<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465</id><updated>2012-01-24T11:24:42.073+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I Fell in Love with a Cyber-Celebrity</title><subtitle type='html'>My heart goes ballistic with your every word. Your stories linger in my mind and find their way to my heart. Although in this space, romance is often doomed to fail before it even starts, I admit, I fell. I'm addicted. I'm in love.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>138</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4514616226462920006</id><published>2012-01-16T19:20:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-16T19:34:35.764+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Me on TV?</title><content type='html'>My first job was with government: contract work, low-paying, no benefits. But in that more or less year and a half stint, I was able to expose myself to a host of learning opportunities. The office was kind, that way. My boss even recruited me into a program sponsored by a think-tank in Hawaii wherein they gather "up-and-coming" analysts the world over to well, analyze things. Lol.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yeah, I was "up-and-coming" and I was a "young leader." My only beef was that I didn't want to be one. There was something about analyzing things and talking about them that just didn't cut it for me. Being an armchair analyst was frustrating. All recommendatory, nothing much done.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And so I decided to shift gears and that's how I ended up where I'm at.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last week, I was surfing channels when I came across Al Jazeera and thought I saw a familiar face. Here was a Taiwanese guy talking about their elections and the overall security environment in the region especially vis-a-vis China. That familiar guy, could it be Rocky? It might be Rocky or I could be wrong. I mean, the guy's over a cable news channel, taken in as an expert! Seriously, it can't be him... but then again, he's talking Taiwan stuff and that square jaw, sleeked back hair and barely there glasses are all too familiar!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I waited for about ten more minutes, listening in, trying hard to find clues as to this guy's identity and then there it was: "As Rocky mentioned...." One of the other guests referenced him. Yep, it was him alright.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not one to live in regrets and much as I still haven't doused that nagging I-could-be-great-but-why-am-I-stuck-here feeling, I'm finally feeling my inner self settle. But then again, I wonder how it feels rambling over cable news... international superstardom anyone? Lol &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4514616226462920006?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4514616226462920006/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2012/01/me-on-tv.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4514616226462920006'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4514616226462920006'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2012/01/me-on-tv.html' title='Me on TV?'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3452053815189956181</id><published>2012-01-09T10:44:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-09T10:50:53.947+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Give Me Bags!!!</title><content type='html'>WHEN: 15 January 2012, Sunday&lt;br /&gt;TIME: 9:00 am to 2:00 pm&lt;br /&gt;WHERE: Sunken Garden, UP Diliman&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Friends, please rummage your closets for old bags. I'm sure you have some to spare. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. I'm also sure you received bags and office supplies as corporate giveaways last Christmas. This is a great way to re-gift!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. And think of how many pads of paper or notebooks a hundred pesos can buy. Just a hundred pesos friends! Or even fifty or even twenty!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let's pitch in whatever we can. Please, please, pretty please!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/106243932829238/"&gt;SENDong Kids Back to School!&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3452053815189956181?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3452053815189956181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2012/01/give-me-bags.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3452053815189956181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3452053815189956181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2012/01/give-me-bags.html' title='Give Me Bags!!!'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5228452173676177442</id><published>2012-01-06T09:47:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T10:16:22.654+08:00</updated><title type='text'>iExist</title><content type='html'>The nightmare of valid IDs has haunted me for quite a while already. For the longest time, I relied on my school ID and from time to time, my passport. Needless to say, a lot of transactions require you to present at least two government-issued IDs and so when my passport expired, I resolved to get as many IDs as I could possibly get.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Right before the year ended, I went on a mini-ID spree.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First stop was passport renewal. &lt;a href="http://toiletots.blogspot.com/2011/04/dfa-manila-passport-renewal.html"&gt;Toiletots&lt;/a&gt; has a more detailed account - complete with DFA links and whatnot - on this so better to just read him up. But I totally agree with him that the DFA did great on this one. My sked was 8:00 am and they require people to be there at least 30 minutes before. I got to the DFA Aseana Office at around 7:15 am and they opened counters at around 7:20 am! I was done by 8:10 am considering that there were probably about a hundred or so people before me. What's best, I think, is that everything's so transparent and streamlined. No red tape at all here. It was really awesome.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next, I headed to the SSS for an ID. Sadly, they just had one counter processing ALL transactions and needless to say, waiting time was long and tedious. I visited a field office, by the way. For an SSS ID, just fill out the form online, print it and have it processed in a branch with image capture facility. First time applications are free of charge and they'll mail your ID to the address you noted.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Incidentally, when I was on my home, I passed by an LTO field office. And so I decided to apply for a student permit. Yes, at age 27, I still don't know how to drive. Lol. Process is again quite easy: fill out the form, have it processed, wait for them to call you for image and signature capture, wait for them to call you to the cashier for payment and again, wait for your name to be called in the releasing section. &lt;i&gt;(Funny thing about this is that in the afternoon, I got a text message from an unknown number. The message said hi and I replied back, who's this? The reply said, she's the girl who released my SP. I asked, SP? Apparently, that's Student Permit. Cringe! A girl took my number!!! But all that vomit-inducing feeling washed away when she finally made mention of her being an agent of USANA. So there, all's well! Buti na lang kasi when I saw her making in LTO, the first thing that crossed my mind was: wow, matangkad and payat, pwedeng mag-pageant... sana lang maganda! Lol.)&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Prior to this ID-field day, I had a postal ID processed. Ask your neighborhood postman about this. He'll gladly process everything for you... of course for a fee, which to my mind is worth all the hassle! I remember just giving three 2x2 ID pictures and P450 for all the fees - postal, notarial, etc. The postman delivered the ID after a day or two!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;My only concern right now is my TIN card. Apparently, my records are not yet updated. I first secured my TIN ages ago when I first applied for a student permit to drive and the BIR issues TIN cards only to those employed or already paying taxes. After the office updates my records, I'd probably have to go back to the BIR field office near our place. But again, the process is very simple: you approach a counter, present an ID with your TIN stated in it and they'll print you a card.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So far that's that. I'm just waiting for everything to be delivered: my passport to the office and my SSS ID to our home address.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And yey for getting through this post. Hope it didn't bore you to death. Lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;:p&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5228452173676177442?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5228452173676177442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2012/01/iexist.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5228452173676177442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5228452173676177442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2012/01/iexist.html' title='iExist'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7736767070315902030</id><published>2011-12-26T13:46:00.014+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-26T16:06:39.392+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday Loot</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;I have a very low EQ. Give me a gift and I'll unwrap it as soon as you hand it to me. Perhaps it's because I'm not used to receiving stuff or maybe it's because I'm just naturally impatient.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;.. or OC that I want to quickly see how my new "acquisitions" fit into "my life." All the same, this year was really fun because I received quite a handful. Hehe&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;I love boxer briefs and some were thoughtful enough to give me some. Lol&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tmcrzZw8IlQ/TvgL9YWliuI/AAAAAAAAAK0/GdccwGQ5R7c/s400/Boxers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690311278319733474" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was really really really happy to receive this huge bottle of Physiogel from a colleague. Remember my love affair with &lt;a href="http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/10/o-soap.html"&gt;O&lt;/a&gt;? 'Nuff said. Lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xk7oxppPPrw/TvgMbdsFqxI/AAAAAAAAALA/KYib6QeZBL8/s400/Physiogel.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690311795148172050" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the vanity continues... Hehe&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XTkNP-66d_o/TvgNLjxVt1I/AAAAAAAAALM/Ruxg2QQfMx0/s400/Bvlgari.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690312621414528850" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;But what really got me all excited were the things I bought with my - erm, now my nanay's - bonus. Item number 1... a travel toothbrush. Haha&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KlYLJC8_nGE/TvgNpot0ZzI/AAAAAAAAALY/onGl5qHOEhA/s400/Toothbrush.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690313138138015538" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Item number 2... a new lunchbox! Seriously, I had to convince nanay to buy me this. I was all smiles when I opened it and saw two "compartments" inside! Nakakaiyak! Haha&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;span style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-p5bu7FqvWrY/TvgOVYATenI/AAAAAAAAALk/EWDEIhWF2E8/s400/Lbox.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690313889566390898" style="text-align: center; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And one of our bosses gave us new one-peso coins for doing an awesome job with the Christmas party presentations. Lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-w5lZ9Kp2SnY/TvgPRR8iyrI/AAAAAAAAALw/hGqwMrxKy2E/s400/Piso.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690314918732155570" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also rallied the family to clean up yesterday. Yes, our Christmas was spent cleaning the house, thanks to me! Haha. Found this clutchbag I gave tatay for his birthday a couple of years ago. It's still unused! Finders keepers. Hehe. I just swapped it with some new car mats for him. Lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KXD5CZlXuwU/TvgRCr2clDI/AAAAAAAAAL8/e41xjv3WKTk/s400/Girbaud.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690316867011122226" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left; "&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And after working for around 7 years, I finally gifted myself with a savings account. Thank you Lord for the means to open one. God really provides. He does make ways.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-wBTg-q17XvE/TvgR-IcJXAI/AAAAAAAAAMI/RSYpASbvtUc/s400/CBC.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690317888297720834" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); text-decoration: underline; display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other news, a lot of establishments have been mushrooming around Antipolo lately. Yesterday, I saw a mini-mall right outside the church with a Starbucks branch. Yardstick of progress much? But the kasuys and sumans and kalamays still line up the plaza though! :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5uz7BGNyVNs/TvgS86NL-mI/AAAAAAAAAMU/5erKFPu4FEk/s400/Starbs.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5690318966808640098" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyhow, thank you to everyone who remembered. Some of the gifts are now neatly lined on my office desk or were much enjoyed by my and my family's tummies. Hehe&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's too 2011! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let's go 2012! End of the world! Joke. Hehe&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;:p&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7736767070315902030?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7736767070315902030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/holiday-loot.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7736767070315902030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7736767070315902030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/holiday-loot.html' title='Holiday Loot'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tmcrzZw8IlQ/TvgL9YWliuI/AAAAAAAAAK0/GdccwGQ5R7c/s72-c/Boxers.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-797661706486976911</id><published>2011-12-01T12:40:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-12-01T13:48:00.607+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Phone Call Blues</title><content type='html'>Everyday I try my best to be nice which isn't really that difficult since I'm a very non-confrontational person and I've got loads of patience. One of my colleagues at work even said that if I get ticked or if I lose my cool, then it must be really serious. Lately, perhaps because things ultimately do add up, I found myself sighing a handful of times as I talked to a "client" via phone. It's one thing to spoon feed "bosses" but it gets elevated to a whole new level when they're wrong yet still have the gall to throw their weight around and be arrogant about it.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: Hi, I want to clarify some things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: Sure ma'am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Round 1...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: I want to know how many responded to this study.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: (Hmmmm....) Ma'am, if you noticed, in the first slide, we placed there n=xx.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: Ok... But there are other things I wanted to ask.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Round 2...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: Like for this item, you asked whether they give this out or not. But so what?! You didn't even ask about the exact rates!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: (Hmmmm.... hmmmm....) Ma'am, if you noticed (I'm beginning to love this phrase!), right below that chart is another graph with the percentages and ranges of rates...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Round 3...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: But how about this one? You asked for the mean when you should have asked for the average, 'di ba?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: (Hmmm... hmmm... hmmm...) Ma'am, the arithmetic mean IS THE average...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: Ah, so median iyong middle point?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: Opo...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And finally, round 4...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: Pero ito, you asked if they give out this birthday benefit but you didn't ask how many times they give it out in a year?!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: (Hay...) Erm, ma'am, 'di ba po isa lang naman ang birthday ng isang tao sa isang taon?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: Hindi kasi ayoko mag-assume, dapat exact... (at this point, I was no longer listening to her. magpapalusot pa eh.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: Sure ma'am, next time I'll try to refine the questions further (Ho hum).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;C: Oo kasi bakit iyong XXX may ganitong details, kayo wala!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;D: Sure ma'am, next time we'll ask those things (but what my raised eyebrow really wanted to say was: Duh, you pay hundreds of thousands for the studies churned out by XXX, I'm giving you these results for free. Kung maka-demand ka naman eh parang hindi mo naman naintindihan iyong mga studies na iyan.)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes work really is frustrating. The thing I'm scared of is that there are already instances when I'm close to losing my cool while talking to a "client" which is really not a good thing... and I don't want to be like that. I'm cool, calm and collected... at least that's what I aspire to be.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, in other news, I really felt for KC when she was asked from where she's getting strength and she answered something like, "I've never prayed this much in my life." Hay, I know the feeling. When matters of the heart get me sad or broken, we really do cling our hardest to prayers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's the first of December! Merry Christmas! =)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-797661706486976911?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/797661706486976911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/phone-call-blues.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/797661706486976911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/797661706486976911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/12/phone-call-blues.html' title='Phone Call Blues'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6099449768420014848</id><published>2011-11-11T13:43:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-11-11T13:58:00.357+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Read</title><content type='html'>Where I'm at in this world has yet to sink in. Being recognized for something you detest doing. Making ends meet by peddling something you abhor. It's ironic really, a wonder if you must. But then we make do with what life offers. You bounce through time's breeze... holding down your heart though the wind's every cough, praying that the next gust will find you in your cradle of peace. And you create ripples as you tip toe through tenuous tracks. Seeing your eyes lodged in your co-pilgrims' grimaced face. You realize that again, you must own your story... for in the end you possess nothing but that. Nothing earthly nor intangible to boast of. Everything's borrowed. At times, stolen. And in the end it's just that. Being recognized for something you detest doing. Making ends meet by peddling something you abhor.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;*Thank you to my book missionary who made me re-discover - after a long time of dodging - the thrills of reading :)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6099449768420014848?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6099449768420014848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/11/read.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6099449768420014848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6099449768420014848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/11/read.html' title='Read'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8172296855551841102</id><published>2011-10-25T09:27:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-25T11:54:43.952+08:00</updated><title type='text'>MJ Lastimosa and the things that make me smile</title><content type='html'>Binibining Pilipinas 2010 saw one of the favorites, MJ Lastimosa, asked what are the three things that make her smile. I can't really remember her answer, but should I be asked the same question, here are my three things:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. The beach&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. Kids (well as long as they are cute. lol)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. And random acts of kindness&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last Wednesday, while on my way "somewhere" (hmmm, I should add this "somewhere" as one of the "things" that make me smile...), I was given the opportunity to practice what I preach. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;First, a guy approached me a couple of meters from our house and asked if I could spare him some change for his fare home. He said that he was applying for a job and he got short on cash. I knew that there was a manpower agency near our place and so I willingly obliged. I knew that this was no scam and the guy was in real need. After handing him some coins, the guy thanked me and coyly walked away.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Still en route to "somewhere," I then saw an old lady - the type that sells packed lunch in offices - dragging a stroller down the underpass. It was actually quite painful to watch. In the sea of hurrying suits and corporate wear that is Makati, this old lady was slowly pushing down her things one step at a time, careful not to go overboard lest she slide down the stairs body, baggage, and all. Everyone was minding their own business, a handful handed quick glances. And so, since I was in my best suit ever - shirt, shorts, and flip flops - I approached her and volunteered to take her stroller down. At first she was hesitant, saying that her baggage was heavy. I was actually taken aback by that statement. Here's an old lady dragging her things down a flight of stairs. Here comes an "able-bodied guy" offering her help. And then she hesitates because her things are heavy. Really, what has the world gone to?! Anyway, I insisted and she thanked me when I met her at the stairs' landing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Random acts of kindness. In truth, they do more for the doer than the supposed recipient. For ultimately, the opportunity to help is humbling and priceless. When I was younger, I had this fire to be somebody. I saw myself as a game changer, someone who'd make a marked impact in the world. That greatness seems to grow in abstraction as time goes by. Meanwhile, these small things - the very real opportunities to help - stare at me, at us, on a daily basis.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Life is difficult. But still, I am blessed.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On another note, one my parents' friends passed away. He and his wife are my parents' churchmates and it was inevitable for everyone to know each other's families. I remember him asking how I and my siblings were doing whenever we met on the street. And now that I'm reminded of how fleeting our earthly life is, I really am scared. Scared not of dying but of losing people whom I've shared my life with. I am reminded that for the longest time I've been a sheltered boy. And that life still has much to offer, opportunities, grief, joy, pain and all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8172296855551841102?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8172296855551841102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/10/mj-lastimosa-and-things-that-make-me.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8172296855551841102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8172296855551841102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/10/mj-lastimosa-and-things-that-make-me.html' title='MJ Lastimosa and the things that make me smile'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2625739468973972164</id><published>2011-10-06T16:52:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-06T17:06:47.204+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stuff...</title><content type='html'>I can't help but raise an eyebrow when people refer to themselves as complicated. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"I'm complicated, you can't figure me out." &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"I'm complicated, there's just too much about my life to reduce into plain understanding."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sure, there are many layers to every situation but self-proclaimed "complications" make me cringe. Sometimes it's just a lousy excuse not to act on something. And don't get me wrong. I too may be paralyzed not to act on something, perhaps because I'm too lazy, perhaps because I'm not too bright or perhaps because I simply don't have the balls to decide. But whatever it may be, I don't gloss over things and run to Mr. Complicated for an easy way out.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And speaking of not being too bright, a week or two ago, I hitched a ride with my professor and in that short ride, he mentioned that one of the guys in class is now working for Company A. For the longest time I've been applying to Company A... for every position imaginable. And it doesn't really help when - modesty aside - I honestly feel that I'm smarter than that classmate. Oh well, I let go. There's not much I can do about that anyway.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*****&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Hence, I'm seriously considering living my life according to the principles of open space technology:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. Whoever comes is the right people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. Whatever happens is the only thing that could have.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. Whenever it starts is the right time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. When it is over, it is over.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Pretty basic principles to live a life of contentment. Plus it adds a little twist of destiny to romanticize things. Oh well, that's that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2625739468973972164?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2625739468973972164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/10/stuff.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2625739468973972164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2625739468973972164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/10/stuff.html' title='Stuff...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-705582055266224705</id><published>2011-09-22T11:54:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T12:14:46.268+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Resigning</title><content type='html'>I'm having a major slump at work.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday, I was in the office at around 7:30 am for a meeting that lasted just right before lunch time. And then after that was another meeting that ended at around 3:00 pm. And then another meeting that lasted until around 7:00 pm. Personally, I don't see meetings as "actual work" since they're primarily coordination and assignment of THE "actual work" so that means: &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;WORK DAY - MEETINGS = TIME TO DO THE ACTUAL WORK. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Worse is when people you meet with ramble on and on and on throwing their ideas here and there without actual regard for HOW we can actually do the job. Seriously, I'm tired of going into talk shops when there's "actual work" to be done! Perhaps it's a personal preference, after all these talk, I need resolutions as to the things we need to get done and how we can get those things done!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Worst is when you come back the following day coordinating another set of meetings (it's practically setting yourself up for another round of "tasks" you hate doing) and receiving a message that seemingly implies your supposed "slacking off" at work! Here I am spreading myself to almost every project you and your colleagues came up with - because modesty aside, no one in this office can make sense of you guys' thoughts other than me - and yet I receive a note saying you "need updates first and suggestions so that the meeting will be PRODUCTIVE!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Seriously?! The nerve to say that when you're one of those who ramble on and on during meetings without as much regard for final output and how to get there!!!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes people need to be pulled down from the heights of their "strategic" totem poles and refresh their minds with the need to EXECUTE. The tyranny of the "at our level," does lock up people in ivory towers.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That and the advocacies your profession's pushing for.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Such an irony! Such an irony indeed!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-705582055266224705?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/705582055266224705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/resigning.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/705582055266224705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/705582055266224705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/resigning.html' title='Resigning'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6174887711277363581</id><published>2011-09-16T11:11:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T11:15:35.393+08:00</updated><title type='text'>In the Pink of...</title><content type='html'>Last night, I was going over my wallet, checking for whatever money's left when I noticed my healthcard sitting in one of the pockets. I haven't used that card this year, I think. I haven't stepped onto The Medical City save for the time when we visited a friend recovering from dengue.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is monumental! And for that I am extremely thankful!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;=)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6174887711277363581?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6174887711277363581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-pink-of.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6174887711277363581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6174887711277363581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/in-pink-of.html' title='In the Pink of...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6925388811792555992</id><published>2011-09-15T13:22:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-15T13:35:55.594+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Project J</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;Then good manners must be inspired by the good heart. There is no beautifier of complexion, or form, or behavior, like the wish to scatter joy and not pain around us.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;- Ralph Waldo Emerson&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hear you Ralph Waldo Emerson. And since I really want to be gwapo, no matter how difficult it may be, I'll try to "scatter joy" around me. People will be joyful because of me! Hahaha. Oh well, if that fails, then I'll just default back to my superficial attempts at becoming gwapo like working out and looking neat and all that stuff. Although they could be simultaneous din naman. Hmmm. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here's to Project J! ;p&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6925388811792555992?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6925388811792555992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/project-j.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6925388811792555992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6925388811792555992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/project-j.html' title='Project J'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4204923332052761360</id><published>2011-09-12T15:30:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-12T15:45:29.128+08:00</updated><title type='text'>That's Not My Name</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;After 26 years, I've finally learned to appreciate my name. It's not too ordinary yet not that far out either. And when I see something awesome, I get to exclaim the second half of my name. It's cool that way, associating my name with things awesome. Lol&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Meanwhile, I found the best doughnuts in CDO. It's your plain ring doughnut dusted with confectionery sugar. But what makes it different is that it's soft but not airy and it literally melts in your mouth. The doughnut turns into this rich batter as you chew it away. They rival KK &lt;a href="http://iamtheclosetgeek.blogspot.com/"&gt;Geek&lt;/a&gt;, I promise!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVEuscYzk1Q/Tm228WV84hI/AAAAAAAAAKk/05YJ4mkv1mI/s400/Image3568.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651374255325897234" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So if you're in CDO, don't miss out on those doughnuts at the Polymedic Hospital (I know, it's hospital food! Lol) and do drop by Pearlmont Hotel for their really really great roast stuffed chicken. But order in advance because it takes about 5 hours to prepare. Really good stuff, I swear!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sISiksWxg_E/Tm23vcOtrJI/AAAAAAAAAKs/jIlnreue9cc/s400/Image3569.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651375133079481490" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;It's September na pala... and then it's gonna be October na (duh. Lol). And October is birthday month! Not really looking forward to getting "older" but I do look forward to feeding friends. Hehe :P&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4204923332052761360?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4204923332052761360/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/thats-not-my-name.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4204923332052761360'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4204923332052761360'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/thats-not-my-name.html' title='That&apos;s Not My Name'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oVEuscYzk1Q/Tm228WV84hI/AAAAAAAAAKk/05YJ4mkv1mI/s72-c/Image3568.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3477428501882070424</id><published>2011-09-01T19:17:00.008+08:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T19:41:39.237+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Looooong Weekend</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;I had to fend for myself during the long weekend. Hehe&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJXcUuyOqdc/Tl9q0DovhuI/AAAAAAAAAJk/gVdPHRyuWFQ/s400/1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647349900307826402" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Saute garlic in sesame oil. