tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-74515958653417269032024-03-13T14:11:02.446-07:00t's scribblesPure, unabridged, uncensored TirzaisM.
Word of warning: if you can't handle the truth, press the 'back' button.thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.comBlogger39125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-8406277656466818272011-11-02T17:00:00.000-07:002011-11-08T22:01:49.244-08:00RememberI consider it a blessing that I'm on vacation in tropical Hawaii. Even though my week is filled with sun, good food, shopping, and laying on the beach, there were two things I insisted I do: go to a luau and visit Pearl Harbor. The first I plan to do tomorrow, while the latter I had the privilege of experiencing today.<br /><br />I went to Pearl Harbor this morning. After learning about 20th century World History back in high school (History was one of my IB subject areas, and I was one of Mrs. Judy's geek in training at the time - I reckon I have matriculated to full geekdom by this time), I was compelled to visit the historical site of the event that changed history. I feel that there are a few events that truly and drastically changed the course of history; examples might include Pearl Harbor, Hiroshima-Nagasaki bombing, assassination of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, etc. Also, December 7 is Mrs. Judy's birthday, which means it is a day to remember in our geek training class. Needless to say, I made sure to book a trip to Pearl Harbor.<br /><br />When we got there, and our hilarious guide had finished briefing us on what to do and when to do it, we had a little over one hour to spend exploring the exhibits, museums, and gift shops before we get to watch a documentary movie and visit the USS Arizona Memorial. As I started exploring the grounds, a reverent silence fell on me. Reading about details of the attack, seeing pictures of smoke and destruction, and reading the names of victims and survivors of the attack pulled me into deep contemplation, much like a prayer.<br /><br />I contemplated.<br /><br />I contemplated on a number of things.<br /><br />I thought about the men on those battleships. Some of them went to their deaths without ever fully comprehending what was going on. I thought about those that were in capsized battleships, knocking, hoping that there were people alive out there to rescue them. I cannot even begin to imagine what they were thinking or feeling at the time. I would guess a deadly mix of desperation, fear, hopelessness, and hope.<br /><br />I thought about the ones who survived. Whether or not they were on the base at the time of the attack, these people were still impacted. I thought about the ones who were on the battleships, and the force of explosions propelled them into the sea of fire. Again, I could not imagine the pain of trying to stay afloat in a sea thick with burning oil. A sea of fire. A tiny glimpse of hell. I thought about the ones who were on leave, or the ones who took the time that Sunday morning to go to church. I thought about how they felt upon hearing the news: Pearl Harbor was attacked, and that it was not a drill. I would guess that a concoction of sadness, relief, anger, and guilt haunted their consciences. One of the quotes etched in stone was from Ensign Paul H. Backus, of the USS Oklahoma; it said:<br /><blockquote>"Why them and not me?</blockquote><br />It must have been difficult to survive, knowing that for some reason, whether divine intervention or pure dumb luck, they were spared. They belong on those ships, and when their friends died, a part of them died too.<br /><br />I thought about the USS Arizona. I was not there that day (my parents weren't even born yet), but I could just picture her burning in the night. She burned for two days, a flaming proof of the attack. The USS Arizona sank graciously, with her head held high, to her final watery resting place. I thought about the lives that were lost. Standing in front of the wall of names at the USS Arizona memorial, I felt a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. I don't know these people, none of those names were familiar to me. Yet standing there, I grieved. I prayed.<br /><br />Why did this visit make this much of an impact to me? In case you didn't know, I'm not American. Why does Pearl Harbor mean so much to a 23-year-old Indonesian?<br /><br />The attack on Pearl Harbor confirmed America's entrance to World War II. It happened on December 7, 1941. In March of 1942, Japan occupied Indonesia, or the cluster of islands the Dutch had colonized and called the East Indies. The Japanese did more damage to Indonesia in 3 years than what the Dutch did in 300 years. When the US bombed Hiroshima and Nagasaki in August of 1945, the Japanese in Indonesia quickly left. On August 17, 1945, Ir. Soekarno and Moh. Hatta declared Indonesia's independence.<br /><br />I understand that there are numerous "what ifs" in this story. Indonesia might still have gotten her independence if Pearl Harbor or the atomic bombings never happened. And I have to make it clear that I am not happy that these things happened. In fact, the very thought of them breaks my heart. However, I cannot escape the fact that those events did happen.<br /><br />I am sorry that Pearl Harbor was attacked.<br /><br />I am sorry that Hiroshima and Nagasaki were demolished.<br /><br />I am sorry that so many men lost their lives. <br /><br />What did their sacrifice give me? Their sacrifice helped give a nation liberty. I was born in 1988, long after the war was over. I didn't have to speak Dutch or Japanese. I didn't have to work to serve as part of a conquered nation. I was born into a free nation, troubled at times (we are young - teenage years are always awkward), but free nonetheless.<br /><br />I cannot really describe how I'm feeling. Grateful. Yes, that's it.<br /><br />I am grateful.<br /><br />And I will always remember.thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-69355938404189933552011-10-21T11:00:00.000-07:002011-10-21T11:16:27.881-07:00Choices<blockquote>"Life is about choices, but discerning the right choice to make will always be a mystery."</blockquote><div><br /></div><div>I posted that in response to a friend's Facebook status question. She was asking her friends on what they are pondering about.</div><div><br /></div><div>I am the kind of person who likes to know what is going on. I want to know what I should be doing and when I should be doing it. I want to know what to expect. I guess I'm telling you that I am a control freak. I've mellowed out throughout the years, but control freak tendencies still loom in my subconscious.</div><div><br /></div><div>The same friend who had posted the Facebook status introduced me to the works of Frederick Buechner. I am currently reading through <i>Godric</i>. Some passages capture my attention and draw me to ponder on them. I will share one about choices in life.</div><div><br /></div><div><blockquote>"'This life of ours is like a street that passes many doors,' Ball said, 'nor think you all the doors I mean are wood. Every day's a door and every night. When a man throws wide his arms to you in friendship, it's a door he opens same as when a woman opens hers in wantonness. The street forks out, and there's two doors to choose between. The meadow that tempts you rest your bones and dream a while. The rackribbed child that begs for scraps the dogs have left. The sea that calls a man to travel far. They are all doors, some God's and some the Fiend's. So choose with care which ones you take, my son, and one day - who can say - you'll reach the holy door itself'" (Buechner, 24).</blockquote></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-64867643201631862582011-10-16T19:15:00.001-07:002011-10-16T20:48:45.743-07:00Fallen Women: Reflections on a Fallen World<span class="Apple-style-span">This is a topic that does not normally surface during a friendly conversation over coffee. This is a topic that people refuse to think about even though they know, albeit subconsciously, that it exists. This is a topic that people fear, and hate, but mostly fear. Parents fear for their precious daughters. Governments fear for the safety of their people. Religious people fear for the moral and eternal well-being of the population. Yet whispers from this unwanted world escapes to our world every now and again, whispers that attempt to nudge the high and mighty to look upon a fallen world. Whispers that demand action.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I am not an expert on the world of the fallen women. I have no desire to have that particular expertise. However, over the past years, I have stumbled across a few of the whispers I mentioned earlier in literatures and other works of art. The whispers are all different, spanning different eras and different cultures, but the fact that they exist did not escape me.Today, I will attempt to put some of my thoughts into words. A brief encounter with Thomas Hardy's "The Ruined Maid" a week and a half ago brought back memories of a tenth grade literature class reading of Nawal El-Saadawi's <i>Woman at Point Zero</i>. This book is El-Saadawi's retelling of the life and struggles of Firdaus, an Egyptian prostitute and murderess who was on death row. (The reason why tenth graders were assigned to read a book outlining the atrocities in this woman's life is still a mystery to me. I think the book scarred me. Or challenged me. Or both.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">I am providing a link to Hardy's "The Ruined Maid" <a href="http://www.poetry-online.org/hardy_the_ruined_maid.htm">here</a>. I also have posted a link to Wikipedia's article on <i>Woman at Point Zero</i> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Woman_at_Point_Zero">here</a>. (This is no academic paper, so I would assume some understanding for my cop out of a reference.) The book can be found in libraries and bookstores, although it is not a common one.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">In Hardy's poem, the character known as 'Melia, a self-proclaimed "ruined maid," seems to live life pretty comfortably. She dresses well, talks properly, and lives life to the fullest. Compared to the friend she ran into in town, 'Melia had perks and privileges honest women can only dream of. However, all of the perks and privileges the "ruined maid" enjoyed came with a price: her social and moral respectability. Respectable women living in the Victorian Era had very little say in anything. Life for them meant hard work, as Hardy's poem seem to portray. (Further reading on Victorian life for women can be found <a href="http://walrusandthecarpenter.wordpress.com/">here</a>, a blog by Tasha Swinney for our Victorian Literature class this semester.) Looking at their situation from the lens of a woman living in America today, honest and respectable Victorian women seemed very trapped. They are expected to submit and not question. Their society seems to view intelligent, outspoken, and daring women as somewhat veering from normalcy. The question becomes this: what is the better life? Would it have been better to be morally and socially ruined or lead the life of a respectable Victorian woman?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The same question became the focus of Nawal El-Saadawi's book. Her book, <i>Woman at Point Zero</i>, was set in Egypt and was first published in 1975. Firdaus, the death row inmate who is the main character of the book, described what it was like to live as a woman in a patriarchal society. She described how she had tried to earn honest living, but was still oppressed and taken advantage of by men.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><blockquote>“I came to realize that a female employee is more afraid of losing her job than a prostitute is of losing her life. An employee is scared of losing her job and becoming a prostitute because she does not understand that the prostitute’s life is in fact better than hers. And so she pays the price of her illusory fears with her life, her health, her body, and her mind. She pays the highest price for things of the lowest value. I now knew that all of us were prostitutes who sold themselves at varying prices, and that an expensive prostitute was better than a cheap one” (<i>Woman at Point Zero, </i>p.97).</blockquote></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(86, 85, 85); font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Firdaus had somewhat of the same idea as that communicated by Hardy's ruined maid. She seems to think that a prostitute's life is better than a female employee in 1970 Egypt. I am also posting yet another quote from the book, which was how Firdaus described her identity and her chosen way of life. (Don't worry, this is going to be my last quote from the book. Do I recommend the book? I honestly do not have an opinion. It is an interesting study, yet very raw.)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(86, 85, 85); font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); "></span></span></div><blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px; background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); " >"Yet not for a single moment did I have any doubts about my own integrity and honour as a woman. I knew that my profession had been invented by men, and that men were in control of both our worlds, the one on earth, and the one in heaven. That men force women to sell their bodies at a price, and that the lowest paid body is that of a wife. All women are prostitutes of one kind or another. Because I was intelligent I preferred to be a free prostitute, rather than an enslaved wife. Every time I gave my body I charged the highest price” (<i>Woman at Point Zero</i>, p117). </span></span></div><div></div></blockquote><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">In a number of societies throughout history, women have felt oppressed and trapped. It might not be in the here and now, but Victorian England and 1970 Egypt are two examples of when and where women have felt oppressed and trapped. In both cases, the choice of the freedom connected with being less-respectable seemed preferable compared to the respectable norm. By writing these thoughts down, I am not saying that I would like to make this choice (in case you're questioning my motives). I am also not men-bashing. I am merely writing down thoughts and questions about our past and present society. I am sad to say, however, that I ended up with more questions than I did conclusions.