<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418</id><updated>2012-01-14T14:47:07.811+08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Sorta Fairytale</title><subtitle type='html'>On my way up north, upon the Ventura 
I pulled back the hood and I was talking to you and I 
knew that it would be a life long thing but I didn't
know that we we could break a silver lining and I'm so sad like a good book and i can't put this day back 
A sorta fairytale with you. - A Sorta Fairytale by Tori Amos</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>22</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-5607130712809461953</id><published>2009-01-02T21:31:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T02:32:00.096+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Reinvention</title><content type='html'>it's time for a change...&lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-5607130712809461953?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/5607130712809461953/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=5607130712809461953' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/5607130712809461953'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/5607130712809461953'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2009/01/reinvention.html' title='Reinvention'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-5369198953531757447</id><published>2008-10-10T22:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-10-11T02:13:16.031+08:00</updated><title type='text'>and so it is</title><content type='html'>Keep breathing…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That’s what I hear… hushed tone, husky voice. It sounded like the person who’s talking was pumped up but at the same time tired. I tried to figure out why, was he running? From what? It’s not just physical, it was something deeper than that. It is the same feeling when you try to reach for something you’ve always wanted, but every time you’re near your goal, you see something better and try to aim for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do not stop…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This came from people who seem farther than the man. They want him not to stop pushing. It was the sound of cheering, but somehow it felt like pressure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just keep fighting…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the man again, this time he sounded like he was about to cry. He didn’t want to give up, maybe to please and not to disappoint the people around him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then there was a sound of silence, then tears…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The man was tired, tired of pushing. His mind was ready, but his body was not. The man had to stop, he just has to. He was waiting for someone to help him… &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized it was me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-5369198953531757447?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/5369198953531757447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=5369198953531757447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/5369198953531757447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/5369198953531757447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/10/and-so-it-is.html' title='and so it is'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-2082121907448811564</id><published>2008-08-01T21:02:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-08-02T01:02:41.620+08:00</updated><title type='text'>How bout a round of applause</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="400" height="213"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/v/PU5SkLojdF/pv=2"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.imeem.com/v/PU5SkLojdF/pv=2" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400" height="213" allowFullScreen="true"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/rihanna/video/HSmflIgb/take_a_bow_music_video/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/object&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-2082121907448811564?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/2082121907448811564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=2082121907448811564' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2082121907448811564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2082121907448811564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/08/how-bout-round-of-applause.html' title='How bout a round of applause'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-2839217779480889843</id><published>2008-07-11T02:23:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-11T06:23:19.105+08:00</updated><title type='text'>why say no to Gay Marriage...</title><content type='html'>  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;b style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 18pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;10 Reasons Why Gay Marriage is Wrong&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;01) Being gay is not natural. Real Filipinos always reject unnatural things like eyeglasses, polyester, and air conditioning.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;02) Gay marriage will encourage people to be gay, in the same way that hanging around tall people will make you tall.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;03) Legalizing gay marriage will open the door to all kinds of crazy behavior. People may even wish to marry their pets because a dog has legal standing and can sign a marriage contract.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;04) Straight marriage has been around a long time and hasn't changed at all; women are still property, blacks still can't marry whites, and annulment is still illegal.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;05) Straight marriage will be less meaningful if gay marriage were allowed; the sanctity of Britney Spears' 55-hour just-for-fun marriage would be destroyed.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;06) Straight marriages are valid because they produce children. Gay couples, infertile couples, and old people shouldn't be allowed to marry because our orphanages aren't full yet, and the world needs more children.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;07) Obviously gay parents will raise gay children, since straight parents only raise straight children.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;08) Gay marriage is not supported by religion. In a theocracy like ours, the values of one religion are imposed on the entire country. That's why we have only one religion in The Philippines. (Don't you find it funny &amp; amusing when religion claims they are the only way of life? LMFAO!)&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;09) Children can never succeed without a male and a female role model at home. That's why we as a society expressly forbid single parents to raise children.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;10) Gay marriage will change the foundation of society; we could never adapt to new social norms. Just like the fact that we haven't adapted to cars, the service-sector economy, or longer life spans.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-2839217779480889843?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/2839217779480889843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=2839217779480889843' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2839217779480889843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2839217779480889843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/07/why-say-no-to-gay-marriage.html' title='why say no to Gay Marriage...'