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Add chicken.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Add pepper.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Pour in some kikkoman soy sauce, worscestershire sauce, and oyster sauce.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Add some brown sugar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Add some water.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center; "&gt;Reduce. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-align: center; "&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KAPPvFWnpLs/Tl9q0KJ7ZrI/AAAAAAAAAJs/qrYsVHHAP9I/s1600/3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W56evibyAAI/Tl9qOsOCM1I/AAAAAAAAAJc/rQkZ96qJiMc/s400/2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647349258366628690" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KAPPvFWnpLs/Tl9q0KJ7ZrI/AAAAAAAAAJs/qrYsVHHAP9I/s400/3.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647349902057629362" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;And yes, I eat that much rice. Lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;**********&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-35rtwaDBpgA/Tl9q0THwnEI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/vjYcbfY3XJg/s400/4.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647349904464452674" style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Saute vegetables in butter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Add some salt.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;img src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0pNKHuID3PU/Tl9q0VyjTvI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/Z0GR9_xq6R4/s400/5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647349905180806898" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-x5tsTxJFROA/Tl9q0ks4UJI/AAAAAAAAAKE/um2HQQe_L6c/s400/6.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647349909183549586" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Get some cottage cheese, add basil and pepper.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Sandwich cheese in between chicken fillets.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Roll the chicken fillets in some "crispy fry."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Fry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mfHs2lOvbsE/Tl9rD13eTkI/AAAAAAAAAKM/PxlwXZqNtoI/s400/7.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647350171489422914" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;**********&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 238); -webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0); "&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: underline; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wCpS_Yrxd7g/Tl9rEFbbAjI/AAAAAAAAAKU/cUceXDHbYHE/s400/8.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647350175666733618" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Fry some bangus belly.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0HvXUrjzLJ4/Tl9rELC-bpI/AAAAAAAAAKc/okvCvSB2jd0/s400/9.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647350177174810258" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Serve with garlic fried rice.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;=)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3477428501882070424?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3477428501882070424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/looooong-weekend.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3477428501882070424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3477428501882070424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/09/looooong-weekend.html' title='Looooong Weekend'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NJXcUuyOqdc/Tl9q0DovhuI/AAAAAAAAAJk/gVdPHRyuWFQ/s72-c/1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6230287406858111311</id><published>2011-08-23T20:20:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-23T20:31:40.479+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Gwapo</title><content type='html'>For the past couple of weeks, I've been seriously toying with the idea of being gwapo. I mean, I really really want to be gwapo. Yes it's superficial but I don't know, it must be the stars and the weather that finally put me in this state. I guess I've grown quite tired of my existential rants and heartaches that I've reached that point when all my energies churn out thoughts and desires to be gwapo.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And yesterday was the final nail in the coffin. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As usual, I was the glorified secretary in my bosses' meeting yesterday. One of them was a young lawyer whom I found out to be just 35 years old. He's a bar topnotcher, working for one of the better-known firms in the country, a family guy with 2 kids. He's really really nice and yes, he is gwapo. Hay, he's perfect, nakakainis. Lol.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And while I was in the elevator making my way down the lobby, there was another young lawyer who was again, gwapo. Nakakainis na talaga!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't really consider this as reverting to a shallow mindset... because in the first place, I really am shallow. I mean I like Paris "even though the guys are crazy, even though the stars are blind" Hilton, what say you? Lol.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But then this might just be me displacing my desire to be in a better place. From missed and missing opportunities to looks. Envy can be such a drag.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lots of guys out there who are young, successful and gwapo. Why do they have everything all at once?! Kainis!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6230287406858111311?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6230287406858111311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/08/gwapo.html#comment-form' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6230287406858111311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6230287406858111311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/08/gwapo.html' title='Gwapo'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8250286307015326498</id><published>2011-07-12T14:18:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-12T14:45:10.249+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Like Moth to a Flame</title><content type='html'>Why is it that confronted with something we know fully well would hurt us, we still jump eyes closed and plunge toward pain? Is it because pain is enticing and it is what reminds us that we're alive? Or is it because we succumb to our own hubris with the thought that surviving it can only make us stronger? Or is it because we feel helpless and just surrender?&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8250286307015326498?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8250286307015326498/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/07/like-moth-to-flame.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8250286307015326498'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8250286307015326498'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/07/like-moth-to-flame.html' title='Like Moth to a Flame'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6090268447790583732</id><published>2011-07-04T10:46:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T10:48:33.059+08:00</updated><title type='text'>He is Evil!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gJGeTzmRhcs/ThEpw82AAeI/AAAAAAAAAJM/SObHr_uDd7o/s1600/g.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 180px; height: 220px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gJGeTzmRhcs/ThEpw82AAeI/AAAAAAAAAJM/SObHr_uDd7o/s400/g.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625323330505540066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;'Nuff said. Lol.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Haberdey &lt;a href="http://iamtheclosetgeek.blogspot.com/"&gt;Geek&lt;/a&gt;! :P&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6090268447790583732?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6090268447790583732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/07/he-is-evil.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6090268447790583732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6090268447790583732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/07/he-is-evil.html' title='He is Evil!'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gJGeTzmRhcs/ThEpw82AAeI/AAAAAAAAAJM/SObHr_uDd7o/s72-c/g.jpeg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4683345825237336361</id><published>2011-07-01T10:17:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-01T10:29:35.030+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stories of our lives</title><content type='html'>It's interesting how you get to read the story of your life in other people's words. And they say it far more elegantly, eloquently than you could ever do.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Solidarity and a sense of familiarity. Stories that re-assure you that you are never alone. Of seeing yourself in other people's shoes... and ending up sighing not only for them, but for yourself as well.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At the end of the day it's about coming to terms with your choices and other people's choices that they make for you. Of finding people who see the same truth as you do and of hoping, dreaming and moving on. Yes, we move on.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4683345825237336361?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4683345825237336361/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/07/stories-of-our-lives.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4683345825237336361'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4683345825237336361'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/07/stories-of-our-lives.html' title='Stories of our lives'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5865196336088918476</id><published>2011-06-15T09:46:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-15T09:55:59.767+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Harder than it seems...</title><content type='html'>Found this online. Do visit Isa Garcia's &lt;a href="http://everyday-isa.com/"&gt;blog&lt;/a&gt;! She's quite insightful without being stuffy and preachy. I like her.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;********************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-line-height-alt: 15.6pt;mso-outline-level:1;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 16pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; " &gt;You Should Date…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-color: windowtext; border-right-color: windowtext; border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-left-color: windowtext; border-top-width: 1pt; border-right-width: 1pt; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-width: 1pt; padding-top: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; "&gt;Posted on&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 9pt; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; "&gt; &lt;a href="http://everyday-isa.com/2011/06/06/you-should-date/" title="11:16 am"&gt;&lt;span style="border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-color: windowtext; border-right-color: windowtext; border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-left-color: windowtext; border-top-width: 1pt; border-right-width: 1pt; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-width: 1pt; padding-top: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; "&gt;June 6, 2011&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in;padding:0in"&gt;by&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0in"&gt;&lt;a href="http://everyday-isa.com/author/everydayisa/" title="View all posts by everydayisa"&gt;&lt;span&gt;everydayisa&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;My good friend, Den, suggested that  I blog and write down all the reasons why I think guys  should date me. It’s a promising topic (because I really believe that I’m date-able!) but right now, something that I think bears more weight is: &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in;padding:0in"&gt;The Kind of Person I Want YOU to Date&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;I don’t know who you are but I want great things for you. I want you to have romance and committed love and something real. Something that lasts. That’s really hard to come by these days but I want that for you and I want that for me, too. Here are some of the things I wish I could tell my future children about love. To be honest, I don’t know if I’m ever going to get married and have kids but that’s okay. I’ll pass these things on to you instead. You, my friend, are worthy of great, authentic love.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;Please never settle.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;Love,&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;Isa&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" align="center" style="margin-bottom:.25in;text-align:center; line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;***&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;The person I want you to date &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt: none windowtext 0in;padding:0in"&gt;exists &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;and I want you to wait it out until you meet them. Because, in case you haven’t yet,  you will. Waiting is for the brave  – it means watching years pass, noticing yourself growing older and sitting through wedding after wedding after wedding. It means bottling that slow-rising fear. It means questioning your standards and running the risk of settling.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;I wish someone had told me that the person I was meant to be with was a real actual living person, breathing in some part of the world and waiting, too. I did not believe in romantic destiny so I projected all my hopes into the wrong people and tried desperately to make these wrong people right. In the end, no one won and the aftermath was a combination of devastating grief, self-loathing and crippling regret. I do not want that for you.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-color: windowtext; border-right-color: windowtext; border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-left-color: windowtext; border-top-width: 1pt; border-right-width: 1pt; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-width: 1pt; padding-top: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; "&gt;Wait.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; "&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;The person I want you to date might be making morning coffee right now or sleeping through a thunderstorm or getting a degree in Physics. Wait. &lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0in"&gt;I mean it.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt; Every other person will be a cheap imitation of the real thing.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;The person I want you to date believes in big things. This person has a passion and pursues it with a  hunger that could set the world on fire. This person believes in setting goals and making them happen. Trust me: you will never regret being with someone who is madly in love with their purpose in life. When you meet this person —  this unstoppable ball of good fury — I want you to have a vision of your own. A goal you can shape your life around. I want you to have a desire to change the world, whatever pocket of it you belong to. You can’t be stagnant when the person you’re with is active and dynamic. Life is a grand celebration of doing great things that matter and you (yes, you) play a huge part in all of it.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;The person I want you to date has character. When you’re young, all you’re looking for is personality. Charm. Compatibility in music and book taste and food preferences. I think these are all well and good but character is what sustains a relationship when all of these things change. Personality is ever-evolving, character grows and amplifies in time. Character is when a person does beautiful things without seeking credit. It’s when someone doesn’t quit — even if every fiber of their being begs them to. It’s the ability of someone to graciously expend back-breaking heart-wrenching love to someone who has disappointed and failed them. Character is that beautiful thing that gets molded over time and experience. Be someone with character and never settle for someone without it.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;The person I want you to date will be into you. Really, really into you. There will be no need for pointless mind games, no room for even the slightest bit of emotional confusion.  The person I want you to date will be crystal clear about their intentions towards you. They will not win you over with sweet nothings or romantic gestures. Their love will be bigger than the superficial trappings of courtship. The person I want you to date will take the time to get to know you. They will see everything there is to love about you  and they will look at the core of all the bad stuff and not balk. They will not run at the first sign of ugliness. Instead, they will love you through it.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;I want you to know that the person I want you to date &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in;padding:0in"&gt;will &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;fail you. Give them the grace to be human. (You are one, too.) Don’t listen to those stupid quotes that tell you that the person who loves you will never make you cry. I want you to realistically approach this thing we call &lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0in"&gt;human relationships&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;. Hurting one another is part of the messy dynamics of getting close to someone. But the person I want you to date is a person who knows how to resolve conflict especially when it blows up in both your faces. Their ego will never be too big to own up to their mistakes.&lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt;mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in; padding:0in"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;And when it comes to their love for you, &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in;padding:0in"&gt;YOU WILL KNOW. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;Their love will be the most painfully obvious thing in the world that though  you will come to question many, many things in life, you will never — not even once — question them.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;And you know what? They will believe in you so much that you will never feel compelled to question yourself. You will put all your insecurities to rest because the person I want you to date will, more than anything, make you feel that you matter. Always. And you know why? &lt;b&gt;&lt;span style="border:none windowtext 1.0pt; mso-border-alt:none windowtext 0in;padding:0in"&gt;Because you do&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;. &lt;span style="mso-no-proof:yes"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte vml 1]&gt;&lt;v:shapetype id="_x0000_t75" coordsize="21600,21600" spt="75" preferrelative="t" path="m@4@5l@4@11@9@11@9@5xe" filled="f" stroked="f"&gt;  &lt;v:stroke joinstyle="miter"&gt;  &lt;v:formulas&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="if lineDrawn pixelLineWidth 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 1 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum 0 0 @1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @2 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @3 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @0 0 1"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @6 1 2"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelWidth"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @8 21600 0"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="prod @7 21600 pixelHeight"&gt;   &lt;v:f eqn="sum @10 21600 0"&gt;  &lt;/v:formulas&gt;  &lt;v:path extrusionok="f" gradientshapeok="t" connecttype="rect"&gt;  &lt;o:lock ext="edit" aspectratio="t"&gt; &lt;/v:shapetype&gt;&lt;v:shape id="Picture_x0020_1" spid="_x0000_i1025" type="#_x0000_t75" alt="Description: :)" style="'width:11.25pt;height:11.25pt;visibility:visible;"&gt;  &lt;v:imagedata src="file:///C:\Users\Darwin\AppData\Local\Temp\msohtmlclip1\01\clip_image001.gif" title=")"&gt; &lt;/v:shape&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if !vml]--&gt;&lt;img border="0" width="15" height="15" src="file:///C:/Users/Darwin/AppData/Local/Temp/msohtmlclip1/01/clip_image001.gif" alt="Description: :)" shapes="Picture_x0020_1" /&gt;&lt;!--[endif]--&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:.25in;line-height:18.0pt;vertical-align: baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; " &gt;I’m sure it sounds like a long shot but what if you dared to believe that the person I want you to date is real? Love is greater than cynicism and this is what I believe — yes, me, the last single girl in the world: While some people think  this all sounds  too good to be true,  there is a God who is out to give us things that are much too good to be false.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;line-height: 18.0pt;vertical-align:baseline"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Georgia, serif; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;Believe. Don’t settle. And in the meantime: &lt;i&gt;&lt;span style="border-top-style: none; border-right-style: none; border-bottom-style: none; border-left-style: none; border-top-color: windowtext; border-right-color: windowtext; border-bottom-color: windowtext; border-left-color: windowtext; border-top-width: 1pt; border-right-width: 1pt; border-bottom-width: 1pt; border-left-width: 1pt; padding-top: 0in; padding-right: 0in; padding-bottom: 0in; padding-left: 0in; "&gt;become the person that the person you’re looking for is looking for. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5865196336088918476?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5865196336088918476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/harder-than-it-seems.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5865196336088918476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5865196336088918476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/harder-than-it-seems.html' title='Harder than it seems...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-1196194558136050604</id><published>2011-06-14T14:19:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-14T14:19:23.881+08:00</updated><title type='text'>...</title><content type='html'>I really didn't know what I was getting into after all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-1196194558136050604?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1196194558136050604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/blog-post.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1196194558136050604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1196194558136050604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/blog-post.html' title='...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7961426082243606810</id><published>2011-06-13T17:37:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T17:42:58.254+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Out there...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L6GgYZ3Wqa0/TfXbN9tib3I/AAAAAAAAAJE/Y6TIwhgdyXY/s1600/Image3460.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L6GgYZ3Wqa0/TfXbN9tib3I/AAAAAAAAAJE/Y6TIwhgdyXY/s400/Image3460.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5617637143164907378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  &gt;it's raining. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7961426082243606810?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7961426082243606810/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/out-there.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7961426082243606810'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7961426082243606810'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/out-there.html' title='Out there...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L6GgYZ3Wqa0/TfXbN9tib3I/AAAAAAAAAJE/Y6TIwhgdyXY/s72-c/Image3460.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8904193747053948196</id><published>2011-06-13T09:42:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-13T10:11:27.838+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Missed Call</title><content type='html'>Question, how do you save the numbers of people you meet online? I mean, what name do you save in your phonebooks? Do you type in their online pseudonyms with a tag "Blogger" before them? Or perhaps you use their real names?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I guess it's because I'm a little OC that I prefer having people's full names in my phonebook. Plus it's a personal preference that I be called my own name. If truth be told, I kinda cringe when people call me Darc even after we've personally met. I cringe big time! Lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I recall an online/offline friend who told me before that I've "levelled up" since he already saved my number under my real name in his phonebook. And that made me think, is the way we save people's numbers reflective of the level of closeness or intimacy we have with that person? Seems to me there is a real online/offline divide that needs to be transcended and that requires a substantial degree of trust and shared offline experience.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What do you think? More importantly, how is my number saved in your phonebooks? Lol&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8904193747053948196?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8904193747053948196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/missed-call.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8904193747053948196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8904193747053948196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/missed-call.html' title='Missed Call'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5432882085855877839</id><published>2011-06-09T13:09:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-09T13:45:18.672+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Coward Stamp</title><content type='html'>I received a link in one of my Facebook groups that pointed to an article by Jonathan Franzen published as an op-ed in the New York Times. Its title was &lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2011/05/29/opinion/29franzen.html?_r=4&amp;amp;hp&amp;amp;pagewanted=all"&gt;"Liking is for Cowards. Go for What Hurts."&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/i&gt; I have yet to fully bite the article and grasp the many things it pointed out but let me share with you some parts that struck me most.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;b&gt;1. That being liked is often an obstacle to being loved.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;"The simple fact of the matter is that trying to be perfectly likable is incompatible with loving relationships. Sooner or later, for example, you’re going to find yourself in a hideous, screaming fight, and you’ll hear coming out of your mouth things that you yourself don’t like at all, things that shatter your self-image as a fair, kind, cool, attractive, in-control, funny, likable person. Something realer than likability has come out in you, and suddenly you’re having an actual life."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b&gt;2. That trying to please everyone and keeping the peace may in fact be a reflection of a deep-seated self-centeredness, narcissism even.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;"This is not to say that love is only about fighting. Love is about bottomless empathy, born out of the heart’s revelation that another person is every bit as real as you are. And this is why love, as I understand it, is always specific. Trying to love all of humanity may be a worthy endeavor, but, in a funny way, it keeps the focus on the self, on the self’s own moral or spiritual well-being. Whereas, to love a specific person, and to identify with his or her struggles and joys as if they were your own, you have to surrender some of your self." &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;b&gt;3. That pain is an integral part of human existence (suddenly, the Goo Goo Dolls sing in my head, &lt;i&gt;"Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive."&lt;/i&gt;).&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;"And yet pain hurts but it doesn’t kill. When you consider the alternative — an anesthetized dream of self-sufficiency, abetted by technology — pain emerges as the natural product and natural indicator of being alive in a resistant world. To go through a life painlessly is to have not lived. Even just to say to yourself, 'Oh, I’ll get to that love and pain stuff later, maybe in my 30s' is to consign yourself to 10 years of merely taking up space on the planet and burning up its resources. Of being (and I mean this in the most damning sense of the word) a consumer."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;b&gt;4. And that loving in spite of the hurt, celebrates what is in fact our borrowed time on earth.&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span lang="EN-US"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;"Which is what love will do to a person. Because the fundamental fact about all of us is that we’re alive for a while but will die before long. This fact is the real root cause of all our anger and pain and despair. And you can either run from this fact or, by way of love, you can embrace it."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;So from now on, I guess the only resolution is to just keep on loving and living, to take chances and risks and allow ourselves to be vulnerable for it is in exposing the entirety of ourselves - faults, disagreeable tendencies and all - that we allow other people to love us in the truest sense of the word. Something that goes beyond liking and merely existing.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;PS: The article escapes me but I've also read somewhere that an indicator of a troubled relationship is when you keep things and issues to yourself because you fear that it will cause argument between you and your partner. I guess honesty and acceptance do take precedence over keeping an erstwhile "imagined" sense of peace.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5432882085855877839?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5432882085855877839/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/coward-stamp.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5432882085855877839'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5432882085855877839'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/coward-stamp.html' title='The Coward Stamp'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4239037087397550687</id><published>2011-06-08T16:31:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T16:49:06.898+08:00</updated><title type='text'>APE</title><content type='html'>1. Chest x-ray&lt;div&gt;2. Blood pressure&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. Pulse rate&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. Routine lab tests&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. Dental check-up&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;6. Visual acuity&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then came the weigh in...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"Sir, ang-gaang niyo," &lt;/i&gt;the nurse quipped after adjusting the scale a couple of times to a lower bar.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then the physical check-up...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;"You're generally ok although I'd recommend that you see an ophthalmologist for your eyes. It's great that you don't smoke and occasional drinking is actually good for your health. Your heartbeat's ok too; it's slow much like that of an athlete's &lt;/i&gt;(Darc blushes)&lt;i&gt; and should you wish to add on weight, your max would probably be around 130 lbs. You're trying to lean up right?"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I replied with a half-hearted, &lt;i&gt;"Ok."&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What can I do, I have weight issues. Hehe&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4239037087397550687?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4239037087397550687/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/ape.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4239037087397550687'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4239037087397550687'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/ape.html' title='APE'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2386048429040593891</id><published>2011-06-02T16:12:00.007+08:00</published><updated>2011-06-02T16:51:22.044+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Second Best</title><content type='html'>I was surfing Youtube, hopping from one video to another when I finally landed on John Legend's Vevo page and clicked on "Everybody Knows." I like this song, that's a given. But what caught my attention was the highest rated comment found just below the video. It says:&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div class="content" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 12px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; width: 450px; "&gt;&lt;div class="comment-text" dir="ltr" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 12px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "&gt;&lt;p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 12px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "&gt;I remember dancing this song with my﻿ girlfriend at her graduation 2 years ago....... We are now seperated...The thing is.....I still love her with all my heart....even more than my current gf.... Take my advice and enjoy your time with your special someone because nobody really knows.... :(&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 0.9166em; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; line-height: 0.6; color: rgb(102, 102, 102); "&gt;&lt;a class="author" href="http://www.youtube.com/user/triniterror21" title="triniterror21" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 11px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(66, 114, 219); text-decoration: none; white-space: nowrap; overflow-x: hidden; overflow-y: hidden; text-overflow: ellipsis; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "&gt;triniterror21&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span class="time" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 11px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "&gt;1 month ago &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="comments-rating-positive" title="61 up, 7 down" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 11px; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; color: rgb(0, 153, 0); white-space: nowrap; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial; "&gt;54 &lt;img class="comments-rating-thumbs-up" src="http://s.ytimg.com/yt/img/pixel-vfl3z5WfW.gif" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 2px; margin-bottom: 2px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; font-size: 11px; background-image: url(http://s.ytimg.com/yt/imgbin/www-master-vflNOya8A.png); background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: initial; vertical-align: text-bottom; cursor: default; width: 12px; height: 12px; background-position: -206px -126px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; " /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;Major major sigh. The guy loves his ex with all his heart, even more than his current girlfriend. If truth be told, that's my biggest fear relationship-wise. I'd rather be single, unattached and free to live my life than have someone who sort of thinks of me as a mean-time boy. I want to be with someone who sees me as his one great love and not as someone he just settles for. It's difficult to be with someone who hugs you and kisses you yet thinks of "the one that got away."