<?xml version="1.0" encoding="UTF-8"?>
<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0" xmlns:feedburner="http://rssnamespace.org/feedburner/ext/1.0" gd:etag="W/&quot;DkYNSH07fyp7ImA9WhRVGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170</id><updated>2012-01-18T07:49:59.307+08:00</updated><category term="childhood" /><category term="reading" /><category term="education" /><category term="parenthood" /><category term="podcast" /><category term="trainers" /><category term="songs" /><category term="birthday" /><category term="lessons" /><category term="funny" /><category term="movies" /><category term="rage" /><category term="lists" /><category term="culture" /><category term="tattoo" /><category term="crushes" /><category term="games" /><category term="music" /><category term="serial killers" /><category term="confessions" /><category term="journey" /><category term="life" /><category term="love and relationships" /><category term="sex" /><category term="dreams" /><category term="memories" /><category term="crime" /><category term="tears" /><category term="celebrity" /><category term="family" /><category term="short stories" /><category term="internet" /><category term="poetry" /><category term="singlehood" /><category term="men" /><category term="dating" /><category term="beauty" /><category term="tv shows" /><category term="Filipinos" /><category term="fiction" /><category term="GCMA" /><category term="work" /><category term="teaching" /><category term="short films" /><category term="friends" /><title>Love Spasms</title><subtitle type="html" /><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>162</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/apolcano" /><feedburner:info uri="apolcano" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="license" type="text/html" href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/" /><feedburner:emailServiceId>apolcano</feedburner:emailServiceId><feedburner:feedburnerHostname>http://feedburner.google.com</feedburner:feedburnerHostname><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0MCSXg9fyp7ImA9WhdaGUk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-1645493276044552697</id><published>2011-10-28T09:23:00.002+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-30T12:37:48.667+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-30T12:37:48.667+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Confessions Part 14: Broken</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/67205781/92b5485e" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;Broken by Seether ft. Amy Lee ||&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7FgRAruA5I4/Tqijp0i5lvI/AAAAAAAACNU/Q9ioNyJWOj0/s1600/88859107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" id=":current_picnik_image" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dvjrKK6K9L8/Tqij21O4ydI/AAAAAAAACNg/GOBv31iJiWo/s1600/17015883276_XXBb7.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: white; color: #454545;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;7:25 AM, along Sen. Gil Puyat Avenue.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;The pearl-white sedan in front mine slowly halted. I lethargically hit the brakes. I sighed at the thought of having to wait for the red light to turn green. I had a stressful day at work and I couldn't wait to get home.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;The busy scene overwhelmed my tired senses. I was a pallid figure amidst the city's vibrant backdrop and I couldn't help but feel detached from reality.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align="center" class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;"The worst is over now&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;and we can breathe again".&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;Amy Lee's ethereal voice resonated inside the car. As I was listening to the song, my heart skipped a beat and I felt blood rushing to my head. For a nanosecond, the vivid surroundings became hazy and the frenzied motion of people slowed down. Pictures of the bittersweet past played rapidly in my head and a subtle battle between grief and fear slowly groped my soul.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
The unexpected surge of emotions uprooted me from the ground. I gave in and just let the tears flow.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't remember the last time I allowed myself to be this vulnerable.  For the longest time, I have been a roulette&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;ball masked with callousness, gliding freely on fate's eternal wheel.&lt;/span&gt;&amp;nbsp;But not today. Today, I couldn't ignore the burning swirl of crimson and ebony inside, ready to explode anytime.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;Very soon, you and I will break loose from the chains that bind us. &lt;/span&gt;I know this isn't the way it's supposed to end. Like most people, I was also led to believe that fairy tales and Western love stories could happen in real life. For years, I was in search of that one person who will never let go of my hand as I tread life's path. I thought you were that person.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;It's no one's fault though. We did everything to save what we had. It's just that we started our journey with a broken compass in hand and we got lost along the way.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;Yes, I am broken because I failed at the single most important relationship in my life.&amp;nbsp;But after everything we've been through, I'm glad that we still managed to punctuate our story with a happy ending. It may not have worked out the way it should have, but what we have right now is way beyond perfect.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;You are and you will always be my unconventional hero. Thank you for being my source of strength whenever I become weak. Thank you for being my inspiration whenever I lose hope. Thank you for never leaving my side whenever I falter. And I've faltered many, many times... but you have never given up on me.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;Even if you have your own life now, I want you to know that I'm always right behind you. I will always love you no matter what. It’s not romantic or sentimental. It’s not platonic either. It’s love that is seasoned by time, love that has withstood fate’s wrath, and love that will last until the chill of winter comes. It’s the kind of love that gives without expecting, that loves without asking to be loved. It’s not really unconditional. It’s just real.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="yiv1908914806MsoNormal" style="display: block; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 6pt; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;I'm sorry I messed up. If fate allows our paths to cross in the next life, I'll probably still choose to be with you.&amp;nbsp;Maybe then we'll get it right.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-1645493276044552697?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/1645493276044552697/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/10/confessions-part-14-broken.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/1645493276044552697?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/1645493276044552697?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/KfRs9MCe1nI/confessions-part-14-broken.html" title="Confessions Part 14: Broken" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dvjrKK6K9L8/Tqij21O4ydI/AAAAAAAACNg/GOBv31iJiWo/s72-c/17015883276_XXBb7.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/10/confessions-part-14-broken.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYGQHc4cCp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-599331299273684391</id><published>2011-07-23T23:29:00.013+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:22:01.938+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:22:01.938+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="singlehood" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Confessions Part 13: Are You Strong Enough?</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed "="" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/2701957/f50c23ba" width="420"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Strong Enough by Sheryl Crow&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AnJoHolygAw/Tir8JPKryFI/AAAAAAAACHw/DObLneSqc0U/s1600/01032008_OldPhoto_17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AnJoHolygAw/Tir8JPKryFI/AAAAAAAACHw/DObLneSqc0U/s320/01032008_OldPhoto_17.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You can do this", I mumbled. I was psyching myself up while giving myself a mental walk-through. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I scrolled to the bottom of the page and stared at the "save changes" button for several minutes. I felt a tremendous wave of fear. My heart began pounding, my chest hurt, and I was having difficulty breathing. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Time to face your fears, Apol", I said in a pseudo-schizo moment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I took a deep breath. My hands were shaking as I hit the save changes button.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;blockquote style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;Apol Suyo - Cano is now "in a relationship"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I didn't change my relationship status on Facebook for the world to know. I did it for myself. It was my first step towards change. Something I think I need at this point in my life. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I already expected how people would react to the status change. Those who really knew me, couldn't believe it. I'm probably the last person they expect to be in a committed relationship. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And they're right. I don't want to be anyone's girlfriend. And it's not because I'm jaded. I'm really not. Being in a committed relationship is just something that I have learned to live without. Of course, I miss being with someone. Those were fun times and I have so many good memories with my exes. But I've fully embraced the single lifestyle and I think it's perfect for someone like me. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There are so many reasons why I'd rather be single than be someone's girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Being someone's girlfriend means having to abide by unwritten relationship mandates. When you're single, you have the freedom to choose and the opportunity to be  spontaneous. You do things because you want to, not because you "have" to. You refrain from doing things because you've chosen not to, not because somebody is keeping you on a leash.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Being someone's girlfriend means making your world smaller. When you're single, you can go out and date as much as your heart desires.  You can flirt with anyone who catches your eye without feeling guilty afterwards. You can be intimate with others without having to lie about it and, therefore, sin less.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Being someone's girlfriend means added obligations and responsibilities. You are obliged to make time, to communicate constantly, and to be your partner's best friend, psychiatrist, counselor, and lover. When you're single, you don't have to worry about giving a blow-by-blow account of where you are, who you're with, and what you're doing. You don't have the burden of being another person's source of strength, inspiration, and happiness. The only person you are obligated to is yourself.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Being someone's girlfriend means heightened  expectations. You are expected to love your partner the same way he loves you. You are expected to understand, to accept, and to forgive. When you're single, there are no expectations. No expectations, no disappointments.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Being someone's girlfriend means less time for everyone and everything else.When you're single you get to spend a lot of time with your family and friends. You can be with them whenever you want and no one will complain. You can focus on your career without being sidetracked. No one will kick up a fuss when you have to work on weekends or when you have to work overtime.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Being someone's girlfriend means less time for yourself. When you're single, you can have all the alone time that you need. You can go where you want to go, when you want to go there.  You can spend all day doing things you want to do.  You can spend endless hours glued to the internet or watch television with the remote all to yourself.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;Being someone's girlfriend means falling in love. When you fall in love, sometimes you end up being hurt. and sometimes, you lose yourself in the process. When you're single, you don't have to worry about dumping anybody or getting dumped. You don't have to worry about finding yourself after a serious heartbreak.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
Maybe you are strong enough.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But you see, I am not. I'm sorry. I just can't do this.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-599331299273684391?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/599331299273684391/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/07/confessions-part-13-are-you-strong.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/599331299273684391?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/599331299273684391?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/2HuxdqhcP7g/confessions-part-13-are-you-strong.html" title="Confessions Part 13: Are You Strong Enough?" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-AnJoHolygAw/Tir8JPKryFI/AAAAAAAACHw/DObLneSqc0U/s72-c/01032008_OldPhoto_17.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/07/confessions-part-13-are-you-strong.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYHR3k5eyp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-2364526832972606987</id><published>2011-07-13T10:51:00.017+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:22:16.723+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:22:16.723+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="trainers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="GCMA" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="memories" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="friends" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lists" /><title>D's Top 10 (an ode to my colleague, brother, and friend)</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/262824060/e44871e4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Gone to Soon by Michael Jackson&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sGVHW5xJDHs/TiIbT0pnvfI/AAAAAAAACG0/iJtyMTtwDbI/s1600/dee.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sGVHW5xJDHs/TiIbT0pnvfI/AAAAAAAACG0/iJtyMTtwDbI/s320/dee.jpeg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My first GCMA post was a big hit. It was a list of&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/top-ten-gcma-expressions.html"&gt;GCMA's most popular expressions&lt;/a&gt;. In a Facebook thread, D said he'll be watching out for my next GCMA post. So in memory of Papa D, I decided to come up with his own top 10 list.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-fTveaOKs5RA/ThzW2Noz9vI/AAAAAAAACC0/N4Dz0tV0Poo/s1600/screen+shot.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="128" id=":current_picnik_image" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bnnACNlpFnQ/Th--KiVkgII/AAAAAAAACGM/SC5oy0gZYqE/s1600/15250406857_5F2XT.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These are the things I will always remember about D:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;10. &amp;nbsp;The&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;Face Contortionist&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;
