatedly clarified that No, I’m not from the US, I was just raised weird, I realized that something that I had and more or less treated indifferently, mattered more than I previously imagined it to.

( History 101 )

I have fallen in love with Knox College for reasons that will be elaborated upon in due time. Somewhere in this vast void of emptiness my College Counselor is tearing out his voluminous body of hair and weaving a rope out of it to strangle me with. I am explicity going against his advice by:

Falling in love with Knox College.

Applying to schools that are beneath me. Although he never said this upfront, the nice long list of colleges that require you to have a rocket-propelled stick up your ass in a precise angle and poetic manner in order to apply, speaks, rather stick-up-in-the-assingly, clear.

Geographically limiting myself. Which we all know is rooted in my deep, impenetrable attachment to this household.

And here I was starting to grow fond of that salt-and-pepper mane of his.

This term is a nice sail in the Carribean compared to the hellishness I have to look forward to the next three terms. This is made easier by my development of an efficient and easy-to-stick-to work strategy. Took me three fucking years of high school but I am nonetheless beaming with pride.

Spanish 4 Guess who's going to be officially tri-lingual by the end of December? Guess who doesn't care if this requires being able to command the language with great skill and efficiency or at the very least being able to put together a sentence or two without English words interspersed in it?

Consumer Economics Easy peasy lemon squeezee. And I fucking hate lemons but this class is so easy I am compelled to use them as a reference.

Web Design Genocide would be a tremendous favor to half the people in this class. Not only do they have a snot-pus conglemeration in place of a functional brain, they also do not have a trace of artistry in their pathetic little bodies. Fuck artistry, all I ask for is a basic sense of color coordination and an iota of decency in their Web Presentations. But noooo, let's all be morons so that Ruth will smash her head against the monitor in an effort to pass out and avoid our horrid displays of idiocy. Also, I would very much appreciate it if my teacher would quit telling me to stop working because the rest of my short-bus classmates still can't figure out what hexadecimal codes are.

AP English Language Fairly easy, with the help of recycled LJ entries and essays. Bible Boy is in our class, however, and although he is profound and amusing more often than not I have only one thing to say: I don't give two shits about how smart you appear to be, this if offset by your fanaticism with religion especially when it causes you to break out bibles at random instances and look down upon those who don't appreciate the Big G as much as you do.

Becky, my English class soulmate, how are you doing? We've weathered many English classes together and I feel that this feat should be properly documented. You make English class happy. For me, at least.

Also Gigi, my albino goldfish, extends her regards to anyone who's reading this. She's been rather peeved lately because the time I usually spend psychotically banging my palm against her fish tank screaming "FISHIE!!" has been diverted instead to different kinds of fish, specifically the ones that poop out gold coins and diamonds. Although she hasn't been upfront about it, I'm fully convinced that she's having jealousy issues because whenever I drop by to say hi, she moves to the opposite side of her tank and chases her reflection instead of doing aquatic ballet moves to greet me like she always does. I love you Gigi. Among all the eight fish I had, you're my favorite one. Not only because you're the only one left alive but because you don't complain about the two-month old filth that has accumulated in your fish tank.


Fig. 1.1 Albino Freak Fish

Sundays are yours, especially its mornings. Victimized by the rest of the week, seek solace in whatever sanity Sundays have to offer. Sundays draw on like a languid smile, a tinge of warmth, some sort of deliberate innocence that lights up your heart. Sundays are offensive to the rest of the busy, hectic week but they're yours. They're yours to waste and yours to squander.

Wrestle with the pillows and pry yourself out of the sheets. Spare the rays gently gracing your cheek the resentment you usually direct towards early weekday sunshine. Move up, get up, make your bed or leave it. It's your day and your sheets are willing to suffer disarray for it. Splash some water on your face, run a brush through your hair and restore your mouth's breath levels to a quality that exceeds sewer water. Breathe like you mean it because the rest of the week you probably don't bother.

Make your way to the kitchen and fix yourself something nice, something you won't have to rush through or scarf down. Conjure something warm and have a seat. As your bottom hits the chair cushion, feel your restlessness seep through the chair legs and onto the tiles. No, don't think about your itinerary for tonight. Focus on the sweet's and the salty's, the wild array of juices swirling in your mouth. Feel your throat glisten as the liquid soothes and comforts it, relieves it of all the pressure of speech and conversation, communication and talk. Stir your senses up and spoil them, they deserve it.