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;Suddenly, I'm reminded of Katy Perry's "Thinking of You."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;I don't want to be in that situation... again.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;Comparisons are easily done&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Once you've had a taste of perfection&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Like an apple hanging from a tree&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;I picked the ripest one&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;I still got the seed&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;You said move on&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Where do I go?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;I guess second best&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Is all I will know&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;'Cause when I'm with him&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;I am thinking of you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Thinking of you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;What you would do&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;If you were the one&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Who was spending the night&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Oh I wish that I &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Was looking into your eyes&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;You're like an Indian summer&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;In the middle of winter&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Like a hard candy&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;With a surprise center&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;How do I get better&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Once I've had the best&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;You said there's&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;Tons of fish in the water&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;So the waters I will test&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;He kissed my lips&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;I taste your mouth&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;He pulled me in&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;I was disgusted with myself&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;'Cause when I'm with him&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I am thinking of you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Thinking of you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;What you would do&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;If you were the one&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Who was spending the night&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Oh I wish that I &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Was looking into&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;You're the best&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;And yes I do regret&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;How could I let myself&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;Let you go&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;Now the lesson's learned&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;I touched it, I was burned&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal; " &gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;'Cause when I'm with him&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;I am thinking of you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Thinking of you&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;What you would do&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;If you were the one&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Who was spending the night&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Oh I wish that I&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Was looking into your eyes&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Looking into your eyes&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Looking into your eyes&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Oh won't you walk through&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;And bust in the door&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;And take me away&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Oh no more mistakes&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;'Cause in your eyes, I'd like to stay.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="font-style: normal; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;i&gt;- Thinking of You, Katy Perry&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="metadata" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; padding-top: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px; padding-left: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-style: initial; border-color: initial; background-image: initial; background-attachment: initial; background-origin: initial; background-clip: initial; background-color: transparent; "&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2386048429040593891?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2386048429040593891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/second-best.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2386048429040593891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2386048429040593891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/06/second-best.html' title='Second Best'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8459963656742861308</id><published>2011-05-26T13:21:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-26T13:47:51.067+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Growing Up/Old</title><content type='html'>When you're heartbroken, you get more anxious of the future. On one hand, there's a part of you that wants time to just stop, life to just end. But then there's a part of you that wills to survive the heartache albeit a sense of dread, a deep sense of fear comes with it. I guess that's what bitterness is all about. The sunny view of life you once had suddenly turns downcast. And all that's left is a bitter, brutally truthful take on life. Come to think of it, maybe Hobbes was heartbroken when he said that "life is solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short."&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I remember two or three years ago, I just broke up with my ex (which is really a blessing now, thank God!) and my father was about to go on forced retirement. Suddenly, there was a lot of uncertainty in my life. Transitions. I was new to heartache and there I was taking on the new role as breadwinner of the family. I distinctly remember asking my mom if I really need to step up, shape up. I felt a need to grow up and take things seriously since my family would be soon depending on me. She wasn't very straightforward with her answer but judging from her worried demeanor in the days after my father announced his plan to retire, I knew that I had to take up a lot of things on my shoulder.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Fast forward to two or three years. We're getting by and at the end of the day, the blessings still outweigh the hardships. But then, an unanswered questions still lingers in my mind: who will be with me when I grow old? As much as I want my parents to live on forever, that can never be. And my sister's got her own life to live. In fact, I'm looking forward to the day when she gets married and have kids of her own. She's got a bright future ahead of her and I would be the last person to hold her down by the thought of having to watch over me and see if I'm lonely or alone. And then there's my brother whom I know I need to take care of.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know it's of no use to worry about an uncertain future. But then it's the age-old question that I've ranted about hundreds of times already: security. Or maybe it's just romanticism refusing to die in my heart. Damn you Adam Sandler for singing "Growing Old with You!" When these thoughts cross my mind, all the more do I want to be self-sufficient. When I grow old, it might be my fate to live with me, myself and I.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then it strikes me, I need to brush aside that thought and put on a brave front... even if it's hard and the looming sadness of days ahead cause your hands to tremble. Hay, trembling hands. I wonder if there would be someone to hold them and keep them still when I'm old and wobbly. Will life be really solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short? I really hope not.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8459963656742861308?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8459963656742861308/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/growing-upold.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8459963656742861308'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8459963656742861308'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/growing-upold.html' title='Growing Up/Old'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6172785796724808115</id><published>2011-05-24T13:16:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-24T13:56:53.152+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hallmark</title><content type='html'>I was sifting through one of my memory boxes when I came across a card I received from my research assistant just before she moved out of here. After more than a year, it's still heartening to read the things she wrote even if more than half of it's just random rambling and silly laughs :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Hi sir, &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ang girly ba ng card? Haha. I'm zorreh. Ang pangit pa ng sulat. Haha&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Hi Sir. Honestly hindi ko alam kung anong magiging reaction mo sa card &lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;na to pero here goes! Ang dami pang sinasabi haha. But ito. Yung pag-alis ko sa *****, ikaw ang nagpahirap ng decision ko. Hehe. Kasi alam kong hindi ka na masaya at burned out ka na - I couldn't bear leaving you. Naks. Haha. Pero di nga. Kasi yon. Ang hirap naman magsabi sayo!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Basta. Ano bang sinasabi ko? Haha. Thank you lang, sir. Thank you sa 1 year na natiis mo ako haha. Sa patience mo at sa knowledge na na-impart mo. Tingin ko, sakto lang na umalis akong **** 'cause I can't do what you do haha. Anyway, thanks talaga sir, kasi kahit ako iyong me title na "assistant", minsan ikaw pang nag-aassist sakin!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Kaya pasensya na rin sir, siguro most of the time super "Bad trip naman o!" ka na. Hehe. Tsaka sa pangungulit ko - both work and &lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;non-work related. Mamimiss ko yung minsang random nonsense na naiisip natin haha.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Ay! Eto! Sir hehe mamimiss kita super. Yung tahimik ka lang sa cubicle mo, minsan kumakanta, mapang-asar, at deep mag-isip - lahat yan mamiss ko! Kahit ang hirap mo basahin, I like to think of you as my friend - sana ako rin ganun sayo. Hehe. Kung kelangan mo ng makakausap, andito lang ako! Pramis! Kung kelangan mo ng makukulit, I'm game! Basta sir (siguro ang reaction mo "EWWW!" Haha) labs na labs kita bilang my 1st &lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;boss ever! Kaya I like to look after you in my own way - ewan ko lang kung nafifeel mo hehe.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Shet, mauubos na space. Oh no sir. Is this goodbye? NO. Haha. Basta dapat magkikita pa tayo soon, pag umuwi jowawitz ko, ipapakilala kita! Sir, keep in touch ha? Gusto kitang i-add sa FB kaya lang baka iignore mo lang. Haha. E-mail pa rin kita once in a while! At kukulitin kang lumabas, kasi alam kong mamimiss mo rin ako HEEHEE.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;See you soon sir! God bless you always. Alagaan mo sarili mo parati!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Lurve, ***&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Nakakainis naman ang liit ng space, paha&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;bol lang!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Balitaan mo ako sa:&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;(a) job hunting&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;(b) Health issues&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;(c) **** people na parati nating pinag chichismisan; at!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;(d) Lovelife.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;'KAY?!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;MWAH!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Hihi, &lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;***&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mXsBQZJ-DZc/TdtFgd0MFHI/AAAAAAAAAI4/HfQYQOeRyVQ/s400/Image3455.jpg" style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5610154184881738866" /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Those thoughts bring sunshine to an erstwhile gloomy day!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;I'd bake you a cake of laughter and nonsense, if I could...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;Paint you a world of green sky and blue grass, I would...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;I'd give you back all the dreams from when you were little, if I could...&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;If only it would show you how much I truly care, I would!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6172785796724808115?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6172785796724808115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/hallmark.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6172785796724808115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6172785796724808115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/hallmark.html' title='Hallmark'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-mXsBQZJ-DZc/TdtFgd0MFHI/AAAAAAAAAI4/HfQYQOeRyVQ/s72-c/Image3455.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8891839349696215641</id><published>2011-05-19T12:59:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-19T13:46:21.947+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Survive(d)</title><content type='html'>The storm was pounding the little town outside and us, with nothing much left to do, decided to just talk. The power was out and save for a candle flickering in the far end of the room, it was pitch black. So much for a summer vacation, this was full on survivor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"But life is short!" he told me.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's a young lawyer and in the many narratives of love that night, his story told of being the confidante to a couple while harboring a secret love for the girl. It's the classic "Pare, gusto ko ang girlfriend mo," albeit he never had the guts to act on the matter. Always the logical one, he thought it was best not to "betray" the couple's trust even if there have been opportunities for him to just snatch the girl away. After all, in the lengthy conversations he had with the girl, he felt a sincere connection. After his first love, he thought he'd never find someone who could read him as if they were soulmates... then came this girl. "Minsan 'pag nagkekwento nga si Jen sa akin, naiisip ko, bakit kasi ganun si Drew? Kung ako iyon, mabibigay ko iyong kailangan ni Jen."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Kung ako iyon...." Three words that at once spell out both hope and helplessness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"But life is short! Why not look for someone with whom you could build a life with?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was only on that night that he learned about my situation. I felt he was sorry for me, as if telling me that I could do better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"That's exactly it, life is short," I replied. "Minsan hindi mo rin sinasadyang ma-in love sa isang tao."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Perhaps a bit apprehensive at first, but then he said, "Totoo iyan."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were both working on the same premise. Indeed life is short. Only that he opted to pass on the chance and wait for someone with whom he could build a life with... while I, I chose to just jump in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8891839349696215641?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8891839349696215641/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/survived.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8891839349696215641'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8891839349696215641'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/survived.html' title='Survive(d)'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4115966413840766009</id><published>2011-05-17T10:08:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-17T10:37:46.274+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hiatus</title><content type='html'>My teaching career's on a halt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I received a text message yesterday from a colleague asking if the University already called me for the first semester. I said no. She then told me to postpone replying if and when the Dean's office contacts me regarding class schedules and the like. Apparently, another colleague - the one who invited the two of us to teach - won't be getting renewed this coming academic year. I had a hunch it was the seething animosity between this colleague and other more entrenched faculty that was to blame. True enough, when I asked her if we're no longer returning next sem, she told me that "the system's working against us." I knew she won't go down without a fight. As of writing, she already filed a complaint with the Rector regarding this matter. But what put me off was that she filed another case, this time with the NLRC! That's when I really felt sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was never comfortable with legal redress. To me, you go to courts if all avenues have been exhausted and you're left with no options. I mean even in our profession, mediation has been at the front and center of maintaining industrial peace. And we are in an academic setting for crying out loud! We're supposed to be working with enlightened individuals who operate in a spirit of mutual respect. Sometimes you just have to ask, are these the people we entrust to teach our kids?! Collegiality takes a twisted spin towards an us against them mentality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hay, so sad. I was already looking forward to teaching this particular subject next sem and if truth be told, I kinda needed the extra income too. But you know what's most disheartening? In this circus of proving who's got power over who, the students are the ones left to suffer most. I can already see it. They'd be reverting to how things were done before. Weeks into the semester and there will still be classes - major subjects! - without professors to handle them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for a hundred or so years. I guess this is yet another time when time doesn't matter.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4115966413840766009?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4115966413840766009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/hiatus.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4115966413840766009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4115966413840766009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/hiatus.html' title='Hiatus'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7721966588383921139</id><published>2011-05-05T11:31:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-05T11:32:24.456+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Minsan</title><content type='html'>Blessed are those who could cry on cue.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes you just want to cry, but the tears are as elusive as your feelings are heavy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7721966588383921139?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7721966588383921139/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/minsan.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7721966588383921139'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7721966588383921139'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/minsan.html' title='Minsan'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5730719064172729518</id><published>2011-05-04T17:12:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-04T17:42:52.638+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lesson Learned</title><content type='html'>First of all, my world is getting smaller. Aside from the many actual and near brush ups with people I personally know offline, I've just recently discovered that my ex has a blogger account! Turns out he has been on blogspot for about three years at the very least! If and when he happens to visit this page, I'd probably need to kill (as Geek puts it) my blog a second time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, scrolling through his blog, I read a particular revelation as to why he decided not to contact me for more or less a month after a "fight." He wanted to teach me a lesson, he says. Interestingly, the teacher that I am, I am quite averse to the idea of teaching someone a lesson especially when it comes to relationships. I'd probably understand parents trying to teach their kids lessons but there's something off about a partner purposely trying to mold his partner's character, way of life or outlook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or maybe I'm just justifying myself. I do not react very well to my partner "teaching" me a lesson (case in point, I "discarded" him from my life, something that Geek thinks was a good awakening on my part, thank you very much!). There's just something inherently mean about the whole idea when working on a relationship must spring from mutual respect and love. I don't know if it's misplaced idealism or just plain romanticism but "correcting" your partner's ways isn't something you do. Well if your partner changes for the better because of you then that's great! That's what you call inspiration. But for someone to impose a "lesson" on another? That just leaves a bad taste in the mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then again, we grow and we mature. No one is beyond reproach and I've convinced myself to be more gracious and accepting of "lessons." Of course that comes at a price. You temporarily trade off your pride and self worth for an opportunity to better yourself... which is actually a gamble. After all, we're talking about just an "opportunity." Actualizing it is a totally different matter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I think I'm already rambling. Suffice to say that should you allow someone to "teach" you a lesson, just make sure that that someone's worth it... if not, you'll end up not just with a broken heart but also a shattered sense of self-worth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5730719064172729518?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5730719064172729518/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/lesson-learned.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5730719064172729518'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5730719064172729518'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/lesson-learned.html' title='Lesson Learned'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2549696816096563707</id><published>2011-05-02T15:28:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-05-02T16:01:08.913+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Youth</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"May age limit ba?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I had a peso for each time I heard that question yesterday, I'd be a millionaire by now. Seriously, it never struck me that age was the perennial issue in finding a job today. But come to think of it, we put such a huge premium on youth that it has always been a clincher in our many decisions, not least of which are those concerning work and livelihood. And so there they were, men and women well into retirement age hopping from one booth to another, hoping that there's a company out there who'd give them a second lease on life. Amidst the sweltering heat and the dusty ground that marked their footprints, to compete with recent graduates and those with relatively more nimble physiques did seem like a daunting challenge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that got me thinking. Given my age, am I in a good place career-wise? I remember reading &lt;a href="http://oneminutebeforedawn.blogspot.com/2011/03/responsibility-is-buzzkill.html"&gt;Mak&lt;/a&gt; and how he sees being responsible as a constraint to jumping ship and starting anew. if truth be told, my lack of career direction is primarily due to a delusional belief that I'd be successful in anything that I want to do. Apparently, that's not the case. In the real world, without a great measure of luck, success often equates to seriously hard work. And that hard work necessitates investment in time and continuously shifting gears and testing the waters is a luxury that only a few could afford. Hence, the question, have I been so &lt;em&gt;"bilib"&lt;/em&gt; in myself that I end up making nothing out of myself? And of course, with that realization comes a call to action: find a new job and stay there. After all, I am not getting any younger...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then again, I saw a couple of my former students in the same job fair and one of them quipped, &lt;em&gt;"Sir, bumabata kayo ha."&lt;/em&gt; And that, my friends, is a priceless consolation that shall tide me in my search for a job where I could stay.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2549696816096563707?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2549696816096563707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/youth.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2549696816096563707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2549696816096563707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/05/youth.html' title='Youth'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-969554663679154608</id><published>2011-04-28T14:43:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T14:43:41.184+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bakit?</title><content type='html'>Hobby ng ilang barkadahan ang: pasahang boyfriend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-969554663679154608?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/969554663679154608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/bakit.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/969554663679154608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/969554663679154608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/bakit.html' title='Bakit?'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6766034642414784988</id><published>2011-04-18T15:42:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-19T11:42:54.586+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweet Dream or...</title><content type='html'>I've been having semi-nightmares two days in a row. And as with most dreams, I faintly remember the details, but not the "bad" feeling after. First night, I remember opening my eyes and seeing a void. It was black all over. No varying shades of darkness, just black. And then last night, I remember being trapped on a floor of an abandoned building. There was a real sense of fear... of what, I can no longer remember. But you know what I do recall? That building having no walls then "growing" those capiz windows of old Spanish-era houses. They start from the regular size we always see and then they spread out to form whole panels of walls. Think Japanese houses with paper wall divisions. The capiz colonies were just like that, translucent, emitting an amber glow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On other news, it's time for a little morbidity. When I die, I want everyone to come in white. I want to be burned with my ashes in front of my cutesy surfing picture blown up in a large tarp. Sure, I want emo-moments from those I'll be leaving behind. But I want them to be happy emo-moments. And play Pink's "Raise Your Glass" as my farewall song. That would be awesome!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God willing, these things won't be carried out anytime soon... that I'm sure of :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheers!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;*Edit:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day 3 semi-nightmare involved finding myself and my brother in a three story shanty crumbling down to the ground. So much for a three-night streak.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6766034642414784988?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6766034642414784988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/sweet-dream-or.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6766034642414784988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6766034642414784988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/sweet-dream-or.html' title='Sweet Dream or...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4639829048553032733</id><published>2011-04-12T10:37:00.010+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-15T11:14:50.593+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy People - 1035</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;A hundred or so windows&lt;br /&gt;A thousand or so people&lt;br /&gt;A million things to do&lt;br /&gt;And a billion thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet as I look out my corner&lt;br /&gt;Only a smile frames my face&lt;br /&gt;For fleeting moments find stillness&lt;br /&gt;In that tight embrace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fG5HqAFOUus/TaO7Lw41_hI/AAAAAAAAAIw/32r9BUTOOy8/s1600/Image3416.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 400px; height: 300px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594520972900564498" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fG5HqAFOUus/TaO7Lw41_hI/AAAAAAAAAIw/32r9BUTOOy8/s400/Image3416.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;When the rain &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Is blowing in your face&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;And the whole world&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Is on your case&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I could offer you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;A warm embrace&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;To make you feel my love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;When the evening shadows&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;And the stars appear&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;And there is no one there&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;To dry your tears&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;I could hold you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;For a million years&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;To make you feel my love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;Make You Feel My Love&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;- Bob Dylan/Adele&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4639829048553032733?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4639829048553032733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/busy-people.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4639829048553032733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4639829048553032733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/busy-people.html' title='Busy People - 1035'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fG5HqAFOUus/TaO7Lw41_hI/AAAAAAAAAIw/32r9BUTOOy8/s72-c/Image3416.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2388399105544391199</id><published>2011-04-05T10:58:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-05T11:10:07.604+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Jaw Drop</title><content type='html'>Indulge me friends, I was stalking &lt;em&gt;my&lt;/em&gt; "someone" when I decided to google "darcdiaries." My jaw dropped when I found &lt;a href="http://callcentercon.travellerspoint.com/559/"&gt;this&lt;/a&gt;. And the comment by summer: &lt;p&gt;&lt;em&gt;"u'r a celebrity in ur own right! m nt rily into blogs inintroduc lng cia skin ng isa s mga frends ko. bt there's 3 of u n binak-read ko tlga &amp;amp; up until now eh inaabangn evrytm me new posts, soltero's, darcdiaries &amp;amp; of course u buqui. u guys nevr fail 2mke me, laugh &amp;amp; vice-versa. ds post mde me cry, tz a hapi endng i knw bt it stil mde me cry. at sobrng inggit ako sau. ang haba ng herang mu te, mula sorsogon ng-round3p pblik mnla. m dfinitly gona get a copy of ur book.pki-post nmn po wen it'l b out.i hop &amp;amp; pray dat i find my schoolboi as wel pro sna sooner n.hihi.tc buqui",mwaahugsmuch.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt; &lt;p&gt;08.02.2011 by summer"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Seriously, my jaw dropped... and I blushed :P&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;(Of course, this is on the assumption that I'm the "darcdiaries" mentioned; otherwise, &lt;em&gt;feelingero&lt;/em&gt; na naman ako. Fail! Lol)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2388399105544391199?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2388399105544391199/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/jaw-drop.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2388399105544391199'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2388399105544391199'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/jaw-drop.html' title='Jaw Drop'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4138376717812263351</id><published>2011-04-04T11:41:00.006+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-05T11:17:10.456+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Closet K...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;I was feeling down a couple of days ago. I was slumped on our sofa-bed, uninterested as I flipped from channel to channel. With me was my older brother, both parents and our sister were busy with their respective affairs outside. Around 7:00pm, &lt;em&gt;Nanay&lt;/em&gt; arrived home and said, "&lt;em&gt;Sale ang Home World sa Megatrade." &lt;/em&gt;I replied, &lt;em&gt;"Hanggang 12:00am ang mall!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;If other people like spending on gadgets or clothes, I on the other hand throw away any semblance of a savings plan when it comes to "home" stuff. I remember emptying my then - and still - almost-non-existent savings account just to buy a sofa-bed, a shoe cabinet, a dresser, and a closet. That's when we moved houses a year back. Occassionally, I'd buy some doormats, bathroom mats, and oh, don't get me started with curtains. There was even a time when I asked &lt;em&gt;Nanay &lt;/em&gt;to come with me to Divisoria just so we could buy fabric for curtains! I really don't know, I get all excited with furniture and things to keep organized. Boxes! And envelopes and racks! Haha, it's my OC-ness getting a domesticated twist.