He would always gnarl, twist, warp, wrench, and distort his face. Look at his pictures.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L9KvywfI2Mw/ThziC7yDHFI/AAAAAAAACDg/hvfDUjoPCCA/s1600/75336_104037472997723_100001744111047_28866_6207969_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-L9KvywfI2Mw/ThziC7yDHFI/AAAAAAAACDg/hvfDUjoPCCA/s320/75336_104037472997723_100001744111047_28866_6207969_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;9. The Neat Freak&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
For a straight guy, D was surprisingly neat and organized. He wanted everything in place and in order all the time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e5gt7qmaGlk/Thzh9xeBF-I/AAAAAAAACDc/UDhB-puyI_4/s1600/247488_2121661960582_1216801284_2561667_7912745_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-e5gt7qmaGlk/Thzh9xeBF-I/AAAAAAAACDc/UDhB-puyI_4/s320/247488_2121661960582_1216801284_2561667_7912745_n.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;8. D the Explorer&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I think D is short for Dora. He had everything inside his magical backpack: a sewing kit, pins, a tube of adhesive glue, utensils, a nail cutter, a Swiss knife, a pack of wet wipes, etc. I wonder if he had a map too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I0Jwym8NiVw/ThzlBpKjx_I/AAAAAAAACDk/IFXn_oRoz28/s1600/6050_1090863631795_1232635012_233432_3358344_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I0Jwym8NiVw/ThzlBpKjx_I/AAAAAAAACDk/IFXn_oRoz28/s320/6050_1090863631795_1232635012_233432_3358344_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;7.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;Touchstone&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Touchstone was "conceived" because of D. Enough said.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lp6fO0Gk3-I/ThzhVFykCxI/AAAAAAAACDU/mFkNa9k-oiU/s1600/216581_1029139001941_1029310151_30090594_2141_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Lp6fO0Gk3-I/ThzhVFykCxI/AAAAAAAACDU/mFkNa9k-oiU/s320/216581_1029139001941_1029310151_30090594_2141_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;6.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;b&gt;Sweet, Sweet D&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"&gt;
He was an affectionate person and he never hesitated to express what he felt. Out of the blue, he would say "I miss you", and it was always heartfelt. He never failed to make us smile with a compliment or two. He always had something good to say about everybody and I'm sure that is something we will all miss.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jQZSrI9C85k/Thzg9xR1ORI/AAAAAAAACDQ/XbbQ3xxzy_g/s1600/40346_1514944946270_1013834075_1468663_5100065_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="199" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jQZSrI9C85k/Thzg9xR1ORI/AAAAAAAACDQ/XbbQ3xxzy_g/s320/40346_1514944946270_1013834075_1468663_5100065_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;5. Two things that will make you happy&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
D did not just equip his trainees with the skills needed to survive life on the operations&amp;nbsp;floor, he also prepared them for the real world.&amp;nbsp;His trainees were fortunate to have learned some of life's most important lessons from him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And by the way, those two things (according to D) are security and consistency.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBDjLdxpGrw/Thzg4KnD_BI/AAAAAAAACDM/SkRSuJHo86I/s1600/40346_1514944826267_1013834075_1468660_19568_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vBDjLdxpGrw/Thzg4KnD_BI/AAAAAAAACDM/SkRSuJHo86I/s320/40346_1514944826267_1013834075_1468660_19568_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;4. Respect is earned, never mandated&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
This was D's favorite adage. He taught our team many things about respect.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8D2Fb70fc0c/ThzgXWQD0rI/AAAAAAAACDI/NbWMHj78pFg/s1600/SSC_0512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8D2Fb70fc0c/ThzgXWQD0rI/AAAAAAAACDI/NbWMHj78pFg/s320/SSC_0512.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;3. Chinigger!&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Chinigger. Chinitong negro. Yup, that's Derick alright! Kidding aside, D was very proud to be Pinoy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;" My tattoos are a strong declaration of my Pinoy Pride. I am brown and I am proud of it!"&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
If you want to know the story behind his body art, you can read this blog&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://bigwetdream.wordpress.com/2008/04/08/anak-ama-guro/"&gt;post&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #b0b0b0;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--GHknpA9pgI/ThzgAAUcjdI/AAAAAAAACDE/qhNUcz-KIzE/s1600/DSC00301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--GHknpA9pgI/ThzgAAUcjdI/AAAAAAAACDE/qhNUcz-KIzE/s320/DSC00301.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;2. D the Baptist&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Sometimes, we christen trainees and give them playful names in GCMA.&amp;nbsp;If your trainer called you Magdalena, Choleng, Sibulburo, or Mamerta, you have D to blame.&amp;nbsp;He came up with all those catchy pet names.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bMTwUi1FLv8/Thzfvmg0KpI/AAAAAAAACDA/Z4cC5OJu72I/s1600/DSC00224.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-bMTwUi1FLv8/Thzfvmg0KpI/AAAAAAAACDA/Z4cC5OJu72I/s320/DSC00224.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;1. The Ultimate Nanette&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
For those who do not know, this seemingly immortal GCMA expression came from Dee. Yes, he "nanetted" the word "nanette". &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eXq5uI0Ln7w/ThzfPvJVKPI/AAAAAAAACC4/J5NSSeG39nk/s1600/SSC_0514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-eXq5uI0Ln7w/ThzfPvJVKPI/AAAAAAAACC4/J5NSSeG39nk/s320/SSC_0514.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I told you D, I am your number 1 fan. Always was, always will be.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-2364526832972606987?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/2364526832972606987/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/07/dees-top-10.html#comment-form" title="18 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/2364526832972606987?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/2364526832972606987?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/q_Sy9BRO8IA/dees-top-10.html" title="D's Top 10 (an ode to my colleague, brother, and friend)" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sGVHW5xJDHs/TiIbT0pnvfI/AAAAAAAACG0/iJtyMTtwDbI/s72-c/dee.jpeg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>18</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/07/dees-top-10.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk8CQn09cSp7ImA9WhdSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-4553340858151302365</id><published>2011-07-06T05:45:00.008+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-24T16:07:43.369+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-24T16:07:43.369+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tv shows" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="crushes" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="music" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="celebrity" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="men" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lists" /><title>Cameron Mitchell: The Glee Project Nerd</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HNWzolwrJyU/ThNVEgWG4iI/AAAAAAAAB_A/E_uhi72Tnxw/s1600/cameron+hot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HNWzolwrJyU/ThNVEgWG4iI/AAAAAAAAB_A/E_uhi72Tnxw/s1600/cameron+hot.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Damn.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
If all nerds were like &lt;a href="http://thegleeproject.oxygen.com/meet-the-cast-gleeproj/cameron#fbid=CAqoTRXQ0vb"&gt;Cameron Mitchell&lt;/a&gt;, I would gladly drop my bad boy fetish and start looking for a geek who could rock my world with nothing but wits and a cool sense of individuality.&amp;nbsp;After all, smart is the new sexy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
5 things I love about Cameron Mitchell:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;ul style="font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;He has an incredible voice&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;div style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;When I heard him sing his part for the group's first homework assignment,&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1iZwUpxdVb4"&gt; Signed Sealed Delivered&lt;/a&gt;, I immediately fell in love with his voice. He has a smooth, mesmerizing voice and his style has a bluesy slash soft rock feel to it. Cameron is&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Mayer"&gt;John Mayer&lt;/a&gt; meets &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dave_Matthews"&gt;Dave Matthews.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://thegleeproject.oxygen.com/meet-the-cast-gleeproj/cameron#fbid=CAqoTRXQ0vb" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="180" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-F-XwgAn31oE/ThNUXKgGwEI/AAAAAAAAB-4/LPlaORwp0EM/s400/cameron+bio.png" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ul style="font-weight: bold; text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"&gt;He's a natural artist&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
The dude sings, plays the guitar, and writes his own songs. When he auditioned for the &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Glee_Project"&gt;Glee Project&lt;/a&gt;, he sang his original song,&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8OkNq4BYxbs"&gt; &lt;i&gt;Love Can Wait.&lt;/i&gt; &lt;/a&gt;Glee's casting director, &lt;a href="http://www.poptower.com/robert-ulrich-glee-project.htm"&gt;Robert Ulrich&lt;/a&gt;, said "&lt;i&gt;Cameron is unique and there is no one like him on Glee. He is a true talent".&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://3.gvt0.com/vi/aRGkrtB_Jls/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/aRGkrtB_Jls&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;



    &lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;



    &lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/aRGkrtB_Jls&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;He embraces his uniqueness&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
He's not afraid to show the world who he is and he doesn't put on a show to please everyone. In an interview, he said that he's the biggest nerd and that he wants to be a nerd for the rest of his life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmtyvzojqJ1qag3pto1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="191" src="http://27.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmtyvzojqJ1qag3pto1_500.gif" width="400" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;object class="BLOGGER-youtube-video" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0" data-thumbnail-src="http://2.gvt0.com/vi/1F5qtVK9NUI/0.jpg" height="266" width="320"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/1F5qtVK9NUI&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" /&gt;



    &lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF" /&gt;



    &lt;embed width="320" height="266"  src="http://www.youtube.com/v/1F5qtVK9NUI&amp;fs=1&amp;source=uds" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;He's freakishly confident&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
He's comfortable with who he is and he's not afraid to look like a fool. When they were learning the choreography for the music video, &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jm135J-7Zmo"&gt;We're Not Gonna Take It&lt;/a&gt;, he was prancing around, doing crazy dance moves.&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Zach_Woodlee"&gt;Zach Woodlee,&lt;/a&gt; Glee's Choreographer, said&amp;nbsp;&lt;i&gt;"You look extremely cool, which is what's crazy".&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/23000000/Cameron-s-only-dance-move-the-glee-project-23083753-417-432.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://images4.fanpop.com/image/photos/23000000/Cameron-s-only-dance-move-the-glee-project-23083753-417-432.gif" width="308" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;He's hot&amp;nbsp;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
He's really adorable in an awkward, nerdy chic way and&amp;nbsp;underneath those big, black-rimmed glasses are pretty, soulful eyes.&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ryan_Murphy_(writer)"&gt; Ryan Murphy&lt;/a&gt;, Glee's creator, said "&lt;i&gt;You look like a &lt;a href="http://www.paulsmith.co.uk/shop/home/"&gt;Paul Smith &lt;/a&gt;model".&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmxpr00Jpl1qag3pto1_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="153" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_lmxpr00Jpl1qag3pto1_500.gif" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-py69bgnmtuw/ThNpuK1kW-I/AAAAAAAAB_I/vkBA6CW_JBM/s1600/the-glee-project-cameron-photos-candids-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" id=":current_picnik_image" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-j3IsSfX-X18/ThOCBkSxUuI/AAAAAAAAB_s/sIIqJomdYrk/s320/15059427929_g7SRt.jpg" width="243" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Fun fact: Cameron is &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demi_Lovato"&gt;Demi Lovato'&lt;/a&gt;s first boyfriend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HYoEr8d4h6s/ThN7DTdRaYI/AAAAAAAAB_Q/H2lboihib_c/s1600/demilovato-tweet-300x128.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="136" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HYoEr8d4h6s/ThN7DTdRaYI/AAAAAAAAB_Q/H2lboihib_c/s320/demilovato-tweet-300x128.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