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-2085141536505289767</id><published>2008-07-02T22:06:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-07-03T02:06:26.082+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The sun is gone</title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="80" width="300"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="never"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/LtT8TCwBwE"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed allowscriptaccess="never" src="http://media.imeem.com/m/LtT8TCwBwE" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="110" width="300"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/people/GcXzYOG/music/AtnLG7UB/dashboard_confessional_stolen/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I was sitting by the beach, watching the sunset. I still remember the energy I had when the sun was still at its peak. I remember how beautiful things are. I saw every grain of sand, I saw my footprints, I could see everything. Now it’s dark, only a yellow lining is left shining in the horizon. The sun is gone. I am alone now in the freezing cold. But I’m still awake. Not a single hint of sleepiness, not even tiredness flowed through my body. Because of my despair of being left, I sought after following the sun, so I ran to the horizon, continued running until the cold water is up to my chest. That’s when I stopped and realized I have no where to go. I looked around; all I see are white lines that define the ripples on the water’s surface. That was it, the perfect state of misery, I knew I can’t do anything, the sun is leaving me.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;Though my mind was saying I can make it until sunrise, my senses were not helping at all. Every wave of the sea struck my heart with brutal force causing my heart to ache in longing; all I hear are the waves that intensified the pain of each hit and the wind blew hard that every brush through my skin made me shiver in desolation. I felt so helpless. I wanted to shout… I wanted to cry… but all I did was look down, took a deep breathe, and told myself that everything’s gonna be fine. I stayed there for a few minutes, trying to let the hurt fade, but nothing changed. Memories are the only things stayed in me, and they exaggerated the pain I felt. Suddenly a tear fell from my eye. I wiped it away using my finger and felt its warmth. The warmth came from the sun I thought, it was the source of my energy, now that it’s gone, what’s gonna happen to me? Will I die before sunrise?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I saw my hands clench. All the things I felt, helped me release the burden. Now, tears are flowing, I was crying so bad that I could hardly breathe. I mustered all the strength left in me as I took a deep breath, opened my mouth and shouted at the top of my lungs. It was the resonance of sorrow. I shouted several times, hoping that the sun would hear me. I heard echoes of the words that came from my mouth… &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;Why?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;How could you do this to me?&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;We made a promise…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I want you back…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;i style=""&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;Please don’t leave me…&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I wanted to drown right there and then for the sun has already left me, but I know it’s not right. After the outcry, I was left there, hands on my face, tears flowing relentlessly… then I whispered… &lt;i style=""&gt;“Give me back my heart…”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-2085141536505289767?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/2085141536505289767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=2085141536505289767' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2085141536505289767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2085141536505289767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/07/sun-is-gone.html' title='The sun is gone'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-2285911411525633466</id><published>2008-06-27T13:21:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-27T17:21:16.029+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I've got to tell you in my loudest tones</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="insertedphoto"&gt;&lt;a href="http://myownsymphony.multiply.com/photos/hi-res/upload/SGSwdwoKCB0AAEUySaA1"&gt;&lt;img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.myownsymphony.multiply.com/image/1/photos/upload/300x300/SGSwdwoKCB0AAEUySaA1/IMG_2791.JPG?et=wktZSr8CJ2KyZL4BVGt25A&amp;nmid=0" border="0"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;object height="80" width="300"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="never"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/VVfCGbGgU3"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed allowscriptaccess="never" src="http://media.imeem.com/m/VVfCGbGgU3" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="110" width="300"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/chinh/music/w25V53QI/kate_havnevik_grace/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/object&gt;I can't help it... I just need to let it out...&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt;font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I’m turning my back to face something that is about to leave... hoping that I’ll be able to bring back what used to be there, a bright sun which blinded me from seeing its true beauty. Now that it’s leaving, I'm praying that tomorrow will be the same again and that while the moon is above me, I’ll be asleep for me not to feel the pain of waiting anxiously for its return. And when it rises it will come from behind me for I’m facing the end of what we used to encompass, I would not make the same mistake and turn around again, I would reside and just feel the warmth of its glorious rays. And as it moves above me I would cherish every moment and hope that I’d die, so all I would remember is the peak of the sun’s heat that burned my emotions. What I will leave is a gleaming light that all will remember as the love which everyone desired.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;br&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-2285911411525633466?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/2285911411525633466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=2285911411525633466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2285911411525633466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2285911411525633466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/06/i-got-to-tell-you-in-my-loudest-tones.html' title='I&amp;#39;ve got to tell you in my loudest tones'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-6753999224653566937</id><published>2008-06-25T01:54:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-25T05:54:30.886+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stuff People Do</title><content type='html'>Statistically speaking, unless you are a total hermit, a social retard, or ugly as a putrid bum, there is at least one person in your multiply network that has a crush on, wants to date you, wants to sleep with you or simply just wants to kiss you. So... let's play "No Guts, No Glory!"&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;The rules are simple. &lt;br&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li style="list-style-image: none;"&gt;If you want to &lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;date&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt; the person who posted this, send a Personal Message, not a reply to this post, saying&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 0);"&gt;"Coffee?