Confessions of an introvert sitting around a table with friends

Sometimes when I’m sitting
With friends over
Lunches or dinners
Or when I make an exception
To revoke my religious stance
Of gulping down breakfast
I listen intently amidst conversations
Making a mental note of all that was said
And I’m just amazed how people can just
Talk, effortlessly
Second nature to them
And they make meaning to words
Like they we painting pictures
Or taking photographs
As simple as that
And when I come to a point where
I’m telling myself
“permission to speak”
Cause I thought of something funny
Or something interesting to say
It seemed good when logic
Was the coming on of colors
Of a completed rubic cube
When I open my mouth to speak
It’s as if I’m back to square one
With the cube
And make a fool of myself
I thought I had it figured out
But whenever I speak
My mind falls asleep.

Read between the lines

I gave the world to you (talking about the plastic globe he gave her for her birthday),
and this is how you repay me???! (she pays for their time out.)

(she stares at him)

I would go the mile for you (depending if his car was ok after counless times being in the repair shop),

Scale mount everest even (if he took up exercising and shed a few pounds…ok, a lot of pounds!!!).

swim rivers infested with sharks (as we all know sharks are salt water creatures).

I would do ANYTHING for you and you know it! (like the time he whined whenever she wanted him to accompany her shopping, or insisted they watch “Wrong Turn 4” when she said she didnt like gore…yep that’s doing Anything alright.)

(she sheds a tear…ok, a lot of tears.)

(she says to him back): I know, I know…that’s why I take you back.

Love is blind,
love is deaf,
love sometimes is stupid.

Sorry, I have no profound thoughts on a sick day or week! So a little humor might be good.


“Maybe our favorite quotations say more about us than the stories and the people we’re quoting.” John Green (H/T: pageflirt)

I try so hard to be objective in my own thoughts when I read something and strand them into an essay or a post to give an overview of a certain argument with the intention that when I finally reach the conclusion, where  I think it’s only at the last stance of my overall comprehension of the overview, and only then state my case, I probably read myself more into what I thought as an overview of a subject in the words of people I quoted telling you what they thought about this and that and how they view things, I guess in that it’s just the scholarly way of telling people…the overview is actually the larger details of what is encapsulated in my conclusions.

And observing what I wrote above, I used the full-stop only once and apart from interpreting the quotation which I found fascinating, I never heard of John Green or know what’s he is all about (who is he anyway?). It simply tells the fact that I love the quote cause it tells me more about me rather than the wisdom of John Green.

Tone deaf

The person sitting next to me,
Sings in an utterly detuned melodic key,
A maddening experience to be in,
Sitting with someone who is tone deaf,
He murders the music,
And renders the atmosphere chaotic,
He slays the mood of exquisite,
And conjures reflection exilic,
This leaves me in despair,
Because I would rather enjoy,
And bask in melodies,
Digesting in me,
Quite reflection.
But it does make me forget,
As much as he is tone deaf,
I’m almost always in debt of freedom,
And of soul.

Cake, postmodern philosophy and what if melted cake tasted better?

Note: This reflection was inspired by the true story of two young starlets who asked the waitress who served them cake to heat it up. This post only reflects on some of the ideas from the actual story. It does not seek to give factual details of what transpired in the conversation and thoughts of the two starlets and the waitress.

Cake is meant to be,
In its solid structure,
Firm yet edible,
Stand like walls,
But melts,
In the science,
Of human glands,
Meets cake.

But the art of deconstruction is to dismantle the “what is supposed to be” to see the possibility of “what if.” Stretching the “always have been” to new heights. If an age old concept is always supposed to be “as it always is,” because it has been “a tested through time idea” and is meant to “always be,” why bother to taste truth in a different light?

Screw that,
Let’s try something different,
Ask the waitress,
“please be a dear sweetheart,
Heat the cake.”
Add some twinkle to your eyes,
So she has the heart to,
Go along with crazy ideas,
Heat up frozen yet edible cake.

As the waitress who holds to the old idea of how cake is supposed to be served, she abides, almost willingly. She holds to the principle of “the customer is always right.” She too is deconstructing her old perception, but her’s is not by her own will but she does so by following the instructions of crazy customers who are postmodernists reacting against static forms of “what is supposed to be.”

The waitress puts the cake in the microwave. She heats the cake for some few short seconds. And out comes the new. No more solid but melted. And so she serves the crazy deconstructionists their once conceptual idea of the postmodern way of eating cake; heated and melted.

The “crazy” deconstructionists dig in with their forks to taste their idea which now has become reality. They taste. The only difference is the shape of what was supposed to be “what is” but the taste is the same. It is the same cake but melted. The taste is still the same. It is still cake. The important thing here is that nothing is lost. The essence of cake is still alive in solid or melted cake.

an ode to courage

is a word i thought i understood
to mean
someone with muscles from Brussels
who had the strength
to ward off
those who got on his nerves
because they messed with his love
or so his next of kin
those enemies who sin
and like hulk
who only retaliated
when they provoked his warning of
“don’t make me angry, you wouldn’t like me when i’m angry,”
type of monologue,
the one that could be recited from rote memory,
because it plays out the same,
over and over,
the plot tells the same old story…
where courage meant
strength is used
when an enemy
strikes first
and the good guy (or gal)
always wins…

but i’m quick to learn
that there is another side to “courage”
where the normal and weak reside
those insignificant ones
of whom fear
or the very mention of the word
inhabits their world…
if there is another metaphor
that counters the “courage”
i mentioned above,
i always think about
an animated character
who is the counter-cultural representation
of a deconstruction
decoding to the word “courage”
is a dog,
who is the embodiment of fear,
but overturns the tables,
time and again because his name,
depicts his swimming against the waves,
and currents,
that tries to exorcise,
what he is called to be,
the dog called

An Ode to them “Bloody Assignments!”

Just some light hearted humor on a Saturday evening being far from my girlfriend and family and the comfort of a safe and comfortable space.

I blame them bloody assignments

for hampering my 20/20 vision

for the sleepless nights drinking and eating coffee

for ruining TGIF and also Saturdays when I should be out and enjoying time with friends and my lover

for missing EPL matches, crucial ones like the one on this Sunday

reading works of scholars how they make my mind weary

stopping every few minutes jotting notes rather then write my girlfriend love letters

YES, my blame goes to you, them bloody assignments

for making me miss events that are more worthy

for making my body weary though not exercising

for almost everything that devoid time to party

for making me cry for no reason when I hit a brick wall while writing

for breaking my will summarizing tomes of pages for an assignment

Thank you bloody assignments!

Oh, Thank you…them bloody assignments.

Well, for those who don’t know me, I’m not really in the camp of calling assignments bloody. I love what they do to my mind, well thats when after I finish writing them up that is. Maybe it’s that itch in me to write that makes me love them bloody assignments. They expand the shallow mind to depths that are unheard of. I relish the challenge, to write something worthwhile. It’s a compliment when I get approval from lecturers. But when they do sometimes come void of “appreciation” that makes me hunger for expansion. I think, though assignments do come with their own sets of frustrating bouts on everyone, them bloody assignments do help for the future that is.