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">These women decided that they were better off being ruined. What does this say about the society they were living in? Indeed, everyone have the choice to do whatever they want with their lives, but would a different kind of society make a difference?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Can you live without freedom? Would you live without freedom? What price would you be willing to pay for that freedom? For the ruined maid in Hardy's poem, it might be the freedom to be successful and to enjoy life. For Firdaus, it was the freedom to be respected and to be in control of her own life. Even though I haven't discussed Wilkie Collins' <i>The Woman in White</i> (there were no fallen women or prostitution), Marian Halcombe did not fit the Victorian heroine mold. I would say that Marian chose unmarried life for the sake of keeping her intelligent, forthright, and outspoken self intact. (You could argue that she didn't get married due to her face, but that's another discussion altogether.) </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; ">What price would you be willing to pay for the freedom to be you?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; "><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; ">To be completely honest, I wouldn't know how to answer these questions myself. I'm not able to answer them because I've never been put in this position before. These "whispers" are hard to digest. They tell of societies I would not want to be a part of. They tell of people I would not want to encounter. They tell of hardships I wish I've never read about. However, I think that the hardest part for me to grasp would probably be the fact that this actually happened. Although somewhat scarred by these "whispers" that I've stumbled across, I think that they are important. People need to know that these societies existed, and that these choices were made. I think these stories and poems force us to think about things we would rather not think about; after we've thought about it, maybe we would be compelled to do something about it. </span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-20401322223515089122011-09-12T00:03:00.001-07:002011-09-12T00:16:17.677-07:00We Can Find a Hope<span class="Apple-style-span" >It is now September 12. All day, I was trying to come up with something to say about 9/11. I came up with nothing. Just like how I felt ten years ago, seeing the live footage of the two towers crashing down, I did not know what to say. I did not know how to pray.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span">In 2002, a year after the devastating day, </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span">An American Requiem</span>, </i><span class="Apple-style-span">a work composed by Laurey Berteig and Jonathan Lugo was performed at Benaroya Hall in Seattle. The work was a prayer, a mass for the dead. So today, speechless on my own, I would like to share this prayer from <i>An American Requiem</i>.</span></span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >In a world that seems so cold now that our innocence is gone</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >We will join our hearts with those that we find near</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >We will pray for His hand to take hold of what we fear</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >And believe in what we knew to once be true</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><i>We can find a hope, w</i></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><i>e can find a strength</i></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><i>We can know we're still in his hand a</i></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><b><i>nd know that there's a plan</i></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><i>Hold on to your faith in Him and you will be strong again</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><i>We can know He still loves our land</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><i>O God, come and heal our land</i></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" ><b><i><br /></i></b></span></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Living in the shadows that we cannot understand</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >We will join our hearts across the land in prayer</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >We will pray for His grace to heal all that we can't bear</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Trusting in His sov'reign hand to help us stand</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >We will find a hope in Him, we will find our strength to begin</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >We will know we're still in His hand and know that there's a plan</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >Hold on to our faith in Him and we will be strong again</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >We can know He still loves our land</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >O God, come and heal our land</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></b></div><div style="text-align: right;"><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" >-Laurey Berteig/Peterson</span></i></b></div><div><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" ><br /></span></i></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial; font-size: medium; "><br /></span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-5166925266324365562011-09-07T19:31:00.000-07:002011-09-07T23:46:58.280-07:00Thoughts on Northanger Abbey and (of course) Marriage<span class="Apple-style-span">The geek in me manifests itself once in a while and recently, it takes the form of auditing a course in Victorian Literature. Ever since I took British Lit II in my sophomore year of college, I was hooked. I would have added English as another major, but I would have stayed in college forever. All that to say, I'm in Victorian Literature and we have just finished reading Jane Austen's <i>Northanger Abbey</i>. Some of the themes we've discussed include how Austen was writing this as a parody of Gothic novels and the always present topic of marriage.</span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">The purpose of this post is not to talk about our class' topics of discussion. The purpose of this post is mostly to express some of the thoughts that have been floating around in my head concerning Austen's <i>Northanger Abbey</i>.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">In <i>Northanger Abbey</i>, Jane Austen created a not-so-Gothic heroine in Catherine Morland. Austen also created a not-so-Gothic counterpart to Catherine in Henry TIlney, the supposed hero of the novel. In Henry Tilney (I need to be specific, since there are three gentlemen by the name of Tilney in <i>Northanger Abbey</i>), Jane Austen created a different kind of hero. Instead of the extremely dashing knight-in-shining-armor hero that is most common in Gothic novels - as well as in the typical Disney fairy tale - Henry Tilney was described as an almost handsome 26-year-old man. He is mature, not flighty, constant, faithful, patient, and rational.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">At the end of the novel (spoiler alert, people!), Henry Tilney proposed to Catherine Morland. It was bound to happen anyways. Of course, Catherine was delighted to accept the offer. However, it's interesting to note how Austen described Tilney's feelings toward Catherine. She described it thus, "...though Henry was now sincerely attached to her, though he felt and delighted in all the excellencies of her character and truly loved her society, I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought" (Vol. II, Chapter XV). Henry came to like Catherine because she liked him. Some might think that this is very a very unromantic notion in a supposedly romantic comedy-ish author. Like Julia Young said, "How very junior high!" It might be awfully junior high of Tilney, but is it possible that Austen might have motive other than to poke fun at the idea of marriage based on love?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Is it possible that, when writing this quote, Austen was commenting on the Gothic idea of romance? In Gothic writing genre, romance seems to include the impulsive and highly emotional feelings which yield to very impulsive and highly emotional relationships. Is it possible, that Austen was trying to convey that, when it comes to finding a marriage partner, it is completely wise and acceptable to look for companionship? This does not mean marriage of convenience, but rather taking into consideration compatibility in intellect, values, faith, etc. Is it possible that Austen was saying that marriage should not be based on the desperately impulsive love, or the idea of "soul mates" and "love at first sight," but on the possibility of two people living together and sharing their lives with each other without committing murder?</span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-1211563284017725152011-08-02T00:53:00.000-07:002011-08-02T02:56:22.004-07:00It's a wrap!<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSbQ_XD8_Yeb-50s46eFdmfzfRWx_AVN8PY0C9jEvElIh_cHhHIRiYF0wmfH1rfFZQrydN-nSnw8guxOYdLVMWTiDEdv7VwCq_ogmedRL2ewghz0HPWAQCNx44e6rP6WdEc92D3tslPlK/s1600/1.jpeg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 249px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVSbQ_XD8_Yeb-50s46eFdmfzfRWx_AVN8PY0C9jEvElIh_cHhHIRiYF0wmfH1rfFZQrydN-nSnw8guxOYdLVMWTiDEdv7VwCq_ogmedRL2ewghz0HPWAQCNx44e6rP6WdEc92D3tslPlK/s400/1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636195093845540834" /></a>People keep on asking me how I feel now that Ruddigore is all wrapped up. It's a strange feeling, I tell you. It's a cocktail of contradictory emotions, a compacted ball of memories, a sudden end to a roller coaster ride... and yes, a rush of extreme fatigue, a condition that demands a full week of sleep. I haven't felt this way since April 21st, 2010, the day after my senior recital.</i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>I had a lot of fun. Going to auditions on April 10, 2011, I did not know what I was supposed to expect out of this experience. On the drive to auditions, the ever present thought was: what am I getting myself into? Now, almost four months from that day, whatever it was I got myself into - I am glad I did. The experience has been amazing. I got the chance to work (and befriend) some of the most amazing and talented people, and beyond all the talent I encountered much dedication and hard work. I also got a chance to act again. I've forgotten how much I love acting. </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>But all good things must come to an end, right?</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>It is extremely hard for me to let go of things. I've got issues, you know. (Actually, I've got lots of them.) Even though I smile and wave as people and things drift further and further away from me, my heart can never fully grasp goodbyes. Always the drama queen. As I was throwing in bits and pieces of Ruddigore's set pieces into the trucks destined for the dump, it dawned on me that the show was really over. I had splinters as proof. As I chucked the pieces into the back of the truck, thoughts floats through my mind:</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>"There goes Rose's cottage."</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>"There goes the church..."</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>"There goes the steps where I ripped my dress..." </i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>Even though it's quite hard for me to accept, life is like a novel. There are multiple chapters; the end of one usually means the beginning of another. Themes come and go. Characters change and develop - unless you have some of those who can be described more as flat characters.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;font-size:100%;"><i>Looking back, I've over the course of about three months, I can't help taking inventory of what I have gained. New friends, about 120 pictures, funny stories, inside jokes, and fond memories. And so I bid farewell and end this chapter properly entitled "Ruddigore," and make room in my life for other adventures.</i></span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-19602006172411023702011-02-08T11:56:00.000-08:002011-02-08T11:56:13.003-08:00The plague hits - will a cure ever be found?<div>I have been receiving numerous reports of an acute disease that seems to be affecting humankind all around the globe. An epidemic is taking the world by surprise, and we are totally unprepared for it.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Stupidity.</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>No, that is not one of the symptoms. That <em>is</em> the disease. To be exact, the known world is being threatened by the Acute Stupidity Syndrome. (I'm sure you can guess what the acronym is.)</div><br /><div> </div><br /><div>Wow. I really sound like a bitter human being. If you would take my word on it, I'm not. It's just the truth. I'm sure I'm not the only one that have noticed its exponential increase in the past few decades or so. It seems like stupid is the new trend. It is affecting all aspects of human life - from traffic to relationships, from business to life.<br /><br />Ah. Let's start with the smaller, easier to handle stupidity. The disease manifests itself when certain individuals humor themselves by attempting to operate a vehicle to travel from Point A to Point B. Surely, for a spectator, the sight is quite entertaining. However, it stops being entertaining when stupid becomes a lifestyle.<br /><br />For those of you that actually interact with me on a semi-regular basis, you would know that I do not drive in the United States. I don't even own a car of my own. Which is totally completely fine with me. I have a feeling that if I actually drive a vehicle, I will somehow lose my sanctification. And whatever little filter I have.<br /><br />This Acute Stupidity Syndrome (I will attempt to refrain from using the acronym) does not only affect people operating motor vehicles. It also affect people in their interaction with others. Relationships.