"Walking on air."

Well hello there.

It's quite amusing how long it has been since I have posted a blog here, and it apparently was on Gerard Way' 32nd birthday, just a skinny-dip into the summer months, and now look where I am at here.

Eight months, still quite the same. New interests, new favorite shows, different schoolyear, different direction of mind, but same life. Same friends, same family, same heart beating with hope.

Changed, but will always be the same.

I'm still Ally. I'm still five feet and five inches tall (incredulously believed I was still 5''4, but I was wrong). I'm still in love with art, in love with comics, in love with dreams, in love with God and His majestic wonders and creations. And I'm still not married either.

But I'm fourteen now, not anymore thirteen. That all changed earlier this August the 4th.

And a month after August the 4th, I have also a new toenail. I've been carrying an ingrown toenail for a year already, and it finally got surgically removed.

I also cut my hair, bought the Watchmen book, bought an eighteen-inch Hellboy toy I've been eyeing in the window for so long, met new people, found new friends, kept great ones, lost some, gained some, rose and fell, see my beloved aunt and uncle again, despise Geometry...

...and from consoler of the heartache, I have become the squishy geek.

New age, new hair, new toenail, new things, new title to call.

Changed, but will always be the same.

And instead of American Idol being the subject of my TV-obsessed eye (Kris had to win anyways), the perspective has changed slides.

Now there is Star Trek. Now there is Dead Like Me, Kyle XY, and most especially Seinfeld.

And instead of Mr. Special Somebody, there is now V.

Indeed, V may be a fictional vigilante wafting around in the mind of Alan Moore, but he is as real to me as air is vital to a human. Which can get quite scary at times, so I urge you to take watch.

Many things have become different. It's quite hard to explain.

Turning events, the death of Michael Jackson (another long story), an eight-month long hiatus and plenty of time to grow up.

But I'll always be the same.

"While I'm still not in the heart of Heaven."

"Because our weakness makes us lean so hard on His strength. Before I was lame, I was so proud and strong, I thought I could do anything. Now I am lame, and I can do nothing. My weakness leads back to Him, and I love Him as a thirsty man needs loves the fountain and the cold man loves the fire. Only you can understand when you love Him."
-- Archippus, Twice Freed Chapter 13.

I've read alot of Twice Freed chapters today, and am at the portion where Onesimus rides with Alpheus to Athens and becomes a gladiator in latter chapters. One of the antagonists in the story is Archippus, who in Chapter 9 resolves in becoming a Christian. He used to be my least favorite character for his ignorance and pride, but when he was changed, he's become one of my favorites (aside Paul, Onesimus, and Eirene).

But I really took that quote to heart. It's usually in our hour of suffering when we realize we need Christ the most, but when we actually decide on loving Him, it's then we understand how much we really need Him. Honestly, it's convicted me of that. And I just couldn't get the heartbreaking thought out of mind.

It makes you think of what you are in His eyes. It makes you critically analyze the importance, the significance of the Lord in your life. It's opened my eyes more than ever, truly.

There will be a time when I capture the decision and seal it shut. There will be a day when the doors will close only isolating my lone, powerful decision in an atrium of infinity. The dream I dare envision, the dream I'll live for even after the day I die.

The life I'll live for in eternal commitment. I'll also one day be free, just like Onesimus, and Paul, and Philemon, and Archippus. But as everything is, I must be patient. Always patient.

Because there will be a day when no one will be able to come in except my lone choice.
And no one could ever take that choice away from me but God Himself.

"Wilting water."

It really is much like the salt in the ocean. When oil and grease and disease cry on water, the salt just clings onto it forever and washes it away. When old friends grow, the salt in you will stay known to them, the salt in them is nothing different either. The oldest salt, though, sometimes gets the purest qualities out of you like it always has.

A rig must have exploded today, then. GCF was crowded with about more than a hundred people there, tightly compact and compressed to the point that the naturally chilly room turned into a near lava flow. My heart could have exploded from my calcium-induced bones, torn into rips of eggshells, myocardium, meat and all. After the taxi pulled us up, I had to walk by myself as my mom took my brother to Greenhills.

My diaphragm was probably scrambling inside me as I rushed up the stairs, aimlessly wondering where the heck everybody was. I almost tripped off my shoelaces, until them plastic aglets stood firm enough to carry me to Madee, Sam, and Sab. They started to notice my hair turned so inexplicably different, so did my voice--they concluded my hair to be shorter, and my voice to be deeper. Great.

Then I caught up with Jeho, Justin, and Mint. Mint had the same hair, only longer and with better bangs than I, Justin was the same, and Jeho got taller and had braces. I'd have to say it was surprising to see Mark, who lost his glasses and got even taller than me, as he used to be just below my shoulders before. I followed them to the upstairs, where Erk and Matt were seated in cinematic-esque seats. I was once again outraged by the fact that I'm the only girl in Cigauan whose voice deepened and whose hair shortened.

Before the Closing Rites took place, they unscrupulously stole my bag, rummaging through my stuff, like my unused cellphone, my drawings and comics, almost my wallet (which I luckily snatched), and my Joker and Batman toys which they made gay and turned their heads a full 360-degrees. This does not give posthumous credit to Heath Ledger. SHAME.

As Erk and I took animation photos with my camera, the other people sitting with us, unaware of what we were doing stirred up a furl of laughter in our row. We were jittering guppies trapped in 9-centimeter nets, laughing so hard that we didn't pay much attention to the award recognitions until a play in the form of a comedic, childish tellanovella began uncoiling in front of us. Oh when cheesy renditions of Filipino classics rain.

And just two hours after it all seemed so good, my dad has to ruffle my hair and take me home, as he got sick and my brother and mom were asleep in the car. It was a short two hours, but a memorable two hours. Couldn't be happier in that partition of the day. My brother bought a Punisher/Jigsaw collectible package. It came along with a Bishop (of the X-Men) comic, which he willingly gave to me. Rock on, younger bro.

