Character

[FIELDSET="Stuff"]I'm aiming more on character concept (as a person not a 'class') rather than technical stuff. This is the first time I'll actually stick to the character backstory for the feats and classes. I think that would make it more suitable to RPing.

Good luck to everyone of us. :)
Will edit this post for the application/edits.


[B]EDIT: This wasn't my original app. I hope you were able to read the previous one, since this is just a saved draft[/B].
Today, November 30, 4 pm, GMT +8, while saving the "final version", I encountered some sort of database error, and to my luck the application got erased. :emb
This version of the app is far from complete (and still contains lot of typos and lacks a lot of detail), but since the deadline is today... :(
I hope I get accepted, though.

EDIT2: Now it's finally done.[/FIELDSET]

[I]Abandon all preconceptions, forget all beliefs, and reject all assumptions if you wish to understand.[/I]
-Introduction of the Shadowcat

Name: Wulfric Kain
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Race: Catfolk (Natural Lycanthrope: Weretiger)
Classes: Weretiger 2 /Tiger Form 2 / Ranger 4
Desired Profession: Animal Trainer/ Assassin / Tracker

[SPOILERBUTTON=Introduction][FIELDSET="The Village of Shifting Shadow"]The wind whispers to my ear the many secrets and mysteries that have long pervaded my mind. I grasp my own whiskers, even as the dying moon maliciously invites himself to this splendid affair. Beyond us all, in the midst of a dozen cloaks, on top of a pillar lays a child, a mere infant by my regard. Lit by the dim beams of moonlight, the mark of the slash of a tiger's claws are seen etched on the back of the sacrifice. A flash of light, then darkness. An abyssal roar, and then an unmistakable cry of a young boy.

[I]Even weavers of tales have reasons to weep, my dear friend.[/I]

This is a tale fifteen summers past and sixteen winters done. It was the eve of a new moon, the final whispers before the habitual rest of the full moon. Lights flickered in the distance; moonlight pierced our surroundings. The harvest was bountiful. The children were few.

Ah but for now, a background. Our village is as any other village of our kind, though I must confess I do have my reservations regarding our village name. The Village of Leaping Paws or the Village of the Shadowing Tail could have tickled my fancy, without a doubt. We have wandered the land of Nozdraigh for a significant period of time, and nothing much has changed. The elders have been effective in keeping tradition, however primitive we might be seen by outsiders. It is, as they say, always best to keep out of any foreign meddling.

The village is subdivided into four families, of which the four Elders are chosen.

Every two hundred-and-fortieth rebirth of the moon, the fittest and most healthy village child is taken to be offered as sacrifice to our god. It is always regarded with great pride whenever a child of one’s clan is chosen for the ceremony. It has always been a tradition, and always shall be.

Well, enough of that.

Now, a repudiation! Much could be said about my sanity, or lack of it, as I write these passages. I am known as a weaver of tales, and not necessarily a historian. Have you ever heard of “The Shadowcat”? How about “The Tales of Uvotherin the Shallow”? My, my, perhaps my only comfort would lie in the fact that most, shall I use the term, myths, are in fact merely glorified history. I am highly doubtful the most respected of whiskers shall be pleased were they to read this. I am, however, as many writers of our time, deeply bound to tell the world our story. The edge of my Feline tongue itches whenever I restrain myself from uttering our own stories.
If you know what I mean.

Although, I hope I am able to remember everything.
Indeed, it was both a frightening and majestic sight to behold, that evening of the dying moon. I felt the wind tickle the tips of my ears, and surely that was a sign of good things to come. The three of us that night watched as the healthiest child of the village, a member of my own clan, was lifted up by the Elder Most High and placed on the pedestal shrine. As was tradition, we closed our eyes as he chanted the words to call our god.

Darkness.
An abyssal roar, then silence. The unmistakable sound of fangs.
The eerie music of trickling liquid. With our eyes closed, we were but blind witnesses.

And then, by the nine heavens’ wonderful mercy,
a miracle.
Amid the streaks of crimson, in that clearing in the middle of the forest,
cries echoed.

You could almost hear the fearful whispers of the trees.

Moans.
The bawls of a newborn.


The Elder held the child in his arms, blood splattered all over his face, dripping from his chin.

Children offered to our god never survived. This child with the mark of claws on his back, this mere boy now embellished by the scar of fangs,
[I]How could he be an exception?[/I]

The awful thing about it, if I may say so, is that we still had no idea what really happened. We were innocent, witnesses without question. Then and there, I should have known about Chief Merrsissius.

Now, with the knowledge of all the conspiracies that built our culture, our traditions, with all the lies now visible to me in static clarity, now I know why that was our last ceremony of its kind.

[B][first page of a letter addressed to “Valafar” from “[I]Merthas of the Kain[/I]” (no other page found)][/B].[/FIELDSET]
[/SPOILERBUTTON]

[spoilerbutton=Background][Fieldset=History]
[I]Illusions of magical monstrosities will always exist whenever there is an unexplainable confusion of sorts. Surely it is any being's instinct to blame the supernatural, to give a temporary meaning to an undefinable instance. To give an illusion of progress, it is always necessary to place at least a tag, a working definition to anything. It is only when something is attributed identity do allusions to development actually begin. [/I]

[I]And perhaps, that is their purpose.[/I]

Wulfric was born into the Village of Shifting Shadow, a small catfolk village located in a compartmentalized area between the plains and forests of Nozdraigh. His parents were expecting triplets during his birth. However, perhaps due to insanitation or just misfortune, he was the only child who survived. It was clearly an unproductive season for the village—only one other was born during that year.

Wulfric lived a fairly uneventful childhood. He was an odd child in many aspects, though in ways exceptionally keen in learning. His parents were always very protective of him, and he attributed this to the fact that he was their only child. He had few friends, and most of his childhood acquaintances he knew solely because of his parents. It was during his childhood that he met Sylvia, the only other with the same birthyear. She was the Family Elder Merthas's daughter; she was but a season older than him, and they got along as brother and sister.

He was told long before had the capacity to ask that the scar on his left arm was due to an accident during birth.
[I]Besides, what other reason could there be?[/I]

As he reached adulthood, the age of 12 as prescribed by the catfolk society, he was trained by his father, as many others, to be a scout and efficient hunter for the village. For a period of time, he held this position with much enthusiasm, his mind bounded by the simple economy of his home. He honed his skills, and he showed exceptional perception and wit in the field. He developed an intense love for nature, hunting animals only when necessary. As Wulfric learned the ways of the hunter, Sylvia learned the ways of druids and tale-weavers.

