REMEMBER WHEN: MALVAR AND OTHERS

my only if's

you pulled my hair while scolding me. then slammed me near that door. you pinched my skin, it left its marks. then you hit me with that stick, so many times. i saw you even smiled.

you bruised all of my, my heart and my body. i am so sorry for still hating.

now i grew up. no one told me anything.
had i known what i should've done when they laughed at me when i was in front.
had i known that sleeping with a guy is cheap (no sex men!).
had i known that my enthusiasm would be mistaken as obsession.
and my mere innocence is stupidity
. i did not know- that failing a subject to be able to shift is an eternal stain in my transcript.
had i known that smoking nearly stopped my heart, i should have never stopped it.
if only i saw that guy's a real jerk,
i should have killed him.
had i known that it was i who looked like a slut, no.
had i known that staying in that place cost me so much trauma towards life?

malvar siege: review included

i really cannot tell. i know i have never played safe in my life, unlike the others who go with the flow. all i want is to live this life to the fullest since i have only one. no. pardon me if here i am again bragging about myself. i want everything in this life. i read malvar Siege's article. ask him if he himself doesn't want to be the next national artist. of course he does, he won't be a hypocrite for that. however, we all know-writers and non-writers, that luck in this field would be like shooting stars. as writers, we just write. we are all different so we will never know if somebody reads our pieces. we do not care because we just write.

if it comes to a point where all we think is pleasing our readers, we would be neglecting our responsibility towards this humanity-
we write to reveal truth, to lie, sometimes. we do not write for other people, we cannot advertise. why?- the evil in some journalists today rise when they protect some people, when they do not validate their facts in reports- shame on them calling themselves writers.

tell me one writes about life and heartaches because he wants other people to learn. nada. writer's write to satisfy the trembling of their fingers when emotions are overwhelming. and the product of this unconsciously enlightens other people, like seeing the sun again.

as in the case of today's mania over twilight, the main reason why some appreciate it so much is because they never knew "good" books. they read twilight because its a fad. they never read it because they read everything. they settle down there- the residues of real readers.

add: fow writers we mold our words- it is our choice to conceal it or expose it. no one can tell if we lie or not. for me this is the most precious gift given to each and everyone of us- sacred

edward cullen vs. lestat de lioncourt

-I'm sorry i have compared Anne rice's- lestat to Meyer's Edward Cullen?- i think Edward would be a gay- he's too soft, too conscious about love and all. while for lestat, all his features are manly. he's a rock singer, a writer, a killer. while Edward?- a pianist, vegetarian, imagine, he cannot even live without Bella?- maybe i am being a cynic. the thing is Edward claims to protect Bella but obviously he can't, especially from the Volturi and the cold. he's just lucky all the way since he has the rest of his coven. it is funny how s. meyer made vampire too soft for human emotions. crap.