When I came home, I just drew comics with my brother again, made new plots, new ideas, new comics, new stuff. I have this idea about two siblings named Harry and Jude, who became orphans and live in a treehouse, and for all their life they've been making comics until they look out for people who would want to adopt them. One loving couple takes them in, but they aren't quite so happy with their new parents. They one day go to the circus and are treated with the care and love any normal family would give and even more. Through their comics, they also transform their new friends into superheroes based on their comics. Would their current adopted parents approve?

It all depends on The Parody Boys.

Before this nutshell's roasted, in the end, we all got to clean up the earth in such a minimalistic, yet joyful way. The water may evaporate and rain, but that's the sun's job. We're just here to filter out the salt, and bulldozer the dirt where it belongs--in No Man's Land.

...but not without any ice cream to celebrate.

"Won't need to wait anymore."

Almost seems like the perfect day.

The sky is dim from clouded, burning rain, and the musty smell of freedom perfumes the air. It's a Friday, and the two-day period of unprecedented freedom and limited restriction is ready to splice its rusty anchor by the harbor.

But something coils underneath the cold water.

A perfidious beast, in sudden succession, broils the water. It lunges in the open air, its ravishing jaws impressively revealing clustered teeth, like daggers. Such poise, such swagger, such heart-stopping fear.

But this blood-curdling monster is not here to attack--he is here for news.

A stake is piercing his gills of plush meat and adipose tissue, you take novice. Slowly prying it out, the stake is your prize. But it was after all, the stake that gave you the shark.

As a metaphor, that would be my best description of the prize I have.

The seas boil with alarms and surprises--like the world does. You have no idea who will surprise you, and you have no idea which shark will come with a stake in his hands as the most minimalistic treasure you'll keep for a lifetime.

The world of comics drones with silent but rewarding surprises. The ships of reality's harbor only carries them. But when an actual shark comes along to grab you off your seat, you are just swelled with pride. Not bashful pride, but in thankfulness and in gratitude.

Scott Allie became the shark with the stake. I don't know what dragged him here, but as the stake dragged the shark to my free ship, Scott Allie was moved with something. Moved with something... when he decided to post my letter to The Umbrella Academy.

In this inevitable sea of how the world goes around, there's not much a chance to be understood, heard, and known as a fan by the shark of your life. Being a comic fan for near years now, I've always wanted to be a fan that would be heard. I always knew, "Someday you'll get to say what you have been speaking in your mind and the world will know it. And someday, you'll get to feel what it's like having someone listen to you and understand you."

And Scott Allie did. Even if it was just a mere excerpt of what I meant to write. Even if it came from a very stupid, immature letter. Whatever he was thinking, I don't know. He could have been bothered, annoyed, stupified, I don't know.

But if he thought it was special enough for him to put it up for the world to see--it's just good enough for me. Now I know what it's like to be heard by the best I could get my questions from. I don't know if it was fate that impaled him inside, or if somebody watched over each letter I made. But God definitely had something to do with it. If it weren't for Him watching over it, no other way would affirm itself over it.

Gerard would be really proud.

"Watching over you."

"Confident" is just not my middle name. It used to exist in my birth certificate, written in print, and shot with a melted candle sticker, but then my Confident blood fell and dropped in love with Sir Insecure. My wilting bravery is just not patching up and entertwining in well-embroidered threads. I could run, I could bend, I could rock until the end. But make it known--even mere assonances and alliterations could not boost who I am as the watcher of the world. But I wouldn't care being the watchman, as long as for me to watch over the doer of my dreams.

Because there would be a Campus devo today (and Mr. Special Somebody would be there again), my dad and I went together to his office until the devotional would take place. Before that though, we took a pit-stop to the Fine Arts Building of UP, and applied for their summer art classes. It was like stepping into a magnificent Kingdom Come for me.

Sculptures of fish made from scrap metal had their own glass-glow gallery beside a classroom of painters splashing and spraying paint on wooden canvasses, sculptures and crashed busts hung everywhere and artsy wooden benches would lie around lounging and welcoming the artistic eye to take a dunk in its comfort. I could stay there forever, truly. I'd love to stay there forever and live in art as my own.

I also found out the mom of a friend of mine, Gabbi, worked in that wonderful palace of dreams and imagination come true. She looked impressively young, and I loved her quirky, welcoming personality. I mean, just looking at her desk, she seemed like a fun person--you can't deny Neo and Joker puppets made out of foam and standing three feet tall stranding around among papers and paraphernalia all decorated with stripes, checkers, and butterflies.

After tiptoeing through the wonderful stepping stones of the beautiful art school, dad and I went to get ice cream. He had Pistachio and Mango, I had Rocky Road and Raspberry. And they didn't give me massive brain freeze, huzzah.

We went back to dad's office where I aimlessly drew stuff while waiting for the hours to end and to get to the devo at 6 o' clock, looking at American Idol reviews while the long minutes turned into consequential hours. Apparently Adam and Danny flopped, mainly because Adam was not at all a country guy and Danny though his vocals were brilliant was ranted on for his white polar expeditionist's parka.

To momentarily make a leap in the time elapse coordinates dating after the devo, the actual performances were much better and much worse than what the numerous reviews said. In instance, Micheal Sarver though one of my favorites flopped today, becoming worse than as described in the reviews. Unscrupulously, also Adam was worse than in the reviews. He was more trying to bring my dead snake Hazel back to life and seducing a fox than actually performing. Still sexy, but horrible in terms of vocals.