I hope he wins so I can watch him on &lt;a href="http://www.spoilersguide.com/glee/glee-season-3/"&gt;Season 3&lt;/a&gt; of Glee!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-weight: bold; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://static.tumblr.com/fauv7vo/xGMlmuy7e/screen_shot_2011-06-07_at_11.25.44_pm.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="292" src="http://static.tumblr.com/fauv7vo/xGMlmuy7e/screen_shot_2011-06-07_at_11.25.44_pm.png" width="640" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-4553340858151302365?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/4553340858151302365/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/07/cameron-mitchell-glee-project-nerd.html#comment-form" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/4553340858151302365?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/4553340858151302365?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/4UN4oFrR31U/cameron-mitchell-glee-project-nerd.html" title="Cameron Mitchell: The Glee Project Nerd" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HNWzolwrJyU/ThNVEgWG4iI/AAAAAAAAB_A/E_uhi72Tnxw/s72-c/cameron+hot.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>10</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/07/cameron-mitchell-glee-project-nerd.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cFRXk7fSp7ImA9WhdSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-3152348790442550137</id><published>2011-06-26T22:45:00.010+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-24T16:10:14.705+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-24T16:10:14.705+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="sex" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="podcast" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="celebrity" /><title>Becky Nights</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZ9vAda8azs/Tgc0qDz1OvI/AAAAAAAAB9Q/pTKL4FUrBB0/s1600/209710_192471340794286_192470680794352_446706_7949587_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZ9vAda8azs/Tgc0qDz1OvI/AAAAAAAAB9Q/pTKL4FUrBB0/s320/209710_192471340794286_192470680794352_446706_7949587_o.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I heart&lt;a href="http://itunes.apple.com/ph/podcast/becky-nights/id426959788"&gt; Becky Nights&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For those of you who don't know what I'm talking about, just visit the iTunes Store, type Becky Nights into the search box, enter and voila!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I've always been an honorary member of the fabulous gay community so&amp;nbsp;I really enjoy listening to this humorous slash entertaining slash "educational"&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Podcast"&gt; podcast&lt;/a&gt;. It is hosted by&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://twitter.com/#!/jakegalvez"&gt;Jake Galvez&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://twitter.com/#!/mattgozun"&gt;Matt Gozun&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://twitter.com/#!/buernrodriguez"&gt;Buern Rodriguez&lt;/a&gt;, all of whom&amp;nbsp;hail from the fashion and beauty world.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I usually listen to their show on my way home from work. The hilarious exchanges and the amusing battle of wit make me forget about the heavy traffic jam along the streets of Makati and Pasig. &lt;br /&gt;
The trio's gabfest starts with a brief overview of the latest news. They then proceed to the main topic, which revolves around sex, relationships, and boys. Towards the end, they interview guests and take calls from listeners, most of whom are not prepared to answer their infamous question: &lt;i&gt;how big is your *toot*?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Go and listen to all their episodes! I'm sure you'll love the awesome threesome and their priceless show made for all the beckies and beckies at heart, like me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
* Follow them on &lt;a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Becky-Nights/192470680794352"&gt;Facebook&lt;/a&gt; and on&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://twitter.com/#!/beckynights"&gt;Twitter.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-3152348790442550137?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/3152348790442550137/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/becky-nights.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/3152348790442550137?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/3152348790442550137?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/ICN4SpRQ2T4/becky-nights.html" title="Becky Nights" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-uZ9vAda8azs/Tgc0qDz1OvI/AAAAAAAAB9Q/pTKL4FUrBB0/s72-c/209710_192471340794286_192470680794352_446706_7949587_o.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/becky-nights.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4ASHw8cSp7ImA9WhdSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-7150315208827742058</id><published>2011-06-26T11:06:00.008+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-24T16:09:09.279+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-24T16:09:09.279+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="trainers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="GCMA" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="funny" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lists" /><title>Top Ten GCMA Expressions</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NsIxuXSyO3U/TgaeqZBoIEI/AAAAAAAAB8c/UHJmxONoi4g/s1600/DSC00301.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NsIxuXSyO3U/TgaeqZBoIEI/AAAAAAAAB8c/UHJmxONoi4g/s320/DSC00301.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-giJATR5tiK8/TgaW85crAyI/AAAAAAAAB7k/DFz0P6v5DQk/s320/DSC00394.JPG" width="258" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
our goal as trainers is to equip our trainees with the skills that they need in order to excel in the “real world”. we want them to leave the doors of GCMA with a pocketful of knowledge and, of course, a handful of memories. I’m sure that something they bring along with them are the expressions they have learned from their trainers. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
here are some of the most unforgettable expressions (or whatever you want to call them) we have had in the last four years: &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;10. hello, mahal&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DGQf_6ayIG0/TgaYUWJU4BI/AAAAAAAAB7o/SRHXmwCO9Is/s1600/parang+totoo+lang.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DGQf_6ayIG0/TgaYUWJU4BI/AAAAAAAAB7o/SRHXmwCO9Is/s320/parang+totoo+lang.JPG" width="317" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gJead9opnk8/TgafIFx6oYI/AAAAAAAAB8g/82rpBDVatIU/s1600/41062_1442022363767_1029310151_30985198_8056421_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gJead9opnk8/TgafIFx6oYI/AAAAAAAAB8g/82rpBDVatIU/s320/41062_1442022363767_1029310151_30985198_8056421_n.jpg" width="234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
IN GENERAL, “HELLO, MAHAL” IS a simple GREETING. IT IS USUALLY FOLLOWED BY A BRIEF UPDATE on recent happenings and a humorous way of defining terms. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;hello, mahal! kakatapos ko lang mag-gym. yung gym, yung yung buhat-buhat tsaka takbo-takbo para pumayat. nakaka-orange juice pala.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
“HELLO, MAHAL” HAS A COLORFUL BACK STORY. right, russ?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;9. it’s you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W0sC55Qilpg/TgacbqtrZzI/AAAAAAAAB8U/b4V8W3ZbzGQ/s1600/DSC00212.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-W0sC55Qilpg/TgacbqtrZzI/AAAAAAAAB8U/b4V8W3ZbzGQ/s320/DSC00212.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8q046Ze1ACw/TgafRZHfeMI/AAAAAAAAB8k/31pAwFUxRXs/s1600/36284_10150134825933362_609678361_7931402_2946520_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8q046Ze1ACw/TgafRZHfeMI/AAAAAAAAB8k/31pAwFUxRXs/s320/36284_10150134825933362_609678361_7931402_2946520_n.jpg" width="213" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
IT’S YOU IS A TRANSLITERATION of “IKAW NA” which originated from the filipino expression, “sige, ikaw na talaga!”. it is used to say that one is an epitome but in an ironic manner. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;8. monggy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G3HVxKSd4dc/TgacqkqGxWI/AAAAAAAAB8Y/_1vAzDzfUVA/s1600/DSC_0196.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-G3HVxKSd4dc/TgacqkqGxWI/AAAAAAAAB8Y/_1vAzDzfUVA/s320/DSC_0196.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xTTsLw9WDzA/TgafYiu1GQI/AAAAAAAAB8o/WHXdrjQyWag/s1600/11463_1198590958134_1029310151_30472906_837397_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xTTsLw9WDzA/TgafYiu1GQI/AAAAAAAAB8o/WHXdrjQyWag/s320/11463_1198590958134_1029310151_30472906_837397_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
MONGGY REFERS TO A PERSON WHO IS UNIQUE AND SPECIAL. THE PLURAL FORM IS MONGGIES, WHICH USUALLY REFERS TO AN ENTIRE CLASS. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
trivia: THE VERY FIRSt BOY MONGGY IN GCMA WAS FROM A CLASS RUSS AND I HANDLED. you know who you are. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;7. YEEEEEEES&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Xfo8oWXCyc/TgaaZ6yzuKI/AAAAAAAAB78/BJP5IXOh0c8/s1600/IMG_1948.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-1Xfo8oWXCyc/TgaaZ6yzuKI/AAAAAAAAB78/BJP5IXOh0c8/s320/IMG_1948.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jFRuMhpaJUA/TgafhFDf_4I/AAAAAAAAB8s/_LXzQMS8d-Y/s1600/40346_1514944826267_1013834075_1468660_19568_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-jFRuMhpaJUA/TgafhFDf_4I/AAAAAAAAB8s/_LXzQMS8d-Y/s320/40346_1514944826267_1013834075_1468660_19568_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
YEEEEEEES IS A POSITIVE REACTION TO SOMETHING THAT IS GENERALLY GOOD. it is uttered in a teasing manner.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;6. mamsir&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yh8RmHPUPRM/Tgaa3QRHSeI/AAAAAAAAB8A/DFKVmdqXtTQ/s1600/DSC00005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yh8RmHPUPRM/Tgaa3QRHSeI/AAAAAAAAB8A/DFKVmdqXtTQ/s320/DSC00005.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xJ2RW3qf_kE/TgagAcbtTkI/AAAAAAAAB80/ZiBukZH6BI0/s1600/DSC_0730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xJ2RW3qf_kE/TgagAcbtTkI/AAAAAAAAB80/ZiBukZH6BI0/s320/DSC_0730.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
mamsir refers to a person whose preference is unidentified. it also refers to gays and lesbians. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
mamsir is also used BY TRAINERS to call ON trainees whose names ARE YET TO BE remembered. &amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
a more recent version is the expression “mamsirglider” which is a line used by promodizers who sell airplanes. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;5. nyes&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y6cXZEZqYSA/TgabMTDKitI/AAAAAAAAB8E/VHwHGu9tHIQ/s1600/DSC00559.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-y6cXZEZqYSA/TgabMTDKitI/AAAAAAAAB8E/VHwHGu9tHIQ/s320/DSC00559.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V6NvrajLoLs/TgagVCbv1tI/AAAAAAAAB84/JCuZeoh5F68/s1600/DSC01028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V6NvrajLoLs/TgagVCbv1tI/AAAAAAAAB84/JCuZeoh5F68/s320/DSC01028.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
nyes is a combination of the words no and yes. people USE THIS WHEN THEIR ANSWER IS IN BETWEEN NO AND YES, like WHEN THEY ARE UNSURE OF SOMETHING. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;trainer: is everything clear?&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;trainees: nyes!&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;4. whatabout&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ms_pPrEO1og/TgagqNImBfI/AAAAAAAAB9A/PyuGW__EsDE/s1600/163836_10150113259724680_538124679_7769421_8170290_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ms_pPrEO1og/TgagqNImBfI/AAAAAAAAB9A/PyuGW__EsDE/s320/163836_10150113259724680_538124679_7769421_8170290_n.jpg" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-soM9PBFSywo/TgagupjI1vI/AAAAAAAAB9E/8vWbrq_Y2aA/s1600/63635_10150134826533362_609678361_7931420_8099265_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-soM9PBFSywo/TgagupjI1vI/AAAAAAAAB9E/8vWbrq_Y2aA/s320/63635_10150134826533362_609678361_7931420_8099265_n.jpg" width="213" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
IN GENERAL, WHATABOUT IT IS A HUMOROUS SLASH MILDY VIOLENT REACTION TO things trainees do. TRAINERS HAVE THEIR OWN VERSIONS OF SAYING “WHATABOUT”.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
IT THEN EVOLVED INTO “WHATABOUT YOU” AND “WHATABOUT IT”. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;3. carry&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J_iXcMipx4I/TgabwJaXKTI/AAAAAAAAB8M/5JkPnf8q8ew/s1600/18339_297676865508_686710508_3664133_7252299_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-J_iXcMipx4I/TgabwJaXKTI/AAAAAAAAB8M/5JkPnf8q8ew/s320/18339_297676865508_686710508_3664133_7252299_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CSbVJ4HfeaI/TgahGPR_UUI/AAAAAAAAB9I/uT5kqMKQ9KY/s1600/154971_10150134824558362_609678361_7931356_1144186_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="213" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-CSbVJ4HfeaI/TgahGPR_UUI/AAAAAAAAB9I/uT5kqMKQ9KY/s320/154971_10150134824558362_609678361_7931356_1144186_n.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
carry means okay, alright, sure, or yes. it’s an expression we borrowed from the fabulous gay community. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
normally, when trainers check for understanding with the word“carry”, trainees respond with “carry” as well. however, this evolved into the infamous carry – bongga duo, wherein the response to carry became bongga. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;2. nanette&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oWKZMZy3DNA/TgahWOSROsI/AAAAAAAAB9M/xPO8UNzL4hk/s1600/41202_1429215043592_1029310151_30960140_2880539_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oWKZMZy3DNA/TgahWOSROsI/AAAAAAAAB9M/xPO8UNzL4hk/s1600/41202_1429215043592_1029310151_30960140_2880539_n.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cl1RV7ZqXk/TgacJs4Ot6I/AAAAAAAAB8Q/j-3JlXUPaes/s1600/SSC_0512.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8cl1RV7ZqXk/TgacJs4Ot6I/AAAAAAAAB8Q/j-3JlXUPaes/s320/SSC_0512.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
nanette refers to a person who makes things up. this term came from the name of the well-known filipina actor-comedian, Nanette inventor. the connection can be found in the last name, “inventor”, which has the word “invent”. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
nanette is now being used as a verb, as in “he nanetted the answer”. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;b&gt;1. coffee&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ov4VA1jCJyA/TgagiCvxpQI/AAAAAAAAB88/03iDIE39v5k/s1600/SSC_1325.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ov4VA1jCJyA/TgagiCvxpQI/AAAAAAAAB88/03iDIE39v5k/s320/SSC_1325.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oclfDwUDEHM/TgaZKMyhb_I/AAAAAAAAB7s/uN6pKordzk8/s1600/DSC00213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-oclfDwUDEHM/TgaZKMyhb_I/AAAAAAAAB7s/uN6pKordzk8/s320/DSC00213.JPG" width="240" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
this is of course the English translation of the Tagalog word, “kape”, which originated from the expression “magkape ka para kabahan ka”. because of the English only policy in gcmA, we were forced to say “coffee” instead of “kape”.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“coffee” is A TRAINER’S REACTION TO A trainee's unforgivable ERROR. IT IS A HUMOROUS WAY OF REACTING TO A BIG BOOBOO. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
this word can also be used as a verb, as in the sentence, “I will coffee you”. trainers say this to threaten their trainees in a joking manner. “coffee” eventually evolved into “coffin” and “I will coffin you”. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
