On My Reflection..

 

 

I find a comment on one girl's blog. It is a man who wrote this. He said he fall for this girl's blog, then he wrote this. This man knows better about women than women their selves. Every word he say is true, but not every woman has the ability to understand their own power. A really deserve-to-be-hunt man. He is most wanted ;) 

Contrary to popular belief, guys don't all look for that pretty bimbo. Sure, their eyes will linger on her physique for a while longer than others and sure, they may take her home with them but no man would want to give his heart to that stunning bimbo. Believe it or not, men do dream of love much like women do. Their desires for affection are not as openly discussed and therefore they are believed to be none existent but I assure you that this is not true. A man desire's a certain type of girl. A game-changer.

The game changer is a seemingly normal girl that a man might meet at any seemingly normal place. In a coffee shop, at school, shopping for clothes in that vintage store down the street, in your building, even at a bar. A man will often stumble upon the game-changer by chance but will know she is one as soon as he finds her. She'll captivate him immediately and he'll feel like someone has woken him up from a long slumber with a bucket of ice cold water. She'll inspire him, she'll make him grow (not change), and she'll steal his heart away in an instant. She'll make him feel stronger at times, and completely weak at others. She'll terrify him but also give him the courage to be brave. She'll make him want to be a better man; make him want to preform grand gestures out of love. And when she leaves, she'll break him as he has never been broken before. He will then either go two ways: He'll either avoid the game-changers and stick with the pretty bimbo's or he'll vow to find the game-changer that will stay with him, that will let him love her for all of eternity.

The most tragic thing about you game-changers is that you all think of yourselves as "average" when really, you are the most extraordinary creatures to walk the earth. You are beautiful because you have the ability to make someone else beautiful. You are beautiful, because you have the ability to turn a right bastard in a gentleman. You are beautiful, because you change someone's game and, in turn, the course of their life.


I'm sorry for being so tedious but I needed you to understand what I meant when I tell you that after reading your blog, I've come to the conclusion that you are a game-changer. I envy the man that manages to capture your heart, and I wish that fate would have allowed it to be me.

Sincerely,
A man who's heart you've changed with just a blog. 

Source: Paint Me A Palace

Facebook -> Friend List -> Delete

Hyaaaaaaa,,,days go by...

I am close to home ;)

Yeahh,,finally...

Just back from work, went online and finally I follow one of my friend's advice to block and remove some friends in my friend list who actually not my friends ;) no offense, just I feel they don't deserve a space in my page.. like.. some online sellers, betrayer, back stabber, stalker and all of them who faking their self as my friend. Thaa..bye bye good riddance and good luck with your life, I have my own and I don't want to be disturbed.

..don't date us unless you truly a brilliant and brave man, because we won't get bored to learn and write about you..

You should date a girl who reads.

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes, who has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she has found the book she wants. You see that weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a secondhand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow and worn.
She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent.  Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.
It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry and in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things must come to end, but that you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.
Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.
You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.
Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

- Rosemarie Urquico

(In Response to Charles Warnke’s You Should Date An Illiterate Girl.)

..a desperate man's letter..

You should date an illiterate girl. 


Date a girl who doesn’t read. Find her in the weary squalor of a Midwestern bar. Find her in the smoke, drunken sweat, and varicolored light of an upscale nightclub. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away. Engage her with unsentimental trivialities. Use pick-up lines and laugh inwardly. Take her outside when the night overstays its welcome. Ignore the palpable weight of fatigue. Kiss her in the rain under the weak glow of a streetlamp because you’ve seen it in a film. Remark at its lack of significance. Take her to your apartment. Dispatch with making love. Fuck her.

Let the anxious contract you’ve unwittingly written evolve slowly and uncomfortably into a relationship. Find shared interests and common ground like sushi and folk music. Build an impenetrable bastion upon that ground. Make it sacred. Retreat into it every time the air gets stale or the evenings too long. Talk about nothing of significance. Do little thinking. Let the months pass unnoticed. Ask her to move in. Let her decorate. Get into fights about inconsequential things like how the fucking shower curtain needs to be closed so that it doesn’t fucking collect mold. Let a year pass unnoticed. Begin to notice.