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Recently, in spite of my not so green thumb, I've taken an interest to gardening. I asked for some ferns from a friend and bought a plant box and some coconut husks to keep them in. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that they'd survive, brushing aside my recent history of lavender and mint plants dying on me. And yep, aside from the department store's "home" section, I also love the hardware store. I like looking around for lighting fixtures, floor tiles, and bathroom accessories! Shower heads, faucets, and all that jazz! Haha, I'm such a handyman dork.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Anyway, going back to &lt;em&gt;Nanay's &lt;/em&gt;sale announcement, we waited for &lt;em&gt;Tatay&lt;/em&gt; to arrive so that we'd have someone drive us (Yes, at 26, I still don't know how to drive. Come to think of it, the money I spent on that sale would've been my driving school money!). I ended up buying two chairs for my humble dining table and a single burner stove to replace our old one. &lt;em&gt;Tatay&lt;/em&gt; fancied the one-hand pepper crusher, so we ended up buying that one too. Haha. But seriously, if I had it my way, I would've bought an induction stove instead. That has been my dream for a while now. Haha. Crazy, a lot of people fancy a new iPad, I dream of having an induction stove complete with a full range of iron pots and pans! Haha&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;Anyway, here are the new additions to my "cutesy" dining set. I just have to re-varnish the table to a darker shade and patch some areas with wood putty. There's a sort-of-furniture shop near our place and &lt;em&gt;Tatay&lt;/em&gt; asked someone to take a look at the table and the work that I "wanted" to get done. Needless to say, we didn't meet eye-to-eye with &lt;em&gt;Kuya Karpintero&lt;/em&gt;. I had to restrain myself from quipping, &lt;em&gt;"Eh ano na lang ang trabahong madali?!"&lt;/em&gt; when &lt;em&gt;Kuya Karpintero&lt;/em&gt; said that &lt;em&gt;"mahihirapan akong mag-masilya noong lamesa."&lt;/em&gt; Seriously? I know I'm far from the engineer/technical guy that my grade school/high school tried to make out of us but I've had my share of wood work, metal work and electrical what-not. I have a closet-&lt;em&gt;karpintero&lt;/em&gt; in me, that's for sure. Anyway, "home" stuff make me incoherent. I blab on and on. Haha&lt;/p&gt; &lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T555ghgRbj4/TZlHqcBWMhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/bC_kqabAbxM/s1600/Image3399.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 400px; FLOAT: center; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591579206759100946" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T555ghgRbj4/TZlHqcBWMhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/bC_kqabAbxM/s400/Image3399.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;p&gt;P.S. &lt;a href="http://iamtheclosetgeek.blogspot.com/"&gt;Geek &lt;/a&gt;and [g], para sa inyo talaga ang pagbili ko ng bagong upuan. So sabihan niyo ako kung dadaan kayo sa bahay this weekend. I prefer Sunday night, bow. Lol&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4138376717812263351?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4138376717812263351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/closet-k.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4138376717812263351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4138376717812263351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/closet-k.html' title='Closet K...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-T555ghgRbj4/TZlHqcBWMhI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/bC_kqabAbxM/s72-c/Image3399.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8436074669274307532</id><published>2011-04-01T13:03:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2011-04-05T11:18:55.861+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Biggest Fault...</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;I've been feeling down and I have a hint why. Sometimes I just wish I could let go easily. Stop overthinking, stop reading between the lines... especially when there's actually nothing there to think about or to read.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;*****&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;When you feel sad, it does make a difference to hold your head high. You suddenly feel better when you decide to leave that slump and walk tall. Looking at the sky brings a certain calm as well.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;*****&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;They say that consistency is a sign of sincerity. How I wish everything and everyone in my world is consistent, coherent even. Perhaps then, I won't waste too much time second-guessing and swimming in my own paranoia.&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;*****&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;On other news, seeing your kids graduate brings a certain kind of joy. And when you're down, thinking about that particular moment inevitably brings a smile.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8436074669274307532?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8436074669274307532/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-biggest-fault.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8436074669274307532'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8436074669274307532'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-biggest-fault.html' title='My Biggest Fault...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6523610335084694271</id><published>2011-03-25T09:48:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-03-25T10:09:44.545+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Friday Morning Downer</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Mag-thirty ka na wala ka pang na-aachieve sa buhay. Iyong mga alumni ng org namin na ka-batch mo ang-yayaman na. Ikaw wala pa rin."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So much for familial love right? That's my sister giving me yet another beating earlier this morning. I seriously smell her frustration over me going nowhere, achieving nothing. And this theme of being compared to other people my age has been an overly recurring theme. Heck, even I do it. And yes, there's a pinch of sadness and hurt whenever that "thing" is raised. On one hand it's about meeting expectations that other people and even I set for myself. On the other, it's about genuine concern for material security, of things that I feel I should provide my family yet fail to give. Never mind that my ego gets bruised whenever these moments of assessment happen. I just pray that my parents live long enough to see the day when I can give them a comfortable life. No thinking of whether they should continue working to help sustain the house. No thinking of cutting down on things just so their retirement money would last. No thinking of me not getting to where I'm supposed to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt;, I am happy that I kinda made your day light. With all the confusions and disappointments you've been having lately, acknowledging my presence as providing a quick respite gives me something to smile about. But you see, even I have bouts with doubt. It is a constant struggle. It is difficult and it often brings you to tears. The real test is in turning the other way and looking at the brighter side of things. Counting your blessings and realizing that in spite of you not getting to where you want to be, you are still in a better place, a far far better place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, we take it one day at a time. When all else fails, we have nothing left to do but believe... just believe.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6523610335084694271?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6523610335084694271/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/03/friday-morning-downer.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6523610335084694271'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6523610335084694271'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/03/friday-morning-downer.html' title='Friday Morning Downer'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6859317252535584244</id><published>2011-03-03T10:52:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-03-03T11:20:49.072+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Look who's talking now? 0:-)</title><content type='html'>The road to perdition is paved with good intentions. Yet good intentions often get muddled in a sequence of haggling, letting go, and looking the other way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you have unprecendented social capital to effect unprecedented change, yet you continue to fail, then it simply is a matter of competence. And it's not even about patience but a matter of setting clear direction. And when your walk differs from your talk, then integrity is in question. One cannot be a prophet of change when he himself cannot do it. Such reeks of self-righteousness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When you are the most powerful person in the country yet justice eludes the blood-stained hacienda of your family, that is a problem. When you have time to do joyrides in the wee hours of the night yet has only convened your cabinet thrice in a span of 9 months, that is a problem. When the people you surround yourself with have no idea of the basics of diplomacy, much less the basics of etiquette, that is a problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seeing how Manolo Quezon spitted bs while being grilled by Prof. Monsod last night was an uneasy and painful experience. The staunch critiques then seem to fare no better now that they are in the seat of power. And then I am reminded of a theory in the Politics of Change: that post-revolutionary regimes are more ruthless than the ones they replaced. As for our case, ruthless could be easily replaced by ineffective.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But alas, blinded homage continue to buoy him. And in the circus of exchanges, the defensive is the one rendered emotional... what with the call for trust that at the very least can be called messianic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6859317252535584244?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6859317252535584244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/03/road-to-perdition-is-paved-with-good.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6859317252535584244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6859317252535584244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/03/road-to-perdition-is-paved-with-good.html' title='Look who&apos;s talking now? 0:-)'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6591114466401764261</id><published>2011-02-28T17:37:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2011-02-28T17:39:40.383+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ugh</title><content type='html'>Love, love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel like a sticky pistil...&lt;br /&gt;leading into a stamen&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel like a mister sunshine...&lt;br /&gt;Himself&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel like splendor in the grass...&lt;br /&gt;while we're rollin'...&lt;br /&gt;Dance with me baby&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel like the Amazon's runnin' between...&lt;br /&gt;my thighs&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CHORUS:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel love, love, love, love, love&lt;br /&gt;love, love, love, love, love&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel love, love, love, love, love&lt;br /&gt;love, love, love, love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel like a candy apple&lt;br /&gt;Red and horny&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel like I wanna be a dumb blonde&lt;br /&gt;In a centerfold, the girl next door&lt;br /&gt;And I would open the door and...&lt;br /&gt;I'd be all wet&lt;br /&gt;With my tits soaking through this tiny little t-shirt...&lt;br /&gt;That I'm wearing&lt;br /&gt;And you would open the door and tie...&lt;br /&gt;Me up to the bed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Chorus&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lover, I don't know who I am&lt;br /&gt;Am I Barry White? Am I Isis?&lt;br /&gt;Lover, I'm laced with your unconscious&lt;br /&gt;Oh baby babe babe baby&lt;br /&gt;I will be your Desdemona ahhhhh...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Take your time...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel Ahaa&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel WooWoo baby&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel Ahaa mmm&lt;br /&gt;You make me feel loved&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6591114466401764261?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6591114466401764261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/ugh.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6591114466401764261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6591114466401764261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/ugh.html' title='Ugh'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8271023064356285689</id><published>2011-02-24T10:55:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-02-24T11:48:21.211+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Road to Dead</title><content type='html'>Back in college, some of my friends used to talk about a particular professor who often cried in class. As she talked about how our country has been governed over the years and how she has participated in many government fact-finding commissions with their recommendations remaining as just that - recommendations - she'd stop for a second or two and continue with her lecture, teary-eyed and frustrated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I knew how she felt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watching the news and seeing how difficult it was for our officials to evacuate our overseas workers from Libya, I felt that same frustration. How bureaucratic can you get when there's imminent danger to lives? And the gravity of the Filipino diaspora suddenly dawned on me, of how we need to leave our families and loved ones just so we could provide them with a better, more financially secure life. That's when I started to cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The previous day, I sat in a meeting with one of our public partners and she lamented the lack of direction they've been receiving thus far. Apparently, the &lt;em&gt;"matuwid na daan"&lt;/em&gt; was just that: &lt;em&gt;matuwid&lt;/em&gt; albeit with nowhere to go. And it doesn't exactly help when your President promised to be different from previous administrations, that he'd be responsive and would listen to us, his "boss," then buys himself a Porsche and test-drives it through the SCTEX in the wee hours of the night. How insensitive can you get? And how selective this &lt;em&gt;"matuwid"&lt;/em&gt; but directionless &lt;em&gt;"na daan"&lt;/em&gt; is is becoming more apparent as this administration fumbles through one gaffe to another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good intentions.&lt;br /&gt;Competence.&lt;br /&gt;Depth of character.&lt;br /&gt;Depth of thinking.&lt;br /&gt;Life experiences.&lt;br /&gt;Unfulfilled promises.&lt;br /&gt;Amateurs.&lt;br /&gt;Lip service.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They say that waiting is a sacrament and that the fruits of change will blossom in a year or two. But then how could there be fruits when to this date, no seeds have been sown? Romanticizing this whole business of a &lt;em&gt;"matuwid na daan"&lt;/em&gt; has been the biggest frustration. And when the hard realities of incompetence knocks at the very door of lives, it is high time to re-examine the leadership we've been getting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amidst the EDSA songs playing in the background as I write this, one can only hope... and then act some more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8271023064356285689?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8271023064356285689/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/road-to-dead.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8271023064356285689'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8271023064356285689'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/road-to-dead.html' title='Road to Dead'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3530823404752414809</id><published>2011-02-18T08:33:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2011-02-18T08:37:06.112+08:00</updated><title type='text'>How do you know when your heart cries?</title><content type='html'>When the pounding in your chest finds its way to your eyes and the blank stares that you give betray the somber space of your soul.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3530823404752414809?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3530823404752414809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/how-do-you-know-when-your-heart-cries.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3530823404752414809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3530823404752414809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/how-do-you-know-when-your-heart-cries.html' title='How do you know when your heart cries?'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7025790534219331572</id><published>2011-02-15T14:16:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-02-15T17:53:06.051+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Finding Strength</title><content type='html'>My sister's high school friend walked from the Philippine Heart Center to their house in Mandaluyong because he had no money... his family had no money. His mom was fighting for her life at the hospital. A few days later, after reports of a seeming recovery, the kid's mom passed away. That fateful morning, I was walking along Makati Avenue on my way to work. A buzz from my phone saw a message from my sister: &lt;em&gt;"Kuya, namatay na iyong nanay ng kaklase ko."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We were never the touchy-feely kind at home but at that point I replied: &lt;em&gt;"Papunta ako office, naiyak naman ako dito sa daan."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And she replied: &lt;em&gt;"Oo, ako nga rin naiyak."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7025790534219331572?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7025790534219331572/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/finding-strength.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7025790534219331572'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7025790534219331572'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/finding-strength.html' title='Finding Strength'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8699442712544494825</id><published>2011-02-04T09:45:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-02-04T10:11:42.600+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Guns and Tanks and Moving Out</title><content type='html'>Two weeks, two phone calls, one former professor, one job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He's been Assistant Secretary of the Defense Department for over a year now and he's building his office, among his key requirements is a policy analyst. Good news is that the Budget Department has approved his request for permanent posts, &lt;em&gt;plantilla&lt;/em&gt;, as government jargon says.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the back of my mind this spells pay cut for sure. It's the government and not much can be expected in spite of the newly introduced salary standardization. But then, admittedly, those phone calls had in themselves immense psychic rewards. No longer recommendatory but actual policy, he says. A level up from what we used to do a couple of years back. Lots of travels, he adds. But then would I really want to travel with military escorts at hand? In the few instances I did that before, I used to think of it as joining a moving target. Ambush anyone? But yeah, me and my girly self writing what the Defense Department should do? Ironic yet it definitely boosts my pride. One small step for me, one big leap for gayhood. It's like figuratively emasculating the defense establishment. Lol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But seriously, it has been my dream to be sent to the Spratlys. I just might be able to do it this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, the question remains, to move out or not? If yes, then why there?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8699442712544494825?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8699442712544494825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/of-guns-and-tanks-and-moving-out.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8699442712544494825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8699442712544494825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/of-guns-and-tanks-and-moving-out.html' title='Of Guns and Tanks and Moving Out'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7160813781780916990</id><published>2011-02-02T15:14:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2011-02-02T15:31:04.260+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Water</title><content type='html'>This is the same sadness I felt when I found myself floating in a pool, face up, staring at a sky half-afternoon, half-night. It was raining but the gray clouds allowed for some tiny lights to peep. Almost dinner, I thought. And from a distance I could hear the South China Sea crashing against a beach of pebbles. The coast was more of a reef really, a stretch of calcified corals whose puddles of water during low tide allowed one to "swim" in salt water. At the end of that stretch though was a deep drop. The fishermen and other locals warned us not to go near that border. Though we may be prudent enough not to jump that steep underwater cliff, the waves are not as forgiving. They pound and in a split second, they could sweep us off our feet and have us floating to the sea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was gloomy to say the least. But that gloom was a perfect fit to what I felt. And when you're sad and tired at the same time, emptiness creeps in. Twisted, yet that emptiness provided some solace. At that point, I felt a sense of peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at peace... floating in a pool, staring at a conflicted sky, gray clouds sending me wet kisses. I close my eyes, and sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7160813781780916990?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7160813781780916990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/water.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7160813781780916990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7160813781780916990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/02/water.html' title='Water'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6446626618492383130</id><published>2011-01-25T07:06:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-01-25T07:40:05.929+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Perfect</title><content type='html'>Yikes. I feel as if I'm the worst person in the world. Yes, I am a judgmental brat without regard for what other people have gone through. He says I should stop labelling characters. Condemn the act and not the person. Well, I do agree. It's just that never did I think of myself as THAT bad when it comes to it. I guess that's the blind spot in my Johari Window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Discounting whether it was intentional or not, fact is, as he says, I crossed the line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I still have to come to terms with how self-righteous I supposedly am, with how I managed to box people into a caste that presumably puts me on top of the pecking order. Wow, never in a million years did I think of myself as having the audacity to throw my weight around and act as if I'm better than others. And him saying that I should look around me because for sure there are people far better than I am really shook me to the core. It caught me off guard simply because in my heart of hearts, I never really saw myself as &lt;em&gt;"mayabang."&lt;/em&gt; If at all, I've been struggling to find my worth and regard myself more highly. Well, then again, blind spot, Johari window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But am I really THAT bad? The barrage of words seems to affirm it, attributing thoughts I supposedly harbored even if I honestly never put things as that. Or perhaps I'm just in denial. In denial or not, it just sucks to be in this position. Apparently, starting out as a nice guy sets high expectations upon you. It's kind of Machiavellian really: the tyrant who starts out hard and slowly mellows down is better received than the one who starts out nice and slowly closes his fist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Expectations. Always take the high road. I expected more from you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't have much pride to give in that what I did was wrong. Yes, I may have really crossed the line. I just wish somebody at least cared to understand me as much as they understand the other side. That I too get hurt and that I am not beyond insecurity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Alas, while this war wagers on, the other side of the battlefield are taken simply as twisted and lonely. How enticing the other side is. You get to have fun and the worst thing they could tell you is that you're simply misunderstood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fighting the good fight sometimes gets really exhausting. In the end, the war really is within you. Prudence, emotions, entitlement, choices... when security was what you've been searching for all along. A place where you are enough and you can feel safe, transparent and all. Perhaps the whole "downgrade" thing really was a defense mechanism. And yet, I'll be damned if I uese that as an excuse. I am not beyond reproach, I wish it was just done with as much kindness as he sees the other side. And so we go back to the very core: do you feel secure? Do you feel safe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I really have a lot of growing up to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if I've already written this somewhere but when I confronted my first ex during those turbulent times and asked him where were we back then, he blatantly told me to my face that he chose the other guy. For what it's worth, I found consolation in friends saying that his decision was to "downgrade." It was said mostly in jest, a crack to put a little smile on my face, regardless of whether it was true or not. I realized that I now use it as a crutch whenever I feel an impending "takeover." Yes, that chink in my armor spells itself as insecurity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I wish people would take time to understand what I've gone through as much as they try to understand others. Ultimately, I feel even more insecure that in this circle of trying to understand people, I am at the periphery. Again, I am least of priorities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't excuse my thoughts or actions. I take responsibility for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But a little compassion would have helped. Perhaps with that, I won't feel as if I'm the worst person in the world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6446626618492383130?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6446626618492383130/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/01/perfect.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6446626618492383130'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6446626618492383130'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/01/perfect.html' title='Perfect'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6633525808936482072</id><published>2011-01-24T15:44:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-01-24T15:49:23.320+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Streamline</title><content type='html'>Less clutter, less complications.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I couldn't care less," is yet another maxim for the year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6633525808936482072?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6633525808936482072/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/01/streamline.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6633525808936482072'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6633525808936482072'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2011/01/streamline.html' title='Streamline'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-9140620417857377354</id><published>2010-12-23T11:05:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-12-23T11:26:52.864+08:00</updated><title type='text'>It is what remains...</title><content type='html'>They say that today is a world of intangibles. The things that we don't see are the drivers of our progress. Knowledge, resourcefulness, innovation... stuff that we can't really see nor hold but nonetheless change our lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then, there's nothing really new about valuing things we can't physically grasp. As the Fox told the Little Prince, &lt;em&gt;"It is only through the heart that one can see rightly. What is essential is invisible to the eye." &lt;/em&gt;And in spite of the fast-paced beating of our daily lives, one essential intangible remains. Its power is timeless and its beauty continues to inspire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amid the cheering of the Holidays, a TV bit caught my attention, a human interest story to be shown in one of the local networks. It was about a kid suffering from physical deformities that left his growth stunted. In it, the kid, teary-eyed, tells his mother, &lt;em&gt;"Huwag kang mawawalan ng pag-asa ha?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope. When all else is lost, it is what remains.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure each of us has gone through some form of difficulty this year. Be they finances, family problems or matters of the heart, at some point, we might have felt as if we're running on empty with nothing more to give. But then we pushed on. And in trying to make sense of our difficulties, holding on proves invaluable in seeing through our hardships.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's to dark moments and better days! For in the kaleidescope and see-saw of life, even if we lose everything, one thing must remain... hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merry Christmas to the many beautiful people that blessed my life this year... and that includes you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;=)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-9140620417857377354?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/9140620417857377354/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/12/it-is-what-remains.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/9140620417857377354'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/9140620417857377354'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/12/it-is-what-remains.html' title='It is what remains...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4361186777561106399</id><published>2010-12-08T18:06:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-12-08T19:13:51.679+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Teach Me</title><content type='html'>I never thought teaching would be this difficult. Every meeting is a practical mine of self-doubt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I making sense?&lt;br /&gt;Am I being credible?&lt;br /&gt;Are these kids following me?&lt;br /&gt;What are they saying behind my back?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;More than finding time to prepare my lectures, it's looking the part and making myself professor-ly that's difficult. Minus 6 or 7 years, my students are the same age as I. And that's not exactly a different generation. Being more or less in touch with how they think, I am all the more reminded of how ruthless students can be to professors they don't like. Seriously, that's what's stressing me out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just recently, I had this "incident" when after attending an earlier orientation, one of my classes dissed me and missed my session. Save for a handful, most of them decided to skip my class... when they were in fact already in school! I saw them! I attended the same orientation for crying out loud! And to add insult to injury, they were pleading all sorts of excuses to extend the submission of a one-page paper I assigned last week. Geez, come on! It's a one-page paper!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd like to think that I'm very straightforward with my students. What you see is what you get. These are my requirements and these are my expectations. And I seriously doubt if I'm a terror professor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess that's it. I'm torn between treating these guys as adults who can make informed decisions and treating them as kids who need to be trained and disciplined. But then I made a firm resolution early on that I WILL NOT BE A BABYSITTER!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's kinda frustrating and I thank God that he made me a little clueless and dense by nature. I'm not really devastated by this recent power struggle. If at all, it made me think of maximizing my arsenal to drive home a point. And for graduating kids, I guess there's nothing more potent than their final grades. But if so, then why did they wage this "war" to begin with? Shouldn't they be bowing before me and throwing themselves at my feet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well, at least I get to exercise my patience and better judgment. I have no intentions of throwing a fit to express my frustration. In fact, I've made a mental note of how I should act if and when this power struggle escalates into an actual confrontation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Dramatic pause 1.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Ask, &lt;em&gt;"Ano'ng problema natin?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Dramatic pause 2.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Ask, &lt;em&gt;"Bakit niyo ako binabastos?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Dramatic pause 3 followed by an even more dramatic bow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;Darc raises his head and says:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Class dismissed."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;If I find nobody moving - and I do hope they find themselves stunned and off-balanced - Darc says:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Get the hell out of this classroom... now!"&lt;/em&gt; in a raised but not shouting voice.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Di ba? I may be frustrated and seething in anger... but I vow to at least do it in style.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good luck naman talaga!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4361186777561106399?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4361186777561106399/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/12/teach-me.