a lesser known version is the coffin-casket tandem.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
NOTE: Forgive me for the pictures. I love you guys!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-7150315208827742058?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/7150315208827742058/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/top-ten-gcma-expressions.html#comment-form" title="11 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7150315208827742058?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7150315208827742058?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/4TXhJ65guyo/top-ten-gcma-expressions.html" title="Top Ten GCMA Expressions" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NsIxuXSyO3U/TgaeqZBoIEI/AAAAAAAAB8c/UHJmxONoi4g/s72-c/DSC00301.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>11</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/top-ten-gcma-expressions.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4NRn4yfip7ImA9WhdSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-6837525261187441330</id><published>2011-06-20T16:47:00.010+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-24T16:09:57.096+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-24T16:09:57.096+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="education" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="parenthood" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="teaching" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="reading" /><title>help your children develop lifetime reading habits</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://sabigames.com/wp-content/gallery/blog/boredboyreading.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://sabigames.com/wp-content/gallery/blog/boredboyreading.jpg" width="305" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;the power of reading&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
I’m sure we all recognize the importance of reading and its power to stir the imagination, to teach heresy, to provoke thought, and even to move people in action. over the centuries, we have proven the power of print over our minds. because of this, we coerce children into reading certain prescribed reading materials. But we have to remember that every individual has unique, constantly changing needs and interests, so reading guidance should be a matter of individual prescription. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;reading motivation&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
The importance of motivation in reading is undeniably great. The ancient adage about leading a horse to water is true in reading. Children must acquire a genuine love for reading if they are to develop lifetime reading habits. But first we must make sure that the water is there.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;make your home a print-rich environment&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
the initial step that we should take is to provide access to books and other reading materials. the logic behind this is fairly simple: when books are readily available, when the print environment is rich, the more reading is done. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
in order to create a healthy reading environment, we should stock our homes with a good supply of reading materials. It does not matter if they’re owned or borrowed, new or used. What’s important is that reading materials are a natural part of our homes and our children’s lives. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;build your own home library&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
One good idea is to set up a home library. A home library does not have to be elaborate or expensive to provide rich reading experiences. Fancy books are not necessarily the best way to capture children’s fancy. But a good family library does involve time and space – time to find materials that will pique the interest of our children, and space to keep and enjoy them. It is also effective if the home library has posters, bulletin boards, and displays related to children’s literature . Attention-getting displays can alleviate our children’s interest in visiting the library corner at home and eventually read the books on display. In developing a home library, it is imperative to have our children’s help, so they will feel a sense of fulfillment in their involvement in building it. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;give your children their own reading corner&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Another way to stimulate children’s pride in their books is to provide a bookshelf for their own personal library. By encouraging our children to set aside their personal favorites, they will be able to express their affection and fondness for books. As an end result, books become part of them. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Although the relationship between the richness of the print environment and reading development is always nearly positive, the strength of the relationship is often modest. this is because there is a missing link. A rich print environment will only result in more reading development if more reading is done. Providing access to books is thus a necessary, but not a sufficient, condition for encouraging reading. Other factors act to make reading more appealing and desirable to children. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;fine-tune the physical environment&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
we also have to be aware that the physical characteristics of the reading environment are vital. a poor physical setting at home can make reading far more difficult than it has to be. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
First of all, it is critical that the lighting is adequate. our children should be able to see the pages of the books without strain. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
it is also important that the ventilation at home is just enough for our children’s comfort. extremely stuffy rooms or chilly rooms can cause them to feel drowsy and instead of being able to read, they might just fall asleep. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Another aspect that parents should take note of is distraction – or the absence of it. we should ensure that our children’s reading corner at home is strip of all possible distractions that will continually cause their concentration to wander from book to other things. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;set time for storytelling&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
it is also quite effective if parents read aloud to their children. Poor readers, or those who lack vivid imagination, find that they can seldom get the feel of the story from their own silent reading. The voice of the reader who has an imagination can bring the characters to life. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;be a role model&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
we should also remember that actions speak louder than words and the examples that we set for our children are some of the most influential things that we can ever do. children will read more IF they see us reading. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;tell your children to read&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Another technique that we can do to motivate our children to read is by simply telling them to do so. Direct encouragement to read can stimulate an interest in reading. One case in a book written by Krashen, The Power of Reading, tells how a poor grade school student was required by his mother to check out two books per week from the library and insisted that he report on his reading to her at the end of each week. The boy was not enthusiastic but obeyed his mother. What is crucial is that his mother allowed him to read whatever he wanted. Carson, the inferior student, is now a neurosurgeon and credits reading with improving his comprehension, vocabulary, et al. The initial impetus his mother provided led to dramatic results. He improved so much that he even became top of his class. Clearly, Carson’s mother provided him with just the right amount of direct encouragement; because his reading was self-selected, the intrinsic&lt;br /&gt;
pleasure of reading soon took over, and direct encouragement was no longer necessary. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;work hand in hand with teachers&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
we should also work hand in hand with our children’s teachers to instigate their reading progress. There should be mutual support between parents and teachers because both have something to do that directly benefits how the other is helping the child.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
we are responsible for helping our children develop a passion for reading. yes, it is easier said than done. But If we have ALREADY discovered the joy of reading, have learned to use reading for many purposes, and view reading as one of our richest heritages, we will have no trouble in prompting lifetime reading habits. And if we are successful in inculcating the love for reading at an early age, it is subsequent that our THEIR thirst for it will be everlastingly present. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-6837525261187441330?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/6837525261187441330/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/teacher-in-me-help-your-children.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6837525261187441330?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6837525261187441330?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/Nfh8DzR-Raw/teacher-in-me-help-your-children.html" title="help your children develop lifetime reading habits" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/teacher-in-me-help-your-children.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYCQn8yeip7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-9038949129673704603</id><published>2011-06-20T16:33:00.009+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:22:43.192+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:22:43.192+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>confessions part 12: rolling in the deep</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/609315856/244a37ad" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Rolling in the Deep by Adele&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K3qQf7-BLdI/Tir_72uqwII/AAAAAAAACIA/SynEHDkRxj8/s1600/rollinginthedeep.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K3qQf7-BLdI/Tir_72uqwII/AAAAAAAACIA/SynEHDkRxj8/s320/rollinginthedeep.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align="left"&gt;
&lt;em&gt;flashback: &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;it was a scorching Wednesday afternoon. I was in my Philosophy 150 class and my doe-eyed UP professor was discussing the &lt;a href="http://www.philosophyofreligion.info/theistic-proofs/the-cosmological-argument/"&gt;cosmological argument &lt;/a&gt;on God's existence. while I was caught in between&amp;nbsp;note-taking&amp;nbsp;and daydreaming, my phone rang. the number was unregistered. it was a friend of a friend. after talking to the person on the other end of the line, i felt shivers run down my spine. i don't know why, but i&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;t’s as if I already knew how special that person was going to be in my life.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div align="left"&gt;
&lt;em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
and I was right. the man who called me that day became my one great love. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So how do you know when someone is your one great love? Frankly, there is no criteria, no one way of gauging. I guess you just know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In my case, I know he is my one great love because I loved him even if I only knew a part of him. There were a lot of things I didn't know about him. I guess there were a lot of things he didn't want to tell me. And although I was aware that it would be crazy for me to fall madly in love with him, I still did, and I still continued loving him even after he was already long gone. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I loved him without knowing or trying to know if he loved me too. I loved him despite his inconsistencies, his mysteries, and his ambiguous intentions.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
he was different from all the guys I've ever known and he was everything I've ever wanted. He made me laugh, he made me think, and he ensnared me with his unbelievable charms. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
and he was the only person I have ever allowed to get in and out of my life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
the last time i saw him, he told me that he was getting married. I was in a serious relationship at that time, but hearing him say those words broke my heart into tiny pieces. I&amp;nbsp;couldn't believe that the man&amp;nbsp; I have loved for such a long time and with such great intensity was going to settle down with another woman. that day, i cried until i couldn't anymore.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Every now and then I still think about him. And every time I do, I just tell myself that he will forever be my one great love.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
at 30, there are still a lot of things that I don't know and don't understand about love. All I know is that the kind of love I had doesn't show itself upon us very often. If it does, we should express it, put it across. sadly, I never had the chance to do so.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-9038949129673704603?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/9038949129673704603/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/confessions-part-12-series-of.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/9038949129673704603?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/9038949129673704603?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/uvbetqN_ew0/confessions-part-12-series-of.html" title="confessions part 12: rolling in the deep" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-K3qQf7-BLdI/Tir_72uqwII/AAAAAAAACIA/SynEHDkRxj8/s72-c/rollinginthedeep.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/confessions-part-12-series-of.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYCSXs-eip7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-6485305394663188417</id><published>2011-06-16T20:19:00.007+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:22:48.552+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:22:48.552+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Confessions part 11: beautiful mistake</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/458862583/6c071700" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Beautiful Mistake by Keri Hilson&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.glamzzle.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/erasing-mistake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="212" src="http://www.glamzzle.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/erasing-mistake.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I opened my eyes. darkness permeated the sides of my retina. I blinked profusely to help my eyes adjust to the murky surroundings. terror and anxiety began flooding my half-awake consciousness. I was afraid to remember where I was or what I got myself into. then, i caught a whiff of a tender yet virile scent. Gradually, I grasped the reality I was in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I gazed at the motionless being curled comfortably beside me. His face looked so serene, like a painting of an infinite landscape hanging in the middle of a small, unfurnished room. his tranquil state conquered my entire being and for a split-second, I felt nothing but pure joy and peace within. It made me wish that I could stay in that surreal moment longer. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