Listen to your thoughts as they slide out your mind and into your pocket. Leave them there and retrieve them later. Play some music, something mellow and calm, songs that divulge their stories to your ears and unravel themselves in your mind's eye. Songs that bare their secret melodies to you like vulnerable lovers do in their loved ones' arms. Pick a spot, somewhere welcoming. Pick a spot that will envelope you in security and remind you that being alone with such a great person as yourself is not too bad. Not too bad at all.

Grab a book and drown in it; let it lend its world to yours. Thumb to the pages like you were thumbing through silk. Devour the words like nuggets of wisdom you gently yet eagerly sink your teeth through. Smile as the words wrap themselves around you and cocoon you in their warmth. Put your feet up and stretch them out. Let them boldly accentuate whatever you're sitting in. Move through the words like you aren't headed anywhere. Relish them like they're taking you everywhere.

Venture outside and let the world remind you why it’s Sunday, why everything has fallen into place and is suddenly an extra shade of beautiful. The sky's an extra blue and the grass is an extra green. The world is your portrait, painted in various hues, shades and tones and perfected with the brush of reality. The air is woven through your hair and through your heart. Breathe. You won't even notice that you’re doing it like you mean it. Much like Sundays-- live them like you mean them because that's the only way they'll mean anything.

I. I would like to nominate jasonmichaels as LJ's foremost Problem-Fixer on the grounds that he can whip out a solution for anything at the drop of a hat, from swollen eyelids to teenage angst issues. Brimming with intelligent, easy-to-apply advice that works, Pogi J will make your life just a little bit easier. Evidence of his vast wisdom can be found at his journal and all those interested in his advice-giving services should seek him out there too*. Also, he can help you dominate the world so all you aspiring Hitlers out there, Pogi J's your guy.

*To gain any of these services you must be an especially likeable human being with a fully-functional brain and a non-boring personality.

II. Although I've said this many times, in many ways and in varying degrees of resolution, today I really really mean it. I'm so sincere this time that I even have written, LiveJournal verification of my iron-strong desire to Feel the Fucking Burn. Just you wait, our house is gonna be consumed by raging flames with me in the middle of the wreckage, traumatized and dazed, working it to the bone Tae-Bo style. And when the firemen, in their bright-red plastic suits, come to rescue me, they'll pull me away from the ashes flailing, kicking and screaming "But Billy Banks told me not to stop!"

III. Upon an infant's arrival into this earth, I bet normal people's reaction to him might include any of the following:

1. "Squeeeee!"
2. "Who's an adowable ickle baby? Yesh you are! And who's a big, retarded adult? Yesh I am!"
3. Dinner-plate eyes just about ready to pop out of the person's head as they emit a number of squeals that don't register on any known human device.

But us Filipinos are anything but normal. We spit in normal's face and send it running back to it's mommy, in tears and in spit.

"Have you guys seen the baby?" Adult Person A inquired.

"Yes, and my what a big penis he had!" Adult Person B responded.

Laughter ensued. I stood there trying to decide whether or not this conversation was really happening.

"Bet he didn't get that from you, huh, Father of the Baby?" someone said, nudging Father of the Baby into the Awkward Zone.

"Yeah, well, uh. The nurse came in to change his diaper and there was his wee-wee, standing up in all its penile glory."

"I bet he got turned on once he saw you, huh, Person B?" adds person A.

It is then that I decide that I will escort myself to the lobby and wait to squeee over the baby later. I did just that, and no you perverts I did not get the chance to either deny or confirm the claims.

Your presence is woven discreetly into my thoughts like the asphalt-air is into my hair. Backseat of a car through various bits of inane conversation: the world breezes by me wanting the same silent validation secretly sought in backseats, in breezes. I want to head nowhere and be everywhere, find answers in what's ahead of me if I ever figure out how to get there. Back in the car, two of my friends talk about vodka and curfews, Fridays spent in a drunken stupor; things I'm voluntarily missing out on, lives I haven't led. These are trivial, pointless! I want to scream at them but my lips remain pursed and my eyes remain anchored to the greens and the grays that stream past my consciousness. The scream stays at my throat because it lacks the vindication I'd like it to have; maybe I've missed out on things worth something, on lives I might've liked to lead, even just for awhile. Quick as they came, these thoughts were dismissively melted into insignificance by a series of what's, why's and when's that aren't markings of Saturday trip to the mall. I'd like to know what I'm doing as well as the why's and when's that go along with them. Uncertainties aren't salved by painting things poetically nor are they calmed when written into prose. The road ahead of me isn't saying you'll be fine, although for a moment there I kind of hoped it did. I still do and for now it's enough for me to tread anything.

