Amaranth Underneath

For the ability to dream, to understand, to forgive and eventually to love. For all the things I've worked hard for, and for all the things I am not worthy. For bringing me home and giving me peace. For my life, and the for the way I chose to live and celebrate it. For this day and for all the days to come. For everything. Thank You. Thank You Lord...:)

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I despise the fact that my tears were so shallow, but i love the way it filled my eyes, little by little until i can see no more than vague images of the books i read or the movies i watch... Last week, exactly a week ago, I found myself another 374 pages worth of treasure. I told myself I am not gonna read it until the exams are over, I wouldn't be able to anyway, but as fate decides I have to read it... Along with my reviewers, along with the sleepless nights, along with the days i grew to dread... "Each of us is responsible for the evil we may have prevented" - James Martineau I wouldn't have known this since I am a very passive person, but ofcourse not unless it was needed for a philosophy class, the two kinds of sins... mortal.. venial.. omission and commission... Each of us... Is Responsible... for the Evil... We may have Prevented... every cut of the phrase means too much to me, it goes straight to my very sense that tells me, "this means a lot...

a gift for Christmas, when i was 10 or 11.. i wasn't sure cause that was almost a decade ago, almost a decade ago since i last played a real piece... i always wonder why at such a young age i was given gifts that are not really suitable for me, a guitar from the south, specially delivered. a piano, for Christmas. which i both heard play on their own. it doesn't matter if you believe me. that thing i never intend to. i wasn't forced to play but i was encouraged... every Saturday when i was at that age i had my piano lessons with a good man, i honestly cannot remember his name, he was old and balding, i was taught to read notes first, then practice putting my fingers on the right place, then with the basic notes then with the easy songs and then... to that piece. all while i am looking only to the paper in front of me, and my hands are covered with a piece of board so i cannot see the keys. i know in myself that is not me. in front of a piano, playing music. because even ...

okay so i stand up and courageously passed my written essay wishing that it'll be accepted and be part of the contest. Gosh it took me a while just to finish it and a whole lot of courage to pass it. after i wrote the whole essay and all ready with the other creds. a certain feeling came over, a hesitant feeling, i call it the devil's syndrome. (made that one up obviously), i was like, okay i don't want to join! i was torn in two, after the time i spent, a lot of negative feelings came like i don't believe in myself again, but good thing i was able to pull myself together and really decide to pass it. right now i have a lot of negative feelings in me but maybe it's just part of it. i just really hope it'll be accepted. I didn't look at my job alerts for a good two weeks to finish this. well anyway whatever happens, it's okay. Failure is an attempt to success.

Raining Hard on Tuesday afternoon, not usual for hot April Day. Yesterday i happen to turn the t.v. to the Oprah Show and it was about finding Inspiration on young achievers. all of them became successful in such a young age, and their secret.. Follow your dreams. Know what you want and Find a way to do it. then i began thinking, with all my braincells... what is it that i really want to do? does it necessarily mean that it's where i excel? thinking... thinking... thinking... and im telling you until now i haven't come up with a single thing that i know i really wanna do. it's a bit frustrating. yes. and getting all my energy. we'll leave that behind, i will be able to realize that one day.. i decided to join the nestle essay writing contest. i have finished two complete drafts, but i feel like it's still incomplete. something's missing. and i know now what it is. it's easy for me to write without a drive. but it's great when i write with it, it comes ou...

I just finished reading Sydney Sheldon, never thought I would actually BE ABLE to read it and finish it. It was on my shelf for like a year and a half now I thought at first it was boring and then it came tome when I was about a quarter finish that it was actually exciting and a good one. Has been my most prolific reading season, read Stone, Ruth Francisco, Sheldon and Cahill in less than a week. I also realized something (that even if i don't mean it and i don't intend it) my readings belongs to a certain genre, about women, stories about their childhood to death, divinity and humanity, timidness to sexuality and a never ending search for love and self (and all of those i don't intend). Sometimes i really wonder how does that happen, how in the hell does the books i buy, without even reading the synopsis and just "got it and bought it" all belong to the same genre. Hughton's murder of Beatrice, The Joyluck Club, Belladona, Houses of Stone, Like Wate...