i saw kids today, a rare sight in school. 4 of them were holding hands, daring each other to cross a small narrow road without traffic lights or zebra crossings. so when the traffic stops, they dash across. they pant in an exaggerated fashion at the opposite side (my side) and exclaimed ‘ oh gosh i’m never going to do that again’ like they’ve just conqured the world.

a few steps down the walk way, a group of students sit on the steps in an obscure area, almost close to the road side but not really. they hold pencils and drawing blocks and try to conjure evening life on paper. the heads bob up and down in syncrony, first the front row looks up and looks pack down to paint. just as they look down, the back row scans their target, almost like a dance.

to hell with all the expectations, look at whats in front, its beautiful

My hands are small, I know
But they’re not yours, they are my own
But they’re not yours, they are my own
And I am never broken

Poverty stole your golden shoes
It didn’t steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
But I knew it wasn’t ever after

We’ll fight, not out of spite
For someone must stand up for what’s right
‘Cause where there’s a man who has no voice
There ours shall go singing

In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters

We are God’s eyes
God’s hands

there are many people out there who want it badly cause they know they can make a difference, they put their lives on the line, they go the distance. but does that really matter? as much as i think it matters because they are worldly staandards of greatness, something tells me otherwise. i have been so meshed up with your ideals and expectations, how one ought to be. you dont have to rally people with your voice, you dont have to create or sign a famous declaration to make it work. speed and aggression and hunger and authoritativeness doesnt make you a greater man. humility and meekness and gentleness doesnt make you lesser. on the contray, i think they are courageous. for that i dont identify and for that i leave.

i see in myself the things i dislike therefore i am disillusioned. save me from myself.

haha im taking a few different media mods this sem, one of which is a cinematic module which involves translating cinematographics to culture, reading the meaning behind long shots, mise sen, montage, sound, lighting etc etc. we watched a silent film today and silence is indeed golden haha

“Tears welled up in my eyes as I watched a new born cry with all her might and I uttered in my heart “welcome to the world dear” Thank God for life simply…” -gvl

thank you too

i pray for time
i pray for mercy
i pray for courage to go back
or courage to turn my back
i pray for mercy
that no one suffers for me
i pray you will recognize the unworthiness of the words
and grant pardon
with much fear
i pray

Memory is the great deceiver. Perhaps there are some individuals whose memories act like tape recordings, daily records of their lives complete in every detail, but I am not one of them. My memory is a patchwork of occurrences, of discontinuous events roughly sewn together: The parts I remember, I remember precisely, whilst other sections seemed to have vanished completely.

- Neil Gaiman, Smoke and Mirrors

so beautiful an umbrella of venom wooohoo, how wonderfully deadly it would be to take shelter under the dome, surrounded by the shawl of transparent jello tentacles to keep me warm. oots!