but reality didn’t allow me to wallow in my euphoria.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I fumbled under the pillow for my phone and checked the time. It was past 12 in the afternoon. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;"Oh Shiiiiiiit!"&lt;/em&gt; I bellowed. My heart skipped a beat and blood rushed to my head. my world stopped moving for a few seconds. &lt;br /&gt;
“&lt;em&gt;Hey. Wake up. I have work in 2 hours",&lt;/em&gt; I murmured as I shook him gently. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After 10 minutes of calling out his name over and over, he finally opened his eyes. he flashed a warm smile.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;"Let's go. We need to go"&lt;/em&gt; I weakly said.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He pulled me towards him. I pushed him back. after a few minutes of playful yanking, I gave up the fight. I wanted him to hold me anyway. he was like a warm blanket on a chilly night. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;"I want to take care of you. Please let me take care of you" &lt;/em&gt;he whispered.&amp;nbsp; he then kissed my forehead softly. it was a scene that I would later play in my head repeatedly. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I gave him an awkward smile. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"&lt;em&gt;Everyone needs to be saved. It's time for someone to save you. Let me be the one to save you”,&lt;/em&gt;&amp;nbsp;his soft lips pressed against my right ear&lt;em&gt;.”please, just let me be with you”&lt;/em&gt; he added. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I pretended not to hear what he was saying. I just didn’t know what to say.&amp;nbsp; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
it was not the first time I heard those words from him. I couldn’t gauge if they were real or not. but I didn’t want to find out anyway. I wish I did but I&amp;nbsp;didn't. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The word "Fuck" reverberated in my head while I was on my way home. I knew it was a big mistake to be with him. But then again, I can’t deny the fact that he made me happy, even for just a fleeting moment in time. yes, he was mistake, but a beautiful one.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-6485305394663188417?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/6485305394663188417/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/beautiful-mistake-by-keri-hilson-i.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6485305394663188417?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6485305394663188417?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/LMpn8I_tmZQ/beautiful-mistake-by-keri-hilson-i.html" title="Confessions part 11: beautiful mistake" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><thr:total>2</thr:total><georss:featurename>Pasig City, Philippines</georss:featurename><georss:point>14.5872222 121.06111110000006</georss:point><georss:box>14.5428537 121.03163060000006 14.631590699999999 121.09059160000007</georss:box><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/beautiful-mistake-by-keri-hilson-i.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cCR3w6fip7ImA9WhdSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-7216848980797113966</id><published>2011-06-11T15:34:00.016+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-24T16:11:06.216+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-24T16:11:06.216+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="serial killers" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="culture" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="crime" /><title>crime, criminals, and the criminal mind</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div class="wlWriterSmartContent" id="scid:5737277B-5D6D-4f48-ABFC-DD9C333F4C5D:ae801228-b19d-4c76-a148-989018cd640e" style="display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px; width: 448px;"&gt;
Try to do any of the following: &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;ul style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;li&gt;browse through the first page of this detailed article on &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/gein/bill_1.html"&gt;Ed Gein.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;read this letter from&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://ahrens.tripod.com/serial/fish.html"&gt;Albert Fish.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;li&gt;watch this exclusive interview with &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ErB0R4wlB64"&gt;Jeffrey Dahmer&lt;/a&gt; on YouTube.&lt;/li&gt;
&lt;/ul&gt;
&lt;embed height="252" src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ErB0R4wlB64?hd=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="448" wmode="transparent"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;hr /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Crime Sells.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
One stomach-churning crime story is enough to shift any person’s curiosity to high gear. And media, being the bloodhounds that they are, capitalize on humanity's fascination with CRIME AND the horror it paints across the globe.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;img border="0" height="192" src="http://www.entertainmentwallpaper.com/images/desktops/movie/tv_criminal_minds01.jpg" style="background-image: none; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; border-right-width: 0px; border-top-width: 0px; display: block; float: none; margin: 0px auto 3px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px;" width="240" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This is the reason why &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Crime_film"&gt;CRIME DRAMA&lt;/a&gt; continues to dominate the TV airwaves.  TV producers HAVE conceived EVERY POSSIBLE TYPE OF  CRIME DRAMA TV SHOW, FROM &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Behaviorism"&gt;forensics&lt;/a&gt; to &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Behaviorism"&gt;behaviorism&lt;/a&gt;.  The same level of cultural obsession WITH such a surreal brutality ALSO manifests in books, movies, music, education, and the world wide web. Take a look around you. crime is everywhere. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;Why are we so interested in crime?&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;1. inside the criminal mind: Attempting to comprehend the incomprehensible&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
We are interested in cold-blooded murderers because we want to get into their minds. We want to understand why they commit such diabolical acts. countless professionals have  attempted to analyze and explain why people do what they do when they commit crime.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;
an interesting &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/tick/victims_1.html"&gt;article&lt;/a&gt; from &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/index.html"&gt;Trutv.com&lt;/a&gt; states that serial killers have justified their behavior in many different ways:&lt;img height="240" src="http://fc09.deviantart.net/fs71/i/2010/267/2/d/who_was_ed_gein_by_kreeperxiii-d2zefxm.jpg" style="display: block; float: none; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 10px;" width="192" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;blockquote class=""&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/henry_lee_lucas/1.html"&gt;Henry Lee Lucas&lt;/a&gt; blamed his upbringing; others like &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/dahmer/index.html"&gt;Jeffrey Dahmer&lt;/a&gt; say that they were born with a "part" of them missing. &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/bundy/index_1.html"&gt;Ted Bundy&lt;/a&gt; claimed pornography made him do it. &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/weird/mullin/index_1.html"&gt;Herbert Mullin&lt;/a&gt; blamed the voices in his head that told him it was time to "sing the die song." The ruthless Carl Panzram swore that prison turned him into a monster, while &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/predators/long/index.html"&gt;Bobby Joe Long&lt;/a&gt; said a motorcycle accident made him hypersexual and eventually a serial lust killer. The most psychopathic, like &lt;a href="http://www.trutv.com/library/crime/serial_killers/notorious/gacy/gacy_1.html"&gt;John Wayne Gacy&lt;/a&gt;, turned the blame around and boasted that the victims deserved to die.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
According to &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Clinical_psychology"&gt;clinical psychologist&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stanton_Samenow"&gt;Stanton Samenow&lt;/a&gt;, criminal thinking causes crime. he debunks widely-accepted theories about the sources of crime and argues that society and its institutions should not be blamed for molding men into criminals. According to samenow,&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;blockquote class=""&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Criminals claim that they were rejected by parents, neighbors, schools, and employers, but rarely does a criminal say why he was rejected. Even as a young child, he was sneaky and defiant, and the older he grew, the more he lied to his parents, stole and destroyed their property, and threatened them. He made life at home unbearable as he turned even innocuous requests into a battleground. He conned his parents to get whatever he wanted, or else he wore them down through endless argument. It was the criminal who rejected his parents rather than vice versa.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
the greatest challenge is the variables. evidently, not all criminals are alike. some are boring and simple-minded, while others are complex and  gifted with superior intellect.  We can always theorize and come up with logical assumptions but unless we are like them, we can never truly fathom the mind of a criminal. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;2. outside looking in: giving in to our voyeuristic nature&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z1uv1rPjfc8/TfTVVQRbHpI/AAAAAAAAB6Y/nPqNbN57PEY/s1600/A+Vicious+Vice+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z1uv1rPjfc8/TfTVVQRbHpI/AAAAAAAAB6Y/nPqNbN57PEY/s320/A+Vicious+Vice+2.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
when there’s an accident on the road, do you slow down to get a glimpse of what happened or do you breeze by, acting like there’s nothing going on?&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I’m sure most people would slow down. let’s face it. we are fascinated with looking at other people's lives. &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voyeurism"&gt;voyeurism&lt;/a&gt; is in our nature. The more fucked up other people’s lives are, the more attention we give. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
in the same way, we take interest in criminals and their crime because we can’t help but look. we watch one documentary after another because it’s the greatest reality show on television, we read dozens of articles on serial killers because it’s an opportunity to witness their distorted lives. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;3. escape from the mundane: taking interest in the absurd&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
we tend to be fascinated with things that are not normal. it is a form of escape from the reality of our  humdrum lives.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
we might now be aware of it, but &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Escapism"&gt;escapism&lt;/a&gt; is part of our everyday lives. we try to slip into other realities for a few minutes or a few hours. that' is why we spend so much time “facebooking”, get lost in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virtual_world"&gt;virtual worlds&lt;/a&gt; such as &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Second_Life"&gt;Second life&lt;/a&gt;, and assume other characters through &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cosplay"&gt;cosplay&lt;/a&gt;. however, some people are not satisfied with such ways of escaping reality. they crave for excitement and tread into more dangerous paths. that’s why there’s a growing market for &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bondage_(BDSM)"&gt;bondage&lt;/a&gt; and other weird &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sexual_fetishism"&gt;fetishes.&lt;/a&gt; others, however, get fascinated with crime and those who commit them. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;4. CELEBRITY OBSESSION: a human phenomenon&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJwpr5Ta0qw/TfTWXOIUiqI/AAAAAAAAB6k/5dEZA8rKT3s/s1600/bundyfingerprintchart.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mJwpr5Ta0qw/TfTWXOIUiqI/AAAAAAAAB6k/5dEZA8rKT3s/s320/bundyfingerprintchart.jpg" width="252" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
with the level of attention criminals are getting from the media, these shady characters become instant celebrities. and for some reason, we live in a society that is fixated with the famous and the infamous. we idolize them, follow their every move, and treat them as gods.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
unsurprisingly, there is a big market for crime memorabilia, or &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murderabilia"&gt;murderabilia&lt;/a&gt;: artifacts or collectibles related to murders, murderers or other violent crimes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
hundreds of  “murderabilia” are auctioned and sold on sites like &lt;a href="http://murderauction.com/"&gt;Murderauction.com&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.supernaught.com/index.php"&gt;supernaught.com&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://serialkillersink.net/classifieds/index.php"&gt;serialkillersink.net.&lt;/a&gt; collectors can purchase almost anything from a replica of &lt;a href="http://www.supernaught.com/index.php?_a=viewProd&amp;amp;productId=195"&gt;ted bundy’s fingerprint chart&lt;/a&gt; to one of &lt;a href="http://www.murderauction.com/NO-RESERVE-John-Wayne-Gacy-Original-Happiness-Is-A-Child-Fantasy-Painting-24X30,name,202661,auction_id,auction_details"&gt;John wayne gacy’s paintings&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;5. real-life monsters: feeding our fears&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
