- from the anime, Berserk

** I fucking love the beat of this song, unfortunately, I think it is in Engrish

Feel no shame about shape
Weather changes their phrase
Even mother will show you another way
So put your glasses on
Nothing will be wrong
There's no blame, there's no fame
It's up to you
The first words should be finded
Whatever hold you back
I can, I can get it off

* Tell me what, Tell me what, Tell me what you want
I don't know why, don't know why, don't know why you afraid
Tell me what, Tell me what, Tell me what you say
I don't know why, don't know why, Too late, it's too late

Have no fear for real
It's just a turning wheel
Once you start up there's no other way
Don't put your eyes on boots
Step forward your roots
There's no aid there's no trade
It belongs to you

# Before you miss something given
You should know what's the truth
I can, I can make it out

I haven't posted in a while. But that was a while ago. Because I just posted now. So it's no longer a while.

It's a toxic week. I work til late at night (out of dedication, naks), reviewing for an exam on Friday, fishing for dates (though I'm considering an officemate if she's not seeing anyone else), and planning my future -- hah! No, not kidding.

I think my needs are beginning to evolve. So, one way or the other, I will be introducing change.

It's funny when I remember that I used to tell people I'm a complicated person. In a way it is true. I had pyschological issues when I was a kid that my own mom don't even know about, inferiority complex, asperger's syndrome to name but a few. This was brought about by the mere fact that I was a very sickly child, and had few social contacts when I grew up. I was xenophobic, and a crybaby -- people would tease me 'para ka namang papaya', because the said fruit would readily cry out sap with just a mere prick on its skin.

I used that adjective as an advantage -- that is, equating my complicated (albeit unhealthy) behaviour as the mystique that adds to my personality.

But ... it's never a good thing to me. I need people to read me. Guessing games are fun at first, but it wears out its welcome quite quickly. That's why I've become as an open person as I could possibly be. If I hide what I am, then I just might become stale ... like expiration dates on milk cartons.

I wouldn't want to tell my Katie Holmes that there's more to me inside. I wouldn't want my Katie Holmes to tell me that what I do defines me. What I would want is for everything inside come out and define me. And my Katie Holmes would just strip naked and ...

*inhales paint fumes*

All the words that I've been saving for this blog entry is gone. The only thing in my head is that song by Hale (after a while, they're sound like whining men complaining of constipation).

Well ok, I saw a young picture of me when I was 23. It was one of the first group EBs I've attended in PEx.

I've grown old. Older than the five years that passed by since then. The mirror is showing it: eyes tired and sunken, ash-tinted pale skin, some weight, and symptoms of a chronic heart disease (never really told mom).

I remembered saying to myself that I've died a thousand times but only lived a few hundred.

Somehow, I'm still that old quiet kid who could barely talk.

---

Anyway, here's a poem I made in PEx.

To be read while listening to "You First Believed" (italicized text lines from said song), when the chorus is already playing. Hope I don't make these too often. I kinda hate the aftertaste.


how many wishes i can get from a star
before it fades

it was you who first believed

how many stars can I see through a car window
before i have to look back on the road

it was you looking in my eyes

how long does the road have to be
before i find you in this vast expanse of night

and i've never been the same since you first believed

how many nights do i count still
before it begins giving me warmth

it was you who first believed

how much warmth do i need
before i am ok

in all that i was made to be

how can i be ok when you keep going away?

it was you looking in my eyes

how much farther will you go away
before you stop and look at me

you held my hand and you showed me life

how will you look at me
if you're too blind to see through this night

and i've never been the same

how many stars do i light up
before you see your reflection in my eyes

since you first believed ...

how many stars ... how many stars ...

Oh just a message to someone out there. It's been almost two weeks. And the song "I love you more today than yesterday" is playing like crazy in my mind (in a happy, happy way).

Last saturday, I went 'home' and visited my mom, see how her broken arm had been doing. She seem fine I guess, and good thing my cousins and nephews are her neighbors to take care of her. In fact, they seem better suited with her than I do.

Anyway, after I arrived, I went to Waltermart, bought some illustration board, card board, a cutter, a bottle of glue, a set of plastic neon thingies you stick to ceiling or whatever, and that night I tried to make a birdhouse for the parakeets.

It was a wrong decision to buy the glue and not bring some superglue. I've made quite a mess on the table (though if they dry up, no one would notice). I've finished the house, but I never really were able to put it inside the ... rather small cage now that I've taken a good look at it.

I at least was able to dangle the improvised bird toys (the neon thingies). Unfortunately, the dumb birds seem to be afraid of it. Ah, it'll take some time for them to get used to it.

Last night, I watched Sin City alone, and I loved it. I never read the graphic novels it was based upon. If I had, I think I would've enjoyed the movie less.

/Quentin signing off

From the deepest depths down da dingy section of my mind -- a neuron suggested I take dancing. It's not as physically demanding as martial arts, and I'd get to enjoy it as well.

My other brain cells reacted, "That's just gay."

Ok. We'll see where this goes.