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4361186777561106399'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4361186777561106399'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/12/teach-me.html' title='Teach Me'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-171793764140659181</id><published>2010-11-17T17:45:00.008+08:00</published><updated>2010-11-17T18:22:02.578+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Plates, Loans and Shoes</title><content type='html'>He reminisced how through a stormy night, he hurdled fallen trees and braved the rains just so he could beg for a can of sardines from the sari-sari store. Young as he was back then, he knew that times were difficult for his family... they've always been. Besides, he knew how it was to sacrifice. He remembered how his older brother "borrowed" the coins he kept in his piggy bank. And how helpless he seemed as he shed a tear or two, alone in the corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He says he struggled through college, juggled long walks to school with the careful preparations of his plates. He can't afford a repeat. He didn't have the money to buy extra sheets of paper. No wonder he didn't finish. A year before graduation, he dropped. He had to find work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She later found out that keeping a family was difficult. She already had three kids and try hard as she did, her husband's wage wasn't enough to make ends meet. One day, she went to her mother and asked for help. A sister sent some money from abroad and she earnestly wished that part of it could be loaned to her. But then her mother said no, vehemently said no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She went home teary eyed... and her second son had no choice but to watch her as she sobbed in silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He woke up early that day. He had a school competition to join. Being in second grade, that was one of the rare instances the spotlight was on him. Problem was, his shoes were giving up. He put on his white polo jacket and his blue shorts. He had on his white socks... and a pair of shoes with a pair of detached soles flapping back with his every step.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having taped together shoes wasn't that bad... all the more reason to have the spotlight on him. At least now, he'd still be able to join the program. Unlike last time when his parents couldn't afford the printed shirt for a school dance... and he had no choice but to watch everyone else's bags as he cried and looked over the hallway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-171793764140659181?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/171793764140659181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/11/of-plates-loans-and-shoes.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/171793764140659181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/171793764140659181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/11/of-plates-loans-and-shoes.html' title='Of Plates, Loans and Shoes'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7763308784947228866</id><published>2010-11-06T13:41:00.007+08:00</published><updated>2010-11-06T18:16:03.686+08:00</updated><title type='text'>i AM in love with a cyber-celebrity</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2009/11/youre-my-cyber-celebrity.html"&gt;My laptop's still on top of my faux wood table... and yes, I'm still my cyberloafing self.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year has passed since I professed.&lt;br /&gt;A year of stories written.&lt;br /&gt;A year of stories read.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A year of humbling opportunities to meet some who live my vicarious life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a bittersweet journey of letting go and holding on. I learned, unlearned and relearned. Cliche as it may seem, I am still under construction... after throwing things away just to take in more complications.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Through this space I was able to cross paths with wonderful writers who, I'm glad to have found out to be even more wonderful persons. I am blessed by you and I am honored by your time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now where to Darc Diarist, where to?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mark this day.&lt;br /&gt;I mark this time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the one who fell in love... IS now in love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 108px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5536377572529936162" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TNUqEbkWFyI/AAAAAAAAAH8/AOTGNl-XJOc/s400/am.JPG" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7763308784947228866?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7763308784947228866/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-am-in-love-with-cyber-celebrity_06.html#comment-form' title='26 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7763308784947228866'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7763308784947228866'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-am-in-love-with-cyber-celebrity_06.html' title='i AM in love with a cyber-celebrity'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TNUqEbkWFyI/AAAAAAAAAH8/AOTGNl-XJOc/s72-c/am.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>26</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3017695639886921690</id><published>2010-10-20T09:31:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-10-20T15:57:20.624+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Limos</title><content type='html'>A great part of me wishes that I could find a boyfriend who makes me feel as if I'm the only one who matters. Yes, it's selfish. Yes, it's irrational. But when you've always felt as if you're the least of priorities, that self-centered desire becomes all the more enticing. I mean I don't think I'm high maintenance and I don't think I'm demanding. Maybe that's it, I don't demand. That's why I can get moved to last. Everybody can never get cancelled... everybody except me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heartbreak story made me resolve to no longer ask for pittance. &lt;em&gt;Ayoko na manlimos ng oras at panahon&lt;/em&gt;... simply because there's nothing more genuine than love that's freely given, time freely given.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No haggling.&lt;br /&gt;No bargaining.&lt;br /&gt;No arm-twisting.&lt;br /&gt;No choices to be made between you and someone else...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simply because you are the obvious choice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then on the flipside, why should my time depend on someone else's? If I can get cancelled and moved around just like that, then it only means that I should have a greater hand in determining how I spend my time. Breaking free from being a loser starts with deciding that I matter and that MY TIME rests on MY HANDS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for that, my birthday weekend is now officially booked. I expect gifts ha! Lol. I kid, I kid. There's no better present than your presence. Hallmark much? Haha :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Weekend has arrived&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Everybody's trying to find something to get into&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My friends wanna go out &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;But I can't cancel my plans&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Got a date with my baby&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;He's taking me out so I'm gonna catch up with you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Some other day, gotta go&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Can't make him wait tonight&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Have to make sure I'm looking hot&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;'Cause we're going to our favorite spot&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;'Til the morning we're gonna rock&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Boy, you knock me up, yeah&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;My baby, doesn't matter what's going on or who's around us&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;All I see is you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Right now they're playing our song, the dance floor is ours&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;All I see is you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The DJ's got me feeling like I did&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;When I first met you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And there's nothing that can break us apart in two&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;All I see is you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;- All I See, Kylie Minogue&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3017695639886921690?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3017695639886921690/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/10/limos.html#comment-form' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3017695639886921690'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3017695639886921690'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/10/limos.html' title='Limos'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-1156261877641266515</id><published>2010-10-18T14:09:00.008+08:00</published><updated>2010-10-18T14:30:47.769+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The O-Soap</title><content type='html'>I don't have Ad Sense nor am I a Nuffnang member so this is an honest to goodness rave about a surprise of a product.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love Oilatum!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got hold of a sample a week or two ago and I immediately fell in love with it. Talk about vanity! Lol. Aside from drying up the bumps on my face in just a matter of two or three washes, what I love most about Oilatum is that I feel super clean after using it. It's like having a protective film over my skin! Yes, to me (n.b. my OC self), that is it's biggest selling point. And mind you, it's not the dried up squeaky clean feeling you get with ordinary soap. It's like a breathable plastic layer that makes you feel super uber really clean. Did I mention that it makes you feel super clean? Haha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basta! I love Oilatum. I wish it rains Oilatum, that way, I'll save up on vanity expenses. Lol. It's quite pricey by my standards at P150 a bar. But given that I don't have any other skin routine in line, it's worth definitely outweighs its cost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 260px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 173px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529268679267811874" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TLvokYdzgiI/AAAAAAAAAHg/NPopoGiwkFo/s400/oilatum.gif" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Yey, to my first non-emo, non-sense, vanity-related post. Haha :P&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-1156261877641266515?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1156261877641266515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/10/o-soap.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1156261877641266515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1156261877641266515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/10/o-soap.html' title='The O-Soap'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TLvokYdzgiI/AAAAAAAAAHg/NPopoGiwkFo/s72-c/oilatum.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6498313280143616321</id><published>2010-09-28T14:13:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-09-28T14:31:17.751+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Swan</title><content type='html'>While waiting with colleagues at the hotel lobby, I saw a familiar face, a former college classmate. I actually stared at her and she stared back. After a couple of long-drawn seconds, she still wasn't reacting and at that point, I started doubting if I was staring at someone I know. Yes, I know it's rude to stare and I won't think of doing that to a stranger in a million years! She was a couple of steps away when finally her eyebrows gave out a semi-puzzled look and her lips quievered in a half-jesting smile. Finally, she recognized who I was!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After some small talk and a little urging from her for me to enroll in the same gym she was heading to, we exchanged numbers and said our "See yahs!" Not soon after, while treading the traffic trap that is EDSA, I received a message on my phone that said: "U look good!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That made me smile. I guess I'm ageing well. This bodes well for the ugly duckling. I guess I do have a future after all! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6498313280143616321?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6498313280143616321/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/09/swan.html#comment-form' title='22 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6498313280143616321'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6498313280143616321'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/09/swan.html' title='Swan'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>22</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4326483827862088461</id><published>2010-09-19T16:48:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-09-19T17:43:50.266+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Temporal</title><content type='html'>Almost midnight and it was still raining. I had taken three steps from the cab, midway to our gate when a man, probably in his forties, stopped me. Admittedly, I was a bit shaken which he might have noticed given his rather unusual greeting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Hindi po ako masamang tao. Kailangan ko lang ng tulong."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His mother, a sampaguita vendor, was stabbed in front of a 7/11 store a couple of blocks from our place. He had solicited assistance from the Mayor for the funeral arrangements but still had to raise a couple of hundred for the undertaker's fee. He was fumbling over some sheets of paper: death certificate, a written "SOA" from the public cemetery and some more I didn't really bother to look into. He was trying to convince me of the veracity of his claim, trying to differentiate himself from the typical street fraud we've come to know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then teary-eyed, with a cracking voice, he suddenly pleaded, &lt;em&gt;"Kung gusto niyo ho luluhod pa ako dito, tulungan niyo lang ako."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Day in and day out, I struggle with the fact that I need to make something out of myself. I look around and see the things I lack, materially and otherwise. I guess it's a question of security... and it doesn't really help if at this age, I have nothing to show: zero savings, a thankless job and a general non-direction. And I often come to a point when I ask a series of why's: Why am I in this rut? Why can't I find that one big break? Why can't I provide for my family? Why is everyone else moving forward while I, I am left behind?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've talked to a friend about this. I ranted, &lt;em&gt;"Am I being materialistic?"&lt;/em&gt; To which he replied, of course not; having enough money gives you a sense of security. Again, it's about security. Security... why are you so hard to pin down? And there you have it, yet another why?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really want to go on rambling. After all, what I'm feeling is just a formless general sentiment. It's one part wanting, it's one part sadness, it's one part frustration over things material and otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Hindi na ho kailangan. Pagpasenyahan niyo na ho ito."&lt;/em&gt; I handed the guy a fifty-perso bill, not much but it was all I could spare. Everyone struggles and I'm still at a better place, much more blessed than a lot of people out there. I know this but then making peace with it is an all-together different matter. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I should know better... but I can't help it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4326483827862088461?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4326483827862088461/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/09/temporal.html#comment-form' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4326483827862088461'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4326483827862088461'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/09/temporal.html' title='Temporal'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4317066473481994768</id><published>2010-09-08T11:43:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-09-08T12:02:44.192+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Child</title><content type='html'>Executive session meant getting booted out of the board room and finding myself sandwiched between the Executive Assistant and another staff. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Alam mo malungkot pa rin si Betty," said the Ex-A.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her pain was palpable. Betty, her teenage daughter, just got her heart broken.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Sabi ni Dom ok lang raw iyon. She'll learn from it. Alam ko naman iyon pero mahirap din pala talaga. Biruin mo antagal mong inalagaan tapos ganun-ganun na lang. Sana maging happy child na siya ulit soon."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She had a hopeful tone during that conversation but her eyes betrayed her... much like Nanay's eyes that morning when I unexpectedly hugged her while she was busy poring over the stove, heating some water for breakfast. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a home where sweet nothings and I-love-yous were never the norm, how Nanay stared at me that morning when it was still dark outside and we were the only souls awake in the house, left an awkward sense of assurance in me. I rediscovered how silence can be an ally, how stillness conveys the promise of being there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the sadness in her eyes will haunt me for a long time. Nanay felt my pain, perhaps far more than I could imagine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4317066473481994768?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4317066473481994768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/09/happy-child.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4317066473481994768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4317066473481994768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/09/happy-child.html' title='Happy Child'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3021326834834417005</id><published>2010-08-26T18:12:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T18:19:13.665+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Please don't cry...</title><content type='html'>I tried to fight for you...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/THY-gNA7G0I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/wcdS2Uia2bY/s1600/fist.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/THY-gNA7G0I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/wcdS2Uia2bY/s400/fist.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5509659917104651074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... with fists closed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;*With apologies to the &lt;a href="http://iamtheclosetgeek.blogspot.com/"&gt;Geek&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3021326834834417005?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3021326834834417005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-tried-to-fight-for-you.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3021326834834417005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3021326834834417005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-tried-to-fight-for-you.html' title='Please don&apos;t cry...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/THY-gNA7G0I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/wcdS2Uia2bY/s72-c/fist.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-679379145858652702</id><published>2010-08-26T14:25:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-26T15:54:06.187+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Evolving Darc</title><content type='html'>When I was a kid, I thought invisibility was such an awesome superpower. In a way, anonymity gave you freedom. After all, the most potent things are often those unseen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Psst, kung magiging superhero ka, sino gusto mo maging?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I grew up a bit. I envied Storm. If I had her powers then everyday will be sunshine. No overcast horizons, no gushing winds to trip me off. I yearned for predictability, stability that made you feel secure. I feared no sudden drizzle. No sudden storms to cloud my day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Ako dati si Superman para makalipad. Pero sawa na ako kay SuperMan, BatMan, gusto ko ngayon...&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Weathering quite a handful, you grow up a little bit more. And then you realize that to take flight equates to taking risks. And the most heroic thing you could possibly do is to live for another, to risk for another.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;I'm YourMan, KailanMan, NaMan!&lt;/em&gt;*&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;*Texts from a stranger :)&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-679379145858652702?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/679379145858652702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/evolving-darc.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/679379145858652702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/679379145858652702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/evolving-darc.html' title='Evolving Darc'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7178821324727476888</id><published>2010-08-23T10:34:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-23T11:22:03.650+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Maternal Instincts and Missosologists</title><content type='html'>I don't know if it's an offshoot of being OC but somehow, I've got a strong maternal bone in me. I always clean up things, check on what's wrong and make sure that everyone's ok and everything's in order. For instance, during our surf trip a while back, our assigned driver-friend had the colds and after dinner, just when I was about to finish cleaning up our table, I yelled from across the room: "Hoy, may vitamins ka ba?!" And without waiting for an answer, I took out a small ziplock from my bag, went to him and handed over a pill. Yes, I keep extra supplies of vitamins during out-of-town trips in case someone other than me needs them. Yes, nanay na nanay ako.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then it doesn't stop there. Back in college, I used to head a student org and was often called kuya by the younger ones. Heck, even frat guys called me kuya. At the beginning, I was totally weirded out but then I came to terms with the fact that yep Darc, you're older, you are kuya. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last Thursday, as I was walking along Mendiola on my way to St. Jude, I saw someone waving at me from a distance. Being the four-eyed blind guy that I am, it took me some time to recognize that these were my kids from college. I really don't know why but there's a certain warmth when these kids receive me. It's as if I'm someone they look up to... that or they just find me nakakaaliw. Perhaps it's because I don't take myself seriously but then they do. Lol. And when they ask how I'm doing, it's more than the usual pleasantries, I can feel the sincerity, the deep concern we really have for each other. I'm not touchy feely but when it comes to them, a hug and a kiss comes naturally. A hug and a kiss... notwithstanding that they are girls. Eeek, suicide. Lol. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm one with &lt;a href="http://solteroinoc.blogspot.com/"&gt;Soltero&lt;/a&gt;* when he echoed &lt;a href="http://blogs.stylebible.ph/rajosblog/2010/08/12/venus-raj/"&gt;Rajo Laurel&lt;/a&gt; saying that pageants are the gay world's Super Bowl, World Cup, NBA Finals all rolled into one. I remember jumping up and down the living room as I watched Miriam Quiambao slug it out through to the finals. Haha, slug it out, boxing much? Well, yeah, I guess it really is the ultimate gay sport. But some of us really take this pageant business to a whole new level. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One time, two of my friends and I were having dinner right after our St. Jude visit when pageant talk suddenly surfaced. My, my... my friends really are pageant hobbyists. I have a vague idea of who the previous winners are but really, I have to hand it to them. Much like &lt;a href="http://midnightafterburner.blogspot.com/2010/08/question-of-beaucon.html"&gt;Mugen's&lt;/a&gt; friend, they know by heart all the winners from every Miss Universe edition. And not only that, they know who the finalists are! Country, complete names and all! When they started spitting out names of Latinas and enumerating the country's that got called first during semi-finals, I caught myself doing the tired old nod you give when you have absolutely no idea what people are talking about. This is pageant analysis at its uber ultimate hard core!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hay, I wish I too was a &lt;a href="http://missosology.org/"&gt;missosologist&lt;/a&gt;. Lol :P&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;*Dear Soltero, where is your Miss Universe/pageantry post?! I can no longer find it. Bow. Ikaw ha. Lol.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7178821324727476888?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7178821324727476888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/of-maternal-instincts-and.html#comment-form' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7178821324727476888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7178821324727476888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/of-maternal-instincts-and.html' title='Of Maternal Instincts and Missosologists'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8700636614690670808</id><published>2010-08-16T11:53:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-16T12:02:56.960+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Aja</title><content type='html'>Find the resolve to fight it.&lt;br /&gt;Do not weigh. Do not keep score.&lt;br /&gt;Open your hands.&lt;br /&gt;To stories told before you crashed in.&lt;br /&gt;Green-eyed.&lt;br /&gt;It's useless, you know it is.&lt;br /&gt;Shake it off.&lt;br /&gt;And enjoy the blessing that is now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;I think we've been here before&lt;br /&gt;I recognize this place&lt;br /&gt;I've seen the marks of confusion&lt;br /&gt;Wipe out a single sign of grace&lt;br /&gt;And I don't want to play anymore&lt;br /&gt;Not when the stakes are so high&lt;br /&gt;So before we circle round once more&lt;br /&gt;I'm gonna lay down,&lt;br /&gt;Lay down my pride&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let it go, let it be&lt;br /&gt;Don't waste all your emotion on this&lt;br /&gt;Tit-for-tat machine&lt;br /&gt;Let it go, let it be&lt;br /&gt;Let it go&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turn on the TV&lt;br /&gt;And it screams out at me&lt;br /&gt;Nothing seems to have changed&lt;br /&gt;Since the start of Adam and Eve&lt;br /&gt;So we're waiting for the sky to fall&lt;br /&gt;And we're buying brand new toys&lt;br /&gt;But before we circle round once more&lt;br /&gt;Can we lay down&lt;br /&gt;Just lay down this pride&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let it go, let it be&lt;br /&gt;Don't waste all your emotion on this&lt;br /&gt;Tit-for-tat machine&lt;br /&gt;Let it go, let it be&lt;br /&gt;Let it go&lt;br /&gt;Don't go wasting your emotions&lt;br /&gt;No one wins if we keep score&lt;br /&gt;Let it go, let it be&lt;br /&gt;Let it go &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight:bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Let It Go, Corinne May&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8700636614690670808?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8700636614690670808/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/aja.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8700636614690670808'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8700636614690670808'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/aja.html' title='Aja'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-634413502280020947</id><published>2010-08-02T11:18:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-08-02T11:25:36.359+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Waltz to the Words</title><content type='html'>I wanted to dance in front of the mirror. But when the song played, I found my arms around your waist... swaying to an imaginary waltz. Only to find out that only I could hear the music and your silhouette was but a mere pillow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least I smiled. And it was the most spontaneous smile I've had in a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hate you... I've never missed someone this much :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;What did you say? &lt;br /&gt;I know I saw you singing &lt;br /&gt;But my ears won't stop ringing &lt;br /&gt;Long enough to hear &lt;br /&gt;Those sweet words &lt;br /&gt;What did you say? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End of the day &lt;br /&gt;The hour hand has spun &lt;br /&gt;But before the night is done &lt;br /&gt;I just have to hear &lt;br /&gt;Those sweet words &lt;br /&gt;Spoken like a melody &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All your love &lt;br /&gt;Is a lost balloon &lt;br /&gt;Rising up through the afternoon &lt;br /&gt;'Til it could fit on the head of a pin &lt;br /&gt;Come on in &lt;br /&gt;Did you have a hard time sleeping? &lt;br /&gt;Cuz the heavy moon was keeping &lt;br /&gt;Me awake, and all I know is &lt;br /&gt;I'm just glad to &lt;br /&gt;See you again &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See my love &lt;br /&gt;Like a lost balloon &lt;br /&gt;Rising up &lt;br /&gt;Through the afternoon, and &lt;br /&gt;Then you appeared &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What did you say? &lt;br /&gt;I know what you were singing &lt;br /&gt;But my ears won't stop ringing &lt;br /&gt;Long enough to hear &lt;br /&gt;Those sweet words &lt;br /&gt;And your simple melody &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just have to hear &lt;br /&gt;Those sweet words &lt;br /&gt;Spoken like a melody &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just want to hear &lt;br /&gt;Those sweet words &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;- Those Sweet Words, Norah Jones &lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-634413502280020947?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/634413502280020947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-wanted-to-dance-in-front-of-mirror.html#comment-form' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/634413502280020947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/634413502280020947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-wanted-to-dance-in-front-of-mirror.html' title='Waltz to the Words'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3092278364537460596</id><published>2010-07-29T16:40:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-29T18:02:27.963+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Transit Thoughts</title><content type='html'>I was drenched in rain, onboard an FX taxi that found itself sliding down the EDSA-Shaw flyover, when I thought of Paolo Coelho's Eleven Minutes and how he said that we often intertwine love with pain when the former brings only wonderful things, beautiful moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that point, I remembered one of our retreat facilitators last March. Sharing her own life journey as she told us to embrace and own our stories, she mentioned how God blessed her to fall in love again after a failed relationship a couple of years before.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That got me thinking, maybe that's why we equate love with pain, because we see it as an entitlement rather than as a blessing. When you feel entitled to receive love and experience it, you find yourself terribly frustrated when you don't have it. When you lose love, you feel devastated. As you wait for love, you wrestle with impatience. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my heart of hearts, I want to believe this. That love is a blessing and not an entitlement. That way, you get to treasure every waking moment with that special someone... because he is a gift, not something you've earned and can earn again. That way, you forget to account for things that he does or fails to do... simply because you feel no need to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know this is way easier said than done. And once you've known pain or have come to know love through pain, relationships can easily turn from enjoying that gift to sustaining it. And then love does become a battlefield. You end up scarred yet again... bleeding, fighting, gasping to survive.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Perhaps nothing really is permament in our mortal lives. Everything is temporary... even love may be fleeting. But in spite of this, if you see love as a blessing, then as I always say, the pain may be no less real, but at the very least you're left with something to hold on to. That the love you were gifted with may have found its way back to the One above but that in His time, in His infinite wisdom and goodness, another blessing of the same skin might be yours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To you, remember this, I take you as a blessing. Only through that can I tide the lingering pain, the pain of finding ourselves in no less than perfect circumstances. Because I choose to see the wonderful gift that you are... my flaws, your flaws and all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;“Pain and suffering are used to justify the only thing that should bring only joy: love.” - Paolo Coelho, Eleven Minutes&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3092278364537460596?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3092278364537460596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/transit-thoughts.html#comment-form' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3092278364537460596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3092278364537460596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/transit-thoughts.html' title='Transit Thoughts'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7434198088649262621</id><published>2010-07-27T10:18:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-27T11:05:00.831+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Guardian Meets the Cybercelebrity</title><content type='html'>It's kind of reassuring to have a blog guardian, someone who keeps you grounded, who knows how you are in person way before you started pouring your heart out in an online journal. To a certain extent, my blog guardian keeps me in line, trying his very best (in spite of my hard-headedness) to steer me from diving into unwieldy situations as I meet people on this side of the web. Of course, he's never successful and I can only imagine his frustration - and amusement - as he tells me, "Hay, Darc, the things you get yourself into...."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Over the weekend, my blog guardian met two of my cybercelebrities whom I've come to consider as offline friends as well. Actually, as he put it, I chaperoned since he and his other "guardian" friends read one of them religiously. In fact, cybercelebrity 1 is the only blogger he reads and yep, he's a fan boy. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we were having lunch: they were talking, I was making kulit. Then the conversation touched on how the online-offline gap was bridged, how it was possible to create real friendships out of the connections we make on this virtual space. Being a noob on these affairs, I listened in to cybercelebrity 1's thoughts: "I try to communicate with them... of course, only if they want to." Flimsy connections do need constant work, I thought. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some more talk on choosing who to befriend and who remain mere acquaintances and then, I can't exactly remember how or why, blog guardian said: "I wasn't really that worried. I knew that somehow, it's the good people who'd gravitate toward Darc and his story."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart blushed. Guardian thinks I attract nice people. And that could only mean one thing: you, co-cyberpilgrims, are nice and the connection we have is something borne out of your desire to connect with someone with a good heart. Hehe. So much for being fluffy and sugary and sweet. Sorry, I can't help it :P&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7434198088649262621?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7434198088649262621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/guardian-meets-cybercelebrity.html#comment-form' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7434198088649262621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7434198088649262621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/guardian-meets-cybercelebrity.html' title='Guardian Meets the Cybercelebrity'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-499194966114044815</id><published>2010-07-21T10:53:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-21T11:19:57.079+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seriously?</title><content type='html'>There's something surreal about finding your way out of the mall after a last full show. Dim hallways with store signages crafting pockets of light. Going down several flights of escalators with the occasional security guard tracing where you're going. And then crossing the exit to find a light drizzle, a cool breeze as you pull over your hoodie and brave the midnight streets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The jeepney suddenly stopped. A cab did the same a couple of seconds before us. We rushed to the other lane, passed by the cab to find a red box-type Toyota who did a counterflow. Weird. We were just beside a flyover. How could he possibly think of doing a counterflow? Or better yet, how in the world did he do it? Even weirder was how nonchalant the box-type's driver was. An old Chinese guy, probably in his 60's, platinum hair and all. He was sitting upright. No trace of worries in his face, clueless that he was actually in the wrong lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wrong lane.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not a minute has passed since that scene when all of a sudden, we found ourselves in front of a cement-mixer truck, parked perpendicular to the street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And upon reaching home, as I clasped the lever to open our gate, a stray cat jumped on me from the dark then slyly walked away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was Tuesday night... make that Wednesday "morning."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now I'm at work, typing away, waiting for this laptop's screen to turn blue and restart on its own for the nth time. I pause and ask, how did I get here again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-499194966114044815?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/499194966114044815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/seriously.html#comment-form' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/499194966114044815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/499194966114044815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/seriously.html' title='Seriously?'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7359337215098483215</id><published>2010-07-19T18:46:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-19T19:04:01.843+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Block</title><content type='html'>Have you ever felt that you had so much to write but the right words just don't come to you? That's how I feel right now. It's the feeling you can't put a finger on. It's vague yet strangely familiar. The elephant in the room, big enough to stomp on you yet still it goes unnoticed... you go to great lengths to leave it unnoticed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then you ramble, offering a hodge-podge of sentiments, hoping that it could pass up for some pseudo-philosophical musing. But then did you really want it to be some intellectual preach-athon when you started to write just to let it all out, let all of you out?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well i guess I'm just scared... scared to admit that for the first time, I want something I could never have. I want to hold on to you, erase everything you've been through, erase every doubt and confusion so that what would be left is me, just me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Scared and selfish. Way to go Darc... way to go....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7359337215098483215?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7359337215098483215/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/block.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7359337215098483215'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7359337215098483215'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/block.html' title='Block'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-100256020203062140</id><published>2010-07-13T07:22:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-14T09:47:19.199+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Five for Fighting</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;I.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I met Leslie March of this year, during the retreat. She’s about my age, very smart and quite outgoing. You could tell from the twangs in her speech that she studied in one of those exclusive schools down south. Leslie joined the retreat to find herself. She was in a seven year relationship, engaged and about to get married. They were the perfect couple. Everyone thought so… except Leslie. I asked her why she decided to end things with her “perfect” boyfriend. She said that things just didn’t feel right: &lt;em&gt;“You know the feeling of staying in the relationship, working things out… just to make it work? But then at the very start you already felt that no matter how perfect he was or the situation seemed, there was a little voice in me that said this wasn’t right, this wasn’t it?”&lt;/em&gt; I asked her if she had any regrets about the whole matter. &lt;em&gt;“If there’s anything I regret, it’s not that I let go. Quite the opposite, I regret wasting seven years of my life forcing things when I knew, somehow, that this wasn’t it.”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;II.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jay has been my friend for the longest time. We met during grade school. Among my closest friends, Jay was able to maintain the longest relationship: five years with a boyfriend we’ve come to love as well. They went their separate ways about three or four months ago. To us friends, they were the closest example of a serious, long-term relationship for people like us. Jay seems happy now, especially with his new guy who I think understands his work and his time. Time. That was the root of Jay and his ex’s frequent misunderstandings. And now, Jay is free to spend that with his partner, in their just-begun relationship.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;III.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mimi was my boss in the bank before. She’s probably in her forties with two boys in college and a cute three-year old daughter. I was already months in my job when I heard from the grapevine that Mimi got separated from her husband after more than 20 years of being together. And her getting pregnant with their daughter was not enough to save their marriage. Worse, her husband thinks that he’s not the little girl’s father.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;IV.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lisa holds a similar story. She’s one of the bosses in the other department. But I guess fortunately for her, things ended earlier. She now raises solo her five-year old son. Perhaps that’s why I often see Mimi and Lisa take their lunch together. They see something familiar, an honest connection.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;V.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there’s former officemate Bing. She’s in her mid-30s with a son in grade school. She used to live together with her son’s father until they officially tied the knot a couple of years back. I remember us researchers playing truant just to get to the city hall and act as witnesses to their legal vows. Recently, we got confused. Bing has been posting pictures online of “monthsary” celebrations… but the guy with her isn’t the same guy we remember seeing before. I guess Bing has moved on. And it seems that her son’s just as happy as her… even with his new daddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To you, I honestly don’t think that I’m the best person to ask about relationships. And so I offer you stories I know. I hold no judgment. I seek not to sway you nor convince you. Perhaps you’d find comfort knowing that there are stories out there that escaped the happy-ever-after we all dream about. Perhaps you’d find reaffirmation knowing that there are people out there who had the balls to decide like you did… even if it hurt, even if they too got hurt. But know also that there are those who keep on fighting, who hold on in spite of the hardships, who try to make it work because the love that they have outweigh the troubles and confusion they cross paths with. There are just too many stories to tell and I guess it’s about realizing where you really stand in the story you’ve come to weave.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish you good luck and I pray that you be well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;PS: Thank you for your kind words. I still have to come to terms with me being “amazing” as you say I am. I appreciate it, for real.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-100256020203062140?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/100256020203062140/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/five-for-fighting.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/100256020203062140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/100256020203062140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/five-for-fighting.html' title='Five for Fighting'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5109847554400017239</id><published>2010-07-06T17:06:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-06T17:38:56.554+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Of Listening and Reading</title><content type='html'>Crying in the office is now my official pastime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you all know by now, I'm probably one of the biggest cyberloafers out there. And so I was poring over YouTube, listening to songs, watching videos: Unsent by Alanis Morissette, then Not As We still by Alanis, followed by Do What You Have to Do by Sarah McLachlan. You get the drift, it's emo redux version God knows what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I clicked on &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nSz16ngdsG0"&gt;I Will Remember You&lt;/a&gt; by Sarah McLachlan. Beautiful song, right? But what got me was one of the comments:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Alexias030692 (6 days ago)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I'm a 12yr old boy﻿ and my big sis who is 20yrs old left early this morning to the airport to fight the war in Iraq ='( I couldn't sleep last night 'cause I was so devistated so I went into her room and woke her up. I couldn't take it anymore and started crying in her arms. She held me and rocked me gently and softly sung me this song until I finally fell asleep. So now whenever I hear this song, I think of her and see her face =) I know she'll be back home soon. I love you, 'big sissy'!! &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cue. Tears. Now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, I'm such a cry baby. But isn't it amazing how music anchors emotions and how each of us could feel what someone we don't even know feels? Regardless of where you live, who you are or what you do, there is an unseen thread that binds us. There's a divine weaver that allows us to tap into that collective experience, that collective pool of emotions that to my mind reminds us of how it's really like to be human, hardships and all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pretty much how I feel when I bloghop from one post to another. It's the mirrored self, the mirrored experience. And it's about finding that thread of solidarity that someone out there feels much the same way you do... and then suddenly, things are not as bad as they seem :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5109847554400017239?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5109847554400017239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/of-listening-and-reading.html#comment-form' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5109847554400017239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5109847554400017239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/of-listening-and-reading.html' title='Of Listening and Reading'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-1574503537555099889</id><published>2010-07-04T00:01:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-07-04T00:01:00.323+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Poet</title><content type='html'>Of chapters unwritten&lt;br /&gt;Of memories to be made&lt;br /&gt;Of standing by&lt;br /&gt;As the heart poured out&lt;br /&gt;Its fears and its joys&lt;br /&gt;Its pains and its hopes&lt;br /&gt;And the unending understanding&lt;br /&gt;Of goodness beyond comprehension&lt;br /&gt;That only someone as true&lt;br /&gt;Only someone as genuine&lt;br /&gt;Could possibly give&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The lyricist that you are&lt;br /&gt;Your silent presence was perhaps by far&lt;br /&gt;The most lucid interval I could possibly hope for&lt;br /&gt;For in it was comforting assurance&lt;br /&gt;Of a steady hand to prop up an injured soul&lt;br /&gt;Selfless arms to embrace a fragile heart&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My secret keeper&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am honored by your friendship&lt;br /&gt;I am humbled by your kindness&lt;br /&gt;And in this chaos of a life&lt;br /&gt;You are my inspiration&lt;br /&gt;That even if I bleed&lt;br /&gt;I could still give&lt;br /&gt;That despite the hurt&lt;br /&gt;I could still heal&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This spartan offer pales in comparison to your genius&lt;br /&gt;A genius made manifest not only by your words&lt;br /&gt;But more so, by the goodness of your heart&lt;br /&gt;Happy birthday to the sweetest &lt;a href="http://iamtheclosetgeek.blogspot.com"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;Geek&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-1574503537555099889?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1574503537555099889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/poet.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1574503537555099889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1574503537555099889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/07/poet.html' title='The Poet'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6952805255673251008</id><published>2010-06-25T10:00:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-25T10:45:56.758+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Relativity</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TCQN3Ye6ZII/AAAAAAAAAGo/jS30b1_Fz10/s1600/Image3005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TCQN3Ye6ZII/AAAAAAAAAGo/jS30b1_Fz10/s200/Image3005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5486525491160179842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Every morning I see an old lady squatting near our rented place, slicing vegetables and packing them up. I figured she must've been an ambulant vendor selling her goods around the neighborhood, going door to door offering her ready-to-cook meals. Later, I found out from Nanay that the old lady was actually from Pasig and that she'd bring her wares of fish, meat and vegetables from that end of the metro to our side here in Mandaluyong. The pre-sliced vegetables were actually partnered with a bag of noodles. It was a lomi or pansit set that one could cook without the hassle of peeling and dicing the ingredients.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Manang was enterprising, I thought. But beyond being impressed, quite oddly, I felt a tinge of sadness and shame. Here's an old lady trying to make ends meet, already up and about in the wee hours of the morning while I was still sulking in my bed doing my emo overload. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that my pain goes away by seeing someone suffering a heavier cross. Far from it, I don't entirely believe in looking at others' plight to make you feel better. I guess, at best, moments like this push you to count the blessings you've been enjoying so far. And by looking at what you have - devoid of any semblance of comparison or relative satisfaction - you get to hang on a little bit longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pain remains but then you find reasons to hang on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6952805255673251008?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6952805255673251008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/relativity.html#comment-form' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6952805255673251008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6952805255673251008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/relativity.html' title='Relativity'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TCQN3Ye6ZII/AAAAAAAAAGo/jS30b1_Fz10/s72-c/Image3005.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-260790918746956964</id><published>2010-06-23T07:57:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-23T08:11:56.363+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pangarap</title><content type='html'>Salamat sa pagtupad ng isang pangarap. Saglit man, ramdam ko na tunay. Sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, naramdaman kong may nagmahal sa akin nang lubusan at totoo. Sa kauna-unahang pagkakataon, nagmahal ako nang lubusan at totoo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maraming bagay ang hindi ko makakalimutan. Mga sandaling nakatatak na sa pagkatao ko. Mga sandaling kailanman ay hindi mabubura ng panahon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sa bawat yakap at halik na pinagsaluhan natin, sana'y maalala mo na may isang taong nakabantay sa iyo, naghihintay, nangungulila, nalulumbay.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gusto kitang ipaglaban ngunit kahit ang pagkakataon ay tutol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Iwaksi ko man nang pilit, patuloy pa ring ginigising ng puso ko ang pag-aasam na sana balang araw, magkasama pa rin tayo. Sa kailaliman ng gabi, kaagapay ng pagtulog na sa ngayo'y ako'y nilisan, ikaw ang iniisip ko, ikaw ang nasa puso ko.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kailangan kong maging matatag, gayon din ikaw. Kahit pa hindi ko alam kung papaano, pipilitin kong subukan. Naliligaw man ang puso ko, ang isip ko, ang pagkatao ko, pipilitin kong subukan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mahal na mahal kita. Sobra sobra... higit pa sa alam mo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-260790918746956964?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/260790918746956964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/pangarap.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/260790918746956964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/260790918746956964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/pangarap.html' title='Pangarap'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2041480149773606479</id><published>2010-06-22T07:14:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T07:54:44.699+08:00</updated><title type='text'>22 May 2010</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TB_1tXlCVwI/AAAAAAAAAGY/riQU731EaeQ/s1600/Image3001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TB_1tXlCVwI/AAAAAAAAAGY/riQU731EaeQ/s200/Image3001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485373030932829954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I bought a couple of herbs probably a week or two ago and I noticed that my water mints quickly turned yellow and wilted. One by one the leaves fell. With even the slightest tap, they flew down from the stalks to kiss the ground.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then, this morning I noticed, they were actually getting taller. And the nodes from which the wilted leaves fell sprouted baby roots that now try to anchor itself to the soil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess some dying really needs to take place for some growth. Some wilting needs to take place in order to grow some roots and be taller.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that pinch in my heart almost took over this morning. Singing God Blessed the Broken Road while walking uphill toward the office, my eyes again welled up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Courage and faith, Darc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You gotta have courage to push on in spite of the hurt. &lt;br /&gt;You gotta have faith that this broken road you again found yourself in will someday lead straight to your Northern Star.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am exactly where I'm supposed to be. God has placed me here for a reason. I've lifted my pain to Him and His will shall restore my heart. I claim His healing. And I know that someday, in His time, I shall be at peace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in fourth grade, our class adviser gave out cards to remember her by. I know that God works through people and that that card I received was meant for me. I've had the blessed opportunity to meet some of you beyond the confines of this space, and this prayer will probably explain to you why I am who I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been saying this prayer since I was a little kid and everytime I find myself in states such as this, I hold on to the promise that I must be a good person... or at least try to be like Him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Teach me, my Lord, to be sweet and gentle in all the events of life: in disappointments, in the thoughtfulness of others, in the insincerity of those I trusted, in the unfaithfulness of those on whom I relied. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me put myself aside, to think of the happiness of others, to hide my little pains and heartaches, so that I may be the only one to suffer them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Teach me to profit by the suffering that comes across my path. Let me so use it that it may mellow me, not harden nor embitter me; that it may make me patient, not irritable, that it may make me broad in my forgiveness, not narrow, haughty and overbearing. May no one be less good for having come within my influence. No one less pure, less noble for having been a fellow-traveller in our journey toward eternal life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I go my rounds from one distraction to another, let me whisper, from time to time, a word of love to You. May my life be lived in the supernatural, full of power for good, and strong in its purpose of sanctity. Amen.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TB_7E8Y6tLI/AAAAAAAAAGg/LMTAs_LtlbM/s1600/coin.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TB_7E8Y6tLI/AAAAAAAAAGg/LMTAs_LtlbM/s200/coin.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485378933509239986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2041480149773606479?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2041480149773606479/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/22-may-2010.html#comment-form' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2041480149773606479'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2041480149773606479'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/22-may-2010.html' title='22 May 2010'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TB_1tXlCVwI/AAAAAAAAAGY/riQU731EaeQ/s72-c/Image3001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5209984911108063017</id><published>2010-06-21T16:46:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T17:03:28.055+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Science of Pascal</title><content type='html'>The heart has its reasons which reason knows not of...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I need to.&lt;br /&gt;I have to.&lt;br /&gt;For you and your future...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of which I will never be a part of.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5209984911108063017?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5209984911108063017/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/because.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5209984911108063017'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5209984911108063017'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/because.html' title='The Science of Pascal'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3414691531075625256</id><published>2010-06-21T09:52:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T10:35:51.874+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Saving Private Darc</title><content type='html'>Alright, I admit. I'm a little OC. Take note: just a little tiny wee bit OC. I guess that's why I survived working for the military. I love the order, the clear line of command, the authority and expectations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, while the OC in me finds comfort in the structured environment, to say that my work life then was monotonous isn't exactly true. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tried traversing EDSA from Santolan to the Intercon in 15 minutes during rush hour?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did... and it wasn't exactly fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The boss had a speaking engagement and I was finalizing his presentation when all of a sudden, my supervisor told me that I'd be riding with the boss in his van. Cool, I thought! But that was until they opened the van's door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Security escorts, some of them in full battle gear with armalites and what have you inside. And I was supposed to sandwich myself between them?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good God! I told myself, what if we got ambushed? I didn't want to be headline news for a sniper job gone wrong!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that whole security shuffle didn't end there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ever had company outings? Of course you probably had. But then, ever had company outings with a small group of rangers with M16s and the works patrolling the beach just in case a band of rebels decide to drop by?! Sounds like a fun party right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the most intense ride I probably had was when we did some consultations in Quezon. Yep, NPA country here I come! Beautifully packed in a van of armalites... again, just in case the heaven's decided that I'd look awesome in an ambush scene.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you happen to see soldiers around, you can determine their rank by looking at their uniform...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2 triangles = Second Lieutenant&lt;br /&gt;3 triangles = Captain&lt;br /&gt;1 sun = Major&lt;br /&gt;2 suns = Lieutenant Colonel&lt;br /&gt;3 suns = Colonel&lt;br /&gt;1 star = Brigadier General&lt;br /&gt;2 stars = Major General&lt;br /&gt;3 stars = Lieutenant General&lt;br /&gt;4 stars = General&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From what I know, the 4-star General rank is reserved for the Chief of Staff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, if you find yourself going around the country, here's the area commands:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOLCOM (Norther Luzon)&lt;br /&gt;SOLCOM (Souther Luzon)&lt;br /&gt;NCRCOM (NCR)&lt;br /&gt;WESCOM (Palawan)&lt;br /&gt;CENTCOM (Visayas)&lt;br /&gt;EASTMINCOM (Eastern Mindanao)&lt;br /&gt;WESMINCOM (Western Mindanao)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Previously EASTMINCOM and WESMINCOM were joined together as the SOUTHCOM. But then for "strategic" reasons, they divided it up since the security situation in Mindanao wasn't uniform across the region. It's for greater focus, I guess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for what are these useless trivia?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In case you get stuck at a checkpoint, you might find it useful to do some impromptu skit and act as if you knew someone from the military. I think approaching security forces with a tad bit of familiarity creates some kind of rapport especially during heightened alerts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or if not, do as I do. When I board cabs and feel as if manong driver's unnecessarily snaking around the metro or if he's giving me an attitude, I'd pick up my phone and pretend to have received a call from some military officer and talk about military office stuff, drop a name or two and act is if I should've been where I was supposed to be hours ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kinda works for me. From a scowl upon boarding to a "thank you sir" upon reaching your drop off point, the pseudo-phone conversation often drives home the point.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the point is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm schizo. Sue me!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:p&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3414691531075625256?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3414691531075625256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/saving-private-darc.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3414691531075625256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3414691531075625256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/saving-private-darc.html' title='Saving Private Darc'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3226050114432958774</id><published>2010-06-17T17:32:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-17T18:15:57.595+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Cracking Dawn</title><content type='html'>The sky was struggling to find light when I arrived at his dorm. In my right hand was a java frap as he told me to bring, in my heart a weary pounding of anticipation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We talked... or better yet, I talked. No. I pleaded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I cried, unmindful of the slowly awakening morning, unmindful of the watchful eyes that saw mine well up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We moved to the oval as joggers and families bustled into the place. Again, I teared up while all he did was... stare.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And just as the heaven's planned, I was a joke to him and an amusement to all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stood up, crumpled my jacket and walked away... hitting every lamp post as I took in the stares of a morning I shall remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes friend, I did cry in public... more than you know, more than I try to forget.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3226050114432958774?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3226050114432958774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/cracking-dawn.html#comment-form' title='19 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3226050114432958774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3226050114432958774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/cracking-dawn.html' title='Cracking Dawn'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>19</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4164583807759415832</id><published>2010-06-10T16:37:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-10T18:39:29.038+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Mistaken Identity</title><content type='html'>I've been mistaken for a medrep twice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once, while waiting outside my doctor's clinic, an elderly woman asked me, "Mahirap ba ang buhay ng medrep?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, how should I know?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I kept that to myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another time, the clinic staff asked me if I was to present something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Present what?! Present my symptoms?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With a shy smile, the other staff corrected her, "Patient iyan huy!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's with me looking like a medrep? Is this my true calling?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then just this morning, as I boarded a cab going to UP, manong driver asked me if I was to drop off at the College of Law.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Atty. Darc?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmmm....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there goes a non-sense post. Hahahaha :P&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4164583807759415832?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4164583807759415832/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/mistaken-identity.html#comment-form' title='17 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4164583807759415832'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4164583807759415832'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/mistaken-identity.html' title='Mistaken Identity'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>17</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7035764912239765048</id><published>2010-06-02T09:00:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-06-02T09:27:07.597+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Let Me Generalize</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I wish I was straight... because girls like me more than boys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seek your indulgence. Let me generalize.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boys like the tough bad boys. They like them rough and hard. Girls, meanwhile, like the nerdy soft-spoken kid. They like the goody-two-shoes nice guy. And don't even get me started with ladies 30 years and older. Seems that my market really is moms and their ilk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in college, one of my classmates showed her Chinese mom my picture and when she told her mom that I was kinda treading the he/she divide, all her mom could say was, "Sayang naman." And then there's this one time when we had our org's Christmas party in one of our member's house somewhere along EDSA, she went to the kitchen to check on some of the food and when she came back she had a grin on her face. With a slight chuckle, she reported to everyone that her mom told her that her friends from school were kinda gwapo, especially the one with glasses. "Um, ok." That was all I was able to say. And then just recently, when I had a sleepover with college blockmates, our host's older sister who already had a family of her own, apparently told him a familiar line: "Gwapo pala mga kaklase mo eh," to which my girl classmate quickly replied, "Ate, iyong isa po dun hindi papayag na gwapo siya; maganda po!