what makes serial killers and violent criminals interesting to us is that they are just like you and me. They live normal lives and blend into society like chameleons. They have families, jobs, bills to pay, Facebook accounts, and church groups. Yes, your neighbor of 10 years, the friendly janitor in your office, or even a member of your family can be one.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The only difference is that they have chosen to embrace their dark side in ways we could never imagine. THEY LIVE DOUBLE LIVES LIKE &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dr._Jekyll_and_Mr._Hyde"&gt;DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE&lt;/a&gt;.  UNFORTUNATELY, they are not products of  FICTION. because of media, we are aware that There are real monsters prowling around the corner.  this awareness has fueled our fear. like a kid who keeps on staring at the closet for fear of monsters, we tend to feed our fear of criminals by constantly thinking about them. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt; (to be continued)&lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-7216848980797113966?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/7216848980797113966/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/curious-vice-crime-criminals-and.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7216848980797113966?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7216848980797113966?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/7cKNs960log/curious-vice-crime-criminals-and.html" title="crime, criminals, and the criminal mind" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-z1uv1rPjfc8/TfTVVQRbHpI/AAAAAAAAB6Y/nPqNbN57PEY/s72-c/A+Vicious+Vice+2.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/06/curious-vice-crime-criminals-and.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DU8AQ3o9cSp7ImA9WhdSFEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-5598622848806742589</id><published>2011-05-23T20:19:00.019+08:00</published><updated>2011-07-24T16:57:22.469+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-07-24T16:57:22.469+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tv shows" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="crushes" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="music" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="celebrity" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="men" /><title>James Durbin: After Being Eliminated on Idol</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TdpQwddTyYI/AAAAAAAABjQ/1EOeD9yHpCo/s1600-h/James_Durbin_son_Hunter_KevinJohnson_Sentinel%5B5%5D.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="222" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TdpQxI7IR7I/AAAAAAAABjU/hGchRGnQn2E/James_Durbin_son_Hunter_KevinJohnson_Sentinel_thumb%5B3%5D.png?imgmax=800" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;I bawled like a baby when &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/James_Durbin_(singer)"&gt;James Durbin&lt;/a&gt; was eliminated on &lt;a href="http://www.americanidol.com/"&gt;American Idol&lt;/a&gt;. Yes, I am a big fan of the 22- year old heavy metal enthusiast who has been very open about having &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tourette_syndrome"&gt;Tourette syndrome&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Asperger_syndrome"&gt;Asperger syndrome&lt;/a&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After skipping several seasons, I found myself watching American Idol again. And right after each show, I would watch his performance again on YouTube. I have also downloaded all his songs online. His versions of &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GNAaK12NWqc"&gt;“Maybe I’m Amazed”&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EQKiKuCrL6w&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;“While My Guitar Gently Weeps&lt;/a&gt;” are my favorites.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;I like James because he embodies PASSION. Out of all the contestants this season, it was very evident that he wanted to win the most. And I swear, that guy can sing anything! Have you seen him sing the &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vMX59QqYezU"&gt;Star Spangled Banner?&lt;/a&gt; His vocals are truly amazing! But he’s not just a good singer, he’s an artist. A real one. He knows who he is and is certain of what path he wants to take. I admit, he tends to overdo it at times but only because he pours his heart out whenever he performs on stage. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
While I was browsing online for updates, I was surprised to see that Santa Cruz gave him a grand homecoming like the ones given to the top 3 contestants. According to &lt;a href="http://www.ksbw.com/news/27898828/detail.html#ixzz1NAad51ON”"&gt;published reports&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;, the decision by “Idol” to allow Durbin to come home to Santa Cruz despite having been eliminated was a first in the show’s history.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;That day, he performed in front of 30,000 supporters. He sang three songs: &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hugfymrOYZM"&gt;Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=42fEcJHVTF8&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;While My Guitar Gently Weeps&lt;/a&gt;, and &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BnbRXqWcWfg&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;Don’t Stop Believin’.&lt;/a&gt; During an interview with &lt;a href="http://www.wblm.com/Article.asp?id=2190305&amp;amp;spid=39786"&gt;ABC News Radio&lt;/a&gt;, James said &lt;em&gt;“I've dreamed of that day my entire life, where I get to stand on a giant stage in front of thousands and thousands of people and just let myself go, and that's what I did."&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mU8rzQ6COCY" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TdpQx9TRdqI/AAAAAAAABjw/6JsnmRIRKnQ/video2bbc14545bf3%5B258%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
James Durbin generated a total of $1 million in revenue for local businesses — something the organization is chalking up to &lt;a href="http://ntcclub.com/mag/2011/05/james-durbin-is-already-a-moneymaker-thanks-to-durbinomics/"&gt;“Durbinomics.”&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_K8PWYXownE&amp;amp;feature=related" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TdpQy2Q6RKI/AAAAAAAABj0/-2QaBkEWDUI/video3a67d4855b12%5B253%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Apart from the grand hero’s welcome in Santa Cruz, James also &lt;a href="http://ellen.warnerbros.com/videos/?autoplay=true&amp;amp;mediaKey=430ee777-9a96-49e2-bd22-50626458b627"&gt;visited the Ellen Degeneneres Show&lt;/a&gt; where they talked about his amazing experiences on Idol and how he inspires a lot of people because he embraces his uniqueness. Ellen even said that James is one her favorites and &lt;a href="http://ellen.warnerbros.com/2011/05/did_you_know_with_james_durbin_0519.php"&gt;picked him to win whole thing.&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9plOdguMTA8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TdpQzoksTPI/AAAAAAAABj4/wL8Q0IqFZS8/videoa67ba78e6c79%5B225%5D.jpg?imgmax=800" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
James&lt;a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/articles/1663990/james-durbin-american-idol.jhtml"&gt; also talked to MTV&lt;/a&gt; where he finally commented on Adam Lambert’s tweets and negative comments about him. I sooooo love what he said! &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;“I was nothing (but) nice to that guy. And, you know, he decided to take it to a different level. Whatever. I don’t know what the comparison’s all about. He sings pop and electronic, and I sing rock and metal.”&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I’m sure this is just the beginning for Durbin. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-5598622848806742589?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/5598622848806742589/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/05/james-durbin-life-after-being.html#comment-form" title="0 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5598622848806742589?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5598622848806742589?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/u9u2enSO7SY/james-durbin-life-after-being.html" title="James Durbin: After Being Eliminated on Idol" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://lh3.ggpht.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TdpQxI7IR7I/AAAAAAAABjU/hGchRGnQn2E/s72-c/James_Durbin_son_Hunter_KevinJohnson_Sentinel_thumb%5B3%5D.png?imgmax=800" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>0</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2011/05/james-durbin-life-after-being.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYMRHg5fip7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-6250105683854867114</id><published>2010-12-10T04:30:00.025+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:23:05.626+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:23:05.626+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lessons" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="birthday" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="journey" /><title>It's My Birthday and I'll Blog If I Want To:Post-It Notes II</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/262641031/6cacd1d5" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;em&gt;Like It's My Birthday by Soulja Boy&amp;nbsp;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p3U21LE9kY4/TeEfbaIcFMI/AAAAAAAABsA/mXCnZdmoDz8/s1600/Cheers+to+us.JPG" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="214" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p3U21LE9kY4/TeEfbaIcFMI/AAAAAAAABsA/mXCnZdmoDz8/s320/Cheers+to+us.JPG" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
I admit. Crossing the bridge to 30 was a struggle.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
Earlier this year, I tried to overcome major depression pangs. I was pressured to prove to myself and to the world that I was already stable and in control. I had to reassess my life and every aspect of it.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
Now that I have finally crossed the bridge, I have to say that being 30 is not as bad as I thought it would be.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
So to celebrate three decades of existence, I am posting a sequel to my &lt;a href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/12/it-my-birthday-and-i-blog-if-i-want-to.html"&gt;birthday post&lt;/a&gt; last year to share the "Post-It Notes" that I have picked up along the road to 30.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;10 Things I Learned This Year:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
10. Enjoy every ride but know when to get off (last year it was just "Enjoy every ride").&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
9. Getting back with an ex is like reading an old book. The ending is the same.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
8. Something ugly can blossom into something beautiful. It just needs two things: time and careful nurturing.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
7. Love will not come around if you are not ready for it.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
6. Nowadays, true friendship is rare. If you unearth something as precious, never let go. Take a break from your busy schedule to catch up over coffee or to get a few drinks. If you don't, your friendship will wilt and eventually die a natural death.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
5. Spend time with yourself. Watch a nice, cheesy movie. Read a borrowed book. Drive around deserted roads. Enjoy every single minute with yourself. It's not scary to be alone.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
4. Some people wear distorted masks for a reason. If you take time to sit down and get to know these people, you'll realize that beneath the murky facade lies a good soul. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
3. Challenge yourself every now and then. Step out of your comfort zone. Explore the "what ifs". If you don't, you'll never find out what you can still do. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
2. A cup of love, a spoonful of passion, a hint of fun and adventure here and there, and a sprinkle of pixie dust: these are the things that will help you survive the harsh realities of life.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
1. Everyone needs to be saved. Even the hero. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
I'm 30 and happy. After all it's the new 20.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-6250105683854867114?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/6250105683854867114/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-my-birthday-and-ill-blog-if-i-want.html#comment-form" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6250105683854867114?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6250105683854867114?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/1klTrG_Xx60/its-my-birthday-and-ill-blog-if-i-want.html" title="It's My Birthday and I'll Blog If I Want To:Post-It Notes II" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-p3U21LE9kY4/TeEfbaIcFMI/AAAAAAAABsA/mXCnZdmoDz8/s72-c/Cheers+to+us.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>3</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/12/its-my-birthday-and-ill-blog-if-i-want.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYMSHw9fyp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-5941145057924729607</id><published>2010-10-16T16:57:00.014+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:23:09.267+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:23:09.267+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="singlehood" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dating" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>The Single Woman's Dilemma of Singlehood</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/598344976/e757fb57" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;Born This Way by Lady Gaga&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;span style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: small;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TIjUkcO1bQI/AAAAAAAABfg/HpruG5tjGtY/s320/Caramel+Macchiato.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;It was 5 in the afternoon. The sky was of a dull gray hue and the breeze was delightfully placid. I was comfortably seated outside Starbucks sipping my usual drink, an iced Grande Caramel Macchiato. I impatiently glanced at my silver watch. “She’s late again”. “&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“Hey”, a hoarse but friendly voice hollered at me. I smiled and waved hello. After several minutes, she occupied the seat beside me with a Venti Green Tea Frappe in hand. She was obviously depressed. She only gets a Venti drink whenever she’s upset. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;She lit a cigarette. I did the same. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“So, what happened?” was my curious query.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“He’s gone. For good this time,” was her blunt reply.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“Well, maybe it’s not the end,” I murmured. I didn’t want her to give up but I didn’t want to give her false hopes as well. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“I think there’s something wrong with me,” she blurted out. “I’ve been fucking single for almost two years. It sucks to be me right now”.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“Don’t say that,” I retaliated. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;She was half listening to what I was saying. “This morning, I looked at myself in the mirror”, she reluctantly shared. “I’m not ugly, I’m not clingy and I’m not a bitch. I have a good career, I’m sweet and thoughtful, and I’m good with moms. Plus I’m damn good in bed!” she added with conviction. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“I understand”, was all I can say. I didn’t know how to comfort her. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“They spend most of their time with me, text me from morning to night, but I’m never the girlfriend. I’m always the girl they’ll never erase in their phonebook, but I’m never the girl they’ll try to forget because of a broken heart,” she said with a tone of defeat in her weary voice. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“I’m not a slut. I don’t throw myself at guys. Believe it or not, I have my limitations. But why am I always second best? Why am I always the fallback?” she asked and then retreated into silence.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;"Self-pity and doubt are slowly poisoning my veins” she added. “I know it's&amp;nbsp;not healthy&amp;nbsp;but I can’t help but think this way”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;I gathered my thoughts and mustered enough guts to break the silence, “Let me ask you a question. If any of these guys ask you to be their girlfriend, would you say yes?” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“I don’t know”, she hesitantly replied. “But that’s beside the point”. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