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li style="list-style-image: none;"&gt;If you have a &lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;crush&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt; on the person who posted this, send a Personal Message saying&lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(255, 102, 102);"&gt;"You're hot!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li style="list-style-image: none;"&gt;If you just want to &lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;sleep with&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt; them &amp; stay friends, send them a message that says &lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;"Nice shoes!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li style="list-style-image: none;"&gt;&lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;font size="2"&gt;If you simply just want to &lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;kiss&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt; the person who posted&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;this, &lt;/font&gt;&lt;/font&gt;send a Personal Message saying,&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(102, 51, 51);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 204, 0);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;"I do!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;&lt;font size="3"&gt;&lt;span style=""&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;SCARED?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;The only rule is that, you must not make anyone who sends you a personal message feel stupid for feeling that way about you. Acknowledge. Say thank you. Move on.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;IF YOU'VE READ THIS, YOU HAVE TO REPOST THIS, EVEN IF YOU'RE TAKEN &amp; see who replies.&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;SO... re-post this as "No Guts, No Glory", as it doesn't matter if you're married, in a relationship, or single. &lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 24px;"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;font size="3"&gt;You opened it so you HAVE to repost it! A test of your bravery!&lt;/font&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-6753999224653566937?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/6753999224653566937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=6753999224653566937' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/6753999224653566937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/6753999224653566937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/06/stuff-people-do.html' title='Stuff People Do'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-8833170283100084990</id><published>2008-06-17T23:21:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-18T03:21:30.992+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Blackout</title><content type='html'>&lt;br&gt;&lt;img src="http://images.deanibay.multiply.com/image/8/photos/312/orig/9/Poster%20Ad%201%20copy.jpg?et=vcAeYA4U2p%2BH%2BJvzygrRQQ&amp;nmid=100671379"&gt;   &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; " align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: "Century Gothic"; color: black; "&gt;An event empowering the society to promote equality. A collaboration of young individuals using tools of creativity to raise awareness and catalyze action around critical issues that impact our communities. The team believes in the power of this creative process to transform lives building a more just society.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; No Glam. No Fluff. Just You.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: "Century Gothic"; "&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;img src="http://images.deanibay.multiply.com/image/5/photos/312/orig/10/Poster%20Ad%202%20copy.jpg?et=ofd8Xbq%2C%2CDxcE394cHE%2BOQ&amp;nmid=100671379"&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-8833170283100084990?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/8833170283100084990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=8833170283100084990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/8833170283100084990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/8833170283100084990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/06/blackout.html' title='Blackout'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-7962209216219063265</id><published>2008-06-13T03:27:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-06-13T07:27:40.501+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupified</title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="80" width="300"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="never"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/HLyWmWjeVw"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed allowscriptaccess="never" src="http://media.imeem.com/m/HLyWmWjeVw" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="110" width="300"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/imtheshizzle/music/gHB2pCzh/disturbed_stupify/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;span class="insertedphoto"&gt;&lt;img class="alignleft" src="http://images.myownsymphony.multiply.com/image/1/photos/upload/300x300/SFGwPQoKCB0AAC5zfm81/476939321_a87104919f_m.jpg?et=joMaxhv1CYSRKTpR8bwUgw&amp;nmid=0" border="0"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; "&gt;&lt;span style="font-family: "Century Gothic"; "&gt;There are some people who are just so pretentious that they don’t even know which is reality and which is fantasy. I’m saying this because there’s someone out there pretending to be a sheep around the group I’m in when all the fur in his feet and arms resembles a wolf, worst is he smells like a stinking predator trying to infiltrate a group of innocent beings. Fortunately, my friends find you fascinating. They find your coat so perfect, they don’t know that it’s made of synthetic plastic made to attract even the smallest insect due to its illumining shine. Unfortunate for you, I am here, I can see through your mask. &lt;span style=""&gt; &lt;/span&gt;My eyes are open and I can see every detail of your true revolting skin, I can smell you tainted odor, I feel your brooding presence. Keep on pretending and hope your cloak won’t be worn to shreds, for when it happens, the world you live in will be shattered into pieces and you will see the horrendous reality that you have created yourself. Be nice wolf, a hunter is just here, watching your every move.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-7962209216219063265?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/7962209216219063265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=7962209216219063265' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/7962209216219063265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/7962209216219063265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/06/stupified.html' title='Stupified'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-64122043787219005</id><published>2008-05-21T03:38:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-21T07:38:50.969+08:00</updated><title type='text'>i can't take my mind off you </title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="80" width="300"&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="never"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/zHSUEwSD_P/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed allowscriptaccess="never" src="http://media.imeem.com/m/zHSUEwSD_P/aus=false/" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="110" width="300"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/stewgrace/music/SeoIOCFO/stewart_grace_the_blowers_daughter/"&gt;The Blower&lt;/a&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic"; "&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.imeem.com/stewgrace/music/SeoIOCFO/stewart_grace_the_blowers_daughter/"&gt;And so it is, just like I hoped it would be, life goes easy on me most of the time. And so it is, the shorter story, no love, no glory, a hero in his eyes. I can't take my eyes off you, I can't take my mind off you.  