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I need to re-assess my options and how I position myself. The product is more "sellable" to the she-side of the market. A re-branding might be in order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a different note, I'm kinda tired of being a push-over. I keep on telling myself that petty things affect petty minds but then people don't seem to get that idea. They often pay attention to those who make a whole lot of noise. But then empty drums bang the loudest. So I guess another re-branding is in order. Machiavelli says it's better to be feared than to be loved. Times like this, I feel that for me to get what I want, for me to have things my way, I need to act a little tougher. I'm kinda tired of thinking that, hey maybe she's got things bothering her today that's why she's abrasive, I'll take the high road and take on the flak. But then nice guys finish last. I'm tired of finishing last.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7035764912239765048?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7035764912239765048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/let-me-generalize.html#comment-form' title='28 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7035764912239765048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7035764912239765048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/06/let-me-generalize.html' title='Let Me Generalize'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>28</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6058642404493735431</id><published>2010-05-31T10:07:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-05-31T11:52:53.264+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sit In</title><content type='html'>3 days without sleep and my body wasn't about to give up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I trooped to his Monday morning class upon his request. He wanted to "assess" how he really felt about me and about his student. I knew I had a ticket to absent myself from work. Sunday was graduation and I thought the bosses would understand my supposed drunken state, perhaps from the revelry... only it never was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sat at the back, anxious, waiting for the firestorm to come... and come it did. His nonchalance was cutting, his remarks biting. It's as if I threw myself into the proverbial lion's pit, the chewed up crumbs of my ego to be spat out in front of all his students to see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"If the outermost electron gets excited, it almost always jumps to the nearest atom. Remember class, you don't always see red. You don't always see red!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Given that his personal life was an open book to his students, the chuckles from his class with every joke that alluded to my unwelcome presence surfaced a lump in my throat. I was choking. And a good hour of keeping a brave front was only too much to handle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I raised my hand. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Sir, ano ba kasing excitement ang hinahanap niyang electrons na iyan?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The class turned their heads to the back and stared at me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few more attempts at a territory he has already mastered, with jabs at entropy and how people should always try to piece things together, I stopped, taking in the silence that now conquered the air.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"See you next meeting class."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crowd dispersed... and that was it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back at the mess I was in then, I can't help but ask why I always find myself as one of the options, just that: an option. I know I can never impose what I want on another but then, I can't help but think, no, I can't help but wish that somehow, for once, I become the choice. No comparisons, no weighing around, no assessing how I measure up against another. Just me, only me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I checked an email account I haven't touched for so long. A couple hundreds of unread messages to sift through, browse, and delete. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometime February of this year, a message from him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"I know you owe me no favors but can I see you... before things change... please?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny how casual I felt reading that plea. Off the cuff, I replied a good luck and a wish that things are good with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's almost a year," he answered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt no desire to reply back. Although I wanted to correct him. It's been a year since things really ended but two years since that fateful summer. A summer that saw me lose myself, a summer that scarred me and broke me, a summer that took my soul to places I never knew I'd reach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I'm still broken, an irreparable chink in how I see my own worth, the scar of being just one of the options that still haunts me until today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then it's been two years. And time's balm has been a crutch that propped me up to push on. A sigh offset by an affirmation, that there's nowhere I'd rather be than in this, my broken road.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6058642404493735431?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6058642404493735431/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/05/sit-in.html#comment-form' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6058642404493735431'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6058642404493735431'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/05/sit-in.html' title='Sit In'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-7579036867336726196</id><published>2010-05-06T10:42:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-05-06T11:36:50.797+08:00</updated><title type='text'>G'nyt</title><content type='html'>It was already around midnight. I was onboard a cab on my way home after having dinner with friends. At the intersection of Makati Ave. and Buendia, we stopped beside another cab, in it was, I suppose, a couple: two guys, both good looking. One of them opened the cab's right-side door, called out a streetkid and handed over a brown bag. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sweet, I thought, how two nice guys seemed to have found each other. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back to where I was, the space beside me remained empty... and all I was able to do was to text you a rather simple message, "G'nyt."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-7579036867336726196?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/7579036867336726196/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/05/gnyt.html#comment-form' title='32 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7579036867336726196'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/7579036867336726196'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/05/gnyt.html' title='G&apos;nyt'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>32</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8057367817081904327</id><published>2010-04-26T10:56:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-26T17:05:09.658+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Popcorn Fields</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/S9VW5NxlLTI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/jPkj7E1HIPU/s1600/clouds.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 158px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/S9VW5NxlLTI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/jPkj7E1HIPU/s200/clouds.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464369263834115378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Can thoughts be called random if they spring to consciousness because of recent events? Popcorn fields ask why.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They ask why I draw circles on someone else's hands when our fingers intertwine.&lt;br /&gt;They ask why I always end up being second best.&lt;br /&gt;They ask why I keep wanting something I could could never have.&lt;br /&gt;They ask why I keep hoping.&lt;br /&gt;They ask why I fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend, thank you for shedding a tear for me. The accomplice that you are, I find comfort in your sympathy and understanding. That you know how it feels to keep on wishing for something that can never be. That indeed, the pool we dived into may be but an ephemeral fantasy... swimming in it, only to rise to reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the serendipity of that song playing on that exact morning still teases me, as if to re-affirm that everything does happen for a reason and that I am where I should be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Waiting for your call&lt;br /&gt;I'm sick&lt;br /&gt;Call, I'm angry &lt;br /&gt;Call, I'm desperate for your voice &lt;br /&gt;I'm listening to the song we used to sing &lt;br /&gt;In the car, do you remember &lt;br /&gt;Butterfly, Early Summer &lt;br /&gt;It's playing on repeat&lt;br /&gt;Just like when we would meet &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was born to tell you I love you &lt;br /&gt;And I am torn to do what I have to... to make you mine &lt;br /&gt;Stay with me tonight &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stripped and polished&lt;br /&gt;I am new&lt;br /&gt;I am fresh &lt;br /&gt;I am feeling so ambitious&lt;br /&gt;You and me&lt;br /&gt;Flesh to flesh &lt;br /&gt;Because every breath that you will take &lt;br /&gt;While you are sitting next to me &lt;br /&gt;Will bring life into my deepest hopes&lt;br /&gt;What's your fantasy? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was born to tell you I love you &lt;br /&gt;And I am torn to do what I have to... to make you mine &lt;br /&gt;Stay with me tonight &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm tired of being all alone&lt;br /&gt;And this solitary moment makes me want to come back home &lt;br /&gt;(I know everything you wanted isn't anything you have) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was born to tell you I love you &lt;br /&gt;And I am torn to do what I have to... to make you mine &lt;br /&gt;Stay with me tonight &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was born to tell you I love you &lt;br /&gt;And I am torn to do what I have to... to make you mine &lt;br /&gt;Stay with me tonight &lt;br /&gt;(I know everything you wanted isn't anything you have) &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;- Your Call, Second Hand Serenade&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Image from: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;http://www.valetparkingheathrow.co.uk/images/heathrow-parking-airplane.jpg&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8057367817081904327?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8057367817081904327/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/popcorn-fields.html#comment-form' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8057367817081904327'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8057367817081904327'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/popcorn-fields.html' title='Popcorn Fields'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/S9VW5NxlLTI/AAAAAAAAAGQ/jPkj7E1HIPU/s72-c/clouds.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3181992724967170449</id><published>2010-04-21T07:43:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T07:49:27.162+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Heartbreak 101: Lesson #4</title><content type='html'>I am mustering the audacity to write down my rule book - lessons on heartbreak that must be considered before taking second, third, fourth, fifth or nth chances. Why? For catharsis and for the benefit of those in la la la land who are shackled by hopes - hopes that things will get better that's why you hold on and you continue to take chances. I recognize the bitterness so there's no need to point that one out. Chances are these rules are applicable only to those who choose to believe them. After all, to romanticize is one of humanity's greatest follies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson #1: The Glass Jar Principle &lt;br /&gt;Lesson #2: The Law of Worth and Risks &lt;br /&gt;Lesson #3: The Matter Theory &lt;br /&gt;Lesson #4: The Fallacy of Advice &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things are easier said than done and often, people find it difficult to practice what they preach. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Case in point? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me, myself, and I. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottomline? People can appear - nay - try to be strong... but if it hurts, it hurts. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next lesson: On hiatus...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;- My Facebook Note, 16 June 2009&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3181992724967170449?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3181992724967170449/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-4.html#comment-form' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3181992724967170449'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3181992724967170449'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-4.html' title='Heartbreak 101: Lesson #4'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6461818984273410909</id><published>2010-04-20T09:12:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T09:15:57.916+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Heartbreak 101: Lesson #3</title><content type='html'>I am mustering the audacity to write down my rule book - lessons on heartbreak that must be considered before taking second, third, fourth, fifth or nth chances. Why? For catharsis and for the benefit of those in la la la land who are shackled by hopes - hopes that things will get better that's why you hold on and you continue to take chances. I recognize the bitterness so there's no need to point that one out. Chances are these rules are applicable only to those who choose to believe them. After all, to romanticize is one of humanity's greatest follies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson #1: The Glass Jar Principle &lt;br /&gt;Lesson #2: The Law of Worth and Risks &lt;br /&gt;Lesson #3: The Matter Theory &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Matter Theory is a rather simple proposition: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"If it occupies space in your mind and heart, then it matters."&lt;/em&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a relationship, how often have you found yourself brushing aside the supposedly "petty" things that bother you? You have that nagging feeling that something's wrong but you ignore it simply because you can't put a finger on it. You know something's wrong and things aren't working out but you don't know exactly why. And this vagueness pushes you to think that perhaps it's not really a problem. After all, what you can't define can't possibly be a major problem, right? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guess again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A concern need not take a definite shape before it wreaks havoc in your relationship. In fact, these vague clouds are more potent, far more dangerous. Like an acid poured onto your mind and heart, it accumulates and takes the form that you wish. The anxieties corrode your relationship to the point that vulnerabilities surface and these weak spots eventually give in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Left unchecked, these potholes of what once were vague questions, could spell the end of your relationship. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottomline? Do not put out fires, seek out the sparks that light them. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next lesson: The Fallacy of Advice &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;- My Facebook Note, 11 June 2009&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6461818984273410909?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6461818984273410909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-3.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6461818984273410909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6461818984273410909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-3.html' title='Heartbreak 101: Lesson #3'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-1652402425053881296</id><published>2010-04-19T08:45:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-19T09:01:21.022+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Heartbreak 101: Lesson #2</title><content type='html'>I am mustering the audacity to write down my rule book - lessons on heartbreak that must be considered before taking second, third, fourth, fifth or nth chances. Why? For catharsis and for the benefit of those in la la la land who are shackled by hopes - hopes that things will get better that's why you hold on and you continue to take chances. I recognize the bitterness so there's no need to point that one out. Chances are these rules are applicable only to those who choose to believe them. After all, to romanticize is one of humanity's greatest follies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Lesson #1: The Glass Jar Principle &lt;br /&gt;Lesson #2: The Law of Worth and Risks &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If a third party presents itself, which would you rather choose: that both you and your partner sort out the mess together or have him conceal everything to you until such time that he has cleared his mind and made a final decision? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The romantic answer is to sort out things together. After all, it was the two of you who entered the relationship; ergo, the responsibility of fixing things - even if it's a third party you're partner is going gaga over - falls on both your shoulders. Unfortunately, only the strong is able to go through this romantic choice unscathed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your partner goes out on an adventure to explore and makes an excuse that such will be for the better - a stronger relationship that will withstand future temptations, I suggest you re-assess. If he can't resist the current temptation, what assurance do you have that he will be able to resist those that are yet to come? Besides, him going on a supposed journey to enlightenment equates to him saying to your face: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"I'm going on a field trip. This might ruin our relationship but I'm taking it anyway. It's worth the risk. You are worth risking." &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottomline? If he loves you, he'd know that you're not worth risking. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next lesson: The Matter Theory&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;- My Facebook Note, 10 June 2009&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-1652402425053881296?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1652402425053881296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-2.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1652402425053881296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1652402425053881296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-2.html' title='Heartbreak 101: Lesson #2'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2610373326727649949</id><published>2010-04-16T14:40:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-16T15:06:10.703+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Heartbreak 101: Lesson #1</title><content type='html'>I am mustering the audacity to write down my rule book - lessons on heartbreak that must be considered before taking second, third, fourth, fifth or nth chances. Why? For catharsis and for the benefit of those in la la la land who are shackled by hopes - hopes that things will get better that's why you hold on and you continue to take chances. I recognize the bitterness so there's no need to point that one out. Chances are these rules are applicable only to those who choose to believe them. After all, to romanticize is one of humanity's greatest follies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so we proceed with &lt;strong&gt;Lesson #1: The Glass Jar Principle&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Glass Jar Principle is the age-old dictum on fixing broken relationships: even if you piece things back together, the fault lines that glue them will forever haunt you. They are testaments to the infidelity, to the hurt, to the betrayal. The Glass Jar Principle is otherwise known as the Spectre of the Past. Past critical junctures are ghosts that will knock at your door everytime an argument or misunderstanding arises. Fact is, once the glass jar is shattered, your sense of security is also likely shattered. Hence, you contiue to find assurance that if not assuaged, will be toxic to your "renewed" relationship. The pain and insecurity will continually pound at you to the point that you'd rather be alone than stay in the relationship: after a period of time, the hurt of being alone will equalize the hurt of being together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bottom line? Take time to heal before taking second chances, or better yet, if you can't stand the insecurity, then don't take second chances at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next lesson: The Law of Worth and Risks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;- My Facebook Note, 10 June 2009&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2610373326727649949?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2610373326727649949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-1.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2610373326727649949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2610373326727649949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/heartbreak-101-lesson-1.html' title='Heartbreak 101: Lesson #1'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-4871240497239480255</id><published>2010-04-11T16:08:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-11T16:43:00.072+08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Place</title><content type='html'>I'm in good terms with my other ex. Just recently, he started texting me more often than usual, trying to catch up on how I've been doing lately. He's on training to be a medrep and bragged that he topped his class. Honestly, I wasn't that surprised, he's quite a package really: looks, smarts and a good dose of charm. I asked him where he'd be assigned. He said the Metro although he really wanted to get a provincial post. He told me he wanted to try his hand on an independent life. I dittoed him on that, told him that I was itching to move out of my parents' watchful eyes. And then he replied:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Kapag stable na ako, ligawan kita ulit. Live-in tayo."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kids and their jokes. Dreamy but then again, not quite meant to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On other news, Adele's been singing how I feel these days...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I've made up my mind, don't need to think it over&lt;br /&gt;If I'm wrong I am right, don't need to look no further&lt;br /&gt;This ain't lust, I know this is love&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But if I tell the world, I'll never say enough&lt;br /&gt;'Cause it was not said to you&lt;br /&gt;And that's exactly what I need to do if I'd end up with you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Even if it leads nowhere?&lt;br /&gt;Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place&lt;br /&gt;Should I leave it there?&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Even if it leads nowhere?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I build myself up and fly around in circles&lt;br /&gt;Wait then as my heart drops and my back begins to tingle&lt;br /&gt;Finally could this be it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Even if it leads nowhere?&lt;br /&gt;Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place&lt;br /&gt;Should I leave it there?&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Even if it leads nowhere?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Even if it leads nowhere?&lt;br /&gt;Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place&lt;br /&gt;Should I leave it there?&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep on chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Should I just keep on chasing pavements?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Even if it leads nowhere?&lt;br /&gt;Or would it be a waste even if I knew my place&lt;br /&gt;Should I leave it there?&lt;br /&gt;Should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements&lt;br /&gt;Even if it leads nowhere?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;- Chasing Pavements, Adele&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-4871240497239480255?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/4871240497239480255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-place.html#comment-form' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4871240497239480255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/4871240497239480255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/my-place.html' title='My Place'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-1845929650964965485</id><published>2010-04-08T18:12:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T18:57:33.549+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Promise</title><content type='html'>Sunset at Chapel on the Hill. &lt;br /&gt;A few friends and family.&lt;br /&gt;A string quartet playing "Gaano Ko Ikaw Kamahal."&lt;br /&gt;A soprano singing, "Ikaw lamang ang aking iibigin... magpakailanman."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple rites.&lt;br /&gt;Simple words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I do."&lt;br /&gt;"I love you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe in magic.&lt;br /&gt;I believe it will happen in my lifetime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sand on our feet.&lt;br /&gt;Faint twinkles.&lt;br /&gt;Peach sky.&lt;br /&gt;The sea in rhythmic crash.&lt;br /&gt;And a hand to hold.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I found my dream guy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Glasses framing his chinky eyes.&lt;br /&gt;Soft-spoken.&lt;br /&gt;Gentle mannered.&lt;br /&gt;He speaks of the goodness in people.&lt;br /&gt;And in him I see hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Intellectual but with a heart.&lt;br /&gt;A ready smile.&lt;br /&gt;Unassuming.&lt;br /&gt;Humble. Simple.&lt;br /&gt;And bar none, sincere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sir, I want him to be much like you.&lt;br /&gt;Because I know, I'd be safe.&lt;br /&gt;I'd be at peace.&lt;br /&gt;I'd be true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-1845929650964965485?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1845929650964965485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/promise.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1845929650964965485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1845929650964965485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/promise.html' title='Promise'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3525056569107701428</id><published>2010-04-07T20:50:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T21:17:12.627+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Reading Cards</title><content type='html'>When you’re heartbroken, you tend to do lots of things. I for one just go all out and join whatever misadventure friends and even acquaintances plan. I spread myself and take up whatever’s on my plate. It’s kinda fun really. I get to step out of my comfort zone and veer away from my boxed up boring self. It helps that you’ve got different sets of friends too. More friends mean more things to do. And the novelty of places, people, and events – to a large part – balm the pangs that nibble on one’s heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Law school friends helped me a lot during those spaced-out moments. They’ve been very accommodating to the point that I got to crash their org meetings and social events. I was the unofficial “bisita” of Malcolm Hall. I was the odd one out who felt comfortable acting lawyerly around would-be lawyers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One afternoon, a friend introduced me to a new law school acquaintance who knew how to read tarot cards. Of course, being the “makulit” guy that I was, I insisted that she practice on me. I picked out three cards from her stack, one of which pierced through what I was going through.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the card for my past: betrayal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She asked if someone recently betrayed me. I smiled. My friend answered with conviction… “Yes, he had been.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;“Ang tulay, paulit-ulit na dadaanan.”&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet another nugget that tugged my heart during the recent retreat. Taking the sunny side of things, I’d say yes, people will wear you out, erode you, test how long you could hold up and support them. But then, in times like these, I just have to say, the bridge also gets tired… tired of the same things happening to him over and over again. And when an unexpected load rattles him to the point of breaking, just when he thought he was again ready to trust, yet another brick is added to his steadily building walls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend and I recently talked about my tendency to give up easily. After the first heartbreak, I’ve been in only one relationship. And that lasted for barely a month. I decided not to work things out, take one step closer to shutting out people for good. After all, I thought, nothing will ever work out anyway. Been there, done that… and still, I ended up in heartbreak. What’s the point of laying your cards on the table when the same heartbreak will bite your ass in the end? Vulnerability is overrated… maybe, relationships too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You, you, and you will remain nameless. Some may know the untold stories but now, I decide to bury the hatchet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yes Anonymous, at this juncture of my journey, I’m giving in to the cynics who scoffed and rolled their eyes at this stupid, silly thing I’ve been throwing myself into. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I reaffirm. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this space… romance is doomed to fail before it even starts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3525056569107701428?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3525056569107701428/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/reading-cards.html#comment-form' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3525056569107701428'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3525056569107701428'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/reading-cards.html' title='Reading Cards'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-8042482999288112709</id><published>2010-04-07T12:34:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T13:36:23.238+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Slash My Wrist</title><content type='html'>I remember how dazed I was the first few weeks after I finally called it quits with the first ex. Waking up with nothing to look forward to. Floating from sleep to work, unmindful of whether I might get killed by the speeding cars as I walk to the office. Come to think of it, at that time, somehow, I knew I wished for it. For me to get hit by some random car. For me to suffer some freak accident. For things to just end. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that time, it was ok for everything to stop... just. like. that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the second day of the retreat and we were told to remain silent throughout the activities. No good mornings, no thank yous. Just silence. Our only respite was the customary sharegroup right after each lecture and testimonial. Surprisingly, I found myself intently listening to my newfound friends, comrades who by God's hands found themselves asking my very questions at that particular juncture in their lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What was she thinking right before she jumped?" Paula shared. She narrated how one of her friends took her own life. How a security guard manning their building saw her idling time on the rooftop. How the moment after, she took that jump and willed everything to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Was she sad? Was she hurting? Were her thoughts a blank? Or maybe she was enjoying the view?" Twisted, but suddenly I recognized that calm of taking in the view. Looking into the sunset and then bidding the world goodbye. She could have been stronger, I thought. What if she held on a little longer? What if?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I remembered the testimonial earlier that morning: "The pleasure of taking my own life was far greater than the pain of living the next moment."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that very instance, I took out my pen and scribbled a thank you. Thank you Lord for not letting me sink that low. For holding on to me a little longer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Otherwise, I won't be where I'm at today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-8042482999288112709?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/8042482999288112709/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/slash-my-wrist.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8042482999288112709'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/8042482999288112709'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/slash-my-wrist.html' title='Slash My Wrist'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2055995916622830752</id><published>2010-04-05T09:04:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-04-05T09:17:22.771+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Because...</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;... ‘twas just a simple admiration from the start,&lt;br /&gt;How words were weaved like a work of art,&lt;br /&gt;A painting of a part, a faceless canvass,&lt;br /&gt;Like a sculpted form of gold and brass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then you get curious, like a smitten cat,&lt;br /&gt;You’d want to meet, and have a little chat&lt;br /&gt;Thin or fat, over coffee or tea,&lt;br /&gt;You’d get to realise, there’s more to see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Though the cybercelebrity, &lt;br /&gt;is just like you and me,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But weirdly, a soft smile, a touch of skin,&lt;br /&gt;Can make you go gaga, and drown on gin,&lt;br /&gt;“Fuck it!” you mutter, “I’ll love you nonetheless”&lt;br /&gt;“Pero ampotah,” fate is such a mess.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the end, is such a humorous bend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, you can only be friends&lt;br /&gt;In the end, your heart you’ll have to mend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ampotah diba? :P&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- &lt;a href="http://toiletots.blogspot.com/"&gt;Toilet Thoughts&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;... voyeurism is ingrained in my psyche. The capacity to generate images of longing and desire in the comfort, safety, and anonymity of this digitized delusion. I fell in love, for there is little to do but fall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the same fervor as real life ardor, replete with every emotionality, obsession and infatuation it entails, but devoid of the risks of vulnerability, rejection and confrontation. I fell in love because cyber-consciousness affords me to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because here, in this world of online exploitation we inhabit, he cannot stop me. Deter me. Prevent me. From fully actualizing the longings I possess. Consuming and clandestine. This is why.