<br /><br />Picture this scenario (true story, I kid you not):<br />Boy meets girl first day of college orientation (note: they are both freshmen)<br />Boy thinks girl's cute, girl thinks boy is cute.<br />They started dating.<br />Then, out of nowhere, during Thanksgiving weekend, boy and girl went and got married.<br />Are you kidding me?<br /><br />Another scenario:<br />Girl meets boy online. Started "dating." I used the appropriate quotation marks due to the fact that these two lived so far apart.<br />Boy comes to visit girl and proposed.<br />She said yes (really?).<br />Got married within a month.<br />Boy stayed for a month and then left girl, pregnant, never to be seen again.<br />Seriously?<br /><br />The most painstakingly heartbreaking scenario of all is when boys (or girls) use "the God card" to either get into a relationship or get out of a relationship. This actually happened to my friend. Boy likes girl, asked her out.<br />She said yes.<br />But they decided to take things slowly before officially dating.<br />After a few months, they were officially in a relationship (Facebook and all).<br />One month into their relationship, boy comes up to girl and used "the God card" to break up with her: "God told me to break up with you. I don't want to. But I have to."<br /><br />Really?<br /><br />To say the least, she was very offended. I was too.<br /><br />If God told you to break up with her, I think he would have the decency to tell her too. Does that mean she is less "spiritual" than you? If you want to break up with her, man up and do it.<br /><br />The last stupidity scene that I will share with you today is very offensive to me. The bitter reality of it is that this disease is spreading into our church leaders. I lost a good friend due to this.<br /><br />My friend, a new pastor, had decided that protecting the image of being a pastor is more important than actually caring for people. This friend used to be a person whose friends can rely to for help, support, encouragement, and even emergency assistance. To my dismay, this friend's approach to people have changed due to the pastoral image that needed to be protected. I understand the fact that pastors need to set up boundaries in order to protect themselves in this world that is full of manipulative people, judgmental people, gossip, and lawsuits. Our friendship dissolved because at times when I really needed help and asked this person for help (physical help, not emotional at all), this person responded with:<br /><blockquote></blockquote>"I'm sorry, I don't think that's a good idea."<br /><br />Hey there, pastor. What would Jesus do?<br /><br /></div>Due to these circumstances and the fact that there is no longer any interactions, communication, or even hang out times, our friendship no longer exists. I mourn for it. I really do. But any relationship is a two way interaction. Furthermore, I think we have irreconcilable philosophical and theological differences: my view of what it means to be a Christian does not align with my friend's view of what it means to be a pastor.<br /><br />Sad. But stupid nonetheless.<br /><br />To end my report, I have to admit that I have, in fact, done some stupid mistakes in my lifetime. Everyone does. I think it's how people come up with the term human error. However, there are some big decisions that you don't want to be stupid about. Like who you marry. Or the people you hurt. Or the people you love.<br /><div> </div><br /><div> </div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-55359437695559921172010-09-17T10:07:00.000-07:002010-09-17T11:24:51.079-07:00New York Trip Note #4<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>My last fifteen hours in New York City started out with panic. Yes, sheer panic. About five hours after I finally fell asleep, I was woken up by a phone call from the Front Desk, telling me that I needed to give them a new credit card because the one I gave them didn’t work. It turns out that I had to go and pay for my hotel room with cash since, for some unexplainable reason, my card didn’t go through. (After much questions, it dawned on me that my bank had put a hold on my account for big purchases. Of course.)</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>After that panic settled down and I checked out of the hotel, I walked over to Central Park, stopping by Starbucks on the way there. Oh and I got to visit some of the neighborhoods in Upper West Side. They’re amazingly beautiful. Honestly, I would love to live there. I had this conversation with my friends while I was here. I can definitely see myself living here. New York’s atmosphere is very much similar to how I live my life. </i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>Anyways... Central Park is huge! Gorgeous, and very green, but huge nonetheless. It was so fun to people watch there. I got to see some musicians play there, and they were good. There were lots of people running at the park. I can’t help noticing that some ladies were in need of extra support... and then there were also men in need of extra support. Eh... One of the most bizarre thing I witnessed while I was walking there was this man with his dog. His dog, I think it was a Doberman, sat still at the man’s feet while he attempts to do some Tai Chi moves. Yes, I said the word attempt. It seems like he was only there to show off. Show off what, I have no idea. Very weird. But hey. To each their own, right?</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>My last stop before leaving on another jet plane was Lincoln Center. My last tourist-y endeavor in such a short time: the Lincoln Center campus tour. Oh my word. It was amazing. I know some of you read this and said, huh? Yes. I’m a big fan of the arts, and so visiting the venues and learning about the history of the NYC Ballet, The Metropolitan Opera, Juilliard School, New York Philharmonic, etc. was a dream come true. I would love to go back, though, to see Elina Garanca in The Met’s Carmen. </i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>So after all this, what have changed? I don’t know why I was scared out of my wits. I laugh thinking about it. This was a great experience. And traveling alone was great!</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>Oh, by the way, I didn’t have time to post this earlier, so I posted this as I got settled back home in Kirkland.</i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><br /></i></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><i>If you want to see the 266 pictures from this trip, go to:</i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><i>gallery.me.com/tirza.magdiel</i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><i><br /></i></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><i>Ciao!</i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i></i></span><br /></p>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-35998670061427120652010-09-15T22:47:00.000-07:002010-09-15T23:11:49.752-07:00New York Trip Note #3<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My one and only full day in New York. So amazingly worth it.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My phone alarm woke the living daylights out of me. It was not even funny. I had a very good night sleep. Maybe it was because I was dead tired the night before. Figures.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Of course, I had to go to Starbucks two blocks away from my hotel. I needed my Grande Extra Caramel, Caramel Machiato.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">My first stop was The Rockefeller Center. I went and did the NBC Studio Tour. I was kind of iffy at first about the studio tour, but I actually really enjoyed it. There’s a lot of history behind that broadcasting company, more than just TV shows and programs. Of course, I got to see and learn about the stuff that makes SNL. (So I think I crammed about 100 years of New York history in two days. Whoa.) I got crazy at the NBC store. You should ask me about what I got! Anyways, then I did the whole Top of the Rock observatory experience. It was really cool. It wasn’t as crowded as the Empire State Building, and it wasn’t as high as the Empire State Building. It’s really cool though. They have this one room that has lights all over it. When you come in and you move, the room sensors assign you to a color and then when you move, your color lights up. Am I confusing you? Anyways, it’s really cool. I spent more time in that room than the others that visited the room.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What came after the Rockefeller Center? I walked to Grand Central Station. I really love the building. It’s really cool. However, I got really tired. I’ve been wearing flats everywhere I go and it’s killing me. So, I went and got this Jamaican snack thing and some pop and just people-watched. It was good and relaxing. I sat in front of this flower vendor, and it was very interesting to watch the different people who bought flowers from the vendor. I started creating stories in my head about who they are and what the flowers are for. Maybe not really creating stories, but more trying to guess.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">By this point, my totally Wicked experience was a mere three hours away, and I head down to the Broadway Joe Steak House on 46</span></i></span><span style="font: 6.7px Helvetica; letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">th</span></sup></i></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> Street for my reservation. I feel like the servers were kind of taken aback by me - a girl, traveling alone, dining alone. I mean, I could have just gone to a fast food restaurant. I assume that was what they were thinking. Why do fine dining alone? My answer? Why not? Broadway Joe is a very quaint little steak house on theatre row. I sat facing the streets and had a theatre show of my own. What I mean by that is people watching. It is interesting seeing how people interact with each other and how different people carry themselves. The food was great. I got a very good deal from Broadway.com. To start, I had caesar salad and bread. It was really good. I don’t think it came out of some package you buy from the store. For the main course, I had sirloin steak with baked potatoes. Seriously. Best steak I’ve had in a very long time. It was just the right amount of juiciness. Ah. Even writing about it makes my mouth water. To drink, I had a Hemingway Daiquiri. To think about it, I forgot to ask why the drink is named after Hemingway. Did it used to be Hemingway’s favorite beverage? It was good though, although much more than I wanted to spend. (Broadway.com didn’t cover drinks other than soda, water, coffee, or tea.) For dessert, I had a slice of New York Cheesecake, accompanied by some coffee. See, I still haven’t told my mother about this meal, she would go bezerk. She loves cheesecake. Well, I guess I can tell her that I ordered it for her. So, I think the server was frustrated at me. He seems to have trouble understanding me and communicating to me. This, in turn, becomes frustrating for me because he talked to me like I was in third grade. After a while, though, I just had to laugh about it. When I was enjoying my dessert, I looked up at the television and saw a soccer match. Manchester United playing against some league wearing blue and white that I can’t seem to remember at this point in time. I think it might be a Scottish league? Anyways, I was watching this game and realized that Manchester United isn’t the same team I watched growing up. They did some very idiotic blunders. Really. After a while I just had to get up and leave.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Which proves to be a problem when you’re really, really full. Dragging my feet to the Gershwin Theatre on 51</span></i></span><span style="font: 6.7px Helvetica; letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><sup><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">st</span></sup></i></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"> was long and arduous. I thought I was about to burst. Anyways, I found Gershwin Theatre without much of a problem. I went in and found myself very giddy. Much like a schoolboy. (Okay. Although I know how and when to use this American phrase--or maybe it’s a British phrase? Wherever it may have originated from--I don’t quite understand the origins of it. Oh well.) I found my seat quite easily, K 155. At first I thought that I didn’t get a good seat, since it’s way up in the balcony. I was wrong. It was a really good seat. I was at the end of the row, so to my right was the stairs and to my left was a big blue pillar. It was like I was in my own world, watching my favorite musical. Yes, this performance of Wicked solidified the fact that Wicked is, indeed, my favorite musical.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The girl who played Elphaba in this, was really good. Definitely a legit mezzo soprano-belter. (It’s okay if you’re not following my little rant here. It’s something my voice teacher, Bernie, and I have been discussing lately.) The girl who played Glinda (the “Ga” is silent), was not Kristin Chenowith, but she acted and sang like she was playing Chenowith playing Glinda. She’s still good, though. The number, “Popular,” was eerily blond-ish. (Please. Nobody take offense.) The show was amazing. Hilarious. Lots of side comments. The three hours passed very quickly, much to my dismay.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If you’re at all familiar with who I am, one thing that characterizes me is that I always have a song stuck in my head. Maybe even more than one. Of course, “Defying Gravity” was looping through my head after the show. “it’s time to try defying gravity... you can’t bring me down... da da da da” (That’s how I describe the musical interlude.)</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The original plan after Wicked was to go see Diane Schuur, one of my favorite Jazz vocalist of all time. However, they were out of good table seats by Monday, so I decided not to. Also, my friend Annette (whom I have known for 22 years) asked me if I would be able to hang out after Wicked. Her apartment building is just a couple of blocks away from the Gershwin Theatre. Isn’t that convenient? I walked over to her apartment and we hung out. We chat a lot and we caught up on each other’s lives. We realized that we haven’t really hung out in two years. That’s a long time for people that have been friends since baby-hood. (Did you know that on our grade school report card, there was a note that said something like: Annette and Tirza aren’t allowed to be in the same class. I think we had a really big fight when we were in first grade. The next time we were in the same class together was ninth grade. Wow.