That was before the changes.

During the fourteenth summer of his life, merely two years after his coming of age, Wulfric began to neglect his hunting duties, to the expressed dismay of the community. He developed a gross pattern of mood swings, highlighted by monthly disappearances.

Every month, as the full moon rose over the sky, he unwillingly transformed into a tiger.
Every birth of the full moon gave him new life, life in the literal form of a creature, a life alone for three days each month, a life under the constant shadow of the invisible moon and the pale glare of the indifferent sun. He did not know why.

The markings on his body also changed significantly; the stripes on his body grew darker, more fierce. The mark of claws on his back increasingly became more defined. It was soon obvious to the members of the village that all was not well. Despite concern from the elders of the village, and constant interrogation by his parents, he told no one but Sylvia.

Even the Elder Most High--[I]no. especially the Elder Most High[/I]--voiced out his concern.
[COLOR=Green][I]Is there... something you want to tell me, Wulfric?[/I][/COLOR] asked Chief Merssissius one day, just as Wulfric returned from his monthly disappearance. It was twilight, and they talked alone under the shade of a large tree.
Without looking at the elder, he said, [COLOR=Red][I]I am sorry, and with all due respect, I cannot tell you.[/I] [/COLOR]
The Elder of Life looked at him fiercely, his eyes burning with frustration. [COLOR=Green][I]No, Wulfric. I am sure I will be able to help. Our god has blessed me with knowledge, and I believe that it his Will for me to help you. We both know of your past, Wulfric; you have been, shall we say, granted life by our god. You must not put that to waste.[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]Then maybe you would like to go first, Elder. It appears you already know what I am going through. Maybe if our god actually existed I would believe you.[/I][/COLOR] Wulfric looked at the elder's eyes, his intentions clear.
[COLOR=Green]
[I]And now you even question our god?! What insanity has manifested in you, boy?[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]I would hardly call this insanity. Please stop this nonsense, Chief Merssissius. You should know me well enough to not underestimate me. You have taken control of our village long enough, and I suggest you stop.
And yes,[/I] [/COLOR] said Wulfric, his hands slowly transforming into claws, his feline face now emblazoned with the features of a tiger, he said softly, [COLOR=Red][I]it does take one to know one.[/I][/COLOR]
The trace drops of moonlight lit the visage of the two tigers as they growled at each other. The smaller leapt, running towards the village.

Barely a year after the start of his transformations, Wulfric was charged with the murder of the second highest Elder of the village, the fierce huntress Nershrissa, family Elder of the Talon. Aside from this, numerous killings were reported in the surrounding villages in their land, and at that same time, Chief Merssissius disappeared without warning.

[I]Who was there to blame but the abomination? The creature whose mark of claws could easily be distinguished?[/I]

Fifteen years after the ritual, the sacrifice that lived was banished from the village. The two remaining elders argued, and at the end they made a terrible and difficult decision .
One of them could not withstand the irony.

The wise storyteller Merthas, the Kain family Elder, the Elder of Trade, told Wulfric to seek aid from the wisest healers of the continent. With his daughter Sylvia, Merthas accompanied Wulfric. They broke all ties with the village of Shifting Shadow.

They knew little beyond the simple trappings of their village, and as they were plotting their journey towards Gazria, the continent's capital, unbeknownst to them, Wulfric of the family Kain had become a wanted criminal. Bounties were put up for his head, and the three were forced to travel in hiding. With threats constant, Merthas had an inkling what to do.

Dire occurrences often permit dire consequences.

Due to what Merthas called necessity, Wulfric was soon drawn to the hands of the Scions of Valafar. Sylvia accompanied him. They were taken in, and Wulfric began his treatment.

Merthas disappeared soon afterwards.
[/FIELDSET][/SpoilerButton]

[Spoilerbutton=Personality]
Personality Domains: Chaos, Animal (and a dash of Trickery)
[Fieldset=Transformed]
[I]The path to understanding is often riddled with mazes of treachery. It is pitiful indeed that we are led to dismiss everything we undertake as necessary.[/I] -Uvotherin the Shallow

Wulfric, in Feline, means “reaching the heavens”. Kain means “to eat”. He still hasn't learned why he was called “He who devoured the high heavens”.

Wulfric is one who could be said to be grounded in his own beliefs. He has an intense desire to prove himself. He could be a charming person, quite attractive due to his racial features. He can be an eloquent speaker if he wishes; however, he doesn’t talk often unless it is required of him. If he just puts his heart into int, he may find it relatively easy to mold the minds of people to suit his desires.

Merely three years ago, he was but simple-minded, knowledgeable only about his own town. Nevertheless, spending three years in the capital made him aware of the rest of the world, and he absorbed every detail of it. More or less, the beliefs of the Scions of Valafar has been inscribed into his mind, albeit unwittingly.

Seriousness has always presided in his Wulfric's mind. The hastiness of catfolk has been lost on him. He is a man in search of meaning. He is conflicted about what is truly right and what is truly wrong. His goals are often conceited; he won’t mind helping others if it would benefit him. His personal relations are mostly about improving his image for the Order; it is his belief that if he acquires enough respect, he would be free to leave. He forces himself to believe that the Order has not affected his way of thinking, and that he still views the world in clarity.

He is motivated by the desire for power, not necessarily the power to control other people, but the power, the ability to make a name for himself. And perhaps, if given enough time, if he is permitted, with the assurance he shall never again lose control of his alternate form, he may clear his name and return to his hometown.

Only Sylvia understands him.

[FIELDSET=Stripes of Character: Three years ago]
[COLOR=Red][I]So... this is goodbye?[/I] [/COLOR]
He looked different that day. Perhaps it was the tears in his eyes or the black cloak draped over his body, I don't know. Silhouetted against the red and violet gaze of the dying sun, trodding over the pale to bright hues of green grass, Wulfric, the Exile of Kain spoke softly, whimpering even.
[COLOR=Red][I]Have we no other option?[/I] [/COLOR]
The strength of Wulfric seemed to have faded. He looked weak. He looked fearful.