And so it is, just like they said it should be, we'll both just feel the breeze, most of the time. And so it is, the colder water, the blower's daughter, the pupil in denial. I can't take my eyes off you, I can't take my mind off you.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; Did I say that I love you?&lt;br&gt; Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; I can't take my mind off you.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;/br&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-64122043787219005?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/64122043787219005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=64122043787219005' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/64122043787219005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/64122043787219005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/05/i-can-take-my-mind-off-you.html' title='i can&amp;#39;t take my mind off you '/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-6715137739691799557</id><published>2008-05-16T17:43:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T21:43:55.300+08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Scientist</title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="80" width="300"&gt;&lt;param name='allowScriptAccess' value='never'&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.imeem.com/m/k19h17SSkc/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed allowscriptaccess='never' src='http://media.imeem.com/m/k19h17SSkc/aus=false/' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' wmode='transparent' height='110' width='300'&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;Come up to meet you, tell you Im sorry, you dont know how lovely you are. I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart. Tell me your secrets, and ask me your questions oh lets go back to the start. Running in circles, coming up tails, heads on a silence apart. Nobody said it was easy oh its such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said that it would be this hard, oh take me back to the start.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;br&gt; I was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling your puzzles apart. Questions of science, science and progress, do not speak as loud as my heart. Tell me you love me, come back and haunt me, oh and I rush to the start. Running in circles, chasing our tails, coming back as we are. Nobody said it was easy, oh its such a shame for us to part. Nobody said it was easy, no one ever said it would be so hard,… im going back to the start.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;    &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-6715137739691799557?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/6715137739691799557/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=6715137739691799557' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/6715137739691799557'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/6715137739691799557'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/05/scientist.html' title='The Scientist'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-3985191452531456030</id><published>2008-05-16T00:53:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-16T04:53:52.242+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning Sign</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="300" height="80"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="&lt;a href="http://media.imeem.com/m/jQ8yXFVNr4/aus=false/"&gt;"&gt;http://media.imeem.com/m/jQ8yXFVNr4/aus=false/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="&lt;a href="http://media.imeem.com/m/jQ8yXFVNr4/aus=false/""&gt;http://media.imeem.com/m/jQ8yXFVNr4/aus=false/"&lt;/a&gt; type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="300" height="110" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;A warning sign, I missed the good part then I realized, I started looking and the bubble burst. I started looking for excuses. Come on in, I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in, I've got to tell you in my loudest tones, That I started looking for a warning sign.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; When the truth is, I miss you. Yeah the truth is that I miss you so.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; A warning sign, you came back to haunt me and I realized, that you were an island and I passed you by, you were an island to discover. Come on in, I've got to tell you what state I'm in, I've got to tell you in my loudest tones, That I started looking for a warning sign.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; When the truth is, I miss you. Yeah the truth is that I miss you so.&lt;br&gt; &lt;br&gt; And I'm tired; I should not have let you go. So I crawl back into your open arms. Yes, I crawl back into your open arms. And I crawl back into your open arms. Yes, I crawl back into your open arms...&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;br&gt;&lt;br&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-3985191452531456030?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/3985191452531456030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=3985191452531456030' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/3985191452531456030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/3985191452531456030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/05/warning-sign.html' title='Warning Sign'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-1042009265729641575</id><published>2008-05-10T02:23:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-05-10T06:23:29.350+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank You</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="insertedphoto"&gt;&lt;img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2168/2366583396_ee54ced9b3.jpg" border="0"&gt;&lt;br&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;Sometimes, you meet people who you thought are just so talented, amazing and unreachable that you forget that those people are also human beings who have their weaknesses which makes them normal, like us. You might not realize it immediately but after some time of knowing this person, you just slowly understand the beauty in these people’s lives.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I was not pertaining to weaknesses as something negative, I was thinking actually of a word that would describe a normal person who had an effect to the people around them... just a normal human being who has the skill to touch people’s lives and make them see things that they never thought possible. I am talking about someone I look up to, someone who I think is so amazing when it comes to the field that I love most… photography.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I met Ash through multiply and was really stunned by the photos he took. I’ve always thought that this person is so talented; I’ve never seen pictures where the subjects pop-out. Well there’s Niccolo Cosme, but that’s another story. Every time I log in to multiply, I always check his site if he has new pictures uploaded. I never felt tired of looking at his photos and try to analyze how he does that. At the back of my mind, I was saying I hope I could create a photo like this someday. After sometime, he asked me to assist him in a photo shoot in Tagaytay, I was shocked, coz I never thought he would ask me to help him and out of all his friends in multiply, I was wondering why he asked me. And that question, is still left hanging until now.