Danny was also worse than reviews could explain. Not only was his parka a disturbing addition, but the song wasn't an outstanding choice. Anoop, Lil, Megan, Matt and Allison all did well for me. They are shoo-ins for the Top 10. I just DESPISE of Kris. Nothing he's doing is making me change my mind about him--he is JUST PLAIN BORING. And he's not a good singer either, seriously. Scott as the blind boy scout of the trooper herd might have played it safe, but I believe he can do better. Alexis just isn't the kind of person I'd like to hear Jolene from. I love the song, actually, but the entire arrangement was something I wouldn't love.

Anyway, bouncing back to the real world and not ranting on television primetime specials, the devo was quite pleasant. Though, having to sit in a little room screaming with ugly orange deafening the walls, I had the pleasure of sitting with my friend Joy and rant with her about Watchmen. I had trouble getting through the room's door because I had no keys. Luckily Carl came with keys of his own and then succeedingly Mike, Joseph, Micheal (Mike and Micheal are different people), Paulo, Jasi, Arnie, Pate, Pam, Mikka, Sir Erwin and his Astroboy t-shirt, and everyone else started crowding in.

I absolutely love Mikka. Also other than ranting with Joy, I also told Mikka about the Watchmen plot, and ranted with her about Watchmen. Dad gave the epic message of the night analyzing the reasons why Potiphar appointed Joseph as guard of all of his possessions. It was mainly because Potiphar, even as ungodly as he was, admired Joseph because he saw God in him spiritually and how he acted toward others in wisdom.

Mr. Special Somebody. He may never find out and he may never know that someone out there is watching over him, and will watch over him until the day he goes away. I'll be the watchmen of his life. And he may never know it.

"Would like to dedicate this to Matt," or Good luck being old.

Today, we celebrate the commemoration of a trillion and-one things.

First, we celebrate the 37-year longevity of Billie Joe Armstrong as just a month ago, this lead singer of Green Day turned 37, and only three shots to 40. And we mean 40 like Bono does 40. Then we go to the epic patenting of the rubber band in 1845, the plane crash in Cebu which lead the death of Ramon Magsaysay in 1957 (yes, Dia, we mourn with you).

And let us never forget the reason to this epic blog: Matthew Samuel Reysio-Cruz, born on this very day, thirteen years ago.

Not knowing Matthew, I just suspected good old Matty boy to be quiet, simple, and serious. But after just fifteen minutes of talking about the Cigauan family tree and stories on Mibba, one of the shortest, but one of the strongest, instant friendships was spawned. Matt then started to burst in a rainbow of pooling colors, exploding, loosening up, and shrugging insecurity away like blowing on a muddle of dust before it hit the window sill.

Through obsessing together with the same music, TV shows (most exponentially of American Idol), senselessly ranting of hatred toward random people (which we have learned to forgive--I hope), and sharing tears from being separated by the ironies of graduation, I haven't missed Matt more than I do now. Not only Matt, but the entire Cigauan. I haven't been this far from so many loved ones, and I'm just glad that it's already summer where we can all get together and do stuff. Just like old times.

Unlike old times though, everyone saw each other everyday, and didn't care if they wouldn't see them the next day, because it was insured that they would come back another time. But this time, no one comes back, no one sees all the same faces they saw before. We just took that for granted I guess.

But I'd never take a farewell for granted.

Seemed like it was only last year how we all would gather together for Coke Zero and glazed doughnuts, laughing like old times and past pictures should be taken. Such a memory haunts me--everything seemed so perfect, so immensely choreographed as if every part us as Cigauan was just acted. But it had emotion. It had love. Everything Cigauan did was love.

And so Matt, live well and stick around for a 1,000th reunion.

If we will ever make it to that many.

"Wanted; Snake and Chocolate Massacres."

Only some minutes ago, a common, brown baby snake crawled into my room, and my brother had the yell-fest of his life, triggering as an alarm to even our farthest neighbors. Sheesh, it only took a smash of my Bones book to crush its head--yes I do have a book called Bones. My brother is still horrified, and is suffering from traumatic twitching. And to intesify his haughty disdain, I bottled up the snake into a tiny jar. I decided to name him Hazel, for his color was of the Hazel-brown hue.

I got to study him while he was still in the jar. He had such an amazing bone structure, his scales were kind of like those you see on fried sardines, and he had little black round eyes, almost pepper-corn like and shiny. After recording such random observations, I let Hazel dry out in the sun for a few minutes, and TEN MINUTES LATER HE WAS EATEN BY ANTS. And now he is buried underneath our second-floor trash can. So young, so easily killed by feeble-minded ants.

I was SO close to watching Watchmen yesterday! My friends, Ace and his brother Max, all went with me and my other friend Hann to Ace's Family Day fair at his school, and after that we went out for Shakey's and talked about deciding to terrorize the Koreans and never affect the Middle East and annihilate the Nazis and ship Max to Antartica as a base of operations where he could strap missles on the penguins enabling them to attack unsuspecting evil-madman Eskimoes (we talk about a billion random things, nevermind us).

And then we were walking around SM Marikina, looking at old Naruto action figures, miniature Rubik's cubes, varied geometrically shaped slinkys, and cockroach gum gags, we took an escalator to the movie house, where we encountered Punisher teaser posters, Star Trek teaser posters, and Terminator: Salvation teaser posters, there, a gigantic poster like suspended animation sprung from the ceiling. Watchmen.

It was fourty-minutes before the movie, and we were just goofing off, getting gum from the gumball machines, playing various arcade games (at least Max did), and staring at the Watchmen poster regardless of the numerous people sneering at our underrated appreciation.

Though, right before we entered, the ticket man noticed Max and asked how old he was. Hedda (Ace and Max's mom) said he would turn 13 on April 2, which was permittable for the ticket man and the clerk who was selling the tickets until they mentioned of the movie's "inappropriate scenes" factor, which Hedda disapproved and so we had to transfer to Race to Witch Mountain.