There are people on these world who thrive on attention and honestly, I don't hold that against them. Every once in a while we all need those compliments to boost up our morale and make us feel like we're the shit; it fucking feels nice. Then there are those people whose entire identity is based upon the attention/reassurance/compliments that they receive from other people which they try to desperately to obtain through various attention-whore tactics: looks, an extremely loud attitude or anything short of carrying a neon arrow drawing attention to themself everywhere they go. Seriously, why is other people's approval so important to you? Can you not find ways to validate your own existence? True, we have certain esteem and psychological needs that can be achieved through other people but other people can only fulfill you so much. How much of it can people give you so that you'll be convinced that you're actually a worthwhile person? Unless you manage to establish your self-worth on your own, no amount of praise will be able to satisfy your constant need for ego-stroking.

---

Then there are the people whose self-defeating personality makes you want to bash their skulls against something. Look here, I'm not a personal therapist; I am not capable of fixing your fucking insecurities with my honest, logical observations. Here's a tip: Quit bitching about things you don't intend to act upon. I've had friends (had being the operative term) who would constantly hold a pity party for themselves and bashing every aspect of their personality for god knows what reason. Here I am, psychologist extraordinaire, spewing out a list of their good qualities so that they can have a nice little ego trip to brighten their spirits. I don't know if you're fishing for compliments or if you're just a pathetic human being in general, but please, for the sake of all things holy, stop constantly whining about what's lacking in your life and using it as an excuse to be pitied. Here's a thought: Maybe if you worked on these things instead of constantly seeking sympathy for it you'll actually get somewhere. Actually, no, you're hopeless. The easy way out is much more recommendable. No need to give me credit really, just want to help.

---

Dear Whiny-Ass,

I'm entitled to my opinion just as you are entitled to yours. If something I say offends you fucking grow a spine. My opinions are not the foundation of existence; either move on or reject them. I will not cater to your wimpy, whiny ass. If you've taken my opinions so seriously, is it possible that I've somehow hit base? If you're as secure as you claim to be then why the sudden defensiveness? When they said that the truth hurts, they meant it. Kindly grow up. Thanks.


Have a nice life.

Life doesn't get any better than this.

I've just surfaced from half an hour of pillow snorkeling as I sniffed, cried and sobbed myself into congestion. Although it's as sad/pathetic/asphyxiating as it sounds, it's actually made much better by the fact that my bed smells like Ocean Breeze and is satisfactorily fluffy. On the more dismal side though, I've managed to work up a headache that will most likely deprive me of sleep and make me a less likable human being in the morning.

I wish things would hurry up and resolve themselves already because as time passes by more and more uncertainties manage to squirm their way into my brain leaving me more scared, doubtful and sad than I'd like to be. It'd probably be nice to just be strong all the time, but that's normally not the case, is it? Even the existence of strength is a little bit hazy right now; for all I know it's just some illusion I deceive myself with to keep me going.

I regret hurting him; the fact that I'm somehow able to justify it even more so. I should just STFU because he's a great guy who's made even greater by the fact that he's able to put up with such petty bullshit. I can't help how I feel regarding certain things but I should be able to control it if I tried. I have a good enough head on my shoulders to realize that the best way to resolve/deal with things is not through childish revenge, irrationality and selfishness. Theoretically, anyway.

I don't feel really good right now but writing about it has made me feel better. I could still use a hug though. And some really kick-ass cough medicine wouldn't hurt. And that's that.

 

I am a self-confessed nerd, and in order to strengthen this assertion I present the following facts to you, my fellow LJers, for speculation and analysis.

1. A five on an AP exam translates into mini-orgasms in my brain.

2. Although I'm not so much of a Harry Potter nerd that I'll go to midnight parties or have the sixth book pre-ordered on Amazon, I am enough of a Harry Potter nerd to have the foresight to put in on hold on the library. I will pick it up tomorrow and will do a little happy dance while doing so because I didn't spend shit.

3. My fucker of a laptop decided it would be fun to give me some NDLTR error that will prevent me from abusing it. My main concerns regarding this matter are (in no particular order of importance):

• I will not be able to access the shitloads of eBooks I have saved on there.
• I will not be able to regulary check LJ.
• I will not be able to use Trillian aka Ultimate Instant Messaging for Nerds.

*Update: Thanks to the combined efforts of Kuya Pogi J and my Tito Erick, I know have a fully functional laptop plus a new 512mb memory stick on the way. If that doesn't make me a nerd I don't know what does.