Not looking at me, his eyes attached to the ground, he says,
[COLOR=Red][I]What do we know of the Scions anyway?[/I] [/COLOR]

[COLOR=Red][I]Of course not. Do not worry, Wulfric. A few years, and everything shall be alright.[/I] [/COLOR]
The sitting figure of my father Merthas sees me; he sits a few feet away from Wulfric.
Waving, he motions for me to come closer.
[COLOR=Blue][I]Sylvia[/I][/COLOR] , he says, and at that moment my father Merthas places his hand on my shoulder. Conjuring a flute, he makes music with such mastery that I'm brought to tears.
[COLOR=Blue][I]Accompany Wulfric. You both need each other. I, however, must leave. I still have tasks to accomplish.[/I] [/COLOR]

[/FIELDSET]

[FIELDSET=Spots of Character: A day ago]
[COLOR=Red][I]My father? What about my father? Worlds may pass before I see him again, and now you wish to speak about him?[/I] [/COLOR]
The Feline voice speaks harshly, offensive even.

[COLOR=Blue][I]Why, did you not have good relations with your father?[/I] [/COLOR]

I blink upon hearing the calm, soothing voice. Even behind the wooden door, perhaps even across the planes I could recognize that voice. I listen to the two voices. It seems they have been talking for hours, their voices tired and raspy. Wishing not to disturb, I press my ear against the door.

[COLOR=Red][I]As good as relations get, I'm afraid. Do not ask.[/I] [/COLOR]
The harsh voice replies coldly.

[COLOR=Blue][I]Do not misunderstand me. I only come bearing news.[/I] [/COLOR]
[COLOR=Red]
[I]I have no need for news, old friend. What is the purpose of knowledge if one cannot act upon it?[/I][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Blue][I]Can't? or won't, Wulfric. You know very well you could leave anytime.[/I] [/COLOR]

I hear the unmistakable sound of a fist against wood.
[COLOR=Red][I]Please watch your words, old man. I have spent years pondering my situation and dreaming of freedom; you need not tell me what do you. Clearly you've lost the need for logic.[/I][/COLOR]

[COLOR=Blue][I]You speak of logic, yet you know not the word.[/I] [/COLOR]
The voice of my father is now cold, a troubling addition to the eloquence of his voice. He speaks with such finality I am glued to the door in suspense.

Footsteps, the swish of a cape. The door opens and I am thrown to the ground.
[COLOR=Blue][I]I'm sorry, Sylvia. Please take care.[/I][/COLOR] Without looking at me, his face obscured by his cloak, he exits the shop.

Wulfric helps me up; he bites his lip, seemingly holding off any emotion.
He opens his lips as if to say something, then sighs. He holds me in his arms.
[/FIELDSET]


[/Fieldset][/Spoilerbutton]

[Spoilerbutton=Description][FIELDSET=Visage]
[I]The claws on my hands, the mark of claws on my back and the scar of fangs. How should they matter if one knows not their meaning?[/I]
Members of any family of the Village of Shifting Shadow have distinct markings on their backs. In the case of the Kain family, each newborn child is tattooed with the mark of a tiger's claws.
Wulfric lived up to his name; his height of five feet is impressive for his kind. His eyes are black, with just a hint of crimson echoing beneath the pupils. His eyes have the distinct shape of a cat’s, yet with the cold warmth of a human. His tan skin is laced with markings of catfolk; by his latest count, he has exactly twenty-three stripes on his whole body, including two harsh stripes on his face. His black hair laced with streaks of yellow is knotted in dreadlocks, with stray strands covering his ears and forehead.
He is slender as most of his kind, yet muscular and compact just like a hunter should be. His hands are lean and dexterous, with sharp claws at the end.
The scars of four fangs on his left shoulder are the part of his body he most reviles, and he does his best to conceal them. His usual outfit is a bronze-colored shirt with a black lefthand sleeve just long enough to conceal his scar.
[/FIELDSET][/SPOILERBUTTON]

[SPOILERBUTTON=Miscellaneous]
[FIELDSET=Unsent Letter]
[FONT=Palatino Linotype]Wulfric of the Family Kain is henceforth cleared from all crimes.

Former Elder Most High, Chief Merrsissius of the Family Hinga is convicted for the murder of Nershrissa, deceased Elder of the Talon.[/FONT]

[I]See, Wulfric, my son. You may come home now.[/I]

-Excerpt of an unsent letter found on top of the cupboard of the deceased Silvirius Kain. With attached Parchment clipping. Dated one year ago.
[/FIELDSET]
[FIELDSET=Recent History]
Kain has mastered his ability to transform into a tiger at will. Finesse aided by natural strength has given him many an advantage in every occasion. With his fighting proficiency, he is now a hunter worthy to be feared. The improvement, however, came with a price. He has been trained by the Order to be an assassin. With the ability to transform into an animal, he proved to be effective.

[I]Surely, no powerful man would fear a mere animal.[/I]

For three years he has been coaxed to make people disappear and never return.
Apparently, he was taken in by the Order just after the outbreak of the Antagonist War. Due to his uncontrollable condition, he was hidden from the public, trained secretly under the dark corners of the Dreaming Tower. He was given no information whatsoever regarding the war, and the obedient child he was, he asked no questions. His desire to be cured took precedence over any logic he should have employed. He was given tasks to terminate certain people, and he readily obliged. At first he was hesitant, but after being fed the knowledge that his transformation may take control of his body, he followed orders.

Everything is about choosing the lesser evil.

Now, three years after his inception, he works as an animal trainer for the Order under the animal master Brom Westwind. He earns his everyday living behind the counter of a simple pet shop in Gazria. Business could never be any worse, but what choice does he have? He lives with Sylvia, who thoroughly disapproves of his true line of work.

He is only starting to think about his situation. Interactions and the freedom of control does wonders, apparently.
[/FIELDSET]
[/SPOILERBUTTON]

Hindi

na

Mga gusto ko sa birthday ko.

Text secreted for selected contacts only.

this is taking such a long time

note: editing past posts is fun, especially when people don't notice.

May naintindihan na ako

Kagabi, habang naglalakad.
Habang naririnig ang mga yapak ng aking mga paa.
Habang ang tanging karamay ay ang mga taksil na punong humihikbi sa aking tabi.
Walang tala sa kalangitan, at ang buwan ay nagpapakipot ng ngiti, nagpaparamdam, nagtatago sa puting karagatan ng mga ulap, habang inaasam ko ang tamis na halik ng kanyang kabuoan.