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">I left Annette’s apartment at like twenty til midnight, when she looked like she was about to pass out. I thought that taking the subway back to my hotel would be dangerous. But I actually managed very well. In one piece.</span></i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica; min-height: 12.0px"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><i></i></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 10.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The excitement of the night combined with fatigue made it difficult for me to wind down to go to bed. I ended up going to bed at midnight. Seattle time.</span></i></span></p>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-79387532474155116632010-09-13T20:54:00.001-07:002010-09-13T20:54:53.258-07:00NYC Trip Note #2<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>Wow. Today has been a really long day. It’s actually quite hilarious.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>It actually started right after I finished writing my last journal. Huh? You wonder. That happened last night. Well... Yes. My last night and this morning has blurred into one giant entity - sleep depravity. I boarded a very full Continental flight 234. I have planned to sleep during the four hour on the plane. It wouldn’t be enough sleep, but at least it’s something. Apparently, there are just some things you could not plan. In the row right next to me, there were two babies who screamed bloody murder every couple of hours. Therefore, no rest for my poor mind. I got to the airport and had to wait for an hour and a half for a shuttle driver who fell asleep and didn’t respond to the notification that I had arrived and needed a ride. A nicer driver came and gave me a ride to my hotel, but by that time, I was so tired. It took me all the energy in my veins to be able to keep a good attitude about it. Or to not convulse into sobs. As soon as I got into my hotel room, though, everything turned for the better.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>I checked in, changed, washed my face, make myself presentable, and then went on to find a Starbucks. I’m not a huge fan of Starbucks, but it is a familiar taste of home. And of course, that made the day a whole lot better.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>Oh. I also got over my anxiety issues about going on an adventure in a foreign land.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>I went to Pier 78 and took a 90-minute skyline tour of New York. It was good, exactly how I like to enjoy the sights. I like to hear about the history and the background behind events and landmarks. It was kind of heartbreaking to hear about 9/11 though, even though it has been nine years. It is still an unbelievably grievous thing. </i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>After that, I went to the Empire State Building. Whoa! The view... It’s like being on top of the world. Side note: I broke a nail.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>On the way to Empire State Building, I passed Bryant Park and saw all these signs for their Fall Festival. Apparently today, it was scheduled for the New York City Ballet to perform at Bryant Park. So, of course, I decided to go. After being there and getting settled for half an hour, reading my grad school material, the crowd was interrupted by a rumbling that originated from the sky. We disregarded that and continued doing all the things we were doing. The rumbling happened again. No precipitation, although worry clouded the faces that have crowded the park. A man came and announced that the show was cancelled. As the crowd groaned and the man apologized, the rumbling cloud shed heavy drops that began to pour like nothing else. Yep. My welcoming gift from the Big Apple is a big thunderstorm. I think I ruined a pair of shoes.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>The good part of the night came when I finally saw my friend, Stephanie. Stephanie and I have been friends since kindergarten. We’ve been in so many classes together and played in the orchestra together. However, we haven’t really hung out these past four years. You know, college. We had lots of fun catching up and eating one of the most delicious pizzas I have ever tasted at Serafina on 55</i></span><span style="font: 8.0px Helvetica; letter-spacing: 0.0px"><sup><i>th</i></sup></span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i> and Broadway. Oh my word.</i></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><i><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"></span><br /></i></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px"><i>Today has been a great day. I’m tired, but I’m still up watching a Meg Ryan movie and writing this entry. See ya soon!</i></span></p>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-64137482471619697582010-09-12T21:14:00.000-07:002010-09-13T20:54:24.684-07:00NYC Trip Note #1<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>So I am at Sea-Tac airport at the gate where my plane is supposed to leave in about an hour. I am so excited to go to New York, see friends and see the things I've always wanted to see. However, at the same time, I am scared out of my wits. I feel like I seem somewhat of an adventurous person. To a certain extent, I think I am, but that does not dismiss any kind of fear I might have about going on a trip by myself. Ugh. I guess I should get used to it. I'm at a season in my life where I'm living alone. So I should get used to it. For now.</i></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i>Hmmm... Well next time I write, I'll probably on the other side of the country already.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-84278301650918070122010-01-12T22:37:00.000-08:002010-01-26T09:53:23.436-08:00Once upon a time... in Hollywood.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Once upon a time..." Every fairy tale starts that way, right?</span></span></i> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">When I was little, I remembered some nights when my grandmother was around, she would tell me stories about princesses and kingdoms, about princes and warriors. Even if your family did not tell you bedtime stories about princes and princesses, you were exposed to them nonetheless. Is it too hard to ask for a knight in shining armo</span></i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">r? Or, for guys, where is that damsel in distress? I can see your face reading this right now, all scrunched up with indignation. Who is this girl, telling me that I have my head up in the clouds? </span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Many people today profess to be realists. We live in today. We are independent people. When we have dreams, we make things happen. Is that correct? As a self-professed realist, I share those thoughts. However, I realized that there is a different kind of fairy tale that my subconscious is slightly more inclined to clasp to. This kind of fairy tale doesn't usually start with the stereotypical "Once upon a time..." Some of them do start that way, but these few instances are aberrations from the norm. This kind of fairy tale usually starts with a drum rhythm and the flashing lights of blue and gold, showing a sign that say "20th Century FOX" or a lady in greco-romanesque outfit. Today, I want to talk to you about Hollywood influenced movies and TV series: why I am calling it the modern day fairy tale and the effects it have on the population in general. Also, I will be taking some examples from some of my favorite movies.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Movies are just like books, in the sense that they tell a story. They give people more of the instant gratification of knowing a story within the constraints of two hours rather than reading paragraphs and paragraphs of clusters of words. I love watching movies! It enables me to retreat from my daily activities into two hours of a world apart from mine. When you are watching an epic fantasy movie like Lord of the Rings, your mind would not make the inference that events depicted in the movie might come true in your life tomorrow. (It is a sad fact of reality that our world do not have elves and hobbits.) However, when you watch a romantic comedy set in 21st century Seattle, it is so hard to not hope something worth a Hollywood movie will happen to you tomorrow. Hence, what started out as a two-hour retreat from a hectic week turns out to influence values and morals and expectations in everyday life.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Movies are basically modern day fairy tales due to the aforementioned fact. After hearing the story of Snow White or Sleeping Beauty, little girls want to be princesses, and be whisked away by a prince. When they grow up, they will have embraced reality--finish school, get a job, etc. But somewhere in the deepest parts of their hearts, they will still be waiting for the perfect man to save</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">them from a "boring" life. After life beats the crap out of them, they will "settle" for a man less than perfect, but they will always still have that feeling of emptiness and longing. They will be longing for their happy ever after.</span></i></span></div><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 250px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 317px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430064040117216994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj55yKSjJ365NgfHf65FUsbBI7ImRkA5AO6kRCTNUSSzLRr-b3a06HikIyS9ALCXszdTct53t2MM3VCGpwPrkLwHdsD_dkvQxqmE8d_S_7nS1jwLvsXTNE7QSYwC40rsF7i9XR6HEad3cCR/s320/displayimage.php.jpeg" /> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">In this sense, movies have the same effects as fairy tales. Take, for example, one of the movies on my DVD rack, You've Got Mail, starring Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan. The movie is a typical warm and fuzzy romantic comedy, with a long-lasting effect on reality. Meg Ryan's character found a man online with whom she shares a connection. However, she was already in a relationship at that time. What if a woman watches this movie and think to herself, "There might be someone better out there," even when she's already in a relationship? Also, having an emotional connection with someone other than your significant other is just so wrong. It's stupid, actually. Anyways, back to my point, what if every time this woman is in a relationship, she asks herself, "What if the love of my life, my soulmate, my happy ever after is still out there?" No wonder we have high divorce rates.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">One movie that was released recently, and I happen to enjoy very much, is The Proposal, starring Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds. Is it okay to be in a relationship with a ruthless, cruel, disrespectful and abrasive person because you might think that after spending time with this person, they will change and becomes less of a jerk? What if they never change? What if that is their natural disposition? Then you're pretty much screwed. (For people that might be offended by the word usage, I didn't find any phrases that is poignant enough to communicate the thought.) It's really sad to see people get into real life relationships with the mindset that "I will change him/her." One day they'll wake up and realize that it's an impossible mission, and they're.. well.. stuck.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Hollywood does not only give us unrealistic expectations, it also presents us with values that, in my opinion, can be really stupid. (Pardon me, I have zero tolerance for stupidity.) Movies like The Ugly Truth (Sadly enough, I actually have seen the movie. The movie makes me sick.) share a unique perspective on love and relationships. After meeting a person with whom our character experienced a "spark," instead of trying to get to know the person, the question that engulfs the character is: how soon can I have sex with this person? What the heck!? It disgusts me that today's media equates sex to food. If you're hungry, then eat! Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It gives me no pleasure to "bash" movies I love to watch, but in all honesty, I have to say that most of these movies set unrealistic expectations and values to life. A lot of the times, I get caught up with the emotions and romance and tension of movies, but then, once in a while, I step back and think: I don't want to live like them. Do you?</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">There's no such thing as a happy ever after. There's no such thing as the perfect man or woman. These things exist only in fairy tales, whether they are created by the Grimm brothers or Nora Ephron. My one explanation on why I think we love these fairy tales so much is because we are created with a desire for wonder, adventure, and romance. Believe me, true wonder, adventure, and romance cannot be experienced through living out Cinderella or 27 Dresses.</span></i></span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-45942748475185747272009-12-29T12:16:00.000-08:002010-01-12T22:37:22.018-08:00Just another princess movie<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHNyIEc9vRRU0wXdLwHMfT8FgEe5PqrJ6Sw3fyzYEsHDyg_O1yGmcUBtWBvmFKj-ITaZb3mKoOSEKHLfhP47V08qINHpaAMSBG9w4cPzejXJ_m6QL32ufwU3M9BiHZlQcLOZIaeiFQmurn/s1600-h/princessandthefrogconcept1-580x322.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 178px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHNyIEc9vRRU0wXdLwHMfT8FgEe5PqrJ6Sw3fyzYEsHDyg_O1yGmcUBtWBvmFKj-ITaZb3mKoOSEKHLfhP47V08qINHpaAMSBG9w4cPzejXJ_m6QL32ufwU3M9BiHZlQcLOZIaeiFQmurn/s320/princessandthefrogconcept1-580x322.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420767543246557842" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The last thing I'm going to do is talk about the controversy of an African American princess getting turned into a frog. I think some people are just too uptight about the issue. Please keep in mind that these Disney princess stories are all based on fairy tales, and The Princess and the Frog is a fairy tale. Anyways, I did not plan on talking about this discussion.