The business

I haven't written anything for a while now, most of the reasons I can think of is that i'm busy but really I'm just lazy to write something. Information overload, so I have to write some.

OVER A CUP OF CARAMEL FRAPPE CREAM BASED
plus Cinnamon swirl.

I was supposed to go to school for an interview to help a friend, we met at starbucks columns. It was justa walk away from school.

The first set of questions were about Blogging and the other is about the networks election coverage.

I was interviewed before, but this one is cool. I said things that I couldn't think of. I wondered why I blogged, I am blogging for about 8 or 7 years now. Started out with podcasting and then verged on to blogging.

Is there anything to tell this kids for them to be inspired?

Coz I almost gave up on writing, I'm just another silly antic, Another writer-wannabe, Another artist wanting to be published.. someday.

What did I said to that interview?

Blogging is just an instrument to inspire aspiring
writers,

Gives writers a spark of hope that someday they will be
published.

WHATS YOUR DREAM?

It was a question posted to me by one of my icons; Howie Severino.

I paused for a solid 2 seconds. I scavenge through my deepest thoughts and I can't find a good answer.

"I wanna be an editor of a magazine someday." i said.

"but the internet is the new media." he answered.

I just smiled, and wished that I can get away with a smile. He was that sort of person who will read your mind or even analyze how you think.

I tried thinking of a dream. I can't find anything. so am I this shallow?

THE NEW MEDIA

so I have been working for internet based news. They say its the new media, the new trend and even the future. Yes it is, I have no say to that. Coz its really true, 80% lower cost to publish and more virtual space to store anything.

I just posted this coz I remembered a question from ms.universe. For being responsible for internet use.

I have hovered into nothingness

As the night closes into morning light I have remembered how it feels like to be human again. Feeling pain, feeling how to be a nobody. It was back where we all started.

I went to bed as the sun shone over the city, covered my face with a pillow to be bounded by darkness. After a few minutes I fell asleep, as if it was night time.

Darkness fell upon the the sky and there were streaks of light falling down on different paths. I thought of who might saw those falling stars and whose wishes would be granted. I didn't made a wish, but my heart did.

I held on tight to a dream I have ever since I was a child, writing and painting dreams. I have colored my life with blacks, grays and whites, with splashes of colors here and there.

I stood there in front of my easel with a brush in my hands and a palette on the other. It;s been a few years, I have hovered into nothingness. Pretended not to care or to exist.

I picked up my brush dabbed reds into my painting, a bit of yellows and greens. I have created a monster, because that is who I became. Labeled by my own standards, owned by selfish thoughts.

I will paint a wall.

I painted a world that didn't exist.

Curved buildings, flying humans, multi-colored skies, yellow waters, humanoids even. - a wild sky dream.

It was surreal.

what is surreal? surrealism? - simultaneous dream-memory of everything.

I screamed and shouted for cold water, I was in the inner most part of the furthest province. I threw the plastic glass of water to my grand father. I demanded for cold water or even Ice. He has to go through all the barrios to the city. He then came back with a big block of ice and mineral water. He came back after 4 hours. Yes, we were that far from the city.

My mom decided to banish me to the province, cause I have been such a pain in the a** at home.

My grandpa wasn't allowed to smoke, he has this lung problem. I was roaming around the yard when I saw a pack of cigarettes on a branch of a tree. Clever. My grandpa hid it there so no one could see, but I was too sneaky to not notice.

Then the next thing I knew was that I was smoking that pack of cigarette with my granny. Conversations about life and on what a brat I am. He then remembered being the same when he was a child. He didn't puff cigarettes but smoking pipes with the Spanish soldiers. My grandpa is Spanish. He was also a problem to the family so he was sent to the provinces.

You will share this someday, with the world. You will be great, unlike me.

But he was my inspiration. He wrote things I had never thought of. But he left the earth with an unlikely mark; of not wanting to live but leaving the world with a mystery of how he lived.

I have completed my day, I covered my short body with my blanket, puffed my head on to the pillow, turned off the lights and opened my mind to new dreams to write about.