“That’s the thing. I don’t think you’re ready for a relationship yourself”, I retorted. “Tell me honestly. How many guys have you dated since you became single two years ago? 7? a dozen? or have you lost count already? Have you ever tried asking any of these guys where your relationship is going? Have you ever showed any interest in labeling whatever it is that you have with them?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
“No.” was her one-word response. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;
“There you go!” I bellowed. “Maybe you manage to involve yourself in vague and undefined relationships&amp;nbsp;because you exude an obscure attitude as well,” I carefully worded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“My ex-husband once told me that you attract who you are,” I added. “I think he has a point”. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
“You attract people who are like you, people who are uncertain about what they want, and people who wallow in the ambiguous. How can you attract guys who are serious, guys who are done playing the field, if you’re not serious yourself?”&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
“You claim that the guys you’ve dated in the past year are all inconsistent, I totally agree. But you’re not exactly consistent yourself, honey. You complain that these guys are complicated, but have you ever stopped and looked at yourself? You are “complicated” personified. Anyone who thinks otherwise is blind!” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
“Don’t expect these guys to give you heaven and earth if the second they turn around, you’re reading someone else’s message. Don’t expect them to exert extra effort if you’re reluctant to give them more than what you can give!” &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
There was an awkward moment of silence. I think I overdid it this time. I know I hurt her but that’s what she needs right now, a taste of the bitter truth.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Dating is not a simple process. It is a succession of trial and error. But if dating becomes cyclical, then maybe it’s time for change.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;“Insanity is doing the same thing over and over but expecting a different result” - Albert Einstein&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-5941145057924729607?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/5941145057924729607/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/10/single-womans-dilemma-of-singlehood.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5941145057924729607?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5941145057924729607?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/V9KB8CiizZY/single-womans-dilemma-of-singlehood.html" title="The Single Woman's Dilemma of Singlehood" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/TIjUkcO1bQI/AAAAAAAABfg/HpruG5tjGtY/s72-c/Caramel+Macchiato.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/10/single-womans-dilemma-of-singlehood.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkYNQ3kzeCp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-5180359202376282242</id><published>2010-09-21T01:22:00.026+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:23:12.780+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:23:12.780+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dating" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Confessions Part 10: In My Head</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/353541861/a6df1e92" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;In My Head by Jason Derulo&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hq7Zj8WGTDM/TaUdFtTyDoI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/UrjQlbzRBP0/s1600/lust.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="187" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hq7Zj8WGTDM/TaUdFtTyDoI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/UrjQlbzRBP0/s200/lust.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;I'll be your teacher, I'll show you the rules.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;You'll see a side of love you'd never know.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;I can see it going down, going down&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;In my head, I see you all over me&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;In my head, you fulfill my fantasy .&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;While I was waiting in line to get my daily dose of caffeine, my friend poked me and muttered something under his breath.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;"Friend, he's cute" pointing at a fresh face. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Curious, I checked out the charming stranger. "Not bad", I said. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a name='more'&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&amp;nbsp;As if he could read my mind whenever I looked at him, he started flirting with me. I kinda flirted back. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The flirtations lasted for weeks, even months, and I was starting to get bored. The psychological foreplay was getting old. Foreplay is good. Foreplay is essential. But TOO MUCH foreplay is anti-climactic. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Where are you?" he texted. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I'm out with friends" I replied. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One text lead to another and so we decided to meet up. He was actually pretty funny. But after an hour of mindless conversation, the air reeked of romance.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;Then the magical first kiss. It was slow and gentle and it reminded me of how I kissed when I was 16: a lingering touch of lips, a moderation of tongues, and an awkward hesitation that builds up the tension more.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: inherit; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;But first kisses should always end with just a kiss. A lesson in the art of seduction: create pleasure and discontent simultaneously. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After that night, he bombarded me with text messages, a characteristic very typical of someone his age. And yes he is young, but he is no longer innocent. He is sweet but he's overflowing with carnal desire. He is experienced but not experienced enough. At least for me. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And his lack of experience manifested soon after our little misadventure. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Lesson learned: The danger in heightened expectations and prolonged anticipation is extreme dissapointment. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Damn. I need to teach this kid a lesson or two. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Oh well. Another night. Another adventure.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-5180359202376282242?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/5180359202376282242/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/09/confessions-part-10-series-of.html#comment-form" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5180359202376282242?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5180359202376282242?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/V0yr4e0ILxc/confessions-part-10-series-of.html" title="Confessions Part 10: In My Head" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hq7Zj8WGTDM/TaUdFtTyDoI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/UrjQlbzRBP0/s72-c/lust.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>1</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/09/confessions-part-10-series-of.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEYDSXw9fSp7ImA9WhdaGE0.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-676033762847225587</id><published>2010-07-18T22:12:00.013+08:00</published><updated>2011-10-28T19:42:58.265+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-10-28T19:42:58.265+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Confessions Part 9: I Remember the Boy</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;It's been a year since I published the first part of my "Confessions" series. Looking back at every adventure and misadventure that I had, I can say that it's been one helluva ride&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RaGf_UibvDg/TeL5nfa3YSI/AAAAAAAABss/4Ypt0muIev4/s1600/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RaGf_UibvDg/TeL5nfa3YSI/AAAAAAAABss/4Ypt0muIev4/s1600/Picture1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="248" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RaGf_UibvDg/TeL5nfa3YSI/AAAAAAAABss/4Ypt0muIev4/s320/Picture1.jpg" t8="true" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"For old time's sake", he said. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I was hesitant. I was afraid to awaken a dormant volcano. But my better judgment escaped me. I surrendered to the seemingly inevitable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; My heart was beating fast. Ridiculously fast. And then my senses caught a whiff of the familiar scent. The odor triggered my sensory neurons, activating shattered memories that have been forcefully pushed back to the back of my head. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; "Fuck. Is this a good idea?" I asked myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last time I found myself in the same room with him, we had the monumental goodbye roll. I tried to make it what it was: the last hurrah, the consolation prize to a break up. But it wasn't. It was self-inflicted torture. I was on the losing end and saying goodbye that way was like pushing my sanity down an infinite hill.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;His lips met mine and the taste of familiarity electrified my being. My heart beat faster and my pulse skyrocketed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is it" I thought to myself. "I chose to be here. I chose to do this. I might as well enjoy the ride. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; It was how I remembered it was: passionate and mind-blowing. But it was also sweet and tender. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; While I was driving on my way home, I tried to examine how I felt. Sadly I didn't feel anything. Although I know it meant nothing, I desperately wanted to feel something. I wanted to prove to myself that I'm not yet numb. Even for just one night. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; I guess when you get hurt, the heart is slow to heal. But when the heart finally forgets, you'll have difficulty remembering what you felt before you got hurt, as if the heart locks itself and throws away the key.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Despite the familiar scent and the familiar taste, It was hard for me to remember how I felt then. I remember the boy, but I don't remember the feeling anymore.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Another night. Another adventure. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-676033762847225587?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/676033762847225587/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/07/confessions-part-9-series-of-adventures.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/676033762847225587?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/676033762847225587?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/uOekjWzu4fY/confessions-part-9-series-of-adventures.html" title="Confessions Part 9: I Remember the Boy" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-RaGf_UibvDg/TeL5nfa3YSI/AAAAAAAABss/4Ypt0muIev4/s72-c/Picture1.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/07/confessions-part-9-series-of-adventures.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUHQ3k4fip7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-2460432698229358995</id><published>2010-04-28T01:28:00.013+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:23:52.736+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:23:52.736+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dreams" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="journey" /><title>30 is the New 40</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/144849179/e01fb1c9" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Age Is Nothing But a Number by Aaliyah&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://blogs.riverfronttimes.com/therundown/panic_1.png" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://blogs.riverfronttimes.com/therundown/panic_1.png" width="165" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Emotional hyperventilation. Mental migraine.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
These are the symptoms of my age. And it’s not just me. I have witnessed how my friends struggled to cross the dreaded bridge to 30. I honestly thought that I didn’t have to deal with this until I was 39. But I guess nowadays, 30 is the new 40. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It’s like when you turn 29, you automatically hit your life's emergency panic-mode button and a digital timer will appear in your subconscious. Afterwhich, you will find ways to prove that you have it made, that you have achieved the stability that society pressures you to have. I guess nowadays, 30 is what most people perceive as the beginning of a point in life when everything should be in control.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
So is everything under control? My rear-view mirror tells me a lot of things are still not in place. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.careertipsblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/direction-cartoon.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="158" src="http://www.careertipsblog.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/07/direction-cartoon.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