</span></i></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to talk about the movie. The night The Princess and the Frog came out in theaters, I went and saw it with my friend. Much to my dismay, the movie did not give me the fairy tale satisfaction that the other Disney Princess movies have given me in the past.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So. First of all, the animation effects, music, and cinematography was great. I don't really have any problems with that. I feel like Disney have always excelled in that area. Also, the story and the depiction of the princess story is very Disney. I like that the story challenged people with dreams, that things might just work out in a different way... The movie teaches people to dream big, but also enjoy life. I like that.</span></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i>The problem I have with this movie is the element of occultism, if I can explain it as such. There were instances where the necromancer shown in the movie used blood rituals to seal the deal with his "friends on the other side." It referenced the "friends on the other side's" thirst for wayward souls. The necromancer also was depicted using a voodoo doll to inflict harm on someone.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i>Is this something we want children to see? As I was thinking this in the movie theater, I saw that two families got up and left because their kids were crying. Personally, I think that the movie should not have been rated G for General Audience. I think that it is best to be rated PG or PG-13 so that adults can supervise and explain the elements that might be challenging morally and spiritually.</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial, serif;"><i>But who cares. It's another happily ever after, right?</i></span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-43666990123743350262009-11-10T20:00:00.001-08:002009-11-11T13:25:51.676-08:00The Ugly Truth<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /></div>After the day I had today, I seriously need to write this down - for my sake, more than for the sake of others. If I do not write it down and own this, I will seriously convince myself that it's normal. The truth is it's not normal. The ugly truth is I have a problem.<br /><br />Oh my, I'm sure everyone reading this have quickly jumped into premature conclusions. "Is she...?" "She struggling with this?" The ugly truth you are about to read may not be what you expected... then again, it might be what you expected.<br /><br /><br />The question I pose for everyone to reflect on is<br /><b><br /></b><br /><b>How do you cope when the storm hits you?</b><br /><b><br /></b><br />Everyone copes with storms in life differently. Some ways are beneficial, some not harmful but may be destructive, others completely disastrous. Some people cope with drugs, others cope with alcohol. Some cope with sports, others cope with hobbies. No matter what people use to cope, they are looking for whatever it is that will make them feel better - albeit temporarily.<br /><br /><br />For me, there are two things that become my means to feeling better. One more than the other.<br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 247px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5402694246637412402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjplzSUeezzv-VxyAj5M4FjeYEo0MrLugYaYmc8wTqQ50xvSK_8CZsjii8dVdi4YqYuAXSLQMOhW6Xoa9LC1TvnY_5BWqf6nCCsBMK0SOmHtPt4qQ4JyhVxg_ovZHdnEkFRxk0q8SuCbIl_/s320/shopping-spree.jpg" /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">Can you guess what it possibly might be? Yes, my coping mechanism is shopping. And yes, it can potentially be very dangerous to my financial health.</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">I just bought a new blue sweater dress, a Kat von D eye shadow pallette, Bare Minerals foundation, Bare Minerals powder, and Bare Minerals lipstick. Seriously? Seriously?! Seriously. I only needed two out of all those things I ended up purchasing. </div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">Yesterday was horrible. It's easy for people to say not to worry and that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. It's different this time. This time, it's just pitch black. I don't see any light. I don't even know what direction to step in. It's pitch black... and I am alone. Do you know how frustrating this is? I wanted to throw a tantrum, but I am too tired and drained to be able to throw one. Today is a total blur of numbness. Physically, I am a lot better than I am mentally and emotionally. And I was hoping shopping would make me feel something.. anything... Maybe a hint of happiness?</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">The cause of my frustration and depression will not be discussed. Sorry. But it's fair to say that it is crippling. I remember my homeroom teacher in 11th grade was told to describe me, and he described me as a person who loves life. Today I was challenged to ask myself: where did that girl go? Is she still anywhere inside of me?</div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><br /></div><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">Anywho. The ugly truth is out. Shopping is my coping mechanism, and it can be dangerous. And I realize that.</div><div><br /></div>It's funny how God answers you using your own metaphors and your own language. God revealed to me that he is holding my hand. Yes, I'm in the tunnel. Yes, I can't see where I'm going or where the light is. But God is there holding my hand and, because I know that he has the full perspective, I know it's going to be alright.<div><br />What is your coping mechanism? How do you deal with the storms in life? Honestly. Life is always going to be tough. There will be the happy moments, but there will also be the frustrating and depressing moments in life. The question is how do we cope with those frustrating times? Are we going to run to something that gives temporary happiness, or do we run to something that gives peace in the midst of the storm?<br /><br /><div align="center"><em>"I can do all things through Him who strengthens me." Phillipians 4.13</em></div></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-38124133133564255382009-11-01T22:05:00.001-08:002009-11-01T22:59:58.780-08:00Observations from a Disney Classic<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2dBeBRIDLigoQG_0tPBsUDmx3M3loy-e7sWBjlYaJ52zb0Mt2jpWIW1Z5QsxSlruilMWsJqbz3c0u-bjUnHWfUldkW6oqdPMu05MixvBLtUqFiczYcpBCTEvestVMnXRK3fQxZ0dhqVj/s1600-h/beauty-and-the-beast-3d.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 205px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2dBeBRIDLigoQG_0tPBsUDmx3M3loy-e7sWBjlYaJ52zb0Mt2jpWIW1Z5QsxSlruilMWsJqbz3c0u-bjUnHWfUldkW6oqdPMu05MixvBLtUqFiczYcpBCTEvestVMnXRK3fQxZ0dhqVj/s320/beauty-and-the-beast-3d.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399396271267257458" /></a>Out of all of the Disney classics, I would have to say that I like Beauty and the Beast the best. I like the movie because it doesn't just portray a heroine that sits back and let her fairy tale ending get handed to her on a silver platter. Needless to say, the Sleeping Beauty might be my least favorite Disney Princess movie. Beauty and the Beast tells the story of Belle, who made choices that affected her happy ever after.<div><br /></div><div>After church today, my roommates turned Beauty and the Beast on. Of course, I was compelled to sit and watch with them. I think this time, though, I saw the movie through a different set of glasses. The following observations I gleaned from today's viewing of the movie does not, however, change my feelings about the movie. Just to let you know in advance.</div><div><br /></div><div>Observation #1:</div><div>It pains me to think that there are people like Gaston in the world, people that are too disillusioned with who they think they are that they live their lives in a dream world... and then they force people to succumb to that world and its rules. Honestly, if I see a guy as absurd as Gaston, I would punch his face. A quick note for all the boys out there: don't propose and prepare a wedding on the same day. She might say no. And, if she's me, she might punch your face.</div><div><br /></div><div>Observation #2:</div><div>A lot of times, girls get caught up in the dream of living in a world where magic, prince charmings, and fairy godmothers roam around free. I'm not doubting that if Belle had chosen a different path, to not be so taken by the enchanted castle, she would have found herself living a different life. Looking at her strong will, that alternate future probably won't involve a Gaston, but it wouldn't involve a cursed prince and an enchanted castle too. I think every little girl fall into that bottomless pit. We are all told to dream and wait for the perfect man to come. Pretty much the embodiment of Snow White's song, "Someday My Prince will come." I think it's unfair for the men in our lives when they have to live up to the expectations of the perfect Prince Charming who will give us magic, romance, and adventure. That's a pretty hard job to accomplish.</div><div><br /></div><div>Observation #3:</div><div>I feel that Beauty and the Beast can be a tad bit misleading at times, especially for the ladies out there. I'm afraid that too many girls watch the movie and leave thinking that they'll be able to turn the beast into a gorgeous man or take any gross frog and kiss him into a prince. So the girl grows up and meets a man that isn't perfect. The man is pretty much like Beast - arrogant, temperamental, and rude. But subconsciously, she has always clung to the notion that she will be able to change him. Therefore she will be determined to tame the wild. Then... after she has successfully tamed him into the perfect husband, she'll wonder where the wild, adventurous "beast" she fell in love with went. Ironic, huh? This whole train of thought started from the scene where Beast was transformed back to a man. Honestly, I think that Beast looked better as a beast than as a man. Although some would say that he's the exact same person and that it shouldn't make a difference, it will be different. He views himself differently, and she doesn't see the beast she fell in love with. Of course it's different.</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh my. It's funny how these random thoughts come into my head. </div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-44030064626480392062009-10-02T08:44:00.001-07:002009-10-02T13:20:06.389-07:00The Properties of Being a WomanSo, as some of you know already, I get bored at work sometimes. And what do I do? I surf the web. The usual destinations would be Facebook and YouTube... and my newfound interest, Urban Dictionary. I was bored today and so I looked up "women" on Urban Dictionary. I'd like to know how some people attempt to describe or portray women... I ran into this one and would love to share it with you.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>WOMEN - A CHEMICAL ANALYSIS --------------------------- </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Element: Women </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Symbol: Wo </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Discoverer: Adam </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Atomic Mass: Accepted at 53.6 kg, but known to vary between 40 & 200 kg </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>Occurences: Copious quantities in all urban areas </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>PHYSICAL PROPERTIES: </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>1. Surface usually covered in painted film. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>2. Boils at nothing; freezes without known reason. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>3. Melts if given special treatment. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>4. Bitter if incorrectly used. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>5. Found in various states from virgin metal to common ore. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>6. Yields if pressure applied in correct places. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>CHEMICAL PROPERTIES: </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>1. Has a great affinity for gold, silver and a range of precious stones. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>2. Absorbs great quantities of expensive substances. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>3. May explode spontaneously without prior warning and for no know reason. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>4. Insoluble in liquids, but activity increases greatly when saturated in alcohol. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>5. Most powerful money reducing agent known to man. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>COMMON USES: </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>1. Highly ornamental, especially in sports cars. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>2. Can be a great aid to relaxation. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>3. Very effective cleaning agent. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>TESTS: </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>1. Pure specimen turns rosy pink when discovered in the natural state. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>2. Turns green when placed beside a better specimen. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em></em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>HAZARDS: </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>1. Highly dangerous except in experienced hands. </em></span><br /><span style="font-family:arial;"><em>2. Illegal to possess more than one, although several can be maintained at different locations as long as specimens do not come into direct contact with each other. </em></span>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-34031623852643051482009-08-24T18:28:00.000-07:002009-09-25T17:03:23.831-07:00Please don't fight...