Habang yakap ang hangin, may narealize ako.
Parang mga mahihinang mga pitik na unti-unting nagbukas ng aking isipan.
Napagtanto ko ang mga bagay-bagay, at may narealize ako.

Pero hindi ko sasabihin.
Tanungin mo ako. Bukas, mamaya, pag napusuhan mong tanungin nga ako.

Tungkol dito, tungkol sa a( )in.
At maaari, maaaring sagutin ko.
At maaaring hindi.

Depende.

An unfinished/unedited work of fiction

A year has passed, and everything. Everything is so daintily the same. The same trees you have been passing by for less than half a decade are still the same trees I see now, only, more withered. Aged. Waves of leaves have fallen since then, and perhaps the very ground I'm treading has been waxed, sealed by the dictionaries of leaves that were shed.
The air still carries the odd, fruity smell that no one could describe; it is comparable to freshly cut grass, the soothing aroma of all things new. Although both of us know that time shall pass, and the odor will start to lash at our lungs, the pungent odor of spoiled fruit.
This is exactly the kind of day that I would call you up and tell you, yes, tell you, because it needn't be asked. I would tell you, while looking upwards, looking at the majestic trees that no one notices, looking at patterns, at possible symbols, at everything. Everything beautiful.
I would tell you, Isn't it beautiful outside?

*****

I told you this not just once before, and maybe you remember, maybe you don't. I told you, my greatest fear. I told you this with my lips curved in a grimace, definitely unsure what words to form. My eyes were squinted, squinted so I wouldn't look so sad. I said, My greatest fear, as of now, (as of then), is that after graduation, we'll...
I stuttered, I remember. I remembered the drink I had almost spilled, I remember your pink striped blouse, I remember the 205.00 bill on the lower part of our receipt, I even remember the number 8 and the number 6. I remember the sound of your voice, and how I felt hearing it.
I wish I could remember your face then.
...maybe we'll... fall apart...

*****

Of course you told me not to worry, because worrying will bring me nowhere, and that I should leave it up to fate. Or destiny. Or whatever.
I tried.
I tried to argue. Because, if we had the chance to poke a few needles into the threads of fate, why shouldn't we?
You shook your head.

*****

A year has passed, and nothing has changed. The same trees, the same buildings. The breath I draw now may have passed by you while you were still here. I miss you.

What is love?

Tags

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nalulungkot ako.

oo. mali ang pag-aaral ko.
di sapat ang isang araw para maintindihan ang buong sem.

hindi.

wala akong masabi.
tipikal na emo blogpost to.
pero ayokong gawing ganun.

kaya tutula ako.

ay joke lang. wag nalang.


dahil ang buhay ay parang isang ice cream. tamis. asim.
konting kirot sa bawat hampas ng dila.
konting sakit sa sobrang lamig ng kagat.
pero di mo mapigilang hindi kumain. kasi masarap.
kain ka ng kain hanggang di mo namalayang wala nang ice cream.
ang natira na lang ay ang cone.
hindi matamis, hindi maasim. "lasa" lang.
hindi rin mainit. o malamig. "cone" lang.
at sa pagkagat, oo, iba.
wala nang laman, at wala nang saysay.

talino, henyo, et al.

dahil laging may excuse na 'tamad lang ako'.

ika nga ng di ko kilalang nag-usap sa tabi ko habang nag-aabang ako ng Pantranco jeep, ang talino ay t = (time spent studying/exam grade) x (number of distractions)

ang formula ay maaaring magbago depende sa pagdenote ng "time (and/or quality) of studying" at minsan kailangan pang i-square ang number of distractions, depende sa distractions.

dahil nga naman.
laging pwedeng sabihin sa loob-looban na Oo, matalino ako, tamad lang.
At oo nga naman, di naman talaga tunay na batayan ng katalinuhan ang anumang exam. At tama din naman, di lahat ng mataas ang mga grado, tunay na magaling.

"Matiyaga lang."

excuses.

madali nga naman kasing iwasan ang dapat na tinatanong sa sarili.
"matalino nga ba ako?"
madaling gawan ng dahilan, na wala namang tunay na batayan ng talino, at maaari ngang sabihin na societal impositions (salita nga ba ito?) lang ang madaling natatanaw kung talino nga ang pinaguusapan.

pero hindi. hindi ko alam.
kadalasa'y ayokong isipin na may mga limitasyon ako. na dinidikta ng aking mga genes ang aking hangganan at kapalaran. gusto kong isipin na taglay ko ang kapangyarihang maging magaling sa lahat ng bagay, kung magtitiyaga lang ako.
pero dahil dito, bumubuo ito nga isang pesteng cycle, na punung-puno ng "di pa ako nag-aaral niyan ah" at "di naman kasi ako nag-aral."

dahil takot kang mapatunayang di ka nga talaga matalino kahit nag-aral ka nga.
parang ganun.

***************

pikit. kasabay ng balisang buntong-hininga.
palakpak.

Katulad ngayon

Noon, hanggang ngayon, madalas, napagsasabihan ako ng mga linyang "magbihis ka muna!" o kaya'y "wala ka bang balak magdamit?".

Kasi naman, ayaw na ayaw ng aking ama na di kami magbihis (di ko alam bakit) agad pag galing kami sa kung anumang lakad. ang gusto niya, (sa tingin ko) ay magpalit agad kami ng pambahay pagkauwi.

Pero di ako ganun. Minsan ay inaabot ako ng umaga nang nakajeans o slacks (ah, highschool) pa. Di ko na maibilang ang mga pagkakataong nagising ako ng umagang suot pa ang mga damit pang-gala.

Isa pa, madalas ko ding nagagawang makipagkwentuhan, manood ng tv, gumamit ng PC at kung anu-ano pa kahit katatapos ko lang maligo. Kadalasan basa pa't tumutulo ang tubig mula sa buhok, nagagawa kong umupo lang nang ilang oras, at oo, di pa ako nagbibihis nun. At oo, tumatagal akong nakaganun lang. Nakakatapos na ako ng ilang dvd, at minsan nakakabasa ng buong libro, nang nakatuwalya lang.

Di ko alam bakit. Wala naman akong nakikitang masama dun. Maliban siguro sa mga nabasang sopa at mga naoffend na tao. Pero, di naman ata nakakaoffend yun. Sana.
Di ko alam anong espesyal na mapapala kapag nagbihis ng pambahay, kung may bahay-powers ba akong makukuha pag suot ko yun. Di ko talaga alam.
Ayoko lang talaga magbihis. O, mas maigi,
di pa naman kailangan.