My last guitar lesson is finished. I'd like to thank Maestro Ricky for imparting humongous knowledge to my feeble feeble brain. I only have the passion, not the talent, for music. But I think that is indeed enough to nourish my soul and make my days happy holding my sexy guitar.

Now all that's left would be up to me. I've got a really nice chord book (alternative ofcourse) and I plan to master several pieces before this year ends. Maybe I could actually become good at it, and woo the woman of my dreams (working on that right now ... hello lovely, wherever you are, mwah).

So what's next? I've always wanted to retake some martial arts classes, but I don't know if I can handle the rigorous training along with my line of work. To think I was even considering taking FMA, Yaw-Yan, or Pekiti-Tirsia. Which are like, martial arts designed to really inflict pain and dominate the enemy.

I'd consider manga-drawing lessons. But that would make me really geeky and turn my body into a mush of soft flesh. Gym is boring. So what else?

Wanted to post an incredible memory I have with the guys. Even if it was a seemingly short-lived collaboration, it was fun and it was most excellent.

Long live the music!

Ok, here's something to forget the last post :p



It's part of the manga I drew a couple of years ago. Haven't quite made it tho.

Passed by sofia's blog, and there was this post about, well missing. It reminds me of a time when I did miss someone so bad, when I was actually thousands of miles away, that I wept.

I give out a little smirk when friends tell me I have no sentimentality (Patty), or as Chelo would tell me, "Wala akong ka-swit-swit sa katawan". That maybe true, and for the most part, I prefer people to see me that way. Heck, I don't even keep pictures!

But I do. In some personal, weird, strange, eccentric, lunatic way I do. When I was sent to California years ago, leaving behind a very special person (it was a pseudo-relationship, bad I know), listening to "Here With Me" by Dido and my mind would sink in a thousand mile deep chasm of longing.

And can you guess what she gave me to remember her? Aside from letters of reminding, there's this small envelope. What's inside is not another piece of paper, or picture, but a cotton ball doused in the perfume she liked wearing all the time. When I'm alone, I'd sit by the corner of our room's carpeted floor, open it a little, and let the scent soothe me. I close my eyes, and imagine she's just beside me, comforting me with her touch and her warmth, all the more enhanced by the vanilla-scented air.

It's a good kind of pain is it not? This missing.

Again, I find myself in a reflective mood. Alamid is playing in my Sonique, the aircon is turned off, and I passed the pre-test for the Java Certification.

*Your love is like the sun, that lights up my whole world*

I have a poor memory in a way. I don't remember details. I remember emotions. It's like, I don't remember why I hate you. It's just that when I remember hating you but forgot the reason why I do. So the cliche "forgive and forget" won't apply to me. It''ll be minus the first 'f' word.

I told my team leader last week that I'm a brooding person. An unfortunate trait which I also see in my brother. I had this team mate I have a cold war with, and my team leader is taking measures that we don't clash. Because in the event that it happens, it could be a strain to the team in case we get to be in the same project again.

Again, I don't forgive, but I do forget.

After a meeting that had the signs of a heated argument, my worried team leader approached me on my station, rubbed my shoulder and talked some patience into me.

I'd like to, I really do. I never did like the feeling of having to brood over a bad relation, it leaves that really nasty aftertaste. After all, a negative feeling, no matter how you redirect it into another form of energy, will always consume you in the end if you don't totally obliterate it. Kind of like, Jedi turning to Sith, and the only thing will keep you alive after going to the dark side, is to hate more. What better narcotic huh?

At my age, such things are costly. No, really. Youngish people still have the luxury of burning bridges as they can always build more just as easily. For people like me, who're beginning to cement life long acquiantances, and rely on it, such events are so disastrous that it affects health.

Anyway, enough of me being mental. Time for some game.

/Quentin signing off

- Hale

Intro: E-B-A or A2-

Verse:
E
Take me as you are
B A or A2
Push me off the road
C#m B A or A2
The sadness, I need this time to be with you

Pre-Chorus:
C#m B
And I do reside in your light
F#m A B
Put out the fire with me and find
C#m B
Yeah you lose the side of your circles
F#m B
That's what I'll do if we say goodbye

Chorus:
E B
To be is all i got to be
F#m
And all that I see
A B
And all that I need this time
E B
To be the life you gave me
F#m G#m slide to A
The day you said goodnight

Bridge:
C#m B A or A2
If you could only know me like your prayers at night
C#m B F#m B
Then everything between you and me will be alright

E B F#m A
The day you said goodnight

{ Variation }

B: A: A2 F#m G#m E
0 0 0 0 0 0 0 0
0 0 0 2 0 0 0 0
4 or 8 6 or 2 2 0 0 1
4 9 7 2 2 4 6 2
2 9 7 0 0 4 6 2
0 7 5 0 0 2 4 0

Sometimes it's funny how people don't know the difference of frontslash '/' from blackslash '\. Now how can that be confusing?

I'd say, the easiest way to know is that if the slash is leaning to the typing direction (left to right), then it's a frontslash, backslash otherwise.

A hilarious comment from a colleague goes like, "I know, I know but which is leaning to the front? The head or the tummy?"

Har! >:D