4. I am addicted to Filipino soap operas despite the: shitty plot line, shitty acting, shitty dialog and the general shittiness it consists of. Fuck you, I'm feeling nostalgic and I will endure as much "She sees right through my soul..." bullshit until it gets out of my system. 

5. The only regret I have when I visited the Body Worlds exhibit at the Museum of Science and Industry  is that I didn't get to touch any of the cool body parts.  It's alright though, I had my fill during our Anatomy field trip. If you ever get the chance, note that the brain, lungs and liver are by far the best organs to entertain yourself with.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have two months worth of sickening, "unpredictable" love stories to attend to. (Wipe that smirk off your face Kuya J).

Somewhere in four a.m. in the morning, I'm falling in love with you all over again. Parched throat, half-dead eyes and a heart that's a little bit swollen, I feel most like the hopeful little girl who I begrudgingly know I am. Tragic really, but I blame it all on the folly of my youth. Because even years (or months, weeks, days, who fucking knows?) from now, when our story writes itself and winds up getting punctuated by a break-up, I'll still blame whatever heartache I find myself with on the fact that I was young and vulnerable and have yet a lot to learn in the world.

In other words, I'll lie.

Because we both know what I am and what I'm not. Although I'm not the sharpest tack ever to come out on the conveyer belt, you could assume that I'm in that batch. I'm every other teenage girl, in a sense, but a little different because I prefer Nick Joaquin over dance clubs, Mediated over Abercrombie. I will drive you insane with questions that vary from "Do you think I look fat in this?" to "Which mental frames of reference do you use to associate new images with?". I am undoubtedly still held by some of youth's trappings but no longer to the point that I can use it as a legitimate excuse for my mistakes. I'd really like to leave it open for future use though but I don't think I will.

You've owned up to everything I imagined you to be, back when we weren't us and you were just him. Now that you're Him, I've managed to see that you're a little bit more: Honesty is evident in your entirety-- words, actions, principles. I respect you for seeing all sides of me and pointing them out unflinchingly with an honesty so brazen that it stings me with a disguised satisfaction. Kindness somehow comes naturally to you, from the simplest gestures to the foundation of your principles. I envy it, sometimes, envy you. There's solace, however, in hopes that maybe someday, I'll learn it from you, little by little. Dedication runs through you and it fuels everything you do, making it better, stronger and just a little bit more meaningful. This could be the idealism that comes with the folly of youth I claim I am not a victim of, but I know what you are and I know what you're not.

You're mine. That's all that matters and the rest are just trivialities that come, go and settle with me as I comfortably settle my thoughts with you.

Rolling like the old school.

The Facts:

Q: I've heard that cardiovascular exercise can prolong life. Is this true?
A: Your heart is only good for so many beats, and that's it...don't waste them on exercise. Everything wears out eventually. Speeding up your heart will not make you live longer; that's like saying you can extend the life of your car by driving it faster. Want to live longer? Take a nap.

Q: Should I cut down on meat and eat more fruits and vegetables?
A: You must grasp logistical efficiencies. What does a cow eat? Hay and corn.And what are these? Vegetables. So a steak is nothing more than an efficient mechanism of delivering vegetables to your system.
Need grain? Eat chicken. Beef is also a good source of field grass green leafy vegetable). And a pork chop can give you 100% of your recommended daily allowance of vegetable products.

Q: Should I reduce my alcohol intake?
A: No, not at all. Wine is made from fruit. Brandy is distilled wine, that means they take the water out of the fruity bit so you get even more of the goodness that way. Beer is also made out of grain. Bottoms up!

Q: How can I calculate my body/fat ratio?
A: Well, if you have a body and you have body fat, your ratio is one to one. If you have two bodies, your ratio is two to one, etc.

Q: What are some of the advantages of participating in a regular exercise program?
A: Can't think of a single one, sorry. My philosophy is: No Pain...Good

Q: Aren't fried foods bad for you?
A: YOU'RE NOT LISTENING! Foods are fried these days in vegetable oil. In fact, they're permeated in it. How could getting more vegetables be bad for you?

Q: Will sit-ups help prevent me from getting a little soft around the middle?
A: Definitely not! When you exercise a muscle, it gets bigger. You should only be doing sit-ups if you want a bigger stomach.

Q: Is chocolate bad for me?
A: Are you crazy? HELLO, Cocoa beans,a nother vegetable!  It's the best feel-good food around!

Q: Is swimming good for your figure?
A: If swimming is good for your figure, explain whales to me.

