Something great and false lives on in my memories. I can say I was a neglected child and tried to acheive profection to gain my fathers affection, but that would be a fraction of a lie. Today I have three fathers, but only two of them are around and they aren't even my real dad.

I used to remember my dad, but as the years fly by I begin to realize how little and distant they really are. It all started with my grandfather, and of course I don't know him, but anyways it's with him that the continious chain starts. I'll never be able to even begin to understand his reasons for leaving, sometims I curse him for it and other times I give him props, this family isn't the greatest. Would it have made a differenc if he stayed anyways? My point is though that he did leave, he leaft my grandmother with two kids.

My uncle raised my dad, my grandma was busy working four to five jobs, drinking, and sleeping with any man she could. Don't get me wrong I love my grandma I just don't agree with the way she lived her life, or the fact that she can't keep quiet. I think the only reason my uncle stays around his kids is for all they money his wife brings in and maybe because he raised my dad, but he certainly isn't a good one forgeting about his first two daughters from his previous marriages, and beating on the ones he has now.

As you can tell from my writing my dad is no longer around, and thats his own decision. I recall being dragged around from girlfriend to girlfriend, he's what women would call a man whore, uses drugs, and sexual violence to get his way. The only good thing I can say about it is he left me out of it, totally oblivious to it all until a year ago, and not from him but from his exgirlfriends when I was searching for the truth about my dad. Thats a book my mother should have never encouraged me to open.

I hate the fact that I used him for so many years to move on in life secretly screaming am I good enough yet, can't you throw me one frickin complement. When all this time I've had the best replacements anyone could ever have. Theres Eric my moms husband who has been my dad sense I was two years old and the best replacement any girl could ever ask for. And then theres Mike my father in law, we haven't known eachother that long and already he's weasled his way into my heart and showin me how shitty my dad really was.

If I had guts I'd send this to him except he can't read, he wouldn't respond to me anyways he's just turn me into the family enemy and I'd have to listen to " Poor Mitch." "You need to be the adult and fix things with your father." "All he's ever been is a good dad to you, if you should be mad with anyone it should be your mother." You get the idea, right?

So I have the brother thats finally snapped, crackled. and popped. And the dad whose crying out for his own attention but wanting to retain his youth, a married daughter can certainly put a damper on that, and sense he has no other kids one is easy enough to hide.

Shut your fucking mouth up. And you don't fucking know who you are fucking messing with. And I don't fucking care if you ignore me. You are fucking out of my life. And I want you to fucking mind your own fucking bullshit. And you can fucking go to hell because you are fucking bull shit. You are just a fucking bull shit. You are the ugliest faggot and you shall die and rot in hell. And can you please fuck yourself? Period.

This is the juice that came out from my head, while preparing myself to wash tons of laundry. Watch out.

a new me... matagal ko na talagang napabayaan ang page kong ito... sayang naman ang effort ko... madaming naganap sa buhay ko ang di ko man lang naisipang sabihin o isulat sa blog site na ito, pero kahit ganon ang nangyari wala na naman akong magagawa kundi sabihin ang gusto kong ipabasa sa iyo...

member ako ngayon ng clan...

trice nakong nakipag one night stand...

un lang muna

Happy 11th Birthday to my baby brother, "DAOT". I love you dodong. And now you're turning eleven. I know life has not been so good to us, but I hope you have gathered enough strength to face the future. I am just always around, if you need someone to lean on. And if you have not gathered enough strength you can borrow mine for awhile. I love you.

I remembered one funny conversation with my brother, Te, Can I just stop going to school?. Surprised by his utter certainty of stopping from school, I hurriedly asked why?, Tatay only finished grade four and since I am already in grade six, I should consider stopping, I think I am better than him. Hahahaha. That was really one funny conversation.

Happy Birthday!

Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?

                         - Robert Frost, "Reluctance"

There is going to be time to be webs, the starred weathervane; plenty of time to be bronze, or the machine that ruptures the picture into a puzzle, to be famine that coaxes angels out of their haze; and so much time to be snail shells, lupine seeds, fragments of exoskeletons, examined and pinned, rustling at the past. Our records are misplaced in waves of wind.

Sometimes, we spend a lot of time waiting for the city to lift, we spend a lot of time wishing for money (at least, I do) and paint and someone to take care of. More than that, we spend a lot of time wishing the cut pear could return to itself without help, that its sections might remember each other. We are devastated that parts of us are loose; that a shape could not survive without a shift.

But, nobody walks out of an experience unaffected. Nobody walks out of a mistake unchanged. And now, I ask, can we have a cut pear in one piece again?

Change, perhaps, is a question of survival, the restitution of our being. The indemnity of life - I call it. So, on the contingency of the massacre of us over a screwed up mistake, the ascention of revival is simply nothing but within our mere imagination, within our deepest lies.

And if I could never have a whole pear again, I believe the word 'wish' is a rape of creation; a dismemberment of conception; an onset of destruction...to flatten our ideals and to have our morality defined distinctly by the fine line we have drawn in the face of ourselves, or maybe God himself.

Ermn...who are we trying to kid, really?

Now that I had freed my soul, I find less time to rant and ramble. I had promised myself for a better tomorrow. A BETTER TOMORROW. Less ramblings. I will just have to squander my words in some other ways. For the only thing I know right now is a BETTER TOMORROW. I can't think of any reason why I should stop rambling, where in fact right now, I have million reasons to blab. My diarrhea's cured. So, recovery has taken over. I forgot my wallet. My negligence. Everybody from home is asking money from me and I do not know where to get, where to scrounge for money. I shall end my ramblings here. For tomorrow is going to be BETTER.

Thank you.Bow.

Here's the day you hoped would never come
Don't feed me violence
Just run with me through rows of speeding cars.

- Imogen Heap, "Speeding Cars"

Today, I walked slowly in the cold. Down the worn path of history, pondering everything endured on this small speck of land with a huge building. The House of God - people call it. And it was locked. Cast aside. I saw the similarities in this. For people, too, were cast aside to this odd place of beauty and rejection.

The trail wandered over the baked earth and wet green grass. The wind blew over and whispered pieces of the past. The grief of a child at the death of a father. Gates locking but hope withstanding death.

And I continued to walk slowly down the worn path of history. Contemplating to be a trespasser or not, such decision seemed to lay halfway around the world and found the same reality. The absurdity and repetition of this throughout my history made me question everything I'd ever known.

And so, if I have sinned enough, dear Lord, please judge me. I'd make compensation; I'd make expiations; I'd make reparations; I'd give You my vindication, my extenuation, my justification, my atonement. After all, am I not a defective wight seized by crippled strings?

I have lost one. I cannot afford to lose the other. This demanding repetition of the past? No.

For the first time, I am excited for my classes to roll in. Quite simply, it's Plato and Aristotle for me - tomorrow. And so, it's time to stop acting like a tourist in Reading.

And I am coming down with it bit by bit now: H-O-M-E-S-I-C-K. After all, shopping isn't much of a therapeutic substance...especially not when you have to multiply everything by S-I-X times or more. :(

 Chongkz's note: Lips, we must meet up in London. And you - Melanie, don't study-lah...pack your bags and come over! :P