<span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse"><span class="Apple-style-span"><i><blockquote><span style="font-family:georgia;">Why are you striving these days<br />Why are you trying to earn grace<br />Why are you crying<br />Let me lift up your face<br />Just don't turn away<br /><br />Why are you looking for love<br />Why are you still searching as if I'm not enough<br />To where will you go, child<br />Tell me where will you run<br />To where will you run<br /><br />And I'll be by your side<br />Wherever you fall<br />In the dead of night<br />Whenever you call<br />And please don't fight<br />These hands that are holding you<br />My hands are holding you<br /><br />Look at these hands and my side<br />They swallowed the grave on that night<br />When I drank the world's sin<br />So I could carry you in<br />And give you life<br />I want to give you life<br /><br />And I'll be by your side<br />Wherever you fall<br />In the dead of night<br />Whenever you call<br />And please don't fight<br />These hands that are holding you<br />My hands are holding you<br /><br />Cause I, I love you<br />I want you to know<br />That I, I love you<br />I'll never let you go<br /><br />And I'll be by your side<br />Wherever you fall<br />In the dead of night<br />Whenever you call<br />And please don't fight<br />These hands that are holding you<br />My hands are holding you</span></blockquote><span style="font-family:georgia;">- By Your Side, by Tenth Avenue North</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-family:georgia;" >So about a month ago, I realized I was at the lowest point in my life. I am the kind of person that have always been confident of what I want to do in life. I remember back in high school, when he was told to describe me, my teacher said that I am the kind of person that loves life. A month ago, that was not the case.</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-family:georgia;" ><div>I was standing on a beach, by the clear blue waters. I have always loved the beach, the feel of the warm sand the cold, refreshing water. That was my definition of peace. But not this time. I felt like a big wave had crashed over me, engulfing me with its strong arms. I was pushed down. Deeper and deeper. I got to the point where I need oxygen. The panic, the desperation, the fear was all around me. I tried so hard to push my way up, trying to swim against the pressure. I finally saw the light of day and quickly gasped a mouthful of air. The next second, another wave crashed on me, pulling me down. Deeper and deeper. I tried to swim and fight the pressure. This time, I felt my muscles ache. There was no ounce of strength left in me to swim up. So what can I do. I let go of all hope and drift further and further down.</div></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" >I wasn't really on a beach. I wasn't really drowning. But it felt like I was.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" >I was at the point where I had let go of all hope and drift further and further down into depression. I <em>know</em> what God's promises are for my life. I <em>know </em>that his plans are supposed to be good. But I couldn't see it. I couldn't see it ever happening to me. Everytime I think about it, I cry. What else could one do? I was at the point where I could not trust God anymore. I literally did not have the strength or the ability to trust God. I was just there, falling deeper and deeper to this abyss. I told my parents this, the only people I talked to about this. I knew it hurt them to see me that way, but I was unable to do anything. My mother kept on telling me that I have always been a strong, confident girl. "Get up and fight it!" was what she said. And I told her, "I can't..." I did not feel that girl in me anymore. I felt a totally different person, a failure.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" >It's funny that the prayer intern could not find it in her to pray. I literally could not pray.</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" >The story did not end there, though. After a while, I started to become angry. I was mad at God. I was angry because he was not doing what he promised me he would. I was angry because I was heartbroken. I was angry because I was alone. I was angry... and I told him. I prayed, but my prayer was anger... I told him everything, everything that was wrong with my life. I told him that I was sick of my life. I asked him, "If you love me, why am I hurting?"</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" >This song came in the picture. I twas in the playlist I was playing at the time. I felt God was speaking these words to me, as he held me in his arms. No matter how hard I fight back, his arms were still there. And then he tells me, "Please don't fight these hands that are holding you."</span><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" >I felt like a hand grabbed mine and pulled me out of the deep water. It felt good because, finally, I was able to breathe again. Oxygen felt so strange, but good at the same time. I was in someone's arms. It wasn't cold and dark anymore, but warm and light.</span><br /><br />I was looking for love and searching as if God is not enough.<br /><br />I'm not saying I have it all figured out. But it's a journey.<br /><br />I am falling more and more in love - with God. All the others? They don't really matter.</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-family:georgia;font-size:medium;" ><br /></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="BORDER-COLLAPSE: collapse;font-size:medium;" ><br /><br /></span>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-51813591467418041752009-07-31T19:55:00.000-07:002009-07-31T22:02:20.205-07:00FRUMPED<div>WARNING: This blog post is most definitely what I would clearly label venting. Please understand.</div><div><br /></div>I was in line to talk to the receptionist at the doctor's clinic and, while waiting, have been engrossed in a quite passionate rant concerning a friendship in my life that is coming to an end.<div><br /></div><div>"You've been frumped," Anna analyzed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Naturally, I was perplexed at the use of the foreign word. After seeing the perplexed look on my face, Anna explained that it is an expression coined first by our friend, Ashleigh, pertaining to the situation in which a friend ended the friendship. Much like being "dumped" in a romantic relationship. When one is being "frumped," he or she is being "dumped" as a friend. I thought the invention was ingenious.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anna was right. I was frumped.</div><div><br /></div><div>One of my friends, who will remain unnamed, has ditched me for the last year or so for a boy, who will also remain unnamed. Reading this, you might think that this is a normal case of friend jealousy. However, I might have to disagree, since I can produce witnesses who would testify to the truth of my case. I think that there is a healthy way to be in a romantic relationship yet still preserve friendships. Apparently my friend have no idea how that can be done.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have made a promise to my friend - let's call her X - to do something for her. I, mind you, made that promise when we were still friends. Then, the frumping process began. What I'm wondering is: does she still have any friends left? Apparently X has only one friend in her life, her boy. People might think that it is cliche to say that relationships need work. But they do. And my friend, X, completely did not care about our friendship. As a result, I - being the independent person that I am - moved on with my life, without her. And now, much to my regret, I was called to act on that promise I made.</div><div><br /></div><div>You see, X still very much thought that we are friends. She still calls me "friend" and tells me she misses me. Every time I hear her say that, I have to exert every effort I can to control myself from regurgitating. I am quite disgusted. When we were still friends (and my definition of friend is of true friendship, where friends hang out with each other and actually are interested in each other's lives), I would jump at the opportunity to spend time at her place. Not anymore, though. Recently, she asked me if I'd like to come and spend the night. As you probably could tell, I'm not jumping for joy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways. I just needed a place to channel my exasperation.. frustration.. disgust..</div><div><br /></div><div>You might be wondering what I'm going to do next. A promise is a promise. I make sure this is completed, then she'll go her way and I go mine. I'm not saying that I hate her and will never talk to her again. No. What I'm saying is that our relationship have changed throughout the course of the year from close friends to mere acquaintances. It's sad, I know. So sorry. Wished it was different, but it's not. I've moved on with my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>A disgruntled ex-friend, signing out.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-80197367725532080042009-06-16T20:22:00.000-07:002009-06-26T21:00:37.769-07:00Flying SoloI'm 6,742 miles away from home... and 3,601 miles away from my other home.<div><br /></div><div>It's really quite interesting the set of circumstances that brought me to this very moment. Oh yeah, I should probably give more information about what my situation is right now. I am sitting in the Sakura Lounge of Japan Airlines located somewhere in the depths of the Narita International Airport.</div><div><br /></div><div>To all of the people out there that don't know me, I want everything to be in control. My control. (And that's an understatement.) What happened to me these past couple of days just can't be further from that.</div><div><br /></div><div>On Monday, June 15 I was dropped off at Sea-Tac Airport by my lovely roommate's mother, LaVaughn. I know. It's kind of bizzare that your roommate's mom drives you to the airport and not your roommate. Long story. But LaVaughn is a good friend and she's like family to me, so I was quite content with the arrangement. After checking in and the usual stuff that pertains with getting on International flights, I got on the plane just in time. </div><div><br /></div><div>My flight made a short stop in Honolulu to re-fuel and all that good stuff. And then we were off to a 7-hour flight (Yes. I'm serious. No. This isn't a typo) to Tokyo, Japan. Throughout this first leg of my flights, I watched a few movies. Okay. Maybe a little bit more than a few. Hotel for Dogs, Last Chance Harvey, Race to Witch Mountain, New in Town, and InkHeart. Yep. Just a few. It didn't really sink in to me that something was wrong until the time they handed out immigration forms for Japan. Of course, I was like, "I'm going to Hong Kong and then to Jakarta. I don't need these forms." But they gave me the forms anyways. I started looking at the itinerary I had printed out and stuck in my purse. The captain had said that we were going to arrive at Narita Airport at 9:30pm. Wait a second, I thought to my self (or maybe out loud). The flight was supposed to have landed at 4:40pm and then I should have departed on another flight to Hong Kong at 6:40pm. I could literally feel the ground underneath me crumble. Okay. Maybe it was some turbulence the flight was experiencing.</div><div><br /></div><div>You see. For a control freak like me, having your flight itinerary changed, being dumped at a foreign place with lots of people who speak some kind of English you don't understand, and having no notion of how or when you'll get to your destination is a bad thing. I still smiled and was still polite to the people I encountered, but deep inside I was hyperventilating. (Is that even possible? Internal hyperventilating.) </div><div><br /></div><div>When my flight landed in Narita, I had to wait in line to get my little "situation" figured out. In line, I had the chance to observe human nature put under a series of misfortunes uncontrollable by anyone. People are rude. When people's comfort gets threatened, they get rude. As I was waiting in line, I had a revelation. Whatever we are experiencing right now is not the people manning the counter's fault - and why do we unleash 3 hours worth of delay anger on them? They weren't the ones flying the planes or manning the control towers.</div><div><br /></div><div>So I resolved on shutting up, be polite, and muster up whatever strength left in me to smile.</div><div><br /></div><div>It worked. The guy that helped me told me that they have booked a hotel room with complimentary dinner and breakfast on them. They also arranged a new flight itinerary. The guy saw that my final destination is Jakarta, and so he asked me if I would rather have a direct flight from Tokyo to Jakarta. I did not hesitate in agreeing. So it was settled. My flight to Jakarta was to leave the next day at 2:10pm. That left me enough time to rest, clean up, and lounge around.</div><div><br /></div><div>Japan Airlines has a lounge with complimentary food, drinks, and wireless internet. It was paradise for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>It turns out that the circumstances played out better than what I had planned myself.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I planned consisted of waiting for 9 hours in Hong Kong International Airport - sleep deprived and alone.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I got was free dinner, breakfast, and a great place to stay and sleep. I got a full 8 hours of sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>Accept the unexpected. It may end up being a whole lot better than you have planned.</div><div><br /></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-58627223663598593192009-06-09T02:00:00.000-07:002009-06-26T21:33:58.922-07:00Season Finale<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOdn5fVjG3WR2PYV4EEDcM3GVSiItAT2z5L873ShYpye0InYGK14OieKwaORq8ey4RPgUxj05eMxTLe33omJhMBFXv8wiBFcSaiw_UHTH7R1ZtiMo_iRUHF7SggUid0jEm821VVoCvuwh/s1600-h/LoVe_costumes.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnOdn5fVjG3WR2PYV4EEDcM3GVSiItAT2z5L873ShYpye0InYGK14OieKwaORq8ey4RPgUxj05eMxTLe33omJhMBFXv8wiBFcSaiw_UHTH7R1ZtiMo_iRUHF7SggUid0jEm821VVoCvuwh/s320/LoVe_costumes.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345261092521253218" border="0" /></a><br />So, I finished watching the last season of Veronica Mars. My roommate suggested that I move on to more bad boys. In Buffy, for example.<br /><br />Sigh. But alas. My heart is still captured by the teenage detective series.