Sa pagnood ng tv, sa pakipagusap, di naman kailangang magpalit para magawa ang mga yun. Di naman kailangang magbago dahil yun ang nakasanayan.
Kung kaya mo din namang mabuhay, makagalaw ng maayos, at maging masaya nang ganun ka pa rin naman, bakit hindi?
Hindi ba dapat, nasa sa iyo naman yun, kung kelan gusto mo nang magbago?

Di naman kailangang magbago para maging katanggap-tanggap. Katulad ng mga tatak na pilit dinadamit sa atin ng society. Dahil, oo nga naman, kung komportable ka naman sa kasalukuyang lagay mo, bakit.
Bakit ka pa magpapatatak.

Bakit pa kailangang may magbago.


*************************************

at, oo. hindi ito tungkol sa mga damit at tuwalya. :)

"angelic infirmary"

i have no idea why i am so weird.

"you can't help being helpless."

"talkings keep on saying things like..."

indeed, i try to be funny. to make people laugh, to the extent of looking stupid..
why do i crack jokes the most inappropriate moments, during calm seriousness.

crap.

"sugar sugar sugar is just something to put in coffee..."

i stutter. i have bad English diction when unprepared. i have suckish taste in jokes.
i am awkward. always. i have this monster ego.

no, i don't think i'm smart.
but i'll rule the world.

crap.

"i can ride my bike with no handlebars..."

i can't stand personal talks. i fear i'll say something wrong. slash the awkward pause. slash the coughing laugh.

i think i take advantage of people. i ask for a whole lot of favors, hoping they'd ask favors back.

"...just like lovers ought to (echo 'ought to')"

i don't know how to react to compliments. how to maintain cool.
i get easily pissed off.

i abuse 'i'

damn it.

"la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la..."

i'm writing this to apologize to everyone i offended. somewhat.

something like that.
i dunno.

maybe.

angelic infirmary"

i have no idea why i am so weird.

"you can't help being helpless."

"talkings keep on saying things like..."

indeed, i try to be funny. to make people laugh, to the extent of humiliating myself.
why do i crack jokes the most inappropriate moments, during calm silent silences.

crap.

"sugar sugar sugar is just something to put in coffee..."

i stutter. i have bad English diction when unprepared. i have suckish taste in jokes.
i am awkward. always. i have this monster ego.

no, i don't think i'm smart.
but i'll rule the world.

crap.

"i can ride my bike with no handlebars..."

i can't stand personal talks. i fear i'll say something wrong. slash the awkward pause. slash the coughing laugh.

i think i take advantage of people. i ask for a whole lot of favors, hoping they'd ask favors back.

"...just like lovers ought to (echo 'ought to')"

dahil alam kong walang makakaintindi.

sa dinami-dami ng maaaring sabihin sa pahinang ito.
sa dinami-dami ng maaari kong makilala.

bakit ganun.

dahil alam kong walang makakaintindi.

sa pagkaripas ng bus, sa paglisan mula sa kalawakan ng aking panaginip.

dahil hindi ko alam ano na nga ba.

sa pagpares ng tadhana. sa pagtingin ng diretso. sa pag-unawa.
pag-unawang matindi.

sa pagpatak ng ikatlong taon. sa pagpili ng landas na tatahakin. sa paglunok ng kayabangan. sa hawak na inaasam.

lakarin natin ang puting kaputian ng aking kalawakan, hawakan mo ang aking kamay, at pakinggan natin ang kawalan. sa muling pagpatak ng mga luha sa aking balat, sagutin mo naman ang aking tanong. may dadaan na paru-paro, at sasakalin ko ito. hanggang matapik mo ako't muli tayong magtagpo. ngitian mo ako, sige na. dahil di ako marunong kumanta, sisipol ako, dahil alam mo na anong ibig sabihin nun. hawakan mo ang aking kamay, at gisingin mo ako.

sa kawalan. sa kawalan.
sa tanyag na bintang ng aking pag-aaya. kung may ibig mang sabihin yun.

dahil ngayong gabi, maisusulat ko ang mga pinakamalungkot na taludtod.

Clap.

My life is a segway.
A mortal trek into a previously
known space. I am
the alpha test
before the expedition.
The ragged line before
the gunshot, the
sweat, and the finish line.
I am your stunt
double, the ass-mooning
choker. Guilty of
warm embraces, I tend to
abuse the first-person.
I am the antedecent
of myself.
I am a preview.

for Hawk without the Y.

ilong, matangkad, Ga, I, Ka.

translated to English,
Nostalgic.

eherm.
korniness.
eherm.

i've just now browsed through my old write-ups still stored here in our computer.
dating to almost three years ago.
syet.
Third year na pala ako.

most of my entries surprised me. not only were they disgustingly ridden with typos, but they also were about stupid things.
things i wouldn't at present even think of writing about.
Kalai days.

puro mga pagkakamali.
puro mga napagtantong katangahan.

those were collections of words masquerading as write-ups masquerading as art.
God, i'll be laughing at this tomorrow.

i read them.
i am ashamed.

immediately afterwards, i sent some messages.
typed up some mobile texts.
and, yeah.

i'm sorry for a lot of things. for all the atrocious stupidities i've ever done or said. this is a very foolish way to say this, but.
i seek forgivessness for the cockiness i've ever showed just to alleviate my shame.
i can't bear to think about it.
scars are always left when knives of lies cut through a budding friendship.
and i accept that.

really, i'm sorry.

and i throw the ball to fate.
stumble and reach this page.
hopefully.

pesteng mga EMO!

hindi. hindi yan ang topic ko.
madaling patamaan ang mga emo (pinoy ha.) kayat nakakatamad na pagtripan pa.
ang gusto ko talakayin ngayon ang pilipinas.

bakit ganun.
pakiramdam ko ilang taon nalang aabot na sa 100 ang gasolina.
sa singkwenta ang bigas.
sa bente ang pamasahe.
sa bente ang extra rice.

kapag nangyari yun, tatalon ako sa tuktok ng building na mataas-taas ang tuktok at magiging simbolo ng pilipinong mangmang na namulat sa kahirapan.

joke lang.

ewan ko.
marami akong pangarap noong elementarya palang ako. noong hayskul.
nakapulupot sa aking ideal na ako'y mananatili sa pilipinas, bilang mabuting manggagawa.
ako'y maglilingkod sa sambayanan ng buong puso, maiaangat rin naman ang ating ekonomya.

