Vanilla

It is four past noon and the sun, much like in the hometown, is nearing to set with a darker shade of yellow. The temperature is the same: It almost felt like he never left. Filipinos are everywhere, that is a conclusion that cannot be contested.

While treading the orange bricks, James saw her. She is the most beautiful girl that he has ever seen.

The girl, who apparently, was hurt and was holding on at the outside pillars for support, is a Jew. James asked her what was wrong, and she pointed at her sandals. Departing from the obvious, he snatched for detail. There was blood on her left pinky-toe. James pulled out his handkerchief, pegging a bleed-stopper knot that he knew since he became a Boy Scout.

She is Vanilla. James had unfathomable notions about her name. The girl said she had to go back home. James offered his hands so that Vanilla could walk, then he could accompany her to their humble abode.

Her hands are very delicate, it had a scant trace of ivory and a lingering softness which was worth the touch. She had small fingers, weakened by the loss of blood in her system. She was still shaking as he was lifting her from a lower position.

They held hands until they were more than a kilometer away from the coliseum. They walked some more, talked, and laughed at whatever funny things they had in mind. Vanilla is not only beautiful, but also, very charming, and very kind. He now, would never doubt why J-s-s had the heart for the children, especially from his own kind. Jews are very passive, good natured fellows. Vanilla satisfied his quest for knowledge by giving him the first hand teacher, experience.

James longed to stay at her side but it cant be...


to be concluded.

Infidelity

If women have 'gut feel', then men work with evidences in homosexual relationships.

The only thing that I require on a relationship is the partner's word. Trust is vital for the connection to survive, sustain. Pretense tells us to be otherwise swept by our inaccuracies and biases. I am always fair in these few situations.

For a guy to feel something eerie in this kind of relationship, it must be true. I have proven this much with my past two boyfriends. I was left hanging.

Honestly, right now I don't think that things will ever be the same. You fool me once and you're off, but my maturity dictates me to look at the situation and try to roster reasons on why I should hold on. Hold on...?

I am holding on.

Now, I can only ask, what is wrong with me? People say I am boring, too predictable. Well, does that guy have the 'kick'? I don't think either. Is he good looking? Tell me. What have I done to deserve your infidelity? Maybe, I was right, I should have placed a guard on myself should things start to backfire. Now, I think I'm suffering from much of my dependencies. Things are falling off in front of my eyes but I can't save it fast. I didn't even have time to cry.

I am very, very, very afraid of losing you. Please, don't leave. I'm begging you.

Birthday S*x

Not about anything obscene: This is the song by Jeremiah. I learned this song from my prince [oops, connotations off] because he kept on coining the phrase which intrigued me. A lot. I searched and whoop, I found it irrelevant to a birthday whatsoever. How do these songs get away?

Turning twenty-one is another transition which happens to me today. I read somewhere that, when a man reaches 21, he insinuates his maturity. Also, twenty-one is another age which signifies changes. Referencing what I've learned from a Jew acquaintance, every seven years of birthday represents something in the internal balance. Oh, talk about Zen and stuff on a Jewish belief? Yes, they do have numerology. Back to sevens -- seven, fourteen, twenty-one -- these are but significant ages to a person's life. People either get cranky or control freaks or simply weird, based on how my new friend told me.

Conclusion as to which change takes toll is my becoming less of a talker, more of a listener. To admit, on an assessment of myself two-three years ago, I'm more of a dictator than a follower. I define my inability to be taken over as an immaturity. However, several people say that it is my strength, too, taking charge. On which account, I digress. I might give contextual clues however, in the days to come.

I re-structured these lines (from his prayer-like posts) because I don't know how to talk to Him in the manner he does it, as an escape clause.

I thank Him for twenty-one blessing-filled years. I thank Him for letting sunshines break through my eyelids on early mornings. I thank Him for the wisdom which he imparted on my neurons. I thank him for the colleagues who had not been impartial on my weaknesses, who showed me the true meaning of friendship. I thank Him for the parents that I have, parents who are rich enough to send me to a good school, to give me everything that I desired.

I thank Him for giving me someone: who makes me happy right now; who pacifies me in my who-messed-with-my-sleep? moments; who puts a smile on my face when things get screwed up; who appreciates my Physics raves; and, who takes care and thinks of me for more than a month now. I will never, ever have so much shower of good things from You, than I could've ever hoped for. I am deeply gratified. Thank You.