Race to Witch Mountain was fine, but there was not a moment where I was never thinking of Watchmen. I still miss it, and wish to watch it soon, and even though the other movie was interesting and entertaining, I'll still miss Watchmen. And can never get over it.

I did an experiment before church. I left a Roasted Almond Cadbury chocolate bar innocently exposed underneath the sun, lavishing in its moist, sweet, brown and elegant beauty, almonds popping underneath the chocolate meat, searing the delicate cocoa-flavored chocolate and embossed Cadbury stamps on each row.

Three hours later, it got massacred by ants as well.

"Way of the revellers; Part Two."

You were my brother's best friend, and my youngest best friend. My undying appreciation for you may exist as just but a ghost, and you may never know how much you have impacted my life, even as the little guy you are. We all miss you, Nathan. Even I do.

It's amazing how young you are, but so eager to grow as a Christian. So young, but so loving, so affectionate, so morally and spiritually pure. You shine like young dew under a steaming sunkist heat bake. How strong you are, I will never understand. Even as just a young being in the untamed world of sins, evil, and passionate torture. I miss you as a friend, and as a brother in the Lord. You don't know how impacting as an inspiration you have been to me.

There is not a day in church where I sorely miss you. It's not the same always reserving a spot for you in the benches and seeing that a bag or another person scoot the soul that used to stay in that spot. Somebody else in that way you used to bask in. Something else speaking for what you used to say. How much the little voice, the little young boy who used to sit in that spot did something for the world, for the worlds of the lives he has been a part of. But for some reason you're not there anymore.

You lay so much on such a fragile line. Your faith may fall, your friends may forget, but know this: I won't ever.

How strong you are, how faithful you are, how inspiration emanating from you could pierce through me until its cut to its limitation, I will never know.

And how much I admire, care, wish, pray, empathize for you... you will never know.

"Waking up to doom."

My wilting bravery is slowly taking its course on me. Doom has now been my doctor of many reasons, more than one, and father doom has helped me overcome, therefore I am. For some reason, my ability to be afraid has plead guilty of treason. I have my theories why.

The fact that vacation is taking its taciturn upon most of my friends and past classmates has given me a patient's slip to a reality check-up Dr. Doom. I just realized, I've had the sand in the hourglass pouring through my fingers and it felt painless. Not in the slightest notion did I detect the sands of time actually shedding layers into older seasons. The world's single revolutions around the sun have taken its toll on me. Call it an annual pre-midlife crisis at its finest.

Secondly, my copy of Dallas #4 HAS STILL NOT COME HOME. Doom instead of the doctor, played the cop this time, attacking me with blood pressure cuffs before I were instigated into arbitrary and cardiac arrest. Dallas #4 needs a home, and it's just about time that little comic met its maker. Cha-cha admittedly interests me; his carebear + The Joker + happy tree friend nature tri-squared by his madness and cockiness is just so adorable. Plus he wears the sailor hat, man.

Doom though did say my brain capacity is increasing tri-fold. My comics are undergoing close-to-successful bypass, as an actual short story has undergone the gurney and the heat of the plastic light. My work for my first year in highschool is done, and am already kicking off my feet for the next year. Doom suggested I undergo rehab, for my capability to draw is not going quite as well as before. But then it just got better moments ago. No artist's block here.

There was, though, the thing about me that worried Doom most; my flying-high levels are warming up and rocketing out of control. Reasons would be blamed on Gerard Way, for his nautical blogs on how much he loves Frankenberry cereal, and my thirst for his new issue to arrive, and Mr. Special Somebody for causing me to have a random spazz-attack earlier. Almost went under the plastic light myself.

"Well, you know."

A Russian Roulette sprung in a sherbet bang in the end of this week. But the bullets didn't start ripping until yesterday, only the zip guns and the revolvers got the willies this Thursday. Friday was just the nitroglycerin-induced victim of it all.

Yesterday, a bang that condemned an explosion as big as a tri-state pulled in the dust. First up, the release of Dallas #4! I still couldn't download/buy it yet. They don't have it on the shelves here in the Philippines, and they don't have it on the grapevine yet, but I can definitely wait. What a beauty it will be.

Second to kill the factory, a church devotional at CSWCD. A great one too, I must add. Their analogy of Herod's multiple consequences of his cruel heart were just outstanding. A favorite, also mainly because the message was given by the dad of a friend of mine, and he had John Lennon glasses. Yowza, man. And this guy who gave the message (George, I must call him) is also the groom in the wedding anniversary I shall be taking photos and designing all the plans out for.

And the result that killed about two-thirds of the whole tri-state ka-blam--Mr. Special Somebody.

I didn't even expect him to be there, I mean, he was just wearing his awesome usual clothes, with his cool bag and his cool laptop and his cool glasses, and smiling like I usually see in Gee, but it came from... this boy. And he was just so calm and cool and all that, and after a hug, after a comment on how awesome his desktop on his laptop was (Batman logo, for the win indeed), I got to sit with him and his sister (a very good friend of mine) and shared laughs and side comments along with George's message.

It's just...he was someone I never not even in my wildest ideas, thought of him during the entire devo. I never expected him to even last for a minute there, but he stayed for four hours. With me.

And...well, even if he does consider me now, and I now know he does, as at least a little friend, to smile at him and be the little kid who just looks at him, like another big brother. He'll know someday he's special to me. He always was, even when he didn't know me and even when I didn't know him. It was a plan for me to love, and it will be a plan for him to know.

And the wildcard of the day, the tri-bomb topped with a dimpled cherry for all to smother in, American Idol, Season 8, episode 14 and its chocolate cream and strawberry sprinkles exploding in flavors of Adam Lambert, Allison Iraheta, Kris Allen, Megan Corkerey and Norman Gentle/Nick Mitchell.