pesteng mga pangarap.
nahihirapan lang akong masikmura ang kahirapan ng bansa natin ngayon.

tinanggap ko na tumaas ang buwis ng matindi.
malay ko ba kasi gaano kataas talaga yun.

lumakas ang piso. yey. sabi ko, ayos.
cool.

yeah. right.

ngunit may krisis sa bigas, may krisis sa pera, at basta.
marami pa.
peste.
sa dami ng problema ng ating bansa, sa laganap na korupsyon. sa nakakaputakteng mga burgis na humahawak sa ekonomya ng bansa, sa komersiyalismong naninira ng hanapbuhay ng magsasaka, sa mga mabibigat na bulsa, dahil sa pesteng wagayway festival (pondo para sa piyesta. ehem ehem), dahil sa mga sakim, sa namamayagpag na kulturang emo.....

naitanong ko na ito sa iba kong mga kaibigan, habang ako'y inaantok at lulon sa ipinagbabawal na kabangagan. (bawal kasi wirdo ako pag bangag)

worth it pa ba sa 'pinas?

Maiksing maiksing kwento.

Isang *title* na ipinasa ko sa MPs10.
unang draft niya to kasi di ko mahanap yung final.
isip nga kayo ng magandang titulo. sige na. hehe.

*********************************


Kinaway niya ang asul na kinang ng kanyang mga kuko.
Palapit, napansin kong may kulay-kandilang mantsa sa kanyang puting blazer.
Pulapalakpak ang high heels, ika niya, Kape.
Tumango ako.

Hindi ito ang unang pagkakataon.

Inabutan niya ako ng kendi. Mapait.
Sinubukan niya akong akbayan, at sabi, ang ganda ng buwan ngayon.
Ngumiti ako.
Parang ganun.
Hindi pa buo ang buwan, sabi ko. Parang tinapyasan ng purol na kutsilyo.
At kagat labi, niyakap niya ako.
Parang ganun.

Nilunok ko ang kending nasa bibig, at pumikit.
Hindi rin naman ito ang unang pagkakataon.

Hinawakan ko ang kamay niya, at naglakad na kami papaalis.

"sesquipedalian"

comparable to being dependent on rice imports.

it is never encouraging when one just finished watching the end credits of Bubble Gang
and sees the news. people being killed, raped. gasolines prices reaching 52 php. celebrities cursing each other. archuleta having fans.
the likes.

life in the philippines is so riddled with ironies that i can't help but wonder if living here is still worth it. the constant people powers. the behemoth that is corruption.
lies. slanderings.
killing.

quite a few of us still have the ideal to stay in the philippines.
to be martyrs for our countries sake.

yeah.
right.

contemporary, modern and postmodern american literature is full of satire directed at their own country.
apparently, they find their country to be the worst in the world, the EPITOME OF HUMAN FUTILITY.

and while reading, clutching the tome with my Filipino hands, i have a divine idea what would transpire should our own printing industry be a little, you know, friendlier.

wink wink.

love.

"the abused red buttprint of the lustful."

the odd part about growing up, in my opinion, is that even though I am completely aware of all the hormonal imbalances that beleaguer my body, i am still affected by angst.
why why why why why.

apparently, the wise thing to do is ignore the angst completely, being 'mature', "setting my sight on the long run", yada yada.
the societal coercion that is tradition.
authority.

and yet, it, somehow, feels good.
to ask.
to wonder.
to be, for lack of an appropriate word, 'emo'.
to be loaded with puberty stains of lack of self-confidence. to be laced with bullets of testosterone every now and then. to desire torrid kisses.
lust.

indeed, quite a few consequences are definitely appalling.
adding to the 'tisk tisk' echoes of life as is.

the old saying of 'at least trying'.
the writer's manifesto of being there.
trying that.

the advantage of being young is the perpetual 'foolishness' that is expected.
the mistakes.
the sins.
it is as if given the chance to actually do something wrong.
juvenile.



it may be a foolish, unwise way to spend our teenage years, but hey.

it's there.

may naisip ako.

marami. marami akong naisip.
ilalagay ko sana lahat, pero baka i-plagiarize.
hahaha.
oo. wala akong magawa.
di ako matatulog
di ako makakain.
di ako makatawaaaaa..
oo, kanta yun. takte.
oo, natutuwa ako s 'takte'.
takte.

ang alam ko lang naman, sa bilyon-bilyong blog na maaaring basahin mo sa buong sansinukob ng internet, bakit pa ito ang iyong babasahin.
ewan ko. ewan.
takte.
bakit ganito ulit ako magpost. yung tipong walang makakaintindi.
yung feel ko na 'oo, mga henyo lang tulad ko makaka-gets!'
tapos kapag babasahin ko ulit ang post after a few days, di ko na maiintindihan.
takte.

ewan ko. ewan.
takte.

Kung ano man ang Tagalog ng "Parenthesis"

matagal ko nang ninanais na isulat ang piyesang ito.

mula pa noong una kong nadiskubre ang asul at pilak niyang kinang. mula pa noong una kong nasilayan ang pagkaripas ng buong mundo habang lulan ka nito. ang agos ng dagitab na dumadaloy sa kanya. di na ako nagtataka, sapagkat matagal ko na siyang nakakasama, di na ako nagtataka sa tila hulog-langit na buhos ng kung anu-anong ideya sa aking utak tuwing siya'y aking kapiling. habang pinagmamasdan ang patuloy na pagkaripas, pagtakbo ng buong mundo. habang natatanaw ang agos ng taong pinipilit makapasok sa maliit na espasyong inilaan ng tadhana para sa kanila. habang naririnig ang kung anu-anong salita ng kung sinu-sinong tao. amoy ng kung sinu-sinong amoy.

sabi nga nila, pagpasok mo ng MRT, naligo ka man o hindi, tawas ka man o Hugo Boss, pare-pareho lang kayo paglabas.