Q: Is getting in-shape important for my lifestyle?
A: Hey, 'Round' is a shape.


P.S. Practice safe eating- always use condiments.

[Forwarded e-mail]

I hate having to make some of my journal entries friends-only,
but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

Good Morning.
I have stars on my shirt, I'm PMS-ing and I woke up at six o' fuckin' clock in the morning because of a combination hit of domestic issues, menstrual back pain and hellish temperatures.
I have confined myself to my room because my mother curses the fact that she ever bred her first offspring and I'm afraid that if she sees me she will feel compelled to enact corrective measures that involve infanticide or something just as vengeful.

Aside from that though, everything is peachy. I have learned how to take videos with my cellphone, transfer them to my computer and upload them to a website. I am taking advantage of this by sending videos of myself to my sweetie, who I suspect will promptly break off any ties with me as soon as he finds out that his girlfriend suffers from a severe case of mental retardation. That would suck gigantic balls though because he is such a creative genius. I mean what kind of guy can create an awesome flash game involving punt dogs and weird-ass Filipino songs? Yes, I have indeed hit the jackpot. In addition to being slutty, I am also using these vidoes to prove to Kuya J, more popularly known as jasonmichaels, that I am one hell of an adorable weirdo.

I am grounded for the next couple of lifetimes or until my parents decide to show me some semblance of mercy. Until then I am spending my time productively. Aside from taking up a career in video-whoring, I am also watching meaningful films like Finding Nemo and possibly a Filipino stand-up comedian whose lines my family posse (which includes Pavlin aka the Boyfriend) and I  quote incessantly. Then maybe I will resume wasting my life on the intranets as I roast in this hellish inferno of a room.

I have come to the conclusion that my sisters aren't half bad.* They are a good source of entertainment especially when you prod them with semi-sharp objects or engage in a Nemo taunt-fest with them, because after seeing him for the eightieth time, Nemo ceases to be cute and instead starts resembling a puddle of orange piss.

It is really hot and I'm about to die. I am considering a career as a vampire. If anyone knows how I can pursue this, kindly leave a comment or turn the fucking sun off for me. Thanks.

*Subject to change at any time without prior notice.

x0x0
Ruth

During days like these, I don't quite know what to do with myself. A quiet sadness moves with me as I linger from place to place in this tired little mind of mine, wishing that things would stop putting themselves into perspective. Listlessly wandering through the house, I search for anything that will keep me occupied and I find my report card from last term, disregarded and unopened. I'm thirteenth in a class of five hundred and thirty seven and I should be happy, proud or at the very least concerned. But I find myself not giving a rat's ass. Numbers are so insignificant and so are the achievements attached to them. The more of them I have, the less I feel I am. They do nothing but bring light to my more numerous flaws and the fact that they are irreparable.

I shouldn't regret being how I am and who I am, nor should I feel the need to defend it. And I'll keep telling myself that 'til thoughts of I do, though, I really do fade away from my consciousness.

---

And so the world went ahead and rearranged itself for my benefit. Everything's good again.
Stay tuned for further announcements.

Hi. How have you guys been?

I'm sixteen and unknowledgeable, restless and lost amidst the flood of partially-done work that is neck-deep and ready for my drowning pleasure. Sitting across my kitchen-prone sister, in our tall kitchen chair, I enjoy a cup of tea as she nonchalantly finishes off a pear. Lukewarm, one-third soymilk and one tablespoon of sugar. Green, crunchy and vertically cut. These are my nights and this is my life: a soothing cup of tea that I enjoy through whatever. A step past complacency and a spot alongside contentment.

I'm sixteen and unknowledgeable, but given a chance to break away from the latter, I'd say that I know that I'm blessed, I know that I'm lucky. I have sufficient resources, strong, enduring relationships and a strong sense of self. I have more love than most will ever find-- that's given, to give. I have a family of very questionable sanity, a boyfriend who comes in a close second and friends who have obliterated the "questionable" part entirely. Quirky little people who provide me with a dose of insanity just enough to keep me teetering at my wit's end. Ironically, they're the ones who pull me away from it whenever necessary. People who have defined parts of me far better than I ever could've done myself.

Most people never really fully realize how lucky they are because cynicism is quite often mistaken for realism. I highly doubt that I'll be spreading goodwill and cheer to my fellowmen anytime soon, but I do admit that bitterness and pessimism can only bring a person so much. We're all guilty of this even (or some may argue especially) me, and sometimes it's nice to take a break.

( A la Nada O. Nil )