Adam Lambert--definitely a heart-breaking machine, this boy. When I first heard Satisfaction, my dad and I hated the song and treated it as forgettable and an erroneous addition to the dossier of The Rolling Stones' popular songs. Such an infamous song turned into a swoon-fest when Adam switched and spurred it from its cobwebs to galvanized silver.

And... well, as wrong as this may sound, he became extremely... as weird as this may come from me... sexy, in ways more than one. And I don't mean by just the voice. I've bought the voice, now if I'm talking body-wise, oh man... I could just go all day being in ka-hoots, man. Seriously. Whew hoo. Wolf-whistle, anyone?

And Allison Iraheta. I was the most surprised from her this week, I never thought someone this good, that good, could not even be mentioned or featured in any past Idol episode! She was brilliant, against Heart's Alone, one of my favorite songs. Heart is just one of those female bands I have to love. No other female band (except for Alecia Moore, but she's just a one-man... woman) has countered them. No other female band has been able to top their monster songs, they're brilliant, Allison is brilliant. I hope she definitely makes it to a very latter part of the end.

Way to outsmart the day, Thursday. Friday was more subtle, not much screaming and hyperactive indulgence as the day before, but it was a good, blessed day. All work was done, the death of the day has gone, and the birth of the sun and the Saturday will come. All in a rhyme's work.

"Was there all along."

Ally can be such a geekozoid.

Life has reached its potentials, days will reach its ends, and Muse will come crashing down in me, I always be the victim to forever miss it so.

But assuredly, I'll soon miss this month, for the reasons that it was when I realized many random things.

One; Dreams can actually be the pinnacle of your talks with friends (most especially when with Annetta).
Every talk I had with Annetta actually was mainly focusing on our dreams, like when I dreamt Jared Leto fainted in a 30STM concert in the Philippines, and we had to save him from his dire heart attack, and Annetta's dream of toymakers attempting to kill a relative of hers or the tiger that bit her in the leg. Weird dreams, definitely. Never will be as weird as my dream of Hazel and Cha-cha doing the hokey-pokey. That was weird, man.

Two; Strepsils are not always the answer.
I've taken about 20 since the 17th, and still my sore throat is not subsiding. I wake up in agony every four in the morning from it. It's just the worst sore throat you could ever have, because it's usually supposed to wear off in a few days, but this has been ongoing for a week, and it still feels like bones are corroding my tonsils. Really freaking painful. If you wish to get sick, never seek the counsel of a sore throat.

Three; Deviantart loves photography more than art.
If you want a DA account, you better be really good at drawing, or just have a knack at photography. I had an art account there, and it's sailing fine, it's just that it's not doing as explosively well as my photography account. I just got 51 views and 7 favorites from just one photo in the boundary of only a DAY. And Annetta's business on DA is booming as well, but especially in her photography. More like Deviantphoto, not Deviantart.

Four; People who you could relate to the most go to you the most.
I've noticed that especially in church, since in my Youth Ministry, everyone is divided by their preferences--there is the girl side, the boy side, the stereotypics, the best friends, just everyone is divided, and I always become alone. I only have probably one friend, who likes art, hates music of pop genres and the overrated kind, also a comic book collector (though he prefers manga), and likes horror movies. Hm. Too coincidental?

Five; I've first started blogging on Quote: The Dreamer since the start of this month.
And it was a good one month of having it up. It's been my favorite blog to post on since The BLANK Factor. I'll miss that amazing one month of unstoppable memories and the metaphorical roller-coaster of wherevers, whenevers, whatevers, howevers, and forevers. Plus I could jusr re-read what I post here, and remember what was on American Idol last week. Hah, that good?

Six; My thirst for writing has been fed once again.
I miss writing, really I do. I haven't been this pepped up for writing since I wrote out my The Amazing Eyeless stories, which are currently on hiatus. But I never had a time to be natural or free with my writing or been expressive with writing. Not even in journals or diaries, I never was as expressive as now. Days now, everytime I'm done with homework, I can never hit the hay with a bang unless I have done a single post here. Never.

Seven; I could get obsessed to the point that it becomes annoying.
I hate growing up. I miss my old self, who would stay calm against a boy. But when against Mr. Special Somebody, Gerard Way, Jared Leto, Jack White, or Adam Lambert, I am not the girl I used to be. Now, I either talk way too fast, or draw until I just sigh and admit it to myself. Before I didn't even have someone in my head for days or hours or weeks. Puberty is a horrible woman, and never talk to her once she steps into you.

Eight; When evil rains, it's family time.
Truly a bonding moment. At least once a week, either my brother or I get sickeningly sad, and when our parents notice, they just send us to them right away for opening up, and talking. After all, if any rule was misinterpreted in our family, it can never be: "When we all fall, we all fall together, and hope our dreams will never die." My brother usually is my ally in such. I could never know a better spiritual adviser, truly.

Nine; Sometimes, when you are in Rome, do as the Filipinos do.
When fitting in, I've found out the best way to fit in is by being the alien in the group of martians. Just being the foreign corpuscle in the gellatinous body of well-beings gets you to where you were all along--being yourself, naturally. And even if you don't speak out of what your cerebral neurons can capacitate, you shine through even what you do and become the Filipino among the cadaverous Romans after all.

I could consider myself educated in the month of February.
Though there are some important memories I could forget ever happened.

So goodbye February. I hardly knew you.

"With the end as that."

The wholeness of being alive has become a blessing this week, especially today.

I'm off of homeschooling for the day, and maybe it might exceed until Monday, since Monday may consequence into People Power Day for us proud Filipinos. I was supposed to attend the birthday celebration of my young cousin Nate at the mightily extravagant Linden Suites Hotel, but my hormones started acting up and brought along a loss of blood for a week or so with it, thus I could not attend.