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;- &lt;a href="http://red-isthenewblack.blogspot.com/"&gt;Red the Mod&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And since everyone wants the moleskin, I decided to go Solomonic and tear it in the middle for Toilet Thoughts and Red the Mod to share. But then giving up the other half of the volant - which I initially wanted to keep - seemed a better option.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that left the SWI GC disowned and to date, still unowned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cheers to Travailer, Moi, Mark, Dabo, Iurico, Ewik, Galen, and Anonymous! :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2055995916622830752?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2055995916622830752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/because.html#comment-form' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2055995916622830752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2055995916622830752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/04/because.html' title='Because...'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5438280908218375660</id><published>2010-03-30T10:38:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T12:21:59.207+08:00</updated><title type='text'>XP 101</title><content type='html'>Let's do a list shall we?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I fell in love with a cybercelebrity because...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best answer wins:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slimmers World GC (P1,500 worth of Services)&lt;br /&gt;Terms and conditions:&lt;br /&gt;1. Strictly for new guests only.&lt;br /&gt;2. Must be presented with another valid ID upon redemption.&lt;br /&gt;3. Advance booking required.&lt;br /&gt;4. Non-refundable, non-transferable, not covertible to cash.&lt;br /&gt;5. Erasures and tampering will render GC invalid.&lt;br /&gt;6. Lost GC will not be replaced.&lt;br /&gt;7. May be availed only at SWI Pasay Road.&lt;br /&gt;8. SWI will not be liable for any injury, etc.&lt;br /&gt;9. Valid unitl 15 April 2010 only.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be throwing in a dark blue moleskin volant (13x21cm) too for a runner up answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just need to dispose of the GC since it's about to expire already plus I don't know but I find the moleskin too expensive for me to write on, so I guess it's better for someone else to have it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have as many answers as you want. &lt;br /&gt;Drop them at the comments section.&lt;br /&gt;Let's close this silly thing by Friday, 2 April 2010.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if nobody leaves a comment, then yeah Jepoy, you could have the freebies... again. Hehe :P&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5438280908218375660?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5438280908218375660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/xp-101.html#comment-form' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5438280908218375660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5438280908218375660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/xp-101.html' title='XP 101'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6166451286433651642</id><published>2010-03-25T16:12:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-25T16:42:40.056+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Pause</title><content type='html'>I'm no stranger to that feeling but I'd have to admit, it doesn't come to me often. It's my fault really. When I meet someone I'm comfortable with, I tend to go overboard and act as if everything I do is ok and as always... it's not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For someone who prides himself with being deliberate, prim and proper, getting called on for something offensive to another is a major major screw up. Think star pre-schooler committing his first offense and getting a major beating from his teacher in front of the class. Imagine the disappointment... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Worse, I was at a loss for excuses. I was at a loss for words. Fact is it was simply... my fault.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You learn a little each day. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You learn to reign in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And pause.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6166451286433651642?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6166451286433651642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/pause.html#comment-form' title='16 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6166451286433651642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6166451286433651642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/pause.html' title='Pause'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>16</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-5074794577701798894</id><published>2010-03-22T16:20:00.005+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-22T16:36:04.011+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Questions</title><content type='html'>I fell in love with a cybercelebrity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;You, have you fallen in love with a cybercelebrity?&lt;br /&gt;And will you fall... again?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;You and I Both&lt;br /&gt;Jason Mraz&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Was it you who spoke the words that things would happen &lt;br /&gt;But not to me&lt;br /&gt;Oh things are gonna happen naturally&lt;br /&gt;Oh taking your advice I'm looking on the bright side &lt;br /&gt;And balancing the whole thing&lt;br /&gt;But often times those words get tangled up in lines&lt;br /&gt;And the bright lights turn to night&lt;br /&gt;Until the dawn it brings&lt;br /&gt;Another day to sing about the magic that was you and me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause you and I both loved&lt;br /&gt;What you and I spoke of&lt;br /&gt;And others just read of&lt;br /&gt;Others only read of the love, the love that I love.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See I'm all about them words&lt;br /&gt;Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words&lt;br /&gt;Hundreds of pages, pages, pages forwards&lt;br /&gt;More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You and I, you and I&lt;br /&gt;Not so little you and I anymore&lt;br /&gt;And with this silence brings a moral story &lt;br /&gt;More importantly evolving is the glory of a boy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause you and I both loved&lt;br /&gt;What you and I spoke of&lt;br /&gt;And others just dream of&lt;br /&gt;And if you could see me now&lt;br /&gt;Well I'm almost finally out of&lt;br /&gt;I'm finally out of&lt;br /&gt;Finally deedeedeedee &lt;br /&gt;Well I'm almost finally, finally &lt;br /&gt;Well I'm free, oh, I'm free&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And it's okay if you have go away&lt;br /&gt;Oh just remember the telephone works both ways&lt;br /&gt;And if I never ever hear them ring&lt;br /&gt;If nothing else I'll think the bells inside &lt;br /&gt;Have finally found you someone else and that's okay&lt;br /&gt;Cause I'll remember everything you sang&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause you and I both loved what you and I spoke of&lt;br /&gt;and others just read of and if you could see now&lt;br /&gt;well I'm almost finally out of.&lt;br /&gt;I'm finally out of, finally, deedeeededede&lt;br /&gt;Well I'm almost finally, finally, finally out of words.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-5074794577701798894?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/5074794577701798894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/questions.html#comment-form' title='18 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5074794577701798894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/5074794577701798894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/questions.html' title='Questions'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>18</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-2303095357345497134</id><published>2010-03-19T08:45:00.001+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-19T15:32:24.374+08:00</updated><title type='text'>One Look</title><content type='html'>I like my head shaved... I get weird comments though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One time, when I dropped by a friend's office, he told me that I looked like someone he saw on a billboard in EDSA. I probably gave him the biggest smile of my life thinking that I looked like a poster boy for an ad. Turns out, it was a Pinoy band. I asked what band but then he was not familiar with current local artists.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Basta iyong nasa may Ortigas."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then one of his officemates answered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Ah Kwajn."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I look like Marc Abaya? Hmmm, pwede na rin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I went home and spilled my new-found "fame" over dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Kamukha ko raw si Marc Abaya?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister gave a hearty laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Kuya, one look... and I'm mesmerized by your eyes..."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And laugh more, she did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Ang-landi naman ni Marc Abaya 'pag ganun."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Nanay, out of nowhere...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Ok lang... panget naman kaya iyon."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Salamat ha, Nanay ba talaga kita?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haist... family. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-2303095357345497134?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/2303095357345497134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/one-look.html#comment-form' title='21 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2303095357345497134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/2303095357345497134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/one-look.html' title='One Look'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>21</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-859924575256781150</id><published>2010-03-17T19:47:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-17T19:48:42.306+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear John</title><content type='html'>I have a dream-catcher hanging on my cubicle’s wall. Black threads weaving through each other. Each juncture tied by a knot. Everything enclosed in one wooden circle. How one point of that circle connects to another is a narrative of organized chaos. No clear line can be traced, only detours and ties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fancy that the threads in my dream-catcher were once flimsy. That at one point they were rolled up in a tube. Perhaps let loose, they wandered aimlessly. But then, in that circle, as they overlap and create asymmetries, their sinuous nature fades. They support each other. They make themselves sturdy. And what becomes is a pattern of connections, borne of unexpected twists that now… catch dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In this cobweb of a life, I am happy to have met you, to have listened to your story, to have learned from you. My weekend retreat taught me to own my story and that story includes finding you. Yep, you are about to leave. Our days are already numbered. It pains me that we met you a little too late but I know that that pain pales in comparison to what your Siopao must be feeling right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;True love casts out all fears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fear not John. Find comfort in the love that your friends have for you, in the love that your Siopao shares with you, in the love that He selflessly gives you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything happens for a reason. Everything has its time. For now, our season is that of parting but as we tread through this juncture and trace our stories, know that the tie we made shall support you and keep you sturdy… it shall support us, keep us sturdy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend, keep courage, keep faith. I choke as I write this but know that we are behind you. Go ahead… and catch your dreams!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-859924575256781150?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/859924575256781150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/dear-john.html#comment-form' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/859924575256781150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/859924575256781150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/dear-john.html' title='Dear John'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3497717827093641038</id><published>2010-03-15T10:50:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T12:09:12.128+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Written</title><content type='html'>I thought it was rather auspicious, the Friday rain. There's something about the sudden rush of coolness, how everything seems so clean after a downpour. I've had vivid memories, strong emotions attached to wet pavements and the stillness after. Sunshine struggles through gloom yet the transition is not abrupt. It is the same solace I felt back in highschool when I was up forty feet in the air, traversing a tightrope with a stranger. Up in the mountains, the wind rushing through, our harness - our lifeline - being held by strangers down below. I climbed the pole without hesitation, but when I was about to let go, just when I was about to slide through, my heart pounded. The first step, indeed was the most difficult to take.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Max Lucado wrote &lt;em&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.lollie.com/thinkagain.html"&gt;You Are Special&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/em&gt;. It's about small wooden people called Wemmicks carved by a woodworker named Eli. All they did was give each other stickers. The good ones got gold stars, the others got gray dots. One of the unfortunate ones who never got a gold sticker was Punchinello. He thought he was ugly... well everyone thought he was. Then one day he met Lucia, a Wemmick without a sticker. Punchinello asked her how come she didn't have any stickers. Lucia told him that she saw Eli everyday and that he too should go up the hill and meet him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Punchinello did what he was told. At first he got scared of the hammers, the chisels, and the other tools that Eli used. His wood might get scratched. He might get broken. He thought of turning back... until he heard Eli call him. They talked. And then Punchinello asked, &lt;em&gt;"Why don't the stickers stay on her?" &lt;/em&gt; Eli replied, "&lt;em&gt;Because she has decided that what I think is more important than what they think. &lt;strong&gt;The stickers only stick if you let them&lt;/strong&gt;."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That was my turning point. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;The stickers only stick if you let them&lt;/em&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday night I tossed my letter into the bonfire and watched the flames swallow my words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I forgive &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; for hurting me.&lt;br /&gt;I forgive &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; for reminding me of the pain.&lt;br /&gt;I forgive &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt; for dragging me down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as I let go of my stickers, I forgive &lt;em&gt;you&lt;/em&gt;, Darc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So many realizations, so many affirmations. Owning my story meant owning my pain. And the confusion fades with acceptance. That I'm meant to be where I am. That I'm supposed to meet you. And that everything happens for a reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is my story. And it continues to unfold. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's no reason not to love. &lt;br /&gt;There's no reason not to risk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may be broken... but I am not defeated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3497717827093641038?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3497717827093641038/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/written.html#comment-form' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3497717827093641038'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3497717827093641038'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/written.html' title='Written'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6212297930891883250</id><published>2010-03-10T07:55:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T08:10:03.754+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Story</title><content type='html'>Boy meets Girl.&lt;br /&gt;Boy falls in love.&lt;br /&gt;Girl thinks Boy is too sissy for her. &lt;br /&gt;After all, she's too headstrong and decided.&lt;br /&gt;Girl gets a boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;Boy gets a girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;Girl splits up with the boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;Boy moves to Australia.&lt;br /&gt;He splits up with the girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;Girl moves to Korea.&lt;br /&gt;Five years passed.&lt;br /&gt;They remain close friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outside looking in, I saw how their spirits fit.&lt;br /&gt;Same interests, same viewpoints... same emotions.&lt;br /&gt;And then a facebook update:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Girl is in a relationship with Boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;D: i knew before pa na you'd end up together&lt;br /&gt;D: kayo lang nakakasakay sa trip ng isa't isa&lt;br /&gt;B: i think that's a polite way of saying na "may sarili kayong mundo."&lt;br /&gt;D: well&lt;br /&gt;D: may sarili kayong mundo&lt;br /&gt;D: there.&lt;br /&gt;D: hahahaha&lt;br /&gt;D: seryoso ba to?&lt;br /&gt;B: hinde. joke lang.&lt;br /&gt;D: weh?&lt;br /&gt;B: lol&lt;br /&gt;B: why are u asking kung seryoso ba to?  &lt;br /&gt;B: no, isa lang itong social project&lt;br /&gt;D: lol&lt;br /&gt;B: hmm.. it's not something we planned. &lt;br /&gt;B: i guess it's always been there for the past 5 years or so.&lt;br /&gt;D: so it is true!&lt;br /&gt;D: this made my week&lt;br /&gt;D: i am sooooooooo happy&lt;br /&gt;B: pero hindi nga, totoo naman ito.&lt;br /&gt;D: hay, i die&lt;br /&gt;D: i faint&lt;br /&gt;B: and i like how we've gotten into this stage&lt;br /&gt;B: parang it's the most natural thing to do&lt;br /&gt;B: alam mo yun. and people were commenting "finally" a lot. when i think about it, parang ganun nga sya, "finally."&lt;br /&gt;D: i faint&lt;br /&gt;D: i die&lt;br /&gt;B: you fainted and died enough for multiple parallel universes already Darc. &lt;br /&gt;D: i know&lt;br /&gt;D: that's how happy i am&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's the most natural thing to do... finally.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6212297930891883250?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6212297930891883250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/love-story.html#comment-form' title='15 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6212297930891883250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6212297930891883250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/love-story.html' title='Love Story'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>15</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-3531614754114631402</id><published>2010-03-08T10:46:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-09T11:03:00.790+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Initiation</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;"Shoo! Shoo!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friend roused from his sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Shoo! Shoo!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stood up and asked him what the problem was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Ay sorry Darc. Akala ko aso."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was too dazed to laugh. Apparently he thought I was some &lt;em&gt;askal&lt;/em&gt; eating up our food stash. Well, I can't really blame him. I was slumped in the darkness embracing our red cooler. My silhouette could have been that of any random critter scouting the stretch of the shore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But no, I wasn't doing another emo moment. I didn't sleep in our tent because I was desperately waiting for my tummy to throw up a cocktail of beer, vodka, tequila, and what have you. Yet again, I was drunk. I'm not really a beer drinker but being the sole stranger in that group, I tried my best to accommodate. Later did I know that beer doesn't really mix well with tequila. And no, even if it tastes just like Hi-C, The Bar is not a chaser!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a fun trip. I finally saw the place and though a lot of people set up camp that weekend, the company I was with was priceless. Friend's officemates had a sudden urge to go to the beach. And I tagged along. It was a good mix of boys, girls, couples, and of course, us. Everyone was game. Everyone was fun. And what happens when happy people get their hands on alcohol? Everyone gets wasted of course!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Midway through the drinking spree, I already felt my face numb up. And when alcohol gets the best of me, I have a tendency to chat everyone up like a Povedan-Assumptionista hybrid. English mode on. It was crazy funny. We were mocking each other, making fun of ourselves. Officemate 1 wasn't very comfortable conversing in English but as with most gay guys, any "liability" becomes an asset by poking fun at it. &lt;em&gt;Siyempre nakipag-sabayan siya.&lt;/em&gt; But then, it just had to happen. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Officemate 1 took a shot. He was about to answer me back: &lt;em&gt;"What do you...."&lt;/em&gt; And then all of a sudden, even before he finished that sentence, he passed out! Like a robot that got unplugged, his tequila shot seeped out of his mouth, he shut his eyes, and shut down. The boys picked him up from the sand. Checked his pulse and told me, &lt;em&gt;"Ok lang Darc, talagang ganiyan iyan."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then everyone started getting rowdy. Someone suddenly called for bodyshots.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Sa utong! Sa utong!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I joined in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Sa utong! Sa utong!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I wondered why all eyes were on me. I stopped clapping. Then everyone started teasing the guy beside me. I learned that he was a relatively new hire. Tall, quite cute, and rugged. Earlier that day, we had a &lt;em&gt;"moment"&lt;/em&gt; as another officemate quipped. I assisted him while preparing afternoon snacks and there was a little touching and brushing... of hands. Then when we took group pictures with the sunset as backdrop, he sat beside me. He again sat beside me during dinner and throughout the drinking session.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Sa utong! Sa utong!"&lt;/em&gt; everyone teased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then out of nowhere, his voice: &lt;em&gt;"Sige na nga, para matapos na tayo."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had snippets of sleep while hugging the red cooler. The morning after, I felt queasy with a bad headache to boot. I had fun but I don't think I'd go anywhere near alcohol anytime soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to new places to get drunk in, new memories to enjoy, and new people to laugh with! Kampai!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-3531614754114631402?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/3531614754114631402/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/initiation.html#comment-form' title='14 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3531614754114631402'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/3531614754114631402'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/initiation.html' title='Initiation'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>14</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6504240809115093998</id><published>2010-03-05T10:22:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-05T11:59:56.467+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Look Back!</title><content type='html'>I regret one thing: not looking back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They re-ordered the sequence so that I'd be the last to enter the quadrangle. The air smelled of summer and the century-old cobblestones made the the already scenic afternoon even more romantic. The marker at the entrance said that in one of the rooms surrounding the open space, the revolution's secret was confessed. It used to be a seminary. And that day, I was to end a calling.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The march began and as us kids went in, flashes tried to capture that juncture in our personal histories. I remember clutching a folder with some notes in it. Some ramblings for the customary time alloted for the last one to enter the grounds. I was one of the few kids with a corsage pinned on our clothes. From the rows you could see the drama kids from the school play. Ribbons tied the orchids on our chests. It was a thoughtful surprise from our director who became a kuya and a friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rites went on. And the sun set as each kid went up the stage. By the time my classmates were called, yellow light filled the old space. Soft and sleepy... it was a peaceful glow. Most were already tired, even more were starving. Perhaps that's why when the last name was called, the unexpected cheer made me want to cry. Applause and a couple of hoots. The best thing was, it was unsolicited, given freely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I got back to my seat, after passing through familiar faces that I almost didn't recognize because of their smiles, a friend told me, "Congrats friend, we did a standing ovation."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it hit me, I didn't look back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should've looked back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To them who stood with and by me that day, and to you who reads this, I am humbled. No words will measure up to the generous time you freely give for this space. I am indebted to you and I don't know if it will suffice but yeah, with all the sincerity I could possibly muster...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6504240809115093998?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6504240809115093998/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/look-back.html#comment-form' title='20 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6504240809115093998'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6504240809115093998'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/look-back.html' title='Look Back!'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>20</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-9137161606302879681</id><published>2010-03-03T15:48:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T17:15:18.838+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dare pala ulit ha. Libre mo ko kape! lol</title><content type='html'>Give me 3 months. I'll be dead serious in working out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-9137161606302879681?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/9137161606302879681/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/dare-pala-ulit-ha-libre-mo-ko-kape-lol.html#comment-form' title='31 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/9137161606302879681'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/9137161606302879681'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/dare-pala-ulit-ha-libre-mo-ko-kape-lol.html' title='Dare pala ulit ha. Libre mo ko kape! lol'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>31</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-1814352317517077820</id><published>2010-03-02T11:22:00.003+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T11:58:06.571+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Power D</title><content type='html'>The second act opened with a parade dance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of guys cartwheeled from stage left.&lt;br /&gt;I was in a group of three. We entered doing a chaines.&lt;br /&gt;Centerstage. A couple of battement kicks, plies.&lt;br /&gt;Land in an arabesque.&lt;br /&gt;I couldn't do a pirouette if my life depended on it.&lt;br /&gt;A couple of jumps.&lt;br /&gt;A couple of lifts.&lt;br /&gt;An eight-count free for all. What to do?!&lt;br /&gt;Go front right and do a solo rond de jambe, of course.&lt;br /&gt;Lights fade.&lt;br /&gt;Exit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My grades dipped when I was in fourth year highschool because I decided to join the school play. But it was all worth it. No, I didn't enjoy drama... I loved dance. The director had a little problem with us though. Our sissy bodies didn't go well with the de-kanto choreography that previous school plays had. Turned out we were too graceful for the very butch theatre moves he was used to. And so he had no choice but have us do... jazz. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How ironic can you get? An all-boys school mounting a school play with sissy boys doing jazz... and a select group of 14 had a crash course on ballet. Yep, I was in that 14. I did ballet. And then they ask how I turned out gay?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go figure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-1814352317517077820?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/1814352317517077820/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/power-d.html#comment-form' title='27 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1814352317517077820'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/1814352317517077820'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/power-d.html' title='Power D'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>27</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8718502198818631465.post-6295256317490136934</id><published>2010-03-01T10:08:00.004+08:00</published><updated>2010-03-01T11:27:01.761+08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Me Redux</title><content type='html'>Depression makes you transparent. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always been smug before the break up. I was stoic. I never wore my heart on my sleeve. I rarely cried. That night when I finally figured out everything, that the week of silence was more than a need for space, I broke down in front of my friends. I just sat there, crying. Taken aback, all they were able to say was, &lt;em&gt;"Parang hindi si Darc."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was my first. And with it came new realizations. Sadness was true, so was heart break. I remember telling a straight friend, &lt;em&gt;"Jim, totoo pala iyong heartbroken. Literally, something's wrong with my heart."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's interesting about sadness is once you know it, it becomes easy for you to access it. It lingers. It becomes a part of who you are. I was slumped in Pagudpud, watching the waves, unmindful of the heat, my thoughts a blank. Friend's boyfriend sat beside me and said, &lt;em&gt;"Darc, it will pass. But know that things will change. You will change."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've changed. I now know sadness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://siopaobunwich.blogspot.com/"&gt;John&lt;/a&gt;, I've told you this, I envy you. I envy how chance weaved your story. You told me to ask for it, just as you did. Believe me, I wasn't joking when I told you guys that once, that was my nightly prayer. &lt;em&gt;"Lord, I know I have so much love to give. Please bring me that someone I could share life with and who would take me as I take him."&lt;/em&gt; An erstwhile Starbucks planner stood witness to how I asked. I asked John, I really did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But more than that, I envy you because you're still capable of loving. First and last, that's something worth holding on to. I tried to hold on but then I slipped. The hurt pulled me down. The second, third, fourth chances was too much for my spirit to take.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm damaged. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the back of my mind, I still want my happy ending. But I'm too scared to go out there and risk myself yet again. I still want my happy ending. But I'm too weak to pursue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the past couple of days, I've been going over old files, old letters, old mementos. Poring over some pictures, I noticed a yellow sheet with my name on top of it. It was my mom's writing. Her reply to my letter a couple of years before. I told her that in spite of everything I've gone through, I'd still give him another chance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Masakit para sa amin ang gagawin mo. Para bang hindi ko makaya o matanggap na makikipag-balikan ka pa sa kaniya."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tried my best to brush aside the fact that I was hurting Nanay. I pushed on... and it was never worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess it's just me coming to terms with who I've become. And yes Nanay, Darc is at it again. I'm giving away another chance... this time for myself. Hopefully, it will be worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*****&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Salamat, &lt;a href="http://dreaminginsidethecloset.blogspot.com/"&gt;Jepoy&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://siopaobunwich.blogspot.com/"&gt;John&lt;/a&gt;, at &lt;a href="http://iamtheclosetgeek.blogspot.com/"&gt;Moi&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8718502198818631465-6295256317490136934?l=darcdiaries.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/feeds/6295256317490136934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/depression-makes-you-transparent.html#comment-form' title='21 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6295256317490136934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8718502198818631465/posts/default/6295256317490136934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://darcdiaries.blogspot.com/2010/03/depression-makes-you-transparent.html' title='A Me Redux'/><author><name>Darc Diarist</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05000715509939867369</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='28' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_EWwUGORqh9A/TDQRHFVCb9I/AAAAAAAAAGw/Zwpdnf4_clM/S220/av.JPG'/></author><thr:total>21</thr:total></entry></feed>