sadyang natutuwa ako tuwing sumasakay ako sa MRT. (oo. parang preface yung kanina. eto, introduction. at ang kabuoan nito, synopsis lang ng nobela. (na first part ng trilogy) parang ganun.)
noong baguhan pa lamang ako sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas, Diliman (oo, kelangan pa talagang sabihin.), at noong panahong yun baguhan rin ako sa pagbiyahe sa Maynila, una kong natuklasan ang pagsakay sa Metro Rail Transit. ang una kong ikinatuwa ay yung pakiramdam kapag pasakay ka pa lang sa tren, nakatingin ka sa kabilang platform, kunyari malalim iniisip mo, hanggang sa marinig mo ang tunong ng riles ng tren at maramdaman ang hangin, hanggat sa tuluyang tumigil ang tren. ASTIG ang pakiramdam kapag nakatayming sa saktong pagtigil ng tren na i-fofocus ang mata mo sa bintana ng kabilang panig ng tren, hanggang sa makita mo ang reflection mo. (dahil doon, naiisip ko lagi na gumawa ng pelikula na kasama ang scene na ganun. oo. gusto ko gumawa ng pelikula para lang sa scene na yun. oo, kahit si Sam Milby pa ang gumanap, basta mailagay ang scene na yun.)
katulad rin nito yung sa pagbaba ng tren, tapos maglakad ka parallel sa tren sa tabi lang ng restricted yellow line, hanggat umandar uli ang tren, mauuna sayo. mabilis.
yung parang mai-coconnect mo sa naiiwanan ng panahon, atbp atbp. parang ganun.

ang isa ko pang ikinatutuwa sa MRT ay ang mga reaksyon ng mga tao sa sikip at init ng MRT. (pwede na ngang maging scene ng music video ng isang sikat na hip-hop dawg person) madalas naman kasi tuwing hapon, mga ala singko, ala sais, punuan talaga ang MRT. yung tipong pagkatapos mailabag na lahat ng karapatan mong pantao, di mo pa rin makamot ang makati parte ng tagiliran mo. samantalang ganun naman lagi ang nangyayari, may iilan pa rin na nagagalit pa rin tuwing napapasiksik sa tren. madalas ang mga ito ay ang mga matatandang mga manang na naka-backless, mga lalaking malalaki ang katawana't nakasando, at lalong lalo na ang mga bading na pesteng mga emo na mga hayskul. (di ako discriminating sa mga bading, o kahit na sa mga emo. ang kombinasyon lang kasi ng dalawa ay talaga namang sadyang nakakadisturb. no offense.)

at huli at pinakakinatutuwa ko sa MRT ay mga naiisip ko tuwing nakasakay ako rito. madalas kasi kapag umuuwi ako noon, galing pa lamang ng dormitoryo ay nakaplug na sa aking tainga ang mga earphones mula sa aking Music Player. pero mahina ang baterya nito, kaya kadalasan kalagitnaan palang ako ng biyahe sa MRT ay mikrobyo nalang ang lumalabas sa mga earphones. suot ang earphones, doon nagsimula ang aking habit na mag-obserba ng kung anu-ano sa loob ng MRT. doon ko napagtanto ang pagkakaiba ng mga taong nakasakay. may mga nakapolo't black shoes na sumasakay sa Ayala, mga ordinaryong (mukhang probinsyanong. (tsk. discrimination. tsk) ) manggagawang galing sa Cubao, mga maaangas at mayayabang na mga UP student na galing Q.Ave, at marami pang iba.
iilan sa mga napakinggan kong usapan ay mga usapang pangarap, mga estudyanteng nakasuot ng mga gusot na puting polo, naguusap tungkol sa pagaaral nila sa Cisco, sa mga kapatid nilang umaasa sa kanila. nakakita na rin ako ng isang lalaking kinakausap ang kanyang katabing lalaki rin, tanong ng tanong, hanggat sa hinawakan niya ang tuhod ng katabi niya. nakakita na ko ng dalawang maarteng transvestites na nagreklamo na mainit ang MRT; lahat ata ng lalaking sakay ng kompartamentong yun ay sinigawan sila. nakatabi ko na rin ang magsyotang naguusap, ang babae'y di kagandahan, ang lalaki hindi rin naman gwapo, at bungi pa siya sa ilang parte.
pero magkayakap sila. nagmamahalan.

(sa puntong ito, dalawa ang naisip kong Astig na ending ng piyesang ito)
ending 1:

nabanggit ko na ata kanina na pagpasok at paglabas mo sa MRT, magiging pareho lang ang amoy niyo ng lahat ng nakasakay sa MRT. ito'y maaaring mabuti o masama, depende kung naligo ka o hindi. pero tunay nga, kahit sino ka man, mahirap o mayaman, edukado o mangmang, lalaki ka man o emo poser, matalino o taga-UST (joke lang po. pwedeng i-edit para maging kolehiyong karibal ng kolehiyo mo.), pare-pareho lang tayo kapag nagkatabi kita sa MRT.


ending 2:

na-oobserbahan ko ang mga tao at naririnig ang kanilang pinag-uusapan sapagkat akala nila di ko sila naririnig dahil suot ko ang earphones. katulad rin ito ng tint ng sasakyan, katulad ng sunglasses, katulad ng isang veil. kadalasan ang mga bagay na ito'y ginagamit upang takpan ang sariling hitsura. ngunit sa aking palagay, dahit sa mga bagay na ito nagbubukas ang isang parte ng mundo na madalas ay hindi natin pinapansin. at sa muling pagbukas ng pintuan ng MRT, nais kong maubusan muli ng baterya ang aking Music Player.

(oo. mahilig ako mag-parenthesis)

sa pagpanaw ng buwan.

basta.

by month's end

the dark patchwork quilts that are our lives as we breathe in the putrid breath of the routine of the everyday. the faded photograph of our ideals as our neurons diminish. as candles exponentiate.

the leaky faucet of our brain tick-tick-ticking until it sounds. the whispers of dead artists coursing through the the grey copper. the agonizing din of the wet showers of our hopes. the slapping.

the confetti of dust slashing at our eyes. the cold hand and the lighter pocket. stepping down. the mastery of goodbyes and deceit.
coughing red. red and gold and golden.

the shaky arm and the red circles. the closing of one eye.
closing.
closing in.

the deep breath before the pulling of the trigger.
centered.

everything makes sense.

applaud, everyone, the comedy shall soon be over.

It's just a lyrical lie made up by my mind

the ticking of the clock.

the minty-fresh rinsing.

beside the sink.

behind the mirror.

the open window.

the red Vios.

small talk.

the clasping of the throat.

clasping of everything else.

the pale glow under the fading lightbulb.

the waves over the sheets.

crossing fires over the rain.

meteors burning, clashing malevolences.

butterflies.

the deep pleasures of transparents.

the biological freeze-frame. flash. flash. flash.

the pale drops of crimson.

tears.