Don't random MS Paint pictures always look so awesome?

The comma doesn't look like a comma, though. I like the period better.

And because of my sentence-ender, I had the worst sleep of my life the other day. I had no amount of slumber at all, just wild thoughts grazing through my head like demented wildebeasts taking the curb. And I figured out because my room was filthy, it was giving me headaches at night, which is why with a period in hand and a gut full fo glory, I managed to spring clean my room.

And it is now looking like a whole new room, except for the paint and the bed and curtains. And with the comic books tucked from little brother's sight (kidding, it's within his arm's reach), a re-organized desk, dust-free bookshelves, re-screwed light bulb, squeaky white piano, and everything-in-the-kitchen-but-the-sink helter-skelter space, I am proud of myself and my room once again. Remind me to post before-and-after photos.

Lastly the big weekly review of American Idol.

Danny, Alexis and Micheal are in for an amazing treat, basking in the same light as did David Cook, Kelly Clarkson, and Taylor Hicks. Who will join him?

I'm really hoping that Adam Lambert gets his silver running hot down the steam. I want him in the Top 36 so badly, I could almost cry. And Scott Mackintyre is someone who has inspired me since the beginning of the show, and he has to stay in that competition. America better not bring him down.

As I raise my glass to the end of the week, I'm proud to call the rest as mine. Well, everything ends in a word, and for me that is a period. And there it went, and so shall it last forever.

"Way of the revellers; Part One."

In many senses, the world is grouped into several categories. Some call themselves the lonely, the consolers, the ways, the rebels, the tristates, the aerodynamic, the watchmen, the fearsome, and the heroes. But they all have the same side of them--they are all just normal people.

There's only one category I know with the most minimalistic criteria, but the rarest breed I've ever crossed. The revellers. The ordinary, but secretly extraordinary, in other words.

________________________________________________________________

mint loves maeryl.: oh, ally,
mint loves maeryl.:
mint loves maeryl.: i'm sure he didn't
mint loves maeryl.: God wouldnt do that to him
mint loves maeryl.: i'm sure he's fine
mint loves maeryl.: if he isn't, then it's all in God's plans, i guess
mint loves maeryl.: i sound like a major hypocrite for saying that but yeah
mint loves maeryl.: i'm sure he's okay, ally
________________________________________________________________


Picture the worst day in the world, yielding the dread of a fever and cold, but it's also Valentines Day, and instead of plundering love and gooey romance, swarms of dread and worry are spawning migranes in thier own minds upon you.

Say also, a special somebody special to you (naturally) attended a jam session with some of your friends a day before yesterday, and you were not able to come. Luckily, you didn't, because you clicked on the news today and found out a rumble at a pre-valentines concert held at the place they were having the jam session commenced and injured policemen, killed a guy, chaos everywhere.

Surely, you were spared from such tyranny and act of brutal combat, but naturally worried, "What if that special somebody was hurt?" I would not even be there to say how much I actually care about him, even if he may not know I'd like him to.

Just picture, imagining the grief of seeing or picturing him hurt is just so painful, both in soul and in physical weakness. He might not know, care, or even guess that you may care about him a bunch, but in the times of where the sand in an annual hourglass contain the bitter sugars of worry and the salty freckles planted in your cheek sting you hard enough to cry, who do you call to get out the Kleenex and wipe them away?

I confide in somebody beautiful in words I can never understand. Someone who even if we had our rough times in the past, will always matter a big part of my life. I wouldn't have changed without this person, and I wouldn't find any other person like her. Not a girl in the world could match to who she is. She gave me once more, the reason why we spend Valentine's Day. Sure to spread love and cheer, but to also make known how much you care for your loved ones. One of the most subtle revellers, but the strongest I know.

BATMINT.

Surely not the real Batman, the dark knight and his crusading Batmobile, but better. A Batman, who is not a man, but a girl. A Batman who understands exactly how you feel. A Batman who also has human feelings, who fights for the good of mankind, saves hearts over bodies, and most importantly needs no cape or mask to do so.

Mint is my Batman, my Batmint. And she's also my favorite superhero.

"Wish you were here."

I've just happened to be lounging and staring blatantly at the tube, and all of a sudden I reach Oprah, of all shows, and they had this odd Valentines Day special (odd, because usually I don't watch Oprah neither do I usually get clicked onto segments about sappy romance and gooey-gooey-goo love stories). But something just grabbed my attention.

There was a story of a young African male, who had to run away from the atrocities of war in his hometown. He was alone, all his friends were killed, eaten, or turned slaves, he had no family with him, and all he had with him was a Bible and his own two feet. On his way to America, which was spared from war at that time, he met a special girl named Veronica whom he loved after first sight. A kind photographer took their photo just before he left and from that time on, the boy, Emmanuel, kept it with him for as long as he and Veronica were apart.

Now, six years later, holding onto the picture with all his heart, Emmanuel takes a plane to Canada and visits a friend who invited him to church.

And just when he steps into the church... there.

He sees her.

The love of his life.

Veronica.

It's just amazing how beautiful that love story is. It hits you everytime, even the first time you read it. To think that guy held onto someone who he has loved for such a long time, and even if she may not have remembered him, even if she did not think of him often, if the odds were even that she'd never see him or he would ever see her again, he still had faith. And his faith got him love.

And... it just makes my heart sink in. Sure, it may never happen for me, but... love and faith, fueling how you live for as long as you stay alive, leads you back to whom you love most, and gives you what you've been waiting for. Gerard Way may never love me, or I may never meet him, sure, but if I have faith and if I believe enough, maybe he may never be far. As long as I believe, I don't think he'll be so far.


Anyway, in miscellaneous news, yesterday my mom and I got new stuff for my room, such as these rad cabinets for me to finally get a place to put my comics and art tools and toys and CDs and letters and cheesy newspaper ads and stuff. I also am now owner of an old tripod my mom got from a Japanese friend of hers, and since no one was using it anymore, I have more equipment for my camera now. Huzzah.