&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt; &lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;The shoot was amazing. I’ve felt so satisfied with what I was learning. Photography is my passion and that was the first time I attended a photo shoot, and the fact that Ash was there was something. I can honestly say that that day was one of the most meaningful days in my life. I saw a person who I look up to while he’s working. I thought all the things I know about him was enough to look up to him, but working with him, hearing his reactions, advices, complaints and all made me look up to him more. No pretensions. He would say he’s tired if is tired, he would say I don’t’ like this, I don’t like that, ha would bitch sometime, he would make small mistakes, etc. He was just a normal person like every one of us, the only difference is he has an amazing talent and knows how to use it and remained humble. That day, he helped me see my goals, something he might not know, but really, he made me realize what I really want. I’ve never met someone like him before and now that we’re friends, all I can say is Thank You. &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;br&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-1042009265729641575?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/1042009265729641575/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=1042009265729641575' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/1042009265729641575'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/1042009265729641575'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/05/thank-you.html' title='Thank You'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2168/2366583396_ee54ced9b3_t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-2585120756759809438</id><published>2008-04-26T02:05:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2008-04-26T06:05:48.998+08:00</updated><title type='text'>Something i've always wanted</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="insertedphoto"&gt;&lt;a href="/photos/hi-res/upload/SBJTygoKCB0AAGxwTyk1"&gt;&lt;img class="alignmiddleb" src="http://images.myownsymphony.multiply.com/image/1/photos/upload/300x300/SBJTygoKCB0AAGxwTyk1/1206939212-lg2.jpg?et=sjniEQv9Q9ZO%2CSxg0a%2BFMA&amp;nmid=" border="0"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"&gt;&lt;span class="insertedphoto"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;I've always wanted to get a tattoo. At first it was for aesthetic reasons but as I mature, I wanted to get a mark that would signify a part of me that is not seen by the naked eye but felt by the people around me. It needs to be empowering for me. The only problem is I don’t know what design will I get and where to put it. I saw this picture and it gave an idea of how I want mine to look like. I wonder how many days will it take for me to get a tattoo that huge and how much will it cost me…&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: 10pt; font-family: "Century Gothic";"&gt;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;br&gt;  &lt;!-- multiply:no_crosspost --&gt;&lt;p class='multiply:no_crosspost'&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-2585120756759809438?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/2585120756759809438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=2585120756759809438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2585120756759809438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/2585120756759809438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2008/04/something-i-always-wanted.html' title='Something i&amp;#39;ve always wanted'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-114419413950068490</id><published>2006-04-05T07:41:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2006-04-05T07:42:19.503+08:00</updated><title type='text'>I’m back</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;I just woke up from a short sleep. I set my alarm at 5pm but I woke up at 3pm. So I only slept for 4 hours today. I just felt like writing so I turned my computer on and started typing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s been a while since I wrote something about myself. I’ve been so busy at work that I don’t even have the energy to go somewhere else after work. I normally work for 11 – 14 hours everyday. So you could just imagine how stressed my body is right now. Why am doing it? Maybe because it keeps me away from thinking about my personal problems, or maybe because I trying to make the best out of my career. I’ve been doing the reports of my boss for a couple of weeks now, and sometimes I just end up asking myself why the fuck am I doing this? Then I start to realize that this is a good training ground, or I just want to experience the life of someone who is almost at the top of the corporate ladder. I’m giving my best here. I’m doing my best to reach the top. I’ve been in the top 3 supervisors in the campaign for 3 months now, and I guess, it’s paying off, somehow. I get to make decisions for myself, my boss, who’s a really nice gal, listens to me when I say something about the way our campaign goes, and I get to be recognized by the people at work, I get some special treatment when it comes to some small things (which kinda make things a little fun.J), and I get to earn more money because of overtime and commission. Talking about commission, yesterday, after finishing all the monthly reports for the campaign, my world suddenly fell apart. I was hoping, well actually, expecting that I will be getting commission for the month of March. Well, I do deserve it. I’m the top supervisor for the month, I’m doing more stuff than a normal supervisor, and I’ve been damn serious with my work! But then, with a sudden twist of fate, my team quality scores did not meet the requirement for the commission. So all my plans for the month shattered into thin glass as I was staring at my monitor. I usually take everything that comes my way, but this one? Damn! I felt like all my efforts were wasted. Let’s face it everybody works for the money. And I’m not talking about a couple of hundreds; it’s 116% of my basic salary! I wanted to shout at that moment, but I realized it wouldn’t make any difference. So I went downstairs and lit a cigarette while thinking of how much I lost. I thought of all the stuff that I could do to get the commission. There’s no other way than go to my boss and talk to her about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So after my cig, I went to my boss’ station then talked to her about it. She told me that she’s gonna talk to her boss about it. Fair enough. But then, after a couple of minutes of sitting in front of her, maybe she felt how devastated I am about what happened. Then she stopped what she was doing, and faced my ay and told me that she’s gonna fight for it. It kinda brought back some hope, but majority of what I was feeling was depression. I didn’t know what else to do. I guess I just have to wait till she talks to her boss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It’s gonna happen later. My shift starts at 8pm, and it’s already 4:25pm. Since we do have a management meeting at 7:30PM, I’m going to freshen up early. My friend will pick me up in a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It felt great writing again. I missed doing this. It’s like telling a person everything, and all that person does is listen to you and feel for you. I’m gonna do this more often. It’s nice to be back.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-114419413950068490?