<br /><br />I think it's public knowledge now that one of the reasons for my unending love for Veronica Mars is the presence of the hot boyfriend (or ex-boyfriend, or whatever Logan Echolls decides to be). Nevertheless, there are other aspects that contributes to my love for Veronica Mars.<br /><br />Mystery novels. Murders. Who did it? It's like the CLUE game, where you try to find who did it, where, and with what. Do I have to spell it out again? Hint: it's the whole thing about humankind loving danger and adventures. Yeah. That's the one.<br /><br />Okay. Forgive me for I have sinned. It's been xx days since my last confession. The big reason why I'm oh so head over heels about this tv series is Logan. Okay. Here comes the analysis.<br /><br />I've watched a few episodes of Veronica Mars in the past - just a few, not all of them. After these few days of Veronica Mars marathon, I have come to the decision that Season 3 wasn't as good as the first two seasons. To be honest, I am biased. Can you blame me? Veronica dumped Logan and hooked up with a guy named "Piz."<br /><br />Seriously?<br /><br />At first glance, the end of season 3 seems to be a depressing moment in the lives of those who want Logan and Veronica to end up together. (In case you don't know, that would be me.) However, after thinking about it and consulting the special features in the DVD package, I received an epiphany.<br /><br />Scenario #1: Saying, "You're stupid," to someone. Direct, to the point, plain and simple.<br />Scenario #2: Expose the person's stupidity in front of an audience, causing humiliation... This to be done without a single time saying "You're stupid" to the person. But boy, oh boy, they get the message clearly.<br /><br />The difference between scenario #1 and scenario #2? It's called literary genius.<br /><br />And I think that was what the creators of Veronica Mars wanted to accomplish in the Logan/Veronica relationship as portrayed in Season 3. Brilliant. Astonishing. Simply a masterpiece.<br /><br />Let's take a look (figuratively, of course) to the last scene of Veronica-Logan-Piz in the season finale. At first I hated the scene because I thought it wasn't powerful enough. I changed my mind. The scene became one of my favorite Logan-Veronica scene in this season.<br />She was in the cafeteria. Logan came to apologize to her for beating her boyfriend up, which was, of course, an amazingly intense yet exhilarating scene. Veronica told him that it was going to take some time for her to be able to get over what Logan has done. After finding out the perpetrator behind Veronica's raunchy video footage, Veronica decided not to do anything, for it was a politically weighty matter. The scum said some things that he surely would take back if he knew who Logan was. Surprise, surprise. The Echolls' temper came through. Logan completely beat up the guy. I love it that the guy said, "Whoever you are, you're going to die." And, Logan charmingly replies, "Yeah. Someday." Pretty amazing line there.<br /><br />After this little witty comment here, the rest of the scene involves the power of facial expressions more than verbal attempts. Logan looks at Veronica with his usual bad-boy-and-knight-in-shining-armor mix. He smiled, and ran into Piz. He apologized to Piz about everything and walked away. Veronica was looking at Logan with this unexplainable adoration in her eyes. She had this look that said, "This is the man I love." And then she looked at Piz. I guess she had to realize that sooner or later she had to come to terms with the fact that Piz is her boyfriend, not Logan. She couldn't even look at Piz for too long. Piz, on the other hand, realized his defeat. He knows that at the end of the day, there was only one man for Veronica, and he's not it.<br /><br />Powerful, isn't it?<br /><br />Mind recalling that Veronica did storm into Logan's hotel suite in an earlier scene and told him that she did not want him in her life anymore. Ah. The things people say and what they end up doing rarely matches.<br /><br />I feel that this method of telling their story is simply brilliant. The creators didn't just write the story and handed it on a silver platter. The ambiguity of the scene was golden. It draws out feelings, rather than describes plot.<br /><br />Of course, no one knows whether those two stubborn, thick-headed people will end up together again. They each have their own pretty ornaments that decorate their lives: Logan with his irresponsibility and temper inherited from his family, and Veronica with her deep-seethed need to be suspicious of everyone. But no one can really doubt that these two flawed personalities share a bond that even their own corrupt lives can't seem to break.<br /><br />Yes. I'm talking about cinematography.<br />Yes. I'm talking about script writing.<br />But I guess I'm more talking about powerful expressions.<br /><br />Sometimes. It does not require words to communicate how you feel or what you think. When words fail (And trust me. It will.), actions and expressions scream the point across.thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-5987877184918705242009-06-07T20:33:00.000-07:002009-06-08T13:30:50.964-07:00Bad Boys<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjtNlCNJzWUoDiFcjP9E_B_Sk40DbAy_Iy6DlG2TAh4Qs-uKOdpDR3s0ly_eMpGqokIDYQht9jfdgSpJwYLwaTySAnMdmISwbBfSmF94dI_V19qJh9D1lH2HFk1NmTzca6Zo2b78oBLhq/s1600-h/715520897_small.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5344852669972693746" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 238px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSjtNlCNJzWUoDiFcjP9E_B_Sk40DbAy_Iy6DlG2TAh4Qs-uKOdpDR3s0ly_eMpGqokIDYQht9jfdgSpJwYLwaTySAnMdmISwbBfSmF94dI_V19qJh9D1lH2HFk1NmTzca6Zo2b78oBLhq/s320/715520897_small.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Funny how at times you can't seem to recognize a good thing even after it hits you on the head. Many people take for granted the good things in life - friends, family, love.</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br />Cliche statements floating around in my head. I know. It's a tad bit unnatural, especially for me. Whenever cliches decorate my rhetoric, they usually are connected at the hip to my faithful friend. Sarcasm.<br /><br /></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Anyways. I'm sure the millions of people reading this blog have one question: what the heck?</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br />Well. The fact that I am unmotivated to start my summer papers and broke due to the lack of occupation gives me the time to think about conspiracy theories. Okay. Maybe I'm exaggerating. </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I spend most of my time these two weeks watching 3 seasons of Veronica Mars on DVD. I think I've gotten a little hooked on it. My current roommate can certainly vouch for that. She has threatened to take Veronica Mars away from me. She can do that. Especially because the DVDs belong to her. </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br />Bad boys. Whatcha gonna do when they come for you?</span><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Sigh. Right now there is only one boy in my life - one bad boy to be exact. His name? Logan Echolls. You guessed it. He's the guy from Veronica Mars.</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Please don't misinterpret this as an oh-he's-so-cute-i'm-now-a-fan-and-want-to-marry-him-and-have-his-babies kind of thing. To be frank, Jason Dohring is a pretty amazing looking man. I'm not covering it up. I'm human. And he's quite an attractive guy. But that's besides the point. The point is, Jason Dohring portrayed that character of Logan Echolls quite brilliantly. The spoiled bad boy son of an A-list actor who fell madly in love with a girl that loves him back but have some trust issues.</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">And I didn't get it wrong. I don't have a crush on Jason Dohring. But I sort of do have one on Logan Echolls. Yes. The fictional character that lived for three years on television, thanks to Rob Thomas. (Note: I am not crazy. At least, not yet. I will give further notice if I decide to change my mind.)</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br />Back to my topic. Bad boys.</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br />Why are they so appealing? This might be an assumption, but based on general observation, I should be able to prove this. I guess this is also a confession. I have a thing for bad boys. Haha. Who would have guessed?</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br />Back to their appeal. My theory is that they provide a sense of adventure. We can't blame ourselves. We are geared that way. Even the most organized, sensible, rational girl is prone to fall for the bad boy. They carry this thing with them. Risk. Admit it. It's appealing. All of us humans - no matter men or women - are thrill seekers. We always want a secure life, a safe life. But we are so allured by risk, danger, adventure. Wonder. It's not bad. I think we're sort of wired that way. It's funny isn't it? We work so hard to stabilize everything and make life predictable, but then we complain about being trapped... We long for that adventure. We long for uncertainty. We long for the mystery. We long for the romance.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">So. That's that about my bad boy spiel. Back to Mr. Echolls. I know it sounds a little out there and slightly psychotic, but the writers of VM got my ideal kind of guy dead on. Well. Without the promiscuous lifestyle of extramarital sex and abuse of alcohol. See. In Veronica Mars, Logan has turned out to be the knight in shining armor always there in time to save the love of his life who happens to love playing with distress. Okay. Rephrase. He's a sarcastic snidy knight in shining armor... If you haven't noticed by now, I have a relationship with sarcasm. I find it quite... witty. It's a very creative way to communicate truth with ambiguity. Anyways. Logan says the most incredible things. He's got a take on life that is quite uniquely charming. Here are some of the things he had said:</span> <ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"'<a class="mw-redirect" title="Anthropomorphic" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anthropomorphic">Anthropomorphic</a>.' All yours, big guy." (To the principal, when asked if he can "have a word")</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"Annoy, tiny blonde one. Annoy like the wind!"</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"Push in on our hero. Natural light frames his handsome, weathered face, as he passed sage advice to his doting daughter. The music swells. <i>[imitating Yoda]</i> "Important your family is, hmm, hmm."</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"<i>[stops his stopwatch]</i> Twelve hours to hit me up for my dead mother's money. Hmmm, I wonder who had that in the pool."</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"<i>[in police lineup]</i> Oh wow, I'm stunned. You like me! You really like me! Well first, I'd just like to say the other, uh, nominees are all such wonderfully gifted criminals. And I wanna thank my agent and my publicist for always shooting me from the left side."</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"Drugs? Murder? Frame-ups? <i>St. Mary's Church</i>? God, why didn't we think of that sooner?"</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"You do know I've been cleared of all charges, right? The whole 'dead Felix' business has lost its intrigue for me. Once something stops being important to me, my memory gets a little fuzz - wait. Who are you?"</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"Follow the bouncing ball [signals with his fingers]: not-my-problem"</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>"Thoughts of me? Hey, I get it. Sometimes I'm up all night, just thinkin' about myself."</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li><i>[Veronica asks if he has spoken to Dick]</i> "Yeah, but it was brief - shouted his name, flipped me off: the bonds of friendship."</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>Clif- They have set your court date. A month from today. Logan- Whatever will I wear?</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li>[In response to "You're gonna die"] "Yeah, <i>[smirks]</i> someday."</li></ul><ul style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><li><i>[To Deputy Sachs, who has come to tell him that Sheriff Lamb "would like a word"]</i> "If I'm under arrest, then do me the courtesy of making it all official-like."</li></ul><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I don't know. Sounds pretty cool to me.</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">This bad boy of the television series was also portrayed as having a pretty amazing sense of humor - one that I could relate to. Maybe it had something to do with the hint of sarcasm... (Hmm.. I'm starting to think that they might have written his character based on a real life person. I should probably track him down.)</span><br /><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">But he's pretty messed up though. Father: murderer, abuser, and pervert, murdered by the order of his best friend. Mother: jumped off a bridge. Sister: wants to be in the limelight. Girlfriend record: first one killed by his father, second one almost got killed by his father and have serious psychotic trust issues (she couldn't trust him to save his life). He's what you call a girl's father's worst nightmare. I'm sure if I start seeing a guy with that kind of background, my dad would get a restraining order. </span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"></span><br /><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">It's funny though that while I'm thinking about it, I got reminded of last week's The Bachelorette on ABC. Jillian (this season's bachelorette) have said that to find the right person you have to have been heartbroken before. Well, you see, Jillian. I have a problem with your theory. It seems a bit... faulty. If your theory is right. I should be marrying prince charming right about now.<br /><br />Sorry. I kinda got sidetracked.