The Poker Face @ 21

The minute we were born, a curse awaited to escort us while we made our exit from the womb and out to the world. It was the curse of age, of aging, of growing old.

But a curse might not be forever a curse. Aging is a threat to all of us, especially to those who hate wrinkles a lot.

But when life grows more and more beautiful at every turn of the pages, aging becomes a moment of blossoming; age becomes a gift.

I know I'm not alone at claiming a beautiful life. Many people do have wonderful lives, and we call it "wonderful" from our own different perspectives.

And as much as I believe that mine is so wonderful, I know there are much reasons to believe so. God. Family. Friends. And a lot more.

Friends, random people you meet at random places and time...in random circumstances. You wouldn't even care at first who are to stay, who are to leave. Until, for random reasons you couldn't not care. You learn to love them without doubt of the future, without fear, without hesitation, without anything withheld. 'Cause in the very first place, you wouldn't even notice that you're beginning to care.

Princess Fatima. Call her "Faye". Well, "fayetot" (at times). She was one of these once-random people I met, and now I'm afraid I couldn't remember how we first met. Forgive. (*lol*)

It's always her strength...that's not even a bit obvious at the sight of her poker face. I mean happy face. (*lol* I love you Fayetot!) Just you wait until she spills the stories, and then you have forever to wait for your turn. That's alright, you can laugh with her anyway...or LAUGH AT her. (*hahaha*)

Laugh at her for being "supremely" talkative. Laugh at her funny expressions. Laugh at her corny jokes, you couldn't follow at times. ( :P ) Laugh at her fat cheeks (I love you!!! :D ) Laugh at her panicky moments, at her violent reactions, and...sometimes, just sometimes, at her being speechless and clueless. And often, she just didn't hear it and then expect a funny poker face of a stereotype librarian. (*lol*)

Seriously now.

To Faye: A lot have changed, we all know that. The Ramos apartment was "a big thing". But for sure, we have more than what it takes to keep a lasting friendship. Or at least we believe so (*hahaha*).

Now, as you turn over to page 21, what do we know of what could happen next? We're only characters in this book that we never wrote. Only The Author knows. Least of all, we can wish. But most of all, we can pray.

My gift for you is neither solid, nor liquid, nor gas. *Tentenenen!* And oh, it's a secret: for me to keep, for you to find out within a period of a lifetime.

From DewBerry with love.

(NOTE: Today is February 23, 2011.)

Justified

I may not always be the best of who I am.

Correction. I CANNOT always be the best of who I am. Because to be always the best is to miss half of life. Because life is like a running wheel, sometimes you’re at the top, sometimes you’re at the bottom. And where you’ll be at, at the braking, that we don’t know. So why not pray for experiencing both? At least, when you die, you won’t have to blame yourself for missing the other face of fun.

Because perfection is boring. Deviance is wonderful, becoming more precious as it grows old with forgotten time, and even more precious once retold as a story of the old.

I‘ve made myself hundreds of stories. Retelling them seems a lousy ride around a neighborhood with all houses uniform in their overall architecture. I tell you it ain’t fun.

Winning. Applauses. Praises. All the same. ‘A hundred stories with one common plot’ is deadly. It’s a breed of boredom that can bore you to death. And a long series of winning and just winning…is a story without a story. Seriously.

But I don’t recommend losing. Don’t exaggerate.

To accept loss is not my way of justifying my life. I don’t need a pathetic alibi. To accept loss is to go through the process of losing, and I need not justify. It’s part of life, as simple as that.

But to fabricate the truth and pacify a little the madness, let’s say that to accept loss is as simple as looking at life from the bottom of the wheel. It’s prolonging a peek for a better view of what’s left above to be reached. Oh, did I sound defensive?

Well, to make more metaphors on losing is a bloodless crime, yet still deadly as boredom.

So it stops here. Because life is to be lived, not to be justified.

photo: Resolution-db

A Portrait Of A Woman

There's nothing funny about a portrait of a man (like this). But the joke here is that this was supposed to be a woman. Ops!

So to lessen the guilt, I'll give this mistake a meaning. And please, just let me.

It wasn't just coincidence. As the Dimensional Witch in the Tsubasa Chronicle said, "There are no coincidences in this world." Perhaps, I was to be reminded of something which has long been implied by nature. That a man, no matter how strong, always has a soft bone.

EAT. Prey. Love.

Italy. India. And then Bali.

Paris. Africa. And then Andalucia. Eat. Prey. And then love.

I will be rich, as rich as never having to wish for discounts. Well honestly, I wish to be richer, much richer to the point where I can devalue gold to bronze; where money is only excess luxury; where all I need to do is kill a lifetime by having fun.

And when I get there, I will eat in the classic banquets of Paris, prey somewhere in the heart of Okavango, the heart of Africa, and love a lot about the land of my ancestors, Andalucia.

I will sit in a classic restaurant somewhere along the main walks of Paris, with a serving of French gourmet and a glass of Zina Hyde Cunningham chardonnay. And from my table, I will watch people walk and talk. It will be like a movie where all of the cast are not aware of the filming.

And then the rampage is on. I will watch people walk along the tiled ramp. Everything will be bland.

I will silently praise the beauty of colors on their clothes. I will be amazed with the cuts, from simple to complex to weird to funny. I will notice the kinds of cloth. I will be fond of the workings of accessories, whether they stay so demure in place or they are loud and extravagant all over.

I will adore the carefree grace of people, young and old. I will love the pure spontaneity of the sight.

But I will not forget my 'gourmet and chardonnay'. It will be my 'popcorn and soda' while my own movie runs.

Paris, as sweet as its place, as romantic as the language of the French. I can swear to fall in love with its fashion.

But I shall leave the land, the planet is yet so large to just stay in there. But I can swear to return to make more movies in my eyes while I sit...and eat, with my French gourmet and my chardonnay.

And then I will fly to the land of the wild, Africa. It will be all adventure. It will be totally different.

photo by: Di Mackey