Seasons of Love

I heard this song's rendition by Paolo Santos, and I loved the lyrics! Apparently it's a famous song from the musical, Rent.

SEASONS OF LOVE

ALL
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes,
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Moments so dear.
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights
In cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife.

In five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure
A year in the life?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love? Measure in love

Seasons of love. Seasons of love

JOANNE
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes!
Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Journeys to plan.

Five hundred twenty-five thousand
Six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life
Of a woman or a man?

COLLINS
In truths that she learned,
Or in times that he cried.
In bridges he burned,
Or the way that she died.

ALL
It's time now to sing out,
Tho' the story never ends
Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends
Remember the love!
Remember the love!
Seasons of love!

JOANNE
Oh you got to got to Remember the love! remember the love,
You Measure in love know that love is a gift from up above Seasons of love.
Share love, give love spread love Measure measure you life in love.

Ohmaygaaaad!! It's stuffy in here!
Huhuhu.. here comes the Japanese summer..

Female Pains

Experienced the most painful dysmenhorrhea today. And it hit me full force while I was in a convenience store buying some stuff to eat. Was starting to feel groggy as I was reaching for a magazine to browse through, so I decided to skip that and go straight to buying what I came for. It was getting worse every second, making me wanna curse the customer at the cashier filling out some forms, causing me to take longer to pay for my purchases.

Outside the store, I walked briskly back to my apartment, which was only 5 to 8 minutes' walk from there. Had to sit down twice or thrice on my way though, since I was really, really feeling dizzy by that time, and was already starting to have cold sweats. I probably looked stupid sitting on the ledges in front of random shops I passed by. Thankfully most shops on my street are closed on Sundays, so I didn't have to deal with suspicious store-owners hehehe. I just did my best to act natural, like I was really supposed to be where I was sitting and that there wasn't anything strange at all about me being there lol! After several of these stops, I was thankfully able to reach my apartment and collapse on my bed in intense pain hahaha! Fell asleep curled up with a hot water bottle and woke up feeling much, much better.

Curious.. I've never had it this painful before. Must be something with my hormones... Anyway, have to keep in mind to keep some pain relievers handy.

..Sometimes, it's really difficult being a girl ~_~

In the Friendster Circle

I got crazy today. I joined Friendster!!! Bwahahaha!!

Vienna Teng's songs

Fatigue can cause me to become a useless, icky, gelatinous pile of sorrowful mush! I guess it does crazy things to the chemical balance of my brain. I'm just thankful that I'm learning to bounce back faster these days, although I think still not fast enough.

Anyway, I'm rediscovering the beauty and elegance of Vienna Teng's songs. Years ago I bought one of her CDs on a whim, primarily because I loved how it could follow the veins of my mood at the time. After some time of constantly playing it (and also because I lost my discman), it got stacked in with all our other CDs gathering dust in our living room cabinet.

Now that I encountered her songs again on Pandora, I'm suddenly reminded of that CD and how I'd like to listen to it again. But I guess that'll have to wait until I can get back home.

In the meantime, I'll have to settle with accidentally hearing her songs on internet radio. Here's one I heard just now. It's entitled "Daughter."

DAUGHTER by Vienna Teng

well it's you and it's me
me with a drink in my hand
the ice is tinkling like a wind chime
and late afternoon settles over the land
and you're talking about things
interesting just slightly
and things that matter too much
to say any way but lightly

did you know you're so beautiful
on the edge of summer
that years from now
I'll cry to remember
how very close you were
knowing this will I reach for you
knowing this will I reach for you
the way you want me to

well it's time to be wise
wise in the ways of the heart
to come out from under the covers
this voluntary state of apart
from the faces, oasis
in this Sahara of sorrow
these graces that hold me
it's from you that I borrow

Tremors

Was jolted out of bed by a small earthquake. Well.. definitely some cosmic power out there was telling me to get my ass moving!

Regression

Two steps forward. One step back. Most people do it. I do it, too. And I disappoint myself so many times because of it.

I imagine my mind to be bound and tied, limited and punctuated to a tenuous stop. Sometimes I visualize an unraveling. Of everything that's pinning me down. It is at those times that I ridiculously equate the sudden sensation of inner spaciousness to that symbolic image of caged doves flying out to freedom.

The feeling is serene. It creates calmness in my demeanor. It is as if everything I perceive is in its proper place. And that whatever else I encounter as I move forward will only also fall into their intended niches, without so much fuss.

But then the step back. The creation of chaos. The destruction of arrangement. Sometimes I know why it happens. But sometimes I feel that it is something that simply happens. And I shouldn't force myself to find a reason to put my finger on.

Two steps forward. One step back. Oh how I yearn to erase that last sentence. But how can I? I've surrendered to its inevitability. And soon I know I will be able to cloak it in the trappings of fact.