Figure that you should probably get married because you will have wasted a lot of time otherwise. Take her to dinner on the forty-fifth floor at a restaurant far beyond your means. Make sure there is a beautiful view of the city. Sheepishly ask a waiter to bring her a glass of champagne with a modest ring in it. When she notices, propose to her with all of the enthusiasm and sincerity you can muster. Do not be overly concerned if you feel your heart leap through a pane of sheet glass. For that matter, do not be overly concerned if you cannot feel it at all. If there is applause, let it stagnate. If she cries, smile as if you’ve never been happier. If she doesn’t, smile all the same.

Let the years pass unnoticed. Get a career, not a job. Buy a house. Have two striking children. Try to raise them well. Fail frequently. Lapse into a bored indifference. Lapse into an indifferent sadness. Have a mid-life crisis. Grow old. Wonder at your lack of achievement. Feel sometimes contented, but mostly vacant and ethereal. Feel, during walks, as if you might never return or as if you might blow away on the wind. Contract a terminal illness. Die, but only after you observe that the girl who didn’t read never made your heart oscillate with any significant passion, that no one will write the story of your lives, and that she will die, too, with only a mild and tempered regret that nothing ever came of her capacity to love.

Do those things, god damnit, because nothing sucks worse than a girl who reads. Do it, I say, because a life in purgatory is better than a life in hell. Do it, because a girl who reads possesses a vocabulary that can describe that amorphous discontent of a life unfulfilled—a vocabulary that parses the innate beauty of the world and makes it an accessible necessity instead of an alien wonder. A girl who reads lays claim to a vocabulary that distinguishes between the specious and soulless rhetoric of someone who cannot love her, and the inarticulate desperation of someone who loves her too much. A vocabulary, goddamnit, that makes my vacuous sophistry a cheap trick.

Do it, because a girl who reads understands syntax. Literature has taught her that moments of tenderness come in sporadic but knowable intervals. A girl who reads knows that life is not planar; she knows, and rightly demands, that the ebb comes along with the flow of disappointment. A girl who has read up on her syntax senses the irregular pauses—the hesitation of breath—endemic to a lie. A girl who reads perceives the difference between a parenthetical moment of anger and the entrenched habits of someone whose bitter cynicism will run on, run on well past any point of reason, or purpose, run on far after she has packed a suitcase and said a reluctant goodbye and she has decided that I am an ellipsis and not a period and run on and run on. Syntax that knows the rhythm and cadence of a life well lived.

Date a girl who doesn’t read because the girl who reads knows the importance of plot. She can trace out the demarcations of a prologue and the sharp ridges of a climax. She feels them in her skin. The girl who reads will be patient with an intermission and expedite a denouement. But of all things, the girl who reads knows most the ineluctable significance of an end. She is comfortable with them. She has bid farewell to a thousand heroes with only a twinge of sadness.

Don’t date a girl who reads because girls who read are storytellers. You with the Joyce, you with the Nabokov, you with the Woolf. You there in the library, on the platform of the metro, you in the corner of the café, you in the window of your room. You, who make my life so goddamned difficult. The girl who reads has spun out the account of her life and it is bursting with meaning. She insists that her narratives are rich, her supporting cast colorful, and her typeface bold. You, the girl who reads, make me want to be everything that I am not. But I am weak and I will fail you, because you have dreamed, properly, of someone who is better than I am. You will not accept the life of which I spoke at the beginning of this piece. You will accept nothing less than passion, and perfection, and a life worthy of being told. So out with you, girl who reads. Take the next southbound train and take your Hemingway with you. Or, perhaps, stay and save my life. *

- Charles Warnke
* alternate ending

Source: paint me a palace

Kina Grannis - Strong Enough

 

No, it's not enough

Don't touch my hand and call it love

If you can't hold it tight

Realizing a lack in your will to fight

And I'm not blind to what you're doing here

Make me feel like I'm special

But my dear, I have seen through a weakness in your eyes

You don't know it, but you're telling me lies

And you will soon awake to see

There is no heart in anything you say to me

We thought we'd found a harmony, a perfect match of melodies

No,,,

If you listen closely now, I've been singing all alone

"A song by Kina Grannis, Strong Enough"

 

It took me 3 years to finnally realize, a true good man who love me won't do what he did, he's not a man, he's a child, thank God ;)

 

Go Away!

You didn't even made me cry

You only made me grow stronger!

Thanks a bunch ;)