</span> <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">One thing though. Out of the distorted yet cool portrayal of Logan Echolls, the many facets are dimmed by the fact that he'll do anything for the woman he loves - although most of the times, she does not deserve his affections due to the aforementioned psychotic trust issues. </span><br /><br />He's also surprisingly very patient with his very difficult-to-understand girlfriend. <span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">Some of the cute and sweet things he said:</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1218621/">Dick Casablancas</a><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Dude, what the hell are you doing? Please tell me this is some new reality show called 'My Skank'.<br /></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan Echolls</a></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Goodbye, Dick. </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1218621/">Dick Casablancas</a></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: What? </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan Echolls</a></span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Get out of my house. You have a problem with Veronica, you leave. Actually, you have a problem with Veronica, you're pretty much dead to me, so just, like, evaporate or something, I don't know. That's kind of a general invitation. If you don't like my girlfriend, then... just start heading towards the rectangle with the knob. </span><br /><br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica Mars</a></i>: You didn't know what would happen.<br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan Echolls</a></i>: I'm the one who's responsible for what happened to you. And I can't take that I hurt you like that. I can't take that i hurt you when all I wanna do is protect you.<br />[<i>Veronica kisses him</i>]<br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan Echolls</a></i>: I want you to trust me.<br /><i><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica Mars</a></i>: ...I do. <i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: So what are you like now? </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: You know, tortured... ever since I got my heart broken. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Hannah really did a number on you, huh?<br /></span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Come on, you know I'm not talking about Hannah. I thought our story was epic, you know, you and me. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Epic how?<br /></span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Spanning years and continents. Lives ruined, bloodshed. EPIC. But summer's almost here, and we won't see each other at all. And then you leave town... and then it's over. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Logan...<br /></span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: I'm sorry about last summer. You know, if I could do it over... </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Come on. Ruined lives? Bloodshed? You really think a relationship should be that hard?<br /></span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: No one writes songs about the ones that come easy. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan Echolls</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Here, a bonus birthday gift. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica Mars</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: You got me a bow? A bow! How did you guess? </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan Echolls</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Open it smarty pants. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0068338/">Veronica</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: Your room key? What if I drop in unexpectedly? The other girls will have to - </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">[</span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">makes vamoose gesture</i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">] </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">Logan</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: But you know there's no one else. I only want you. You ought to know that by now. </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">[</span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">pause</i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">] </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">L</a><a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0230655/">ogan</a></i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">: What, no quip? </span><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><br /><br />"You know who I am. And you're constantly expecting me to change. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">[she looks at him dumbfounded]</i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> And even right now as you're thinking, "Crap, he's got a point," you still think you're ultimately right. I love you Veronica. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">I love you</i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">. </span><i style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)">[after no response]</i><span style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"> Do you love me?"<br /><br /><br />I guess if they ever come up with a movie or another season to conclude Veronica Mars' story, I would love to see her end up with Logan. It's just.... EPIC. </span>Oh wow. I think this blog could really sound like I'm going crazy. Maybe I am. I'm just waiting for <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">my</span> Logan Echolls to come along... It's crazy right? but it's an adventure nevertheless.<br /><p style="COLOR: rgb(0,0,0)"><a id="Appearances" name="Appearances"></a><span class="editsection"></span><span class="mw-headline"></span></p>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-25608197395485122842009-01-14T22:00:00.000-08:002009-01-14T22:21:29.745-08:00Rantings and Ravings of a Friend<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family: arial;">Dear friend's significant other,<br /><br />I have friends with boyfriends. And, contrary to popular beliefs, I have no problem with that at all. The thing that enrage me is when my friend's significant other does not acknowledge my existence at all. I know you are dating my friend, but that doesn't mean that I don't exist. I have opinions, wants, and emotions.<br /><br />As a lot of my close companions would say, I can be a pretty scary person, especially if you don't know me. However, I am not cruel. If we all are hanging out together and you wanted some coffee, and if you communicated with the rest of the group, I have no problem with it and would definitely say yes and that it's not a problem.<br /><br />I have a problem when we are all hanging out together and you decide to do your own thing without consulting the group. And then it affects people in the group and you're completely oblivious to that. I hate the fact that, to you, I am not important and you act like I don't exist. I know you are dating my friend (and not me), but I think I deserve at least a small amount of your recognition.<br /><br />Honestly, I don't expect you to do something I don't expect of myself. When you are around and I'm making coffee, I make more than just one cup of coffee. I don't do that out of the kindness of my heart. Trust me, I'm not nice. I do that because you are there, hanging out with my friend. I respect you and I acknowledge you as being a part of my friend's life. It would be very preferable if you could respect me and acknowledge me as being a part of my friend's life.<br /><br />Please don't be surprised if I'm not too excited to see you. At least I'm not inflicting pain upon your life. Yet.<br /><br />Sincerely yours,<br /><br />A scorned me<br /></span></span></span>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-77229572934821150172008-12-14T20:30:00.000-08:002008-12-14T21:06:03.598-08:00Home for Christmas<blockquote style="font-style: italic;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;">...I'll be home for Christmas<br />If only in my dreams...<blockquote></blockquote></span></blockquote><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">The curse of an international student is not going home for Christmas. I love it when people don't realize that home is 8,000 miles away and that it is quite impossible to go home. Then, when I tell them that I'm not going home for Christmas, they feel bad for me. Honestly, I don't know how I feel about not going home for Christmas. The last time I was home for Christmas was in 2005, three years ago.<br /><br />I am blessed with people that are concerned about me. I've had five (or even more) people invite me to spend Christmas with them, and I'm very grateful and touched. </span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;"> For two years, since I've been in the States, I've spent Christmas with my parents. This is my first Christmas without them. </span></span></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-family:arial;">A part of me, though, don't want to spend Christmas at someone else's family. No matter how kind the people are, I will only be a guest. It'll constantly remind me that I'm not with my family. This part of me thinks that it might be better for me to stay in my apartment and chill. I still don't know what I'll decide to do for Christmas.<br /><br />This brought me to another thought. Family. Yes, I miss my parents, my cousins, and my friends that are all back home. My best friend, Kristi's parents are coming here to spend Christmas with her and her sister. A part of me is quite jealous because they get to see their parents. But I had a realization that is quite astounding (at least for me). I do have a family here.<br /><br />I have Jordan and Brittany, Jason and Breanne, Anna, Jeff, Leah, Alysha, Kevin, Aaron, Rocky...<br /><br />Throughout these two years that I've spent in this foreign land, I have gained myself a family. It's pretty disfunctional, but I love them all very much. When I look back, these were the people that celebrated birthdays, Christmas, etc. with me. When I feel like crap and endured so-called friends that are really jerks, these people are the ones I turn to. I don't have to try to be someone I'm not. These people know me (they don't just claim to know me) and love me just the way I am. With them, I can relax and put my guard down. My idea of relaxing and having fun is going over to Jordan and Brittany's and playing games or going over to Jason and Breanne's to just chat. (After hanging out with them for almost two hours, I recover from feeling like crap.) I've always told people that if I have a prospective significant other, they would have to go through Jordan, Brittany, Jason, and Breanne.<br /><br />So... apparently, home is not where your parents are or where your citizenship is. Because when these people are around, I know I'm home.<br /><br /></span></span><br /></span>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-68867472078724295362008-11-30T15:49:00.000-08:002008-11-30T16:10:46.221-08:00The Best Thing that Happened to Me Today<span style="font-family: arial;font-family:arial;font-size:100%;" ><span style="font-style: italic;">My daddy called me at 7:30am today. On other days, that might be the worst thing that could happen to me. But today, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">Last night, I dreamed that my dad died. I didn't know how or why that thought crept into my subconscious as I drift to a deep and restless sleep, but it did. I was just so devastated, I barely can breathe.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">My phone rang at 7:30am and it took me a couple of seconds to realize that the noise came from my phone, which was right next to my pillow. I wasn't even half awake when I answered, whispering so I didn't wake Sandra.</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />"Darling? Are you awake?" I heard the familiar sound of my dad's voice. I only answered with a grunt, but I was so relieved beyond belief. </span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><br />To those that might have not figured this out yet, I am very much my daddy's girl. And I would trade anything to be with him right now. There's nowhere else I'd rather be than home.<br /><br /></span> </span><div style="text-align: left; font-family: arial;font-family:arial;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">1 year, 6 months, and 2 days</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">78 weeks</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />548 days</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />13,152 hours</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;">789,120 minutes</span> <span style="font-style: italic;"><br />47,347,200 seconds</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">... until I get to go home.</span><br /></span></div>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7451595865341726903.post-56534510457834803222008-10-30T16:04:00.001-07:002008-10-30T16:32:30.580-07:00The Great Chasm Between an X and a Y<em><span style="font-family:arial;">A conversation with a friend last week sparked a thought that ends up consuming a lot of my time lately. We were talking about how men in ministry attract attention from females around them. <strong>Men that love God and are passionately serving God are hot! </strong>There. I said it. Don't get me wrong, there is no sarcastic tone whatsoever in that statement. I, personally, agree with that statement. When guys are displaying leadership in the ministry, by leading worship or preaching the word of God or leading small groups or even running sound, it’s attractive.<br /><br />Now I am looking at the flip side of the same coin.<br /><br />It occurs to me that when ladies display leadership in the ministry, the men around them get intimidated. I know that there are ladies that are too dominant or controlling or overbearing, but I’m not talking about them. I’m talking about women that are passionate about God and have hearts for the ministry. Is it a crime for a woman to lead worship, preach the word of God, lead small groups, pastor, or even run sound? Are women that are actively involved in ministry a threat to men? Why?<br /><br />I never knew that an X could be that much different than a Y. </span></em>thttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066650628086045407noreply@blogger.com0