A wedding anniversary is coming up for a family friend of ours, and my mom is carrying alot of weight onto her shoulders, helping out with planning the gowns and tuxedos, hiring people to cater and stuff, and even getting chauffers is weighing a ton on her. I'm helping out by drawing out a format on how the wedding should look like, the seating, the ceiling's drop-down elements, and also, I'm hired to take photos. Hm, ever heard of a thirteen-year old taking photos in the celebration of a 25-year long marriage? I better get paid.

American Idol has slightly buzzed me this week. I'm just glad that Adam got in the top 36 with "Believe," by Cher. CHER. Of all people to sing from! Haha, that guy's a genius. And Scott Macintyre... he didn't have exactly much a compelling voice like that of Daughtry, but he made "Home," his own song, and very impressive for a blind guy. His ability to play the piano, even with his handicapped disability, is extraordinary. Very impressive.

We say goodbye to Jamar this week. He's still got Danny to live on their friendship in the American Idol legacy they both carried.

AND I CANNOT BELIEVE TATIANA IS STILL THERE! What are the judges THINKING? They got Katrina Darrell (Bikini Girl, blegh) out, but that overly dramatic temptress is still there? The best day ever will definitely be if she's out of the competition for good.


On the bad side.
Today, the people at our church were going to have a headsmacking jam session today, and expectedly Mr. Special Somebody was there. No, Mr. Special Somebody was not the bad thing... the bad thing was that I was not there. No matter how much I wish I were, or how I wish I could be, I couldn't.

Oh well. I guess that's the bad luck on Friday the thirteenth. Though Valentines day the fourteenth conjures more bad luck in my opinion.

Nonetheless, have an awesome Friday the thirteenth, and get your helmets and rockets on for Valentines Day--the lucky ones'll need it.

I won't.

"Will the light ever stop shining? ...I bet not."

Days have evolved from their darkness, and now I am set free to loiter, do stuff, and goof off for no reason. The days have proven themselves good enough, and good enough for me to be happy about them.

God's been good to me, and to American Idol, who have been spared finally from the wrath of Bikini Girl and Nancy Wilson. After watching the replay today from what I missed last Thursday, Tatania Del Toro, though, is still remaining, and I can't believe she's still here, goodness, she's a psycho. Her nasal laugh and dramatic whining is annoying me to heck. My eardrums throb at the witness of her oh-so anal voice. I felt cracked from such narcissistic nature and idiotic persona. Goodness.

Adam Lambert is just the most beautiful thing to Gerard Way now. He's just so awesome, it's hard for me not to love that man. I was blown away by his group performance, and he just stood out from the rest. Danny Gokey and Jamar Rogers and their group made the whole episode last in my heart for a long time. They are the general idea of brilliance, I'd be helled if the show pulled through without at least one of them.

But Group Day tore down the best of everyone. Emily Hughes is gone, which has been the most tragic and most unwholesome loss of all. Deeana Brown should have stayed at her place, but God must have a better plan for her. May she find it soon. And Rose Flack... oh goodness, why? Bad already she lost her father years ago, now she loses her entitlement as a contestant on A.I. Excruciatingly unfair, and if it weren't for that flirt of a Bikini Girl, she'd be the winner or runner-up by now.

H.U.S.H updates. I've made more characters, like Miranov Hyde, Creed Eagle, and Jenna. Jet Armie, Watson the healing fish, and HUSH are done, and I've got several plot ideas already. I'll tell you what comes up when I'm done with it all. Though, H.U.S.H might need some work, because the idea of HUSH was inspired by a Batman villain named Hush, so if I were to steal the role of Tommy Elliot's evil side, I'd be one of those copycats of Bob Kane who never get the golden goose eggs in the farmland.

And also, Fireflight is the best band for any young Christian and growing disciple. WAY better than Paramore, definitely. I've just had too much of those overrated heck-bots already. As if the Riot CD wasn't bad enough.
Fireflight; Just as good as Flyleaf, more grunged up than Jars of Clay, but with a heavenly essence. They have this underground flavor that just melts your heart when you listen to their beautiful songs and their warming grace. They have such Godly messages crushed into their songs and they just melt your heart. Beautiful, in one word.


But with every great eventful day is the heartbreaking, bothersome side.

Sure, I had a ton of fun with Joy, Carl, Pam, Paolo, and more other friends of mine at church today, but... I must confess.
A special somebody at church was there today, and even if I were at least friends with him, I didn't even get to say anything to him except, "Hi," a hug, then leave, then sometimes occasional conversations, but they all fall short. If I were to even have an existent, close-knit friendship with him, of all days, this would have been the one if I hadn't clucked out a red crown and feathers.

And also on the way home, I lost a sheet of paper towel which said, "I am not a chicken," on it, and I found it torn, wet, and blurred behind our bathroom sink. That immesurably impaled my self-esteem.


But the day was as good as God is. He gave me another chance of weekend freedom again, and the zest of uncounterable reattainment of goodness. But just wait until the beacon of freedom dies.

Just hope it won't be soon.

"Watson... I'm home."

I've got some great stuff that's been happening recently, and by recently, I mean... some few hours ago, or just a day or two ago. Yeah.

One, I'm falling in love with Fireflight again. It's amazing, since I haven't downloaded any songs from them in months. Stand Up and The Love we had Before are new obsessions, along with Liar, Star of the Show, Brand New Day, and so many. My friends Mishka, Dia, and Annetta (as I've mentioned in the previous post) introduced me to this awesome band, and they get credit, because I wouldn't have loved the band or loved any other Christian rock music aside from Jars of Clay ever again. Kidding, naturally.