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/114419413950068490/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=114419413950068490' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/114419413950068490'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/114419413950068490'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2006/04/im-back.html' title='I’m back'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-111264572376827976</id><published>2005-04-05T04:08:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-04-05T04:15:23.770+08:00</updated><title type='text'>the end...</title><content type='html'>4:17 am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm in his office right now. he's just behind me. i wish everything's still the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's over. we're just friends now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm happy and sad at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i gave my best shot. it wasn't enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it was just a sorta fairytale after all. not a real one. no happy endings, no "and they lived happily ever after". none of those stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i thought i was the writer of this story, but i wasn't. it was him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;now, i gained a friend. a dear friend that will always be in my heart...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-111264572376827976?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/111264572376827976/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=111264572376827976' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111264572376827976'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111264572376827976'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2005/04/end.html' title='the end...'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-111198051875436485</id><published>2005-03-28T10:27:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-04-05T04:19:14.836+08:00</updated><title type='text'>solitude</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i realized that i have to change for the better... my life has been a mess after the incident last year. i lost a lot of things. i tried to start a new life, but i believe that i'm not on the right path... i need a break, i need time for myself, i need time to think.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i've made decisions that will change my life. i left my job in the call center and decided to concentrate on the things that i love doing... a friend told me that i should &lt;em&gt;do what i love not love what i do&lt;/em&gt;... i realized that he is right. i gave myself time to analyze the whole situation and decided to just take the risk. people think that it was rather impulsive but for me it was having the courage to take the first step...it's going to be tough, but i'm used to that. i know i can make it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i went to boracay for a retreat. i'm tried to find myself. and i did. i told myself that when i get back to manila, i'll be a different person. a more responsible me. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i finally let go of all the frustrations, the pain, the things that are bothering me everyday and focus on something more meaningful... focus on my goals in life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;for the past few months, all i've been focusing on is relationships. waiting for him to find me. but then life will always be unfair. and it is something i must learn to accept. there will always be times where you meet someone who is almost perfect but then you realize that it was just not meant to be. then you'll to wait again for the next big break and sooner or later you just realize that your back to that empty place. a dark cold room where you are alone by yourself. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i've decided to let go of the fear of going back to that place. i've been there long enough. there won't be anything new. it sad but i have to deal with it. but i will never lose hope. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i am here in Manila now. i know i've changed. i have to start a new life. i have to end this sorta fairytale. i cannot say that it is a happy ending but i've learned a lot. who knows... maybe someday it will become a real fairytale after all. but for now, i have to live a new life. a life where i will just look at the things around me, deal with the things that are happening and enjoy life. i'll be expecting the worst and hoping for the best. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;for me, this is like sunset. it will be dark after a few minutes. only the moon and the stars will give light to the world. everyone will be resting, it will be silent, but at least there is still hope knowing that tomorrow will be a brand new day. now, i'll just stare at the sun hide slowly under the horizon, think of the things that happened and just breathe... (&lt;a href="mailto:myownsymphony@blogspot.com"&gt;myownsymphony.blogspot.com&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;to a particular person: &lt;/strong&gt;i've learned i lot from you, and i'm thankful that you came into my life. things might not end way we want it to but i have no regrets. you will always have a place in my heart. you are special to me, and you know that. let's just see what will happen... but whatever the conclusion is... you will always be my friend. right now, i'm not closing any door, but i'm not waiting either. i'll just go with the flow. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-111198051875436485?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/111198051875436485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=111198051875436485' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111198051875436485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111198051875436485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2005/03/solitude.html' title='solitude'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-111146971669044947</id><published>2005-03-22T13:01:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-22T13:40:16.676+08:00</updated><title type='text'>thrill seeker</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;it happened one night... i cant remember the exact date and time, just the feeling. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;he told me he lost the thrill, he's not interested anymore. i felt pressure in my chest, i was hurt.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;i know that he's been in this situation, and i wanna tell him that he's doing a great job on the other side. but i don't want him to pity me though... i've been hurt a lot of times. i know i can move on. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;maybe it's just the idea of losing someone again that i'm afraid of. if ever that happens, this one's gonna hurt like hell... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;i wanted to tell him a lot of things that moment. but i just don't know where to start. he told me i freaked him out. sounds funny to me, honestly because the reasons he was giving me were not valid. i don't know. i felt like he never really appreciated the things that i did. he never found out that it was not the Tori Amos CD that i thought was special, it was the chocolate... it was not the idea of not finishing my lunch to pick him up the steps, it was the 13th floor, the place where i took him after i finished lunch. these things make me laugh sometimes because he never thought of it... after the first week he was not in the pedestal anymore. i treated him normally. he never realized that. it's too late now... i'll just have to let that go. i'm ok now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;we decided to continue what we're having. just wait and see where it will take us. i don't know if i should slowly start to let go now... or should i hang on?