Blueberry lipstick and Brad Pitt Schmooze

I had the most peculiar dream last night. In my dream, I was a princess who was mistaken for a queen. I had minions following me around as I was holding an audition for a palace stage play.

Then cut to a scene to a beach in my province. As it is, our sea is really far far far away from the coastline, which was faithfully reflected in my dream. I was with my brothers, my mother, my father, and my grandmother. We were carrying these picnic baskets with us and was arguing about a tricycle not going to fetch us. Anyhow, as we reached the cottage which was a good Commonwealth to SM North by foot, my lips started to become chappy so I dug in my mother's knapsack (which she doesn't really have in real life) and found what initially seemed to me a pretty blue lip gloss! So I hastily applied it and tadaaaaaaaaaaa! It wasn't really a lip gloss! IT IS A BLUEBERRY LIPSTICK with a blueberry flavor albeit having a just-been- kissed-reddish effect on the lips!

Cut to a bookstore. My mother was buying me a radio FTW! But then we decided that it's too expensive so I demanded for earplugs instead.

Rough cut to my princess life. I'm seeing Brad Pitt in his Troy outfit limping towards my throne. It was the most  adorable sight ever! He was clutching his side with his toned arms as his sword dangles while walking. Too bad... I never got the chance to speak to him. I had to wake up and face my voluminous readings eager to swallow me as soon as I lay my eyes on them.

Ever heard of something like 'living in a dream'? For a few minutes I considered doing just that. Though I cannot really see a logical reason why Brad Pitt was thrown into my dream. Maybe because he is a perfect prototype of female fantasy that has come to life? I don't know. I never really thought of him in that way.

I can understand the beach and the lipstick of course. I've been wanting to get away for so long now. Go to the beach and just have fun. Real life is proving to be a huge pain right now. My academic load pushing me to the limits. My work load being as demanding; you can't skip this or else... My relationship with people becoming really strained because of my being tired. My passions that I cannot pursue because life has to get in the way and take much of my time living it.Ok. It's not really as bad as it sounds but the worst part was not being able to do my laundry anymore. Doing the laundry is very relaxing for me as it gives me time to think and gives me a sense of having a normal life. Anyways, this laundry dream is a different entry all together.

My mind's way of reminding me about the things that make me happy.

...Like being with my mother in a bookstore buying a music player. Ok. We can actually remove buying, Just being with my mother in a bookstore right now is enough for me.

...Like being a royalty. Maybe not being a royalty but by the way royalties are treated. There was veneration, adoration, respect, in the way people treat these royals. I'm not exactly treated like a doormat but for the past few weeks, I feel like being one. Some guy taking me for granted leaving me all of a sudden, alone in a strange place. Some other people who find it really easy to drop me like a hot fat potato amid my need to just have them around. If I were a royal, I'd be treated with respect. And Mandy Moore would be my friend and Brad Pitt would come to me!

...Like surprises! Nobody really knows how I love love love surprises! Like finding out that what I thought was a lip gloss is actually a tasty lipstick with a color I love. See... It doesn't really take a lot to make me happy! Small surprises, inconsequential surprises, ANYTHING as long as there is an element of a pleasant surprise, I'd be instantly pleased.

Today may not be as beautiful as my dream but I have the lingering sweet taste of it to tell myself, STOP GETTING PISSED AND HAVE A NICE DAY!

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a required writing assignment for my fave class. :D
What to me matters the most
     She is only 27 and already, she is a grandmother. Everyday, at about the same time, she goes to our house demanding that we take care of her puppies for she is leaving for the city. She gets random goats and takes them to a nearby coconut tree. No she is not mentally ill, she has senile dementia. My late grandmother, right up before she died has suffered for several years the illness that made her forget almost everything that happened to her and only remembers, for a fraction of a time ,those from about 50 years ago. In fact, she does not only remember but also live within that memory forcing us to take care of her imaginary puppies and tormenting the neighbor’s goat by bringing it to where she used to bring the goat she once owned. This very grandmother has made me understand one important fragment that allows me to be more human: my memories.
     Memories, may it be good or bad is an essential part of a person’s being. Without memories, sins as well as good deeds will have little or no value for things done do not live an imprint except that it has been done; who did it, what effect it had, will never be known for it is forgotten as soon as it has been executed. Thinking about it, I could not fathom a life without memories. However dark, these memories somehow aid us in determining who is part of our life, to whom do we owe it to, and perhaps who or what we live for. Remembering the television advertisements that I saw about medicines that help us strengthen our memory is proof enough for me of how crucial our memories are in our lives.
     While lack of recall can be a good thing as it erases all memories of experiences, like when I made a fool of myself in the classroom croaking through a supposedly beautiful song, I would rather keep that memory with me (and if others can remember it too) than lose all of it entirely. Losing my memories would mean losing my appreciation of the smell of garlic being sautéed for its ability to conjure up images back to my hometown where my mother cooks up something really delicious during lunch. The time when my father brought me fruits and made me egg soup when I was sick is but one of the many memories I have of him that I would never want to forget. Even the memory of how I cried myself out for my first heartache, humiliation, etc, is something that I remember, though admittedly I cringe too, with fondness. These memories help me regard life with more zeal. Clearly, life without it is literally empty. No inklings of who the people are around you, no remembrance of the first love, nothing at all. Absence of memories meant leaving the world as you have not existed.
     Books have been written to preserve what people from the past did. In the old times, monks spent a lot of time writing in ink events that transpired at the time. The burning of Confucius’ books in China is up until now recalled with so much regret for the loss of what could have been additions to a huge pool of philosophical idea. My grandmother, although she suffered from the illness was still lucky for she still remembers fractions of her life, however vague and out-of-date. She is made more lucky, for the people she left behind (like me) has never in a day forgotten how she used to sweep the yard so we kids could play without the danger of getting wounded by shards or small stones.