Amateurism

Forgive that stupid attempt of a short story in my last entry. I started it out with no clear outline of what I wanted to write. I just let the words spill to the keyboard, with no real coherence. And so really, everything came out inconsistent and unrealistic.

Just think of it was me letting some steam out. Writing just helps me to destress most of the time.

Hate

I have a four-leaf clover in my pocket. Her little secret makes her smile. She found it this morning, as she stopped to sit under her favorite tree. She was on her way to meet her father, and she had thought she was the unluckiest person in the world.

She realizes that this is a strange thought for a little girl to have. But she shrugs against how other people might view this little block of immovable opinion sitting in her head. Anybody else would be glad to wake up in the morning with the prospect of spending the whole day having their hands enlcosed in their father's, being led around town and being bought balloons and ice cream, tickets to the ferris wheel and the roller coaster, and a favorite yellow dress that she thought would go well with her new, shiny red shoes topped with silky ribbons.

She supposes that this should be generally true. In everyone else's lives. Everyone else's, that is, except hers.

Abandoned. This word has always loomed larger than life for her and her mother. Ever-present at the back of their tongues, ready to be spit out whenever anyone would commit the grave mistake of mentioning the name of her father.

For them "father" and "husband" were concepts that were unnecessary in their lives. Sure, these words were defined very clearly in the heavy, fat Webster's dictionary sitting on the lowest shelf of their case of books, their mini-library. But for them this was a mistake, superfluous entries in that otherwise reliable reference book of words.

The pain was more real. And it burned most substantially on that day long ago when she arrived home to a scene of utter brokenness. Broken pottery, broken tapestries, broken china, broken lamp, broken heart.... broken mother....

...Broken Family. She spelled that in capital letters in her head. It was the name she gave for her sorrow. Hers and her mother's. And she knew you always wrote proper names with big first letters.

This sorrow replaced her father in their lives. And ever since they've always been scampering to kick it out of their door, with whatever baggage it had come with that had only served to weigh down on their hearts. But they had never been successful.

He had called suddenly. Out of nowhere. Out of thin air. It almost choked her to hear it. His voice. Torn so suddenly from their lives. And now plaintive with the professed desire to somehow supplant "father" and "husband" back into their consciousness again.

She had felt her eyes burn. And she imagined them red-rimmed and boiling. She was angry. Fuming. Hateful. Churning. She had wanted to shout at him. To lash out. To pound on him with her words. To rail against him with her fists.

That's right. Why not? She would agree to meet him. Pretend to be her daughter. Ready to forgive. Because they were family.

And when they were there, face-to-face, father and daughter... she would hurt him. Scald him. Pin him under layers of guilt and years of hatred. She would use his hopes, his illusions that their blood bound them tightly together, to twist the pain more tightly around his heart.

Oh yes.. she was excited to see her father. But not for the same reasons other little girls cherished in their hearts.

She stroked the four-leaf clover she had hidden in her pocket. And she walked toward the first lucky day she'd had in a long, long while.

Facade

She is the devil. And she struts like she could possess you. But she can't even possess herself.

Her dreams are of roiling forevers, of darkness and of disorientation. Although flailing against bars of fear that threaten to cage her very kernel of self-identity, she still smirks with her ruby-red lips, knowing and mysterious. With that arch of her eyebrow and that twitch of her skirt, she can make you believe that all reality is her, and that everything else are futile illusions.

But in her solitary moments, within the ruins of her inescapable insanity, she is always screaming. With dilated pupils. With iron tension. With hands clawing against the dark background of her vision.

She's there... tiptoeing against the edge of whatever it is that's keeping her on this side of death. Not the death of the body. But the death of faith. The death of living. The death of connection. A death that is forever.

Sometimes she thinks of it. Salvation. But only for a moment. She hopes for it for but a sliver of a second, squeezed in between sharp gasps of terror and loss.

Nobody knows. It's wrapped and disguised in layers of perfume and her gossamer smiles. That's all people remember. And that's all she'll ever show.

Boom!

..Welcoming Summer with a colorful bang...

Dont't Read. Nothing important over here.

This is another just-because-I-can't-think-of-anything-better-to-do post. Oh wait. I CAN think of a million other better things to do. But being my usual muddled self, I can't figure out where to start.

Tomorrow I think we have a party. I'm not sure if it WILL be pushing through, though. Nobody mentioned anything about it today on LN. I was about to, but got preoccupied with other things. Anyway, as I usually say, "We'll see..."

Work is okay. Oh! I was able to get to the office relatively early today. And it was so funny. When I put down my bag on my chair and said "Good morning," my teammates were so surprised they got all wide-eyed and replied "Oh! Good morning!" in slightly shocked tones. Hahahah! My goodness! I really MUST kick the habit of clocking in to the office so late. My colleagues are getting too used to it.

Ah! TGIF! TGIF! Just 45mins to go! And can't you just really sense I've got nothing worthwhile to say? Lol! Okay, okay, it's time to end this post now!

Buh-bye! *waves hands and scoots off*