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;i have to stop thinking. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;only time can tell...&lt;/em&gt; that's what his best friend told me. i guess there's still hope. but for now, i need to concentrate on other things. i have a life.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-111146971669044947?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/111146971669044947/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=111146971669044947' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111146971669044947'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111146971669044947'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2005/03/thrill-seeker.html' title='thrill seeker'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-111086854200684667</id><published>2005-03-15T14:15:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-16T09:01:39.203+08:00</updated><title type='text'>going with the flow</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;em&gt;To a particular somebody: I have yet to know what it is about you that I find fascinating. But for sure, the half of the face that I could see when we talked on the steps was more enchanting than the changing of colours, of the sudden burst of life of the morning. Your profile is more wondrous than the sunrise. And for me, who loves the sunrise and the sunset (my favourite times of the day), that is saying so much. I'm taking this one slow. I hold on to the changes that shift inside me and do this differently. There's just so much to gain and so much to lose. But isn't that how it is supposed to be? -&lt;/em&gt; The Flight of the Rocketman&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;that was his message. i wouldn't deny that he's a really good writer. and yes... we decided to take it slow. i don't know where this is heading, but i'm enjoying every second of it. there are times when i would miss him but wouldn't really make any move. i dont want him to feel that i'm possesive nor do i want to disturb him in any way. i just want him to be happy, coz everytime i'm with him, everytime i think of how he came into me life, i feel happy and at the same time calm... something i never felt in long time now... and words would never be enough to explain how thankful i am.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;it was his birthday yesterday, i sent him flowers, the album of &lt;em&gt;Kelly Clarkson&lt;/em&gt; and a cake. he told me that he liked it, and i'm glad he did. last saturday, we watched a concert with his friends. that's when i realized that he has something that makes me smile. i've never met anyone like him. the way he stares at me, the way he smiles, the way he makes fun of people... a lot of things. sometimes i just feel this surge of electricity flow through my body when i'm with him. i don't want him to know that though. he would probably laugh at me. these are some things that make me want more from him. i'm trying my best to take it slow, but then reality bites. i can never really ask him to be with me everytime i want to. sometimes i feel like what he's feeling now is different from the way he felt last week. i don't know why, but i have to stop thinking about these stupid ideas for this to work out. it's harder than just going with the flow, but i'm willing to do it. i have to trust him.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;i told myself that whatever happens to this, i sincerely wish him happiness... i wish for him to find what he wants and be able to grab it. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-111086854200684667?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/111086854200684667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=111086854200684667' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111086854200684667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111086854200684667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2005/03/going-with-flow.html' title='going with the flow'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-111086589994352144</id><published>2005-03-15T13:13:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-16T09:01:01.643+08:00</updated><title type='text'>once upon a time</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;i don't know how it happened but the following days, we were always sending messages to each other. he visits me on my lunch breaks. we even ate lunch together, at the right time - noon! there are a couple of times when he'd walk from his office to my building and meet me by the steps. we would always talk. we learned more things about each other and made our presence felt... that somehow we cared. there was even a time when we talked over the phone for 2 hours. he called me from his mobile (just imagine the bill that he'll be getting by the end of the month!). he told me that he'd rather spend money talking to someone he wanted to talk to, than save the money but not hear that person's voice. it made me feel really special... though i was making myself believe that he was just being nice. he would send me messages that i find really sweet, then i would always hold back the idea of him liking me back. it was just impossible.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;but then friday came. i told him that i'll visit him this time.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt; i bought him the new album of &lt;em&gt;Tori Amos (beekeeper)&lt;/em&gt; and a bar of chocolate. i guess he liked it. we walked to this tavern near my place, had dinner there and talked. we were asking each other questions when he suddenly asked...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;"what were you thinking when i was laughing out loud while watching South Park last sunday?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i just felt like this would be the best moment to tell him everything...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;"i'm gonna tell you a secret. the first time i met you 3 years ago, i found you really cute. but then i knew that you were up there. you wouldn't want to make friends with a &lt;em&gt;normal&lt;/em&gt; person like me. i had this impression that you would only want to hang out with people like you... models, high profile people etc."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;"that's not true!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;"well that's how i felt. anyway, you were laughing and i was at the kitchen counter behind you, i cant stop staring at you. that was the only time when you wouldn't really notice me. i just took advantage of the moment. i found it really cute. it made me like you more."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;there was silence for a couple seconds, then it was his turn. he told me that he really liked my eyes. he said he could't stop looking at me while we were eating before heading to his friend's place. when we took the cab, he sat in front so that everytime he he looked, it wouldn't be obvious. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;"after that night, i was telling my friend that you never left my mind. you were everywhere, in the office, at home, you were there inside the room when i was talking to him, i didn't know how to start it, i told myself that this guy has to like me. i asked him for your number and there, i sent you a message."&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;i will never forget that night. everything was revealed. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;we decided to walk to his office and spend the night at his place listening to music. we both loved music. that's one of the things that we have in common.