Two, since Fireflight songs have been the epitome of inspiration for me in the past few days, I've got inspiration to finally work on my new comic, H.U.S.H., and already, I have a plot, characters, and half a dialogue already written out! Thank God for Fireflight!

H.U.S.H is all about this assassin organization called H.U.S.H ruled by a menacing crime boss (also named HUSH, because he is vain like that) who sent his whole team out to kill a whole troop of people and is planning to use his new cronies as his robots, his army, and for the domination of the world. In a battle between the H.U.S.H organization and another team of exterminators, the entire team dies. But the underdog of the whole team, Jet Armie, is brought to life by HUSH's dead pet fish, Watson. Watson, in granting Jet resurrection, trains her to save the world from HUSH's evil plans. And the rest of the story comes from there, no big. That's how I at least make the picture out. I'm both drawing and writing my comic, so it'll take sometime before I make an issue... haha, I talk like Gerard Way when I think of making it into an actual issue...

...you believe I could actually MAKE it into an actual issue, could I?
I mean, if I had an appropriate age, if my story was great, if the drawings were awesome too...right? No?

Yeah, I'll keep on dreaming.

And another, I just watched another fantabulouso episode of American Idol a while ago, and I'm already psyched for what I could expect. Adam Lambert from the San Francisco auditions is my best bet already, I'm really impressed by him. He's like a more contemporary David Cook, and I like his subtlety. Danny Gokey, from the Kansas auditions who lost his wife? That guy can sing, definitely. I adore that guy, how strong he is from all the grief of losing his wife, and his pal Jamar Rogers, is awesome. He's got a really big heart for helping his best friend through it all. They're all really great.

Of course there are girls whom I love too. Lil Rounds seemed a little bit ticked today, but nonetheless she did it brilliantly. She definitely has a shine about her, an eminence about her which stands out from all the rest. But sometimes her consistence can shut off a bit. I would understand if she were sick or something, and I don't know what made her go a little bit off today, but wonderful, nonetheless. The punk rocker girl Emily? I think I'd be in love with her. Though, it wasn't much a smart move playing with her audition, changing the song at its last minute, but it just shows her versatility, makes her even more likeable.

I'm still sickened by Bikini Girl, though. Guys may love her, let's just say even if I were a guy, I'd be repulsed beyond my wits. I was borderlining upset at Simon for allowing her through. Seriously, I expected better. Goodness.

And I've been informed that this Sunday, plans will be swapped and pasted and torn and re-snapped together, but I'm pretty happy with what may be the result. I'm just happy I'll see my old friends again, and we'll do stuff again.

And if anyone reading this blog has seen Desolation Row yet? As in the MCR cover video?
Mhmm, BEST VIDEO EVER.

"When fighting for freedom, never wear new pants."

For some few days, freedom has been interpreted into many various scenarios and treasons of happiness.

An instance in itself, just last Thursday, I got both issues #2 and #3 of Dallas (the second leg of The Umbrella Academy series). I have to say, Dallas is becoming much more intriguing than Apocalypse Suite. So many questions and answers have been asked and responded to in those two issues (particularly issue #3).

Apparently, Hazel and Cha-cha are true-blue serial killers in the most innocent yet bloody, inconventional way to get someone to talk. I mean, just to get pie, they literally cut someone's arms and legs off just to get a stinking recipe of canned apple pie. Man are they cool.

00.05 now has this odd knack for rebellion and has been the team's problem since the start of the series. He's known for being the child who ran away to the Apocalypse Suite and was pulled out of the time stream by the Temps Alternalis and turned into a slick, kick-butt "correction" (as they call it). His instinct to do good made him give up his reputation of being the most powerful and special correction in the Temps' dossier. But luckily for them Temps, as they were "correcting" him, they connected his DNA to all the most lethal and villanous known figures, such as Mark David Chapman and Charlotte Corday and such. He's turned into quite the most interesting character, I must say.

And so the rest goes as Spaceboy (00.01/Luther) becomes horribly obese, The Seance (00.04/Klaus) has drug problems and tries to save the day again (as he did in the last series), The Kraken (00.02/Diego), hot-blooded on finding out what exactly happened down at Costello's when 00.05 and Pogo were confronted again by the Temps, tries to regain the team's sense of leadership and heroic reputation afoot, The Rumor (00.02/Allison) is mute, and The White Violin (00.07/Vanya) is still a recovering paralyzed amnesiac after the epic Apocalypse Suite battle.

And Pogo is still dead.

Also, last Saturday was my dearly close friend Annetta's birthday. So of course, after piano lessons, we zoomed to Capitol Hills and handed her my copy of issue #3 (my favorite issue, WAH!) as my gift to her. Naturally, I didn't mind because Annetta was equally an amazing friend, and an equally deserving person to get that comic too. Plus I ran out of gifts to get her, so I had to move on my feet fast.

Our other close friend Dia was there as well, which was really awesome because it was about a year or more since we saw each other. I truly missed her, as I also missed the others that came like Mishka, and Jobi, and sadly Gabbi and Gianco were not there to get in the fun, but it was an awesome day anyway. We kept on watching Kung Fu Hustle, eating chips and pizza, and requesting for napkins (and in song). And not to mention, the BEST photoshoot ever since we all had the idea of choosing to iconize and stereotype Twilight, giving the bloody book such a horrid name, since already in itself it was.

Next week, in church, the Campus Ministry is congregating with us at the Teens Ministry, which is great news for my brother and I, since we have pretty much a bunch of friends at the Campus Ministry more than the Teens, actually. Nyahaha.
Since our friends Joy and Carl will be there, happiness and good greetings also take the medal of greatness to freedom once more.

So yes, when fighting for freedom, new pants are not needed.
But just when you finally get freedom, don't even think of taking a shower again.

Or you might just wash the freedom away.