*************

*oh my god* cheesy love poem *oh my god*

every night i transgress my sanity
i caress the pale glow of your skin
i wish to embalm the eclipse of your memory
as i kiss the empty whisper of your wind

i long for the pale embrace of your body
the black moons that are your eyes
i constantly dream for the pillow of your arms
the ubiquitous touch of your lips

every night i transgress my sanity
undermining the blatant excuse for logic
traversing the travesty of torturous thought
over the simple absence of your voice

every night i transgress my sanity
and every day i wait for night

and every night
i pray tonight shall be the last

Neruda et al.

there are writers that affect me the same way house music does.

as if a sudden jolt of purple energy pinches me somewhere behind my neck, twitching inside me, a jagged surge of electric euphoria that curls, curling its way inside me, leaving my lungs dry and my eyes closed.

sort of like, you know, love.

making we want to hug and talk to poles, laugh at reflections, jump, and most of all, be very, very cheesy.

apparently this also happens even while i'm walking and especially when on the MRT.
apparently.

fun fun.

crunchy splat.

Since I will be shifting to another yet unidentified major, I shall be delayed by one, two, or maybe three years.
And I used to laugh at 6th-years.

Of course, I'm still hoping I won't, though.

i've just noticed.

indeed, my blog posts sound crazy.
hence the lack of comments? hm.

ever heard of the fratellis?

they're a, you know, band. i wish i could say 'just listen to them.:D' or 'let them speak for themselves' but also, i wish i could upload their songs but the download-then-upload time is comparable to the time needed for the proletariat to be abolished.

(also comparable to the whole oust thing)

so, there. here's a link.
a link to the a link of a huge compilation of blogs that upload their songs.

i find them addictive/addicting.
i find/found them/myself entertaining/entertainment.

I thank Frances Sargett Osgood.

Una sa lahat,

Mahirap mag-akda ng tulang 'di mais
lalo na kung bulok sa sa Filipino.
Sa English grabe ang ganda sana nito
k'tulad ng taong tinutulaan ko.
Makwento sana ang paminsang
saglit --
Mga sandaling tumitigil ang
oras
Cute na jests sa ngiting aking nasisipat
'sang tanong,
nagtanong na nga ba dapat?
Pagkat may
meaning
ang kabuoan nito --
Sa bawat kindat at pitik ng halakhak.
At kung anuman ang palitan sa
tatak,
Ako'y totally ZEN anumang magbago.


------------------------------------------------------------------
para sa isang project na alam ng kaunting tao.


hm.. thank you indeed Edgar Allan Poe.

i hope this works.

...



nothing to write.



...

jeepney existentialism

Wearing a torn white shirt, he tells her, he has no money.
Between the coins in my and and two-word conversations, this is the most contact I make with people.
She, though, with one hand in a sling, and a baby on top of the other, says, Ok then, sure.
Viewing everyone through a mirror, I wonder if there really is more out of life.
He says, Thanks. He winks.
With her, smiling, I tap my fingers.
With more and more people climbing up, I wonder, Do I even exist.
Someone starts to talk about Jesus.
I think, What's the point.
Wrong move, sister.
Someone holding up her hand, coughing loudly, I wonder if people even care.
Another someone saying something, I feels fingers tap-tap-tapping my back.
I wonder.
Someone, like, slaps me.
I wonder.
Between beer and drugs, this is the most high I get.
I raise both my arms and stretch my feet, especially my right, and then, as always, someone screams.
Viewing everyone through a mirror, I smile.

Curse you, Org.

As we walk home, the spinning rifle of the rose still hurricanes through my mind.
Walking to another flower, her hands hold on tighter.
Perhaps I said something clever, 'cause now, she's laughing.
Clever.
Perhaps it is too heavy.
Maybe this too much.
The flash-flash-flash of the camera still frozen into my eye, i wonder if the bear's too pink.
Or maybe she's bluffing.
Swoosh swoosh swoosh.
Pity.
Thank you Edgar Allan Poe.
Something in my pants vibrating, I feel the sweat in my palms.
As fast as a raven, I read the message.
Flash.
Her laughing stops, and I smile.
Flash.
Closing my eyes for a second, I hold her hand.
Flash.
Oh. Yes. I forgot the rose.

freedom

Though you I may not have known
Before he
held
you in grasp
I may not have seen
your crown
Before your fingers
had

clasped.

So rest
Be blessed

You're now
free
from sickness's test.


In memory of Abundio Valenzuela Celera, Sr.

love is..

love is a half-pipe grinded by someone dressed in goth-metal black.

love is the perfect raid when suddenly the MT got DC and the MH went AFK.

love is a battlefield. you don't
die.
you just get impaled by a pike. (qc dot net)

love is the metro rail transit with no one. except yourself.
and nothing.

love is a treadmill.
or a bike.
or the lat pulldown.

love is the walk under the moon,
saying.
two am.

love is waking up.
wet.
he says, 'wretching.'

love is your lst txt.

love is the brown champorado after the long night.
beside the street.
under the roof.

love is the clockwise motion you have.
to run.

love is the clarity of muriatic acid.
poured onto a flesh-out live battery.
tossed, on the
stove.

love is a shoutout.

love is.
a many splendid thing.

love is a webcam.
bleeding.
under a strap of
clothes.

love is red,
red and red and
artificial.

love is a hurricane.
over the philippines.

love is excitement.
say 'yay'.

love is time.
moving.
moving,
fast.

love is a rose.
a teddy bear.
and a pillow.

love is a book.
a book
meant
to be read.

love is colorful.
colorful and round and
silent.

love is lipstick.
on
a collar.
he calls
her 'angel'.

love is the rain.
noisy and destructive.

love is a full moon.
in love and in love and in love.
and.
in love.
love is..
Hanners!

love is a demon cow.
named
after before the first behind the last again and again.

love is a burger.
every day.
day. day. day.

love is, again.
hanners.

love is Stun Stun Stun.
and then
not really.

love is 11:18.
right now.

love is today.
the day after yesterday.
before tomorrow.

love is
Oh.
what is love but a
feeling that
arrests the mind in the presence of whatever is
beautiful. then blank.

love is her.
saying,
oh.
saying,
ok.
saying,
ah..

love is an asterisk.
followed by a jbanpytnoayjhi.
then another asterisk.

love is not the above statement