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;there was a time when he just took my hand and we walked under the moonlight not saying anything...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;and i didn't need anything more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-111086589994352144?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/111086589994352144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=111086589994352144' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111086589994352144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111086589994352144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2005/03/once-upon-time.html' title='once upon a time'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-111086326539703436</id><published>2005-03-15T12:45:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-16T17:21:05.406+08:00</updated><title type='text'>sunrise</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;tuesday night. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;i was about to leave my mom's place when i received a message. it was him. saying hi... i can't believe my eyes. he asked his friend for my number. unexpected. it gave me the shock of my life. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;i replied:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"i thought you already forgot me."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;he said:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"and why would i forget you?"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;it felt weird reading that message and knowing it came from him. someone i met 3 years ago; someone who looked like he didn't give a damn; he told me he had changed since then. and why not! let's give him the benefit of the doubt. he doesn't exactly look like he has changed. well... yeah, he looks better now. but the way he talked, the way he moved, everything's the same.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;he asked me where i was, what i was doing, a whole lot of questons about me. told him i was on my way to work. suddenly, he said something that totally shocked me: he asked me if i wanted to smoke with him on my lunch break. hell yeah! its not about smoking. it's about seeing him again. i couldn't wait. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;6:15 AM: i went downstairs. waited for him. and there he was. i guess he did remember me after all. we talked by the stairs, waited for my lunch break to end. the sun was rising. i was so amazed. i was listening to him attentively. i wanted to talk to him for the rest of the day. we talked about family, friends, work and all those stuff. it wasn't enough, it can never be enough, but i have to go back now. and again, he shooked my hand and said goodbye. i watched him walk away... hoping that i would be able to spend some time with him again. then he sent a message...&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:Courier New;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Enjoy work. Thanks for being my break. :-)"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-111086326539703436?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/111086326539703436/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=111086326539703436' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111086326539703436'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111086326539703436'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2005/03/sunrise.html' title='sunrise'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11443418.post-111082425710088338</id><published>2005-03-15T01:48:00.000+08:00</published><updated>2005-03-16T08:23:21.720+08:00</updated><title type='text'>starting over</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:courier new;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;first...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;three years ago... olive bar with my friends - my 2nd time there... we were introduced. he was a snob... a sweaty snob dancing like there was no tomorrow... almost wasted. he looked at me, raised his eyebrows but said nothing. he was cute but looked unattainable... he's a model who hangs out with other models... and i'm just me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;second...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;three weeks from today. again, at government, formerly olive, with new and old friends... on the dance floor... same spot. there he was. same guy. this time, he paid more attention - he shook my hand... then went dancing again. he looks better now... but still beyond my reach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;third time's a charm they say...&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;came from a luau party and ended up in (guess where!) government... and there he was... and for the third time, we were introduced. i said it was the third. he just smiled. i couldn't stop staring at him. he captivates me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we went to eat, can't stop looking at him... then to to his best friend's house, who happens to know that i find him cute. and there we were, a party of five - watching movies and chilling out. that's where it all started. my fairy tale. surreal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i can't belive we're in the same house, the two of us. he took a shower, changed clothes then we were all on the floor, watching movies. he was there and there was only one person between the two of us. i wasn't really paying attention to the movie. i was waiting for what he was about to say or do. he was saying things... things that matter to me. i won't forget what he said about how he'd like to meet someone who would dominate him. it made me smile. when the first movie finished, we talked about the color of my eyes. i was wearing contacts that night. they were pretty bothered by it... then all of a sudden, he moved forward and stared into my eyes. i melted. it lasted a couple of seconds but it felt like eternity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;we watched another movie, South Park. he suddenly started laughing hard. i went to the kitchen counter, behind him. i found him fascinating. its amazing how you could just admire people for they way they laugh. i wasn't aware then but i know now that i'll be cherishing that moment for a very long time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;before i knew it, it was time to go. i said goodbye to his best friend. then came the moment... i was trying to figure out the right words to say to him... he extended his hand. i shook it. i heard words, "hope that you'll remember me next time we meet" and realized it was me. he said "no problem". that was it. a couple of hours with him and i know that he's still the guy that i met 3 years ago. everything's different now though. don't ask me why... you wouldn't understand.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/11443418-111082425710088338?l=sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/feeds/111082425710088338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=11443418&amp;postID=111082425710088338' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111082425710088338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/11443418/posts/default/111082425710088338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sorta-fairytale.blogspot.com/2005/03/starting-over.html' title='starting over'/><author><name>Gerard Daduya</name><uri>https://profiles.google.com/111177285098611516989</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='32' src='//lh4.googleusercontent.com/-nCPYSa-5Ef8/AAAAAAAAAAI/AAAAAAAAAP8/-njiO7LGMUk/s512-c/photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