The first on my long list is my career.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
From the day I was born, I was destined to be a career woman. When I got out of college, I promised myself that I'll have the perfect job by 30. I allowed myself to take baby steps at first, knowing that careers do not bloom overnight. But with those baby steps came herculean efforts. Give me a plateful of responsibilities and I'll ask for more. Sometimes, much more than I can chew. But that's who I am. I sneer at the thought of mediocrity in the workplace. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
With less than a year before I turn 30, I can't help but reassess my career path. Yes, I'm passionate about what I'm doing and I'm not complaining about the income either. But I know I'm ripe for the picking. I know it's time to do more, achieve more, and be more than what I am right now. A few weeks ago, I scanned my outdated resume and refurbished it. For the first time in years, I bothered to read the job alerts that have been consistently flooding my email inbox. Every day I ask myself if it's time to move forward. Hopefully, I'll come up with the next logical step soon. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The second thing that's not in place is my love life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When I was 18 or 21, I still had the license to fool around, to get in and out of relationhips, and to date two or three guys all at the same time. I had a valid excuse to be complicated then: I was young, carefree and was still testing the waters. But fuck, I'm not an adolescent anymore. I'm a 29 year-old mom with a failed marriage. I don't think I'm still entitled to be complicated. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So I guess it's time to change the pattern. I know that if I continue to get involved with difficult men, things will always be complicated for me. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But it's not that simple. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I used to think that I can't resist the scent of a broken man because I have the natural urge to fix and to save, but recently, I realized that I get attracted to human puzzles because subconsciously, I am avoiding commitment. Consistency scares me. Intimacy sometimes intimidates me. And I hate to admit it, but during the time my ex-husband tried to get me back, I kept on stalling, not because I was in love with another man, but because I can't see myself being constrained by the boundaries of marriage again. I mean, I love my ex-husband. He's my one true love and no man can ever measure up to him. But I love my personal space and I can't see myself sharing the remote or my closet with anyone. Not now. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The third thing that's not in place is my finances. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I've been working for seven years. I can't help but wonder where all my money went. I mean, I save money in the bank but I know that's not enough. I need to start investing my hard-earned money wisely, most especially because I'm a single mom and I need to secure my daughter's future. Unlike some lucky people, I don't have anything to inherit from my parents. I don't have brothers or sisters who can help me out just in case something happens to me. From this point, it's all me. I can't really depend on back up from anyone. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The last thing that's not in place is my set of beliefs. Or the lack of it. &lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I don't blame my parents for not inculcating the value of religion to me. But it wouldn't have hurt if they did. Look at me now. I believe in God but I don't believe in religion. I think it's something people cooked up because they need to depend on something bigger than themselves.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But now that I'm getting older and my daughter is beginning to look for answers, I think it won't hurt if I believe in something again. I don't care if I have to commit to some weird belief system, I just want to be part of something that can guide me. I want to have faith in something that can make me defy all logic.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
8 months in counting. Time to create my bucket list as well. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Hopefully, when I turn 30, everything will fall into place.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-2460432698229358995?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/2460432698229358995/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/04/30-is-new-40.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/2460432698229358995?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/2460432698229358995?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/tprWBI3JX5E/30-is-new-40.html" title="30 is the New 40" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/04/30-is-new-40.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUHR3kzeip7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-4344982890815599226</id><published>2010-03-07T14:36:00.010+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:23:56.782+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:23:56.782+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="dreams" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="family" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Find Your Way Back Home</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/52486743/f8254908" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Find Your Way Back Home by Dishwalla&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fjwJvxNxKeU/TDSnAc1pbXI/AAAAAAAAAU8/9LFTHXz9G-4/s1600/sad-wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fjwJvxNxKeU/TDSnAc1pbXI/AAAAAAAAAU8/9LFTHXz9G-4/s320/sad-wallpaper.jpg" width="246" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
In a dream that was so vivid, I was hysterically bawling over your lifeless body. It was so real I could almost taste the tears.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I woke up, trembling.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I rummaged my memory for details. I was in front of a pearl white casket, with your cold and breathless body lying inside. Your mom was there and she was trying to pacify me. But she couldn't. I was calling out your name over and over again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"How many times do you have to break my heart? How many times do I have to lose you in this lifetime?"&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I lost you the day we got married, I lost you the day you left the house, and I lost you the day you fell in love with someone else.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After years of being separated, a lot of people still believe we would end up together. I used to believe the same thing, especially when we became best friends even after a tumultuous series of events. But things are different now. You're with someone and I understand if we can't be as close as we used to be. I understand if we can't go out like we used to. I understand if we can't talk the way we did. I understand if you can't be there to hold my hand and keep me sane.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Even after the dream, tears continued to escape my soul. And I felt what I haven't felt in years. Like the awakening of a dormant volcano, I realized that I still love you.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But it's too late. You asked me back countless of times but I walked away from you. I chose a guy who's not worth my regrets. Now that I want you back, you're already gone. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Maybe one day, you'll find your way back home. Ten years, maybe twenty years from now. And if that time comes, I'll make sure that I'll never lose you again.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-4344982890815599226?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/4344982890815599226/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/03/find-your-way-back-home.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/4344982890815599226?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/4344982890815599226?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/BOIlgohne9I/find-your-way-back-home.html" title="Find Your Way Back Home" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_fjwJvxNxKeU/TDSnAc1pbXI/AAAAAAAAAU8/9LFTHXz9G-4/s72-c/sad-wallpaper.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/03/find-your-way-back-home.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUAQXwyeSp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-7261750011583424672</id><published>2010-02-02T04:58:00.014+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:24:00.291+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:24:00.291+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="short stories" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fiction" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Princess Enigma's Search for the Meaning of Love</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/203469839/fec0d0e8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;I Wanna Know What Love is by Mariah Carey&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/S2c7GSfuqwI/AAAAAAAABes/vBdJG3VNNB8/s1600-h/pretty+poppies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" kt="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/S2c7GSfuqwI/AAAAAAAABes/vBdJG3VNNB8/s320/pretty+poppies.jpg" width="260" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Once upon a time there was a princess named Enigma. She lived in the faraway kingdom of Paradoxika with her mother, Queen Doting, and her father, King Stubborn. Princess Enigma was an only child. She grew up playing alone in the Garden of Enchantment. It was an enchanting place indeed, filled with yellow and fire-orange poppies and shiny golden buttercups guarded by droopy-eyed flower fairies and rosy-cheeked garden gnomes. At times, she would sneak into the bedchambers of the ladies-in-waiting and she would eavesdrop on their conversations. The blushing ladies would talk endlessly about their romantic adventures with their stalwart men.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love really meant feeling a strong sensual passion for &lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;your partner, if it's all about exchanging turpentine kisses and drowning in honey-coated embraces. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One somber winter morning, the princess woke up to the mournful hymn of the colorful sprites. She then heard indistinct shouting coming from the Royal Bedchamber. She stood up from her bed but the sparkling, winged sprites, who have been her&amp;nbsp;playmates since&amp;nbsp;the day she was born,&amp;nbsp;blocked the doorway. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Left clueless, the princess went back to bed with the eerie feeling that something bad was&amp;nbsp;about to happen. True to what she felt, that night was one of the most sorrowful nights in the Kingdom. Everyone, from the obtuse house elves to the clever wizards, felt grief. It was the day the King left the kingdom, leaving the Queen as the solitary leader of Paradoxika.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The princess was shattered with her father's departure. She wasn't in the mood for painting black canvasses using crimson cows' milk or exploring the Forest of Dreams, where many mythical creatures live. The queen, who was once a picture of happiness, always locked herself inside the Royal Bedchamber. She barely talked to anyone and her glorious beauty slowly faded each day. Princess Enigma tried making her mother happy by baking her heart-shaped cookies sprinkled with unicorns' breath and writing her poetry embossed in giant dahlia petals but to no success. Her mother would just give her a weak smile in return for her efforts.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;She wondered if love really meant exposing yourself to sadness and misery. If it means making oneself vulnerable to pain.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
As a way of coping with her own loneliness, the princess buried her head in books. Every morning after breakfast, she would go straight to the Royal Library, managed by haughty, horned gargoyles, and explored the ancient, leather-bound books systematically arranged in mahogany shelves painted in red and gold. Some nights, she refused to leave the library and would find a comfortable corner where she could read until her eyes were tired from reading. Her favorite subject was Literature. She loved visiting different worlds and got carried away pretending she was part of another reality with the hopes of escaping her own.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She couldn't help but wonder if love only existed in books, if it was a concept concocted by imaginative writers so they can sell their work to the public. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The queen remarried twice. First, she&amp;nbsp;married King Amorous of Pampano, who was the queen’s first love. After several years, she married King Prudent of Lagun. She loved both fathers dearly, more than her own. But to her extreme disappointment, both marriages did not work out and once again she felt incomplete without a man in her life. Her mother, however, returned to her old self, exuding a radiant ray of light that everyone basked in.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if finding love was really a matter of&lt;/em&gt;&lt;em&gt;and error, sometimes you get it right, sometimes you don't. And if you don't get it right, the best thing to do is to move on, unless you want to wallow in depression for the rest of your life.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Princess Enigma grew up to be a fair lady, equipped with the knowledge of a thousand books. Her friends introduced her to Prince Mysterious and she experienced love for the first time. She fell in love with love immediately for it was such an overwhelming emotion, filled with good things like sugar and the color pink.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love really meant feeling butterflies in your stomach and tingling in certain places whenever you're with your partner.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sadly, this was also the first time she felt pain. When they broke up, the emotional turmoil she felt was unbearable. After mourning for several weeks, Princess Enigma felt a boiling emotion exploding inside her. And this was the first time she felt anger. She felt abandoned and rejected and was enraged at the three kings and the prince for breaking her innocent heart. She indulged in cynicism and concluded that all men were the same.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Princess Enigma started dating princes and dukes from different kingdoms. The sweet girl everyone knew slowly transformed into a merciless woman with a callous heart and a restless soul. Everytime she met someone, she would make sure that they would plunge into a wretched love for her and then pitilessly drop them whenever she found a new one. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love was really a game meant to be played. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The Queen caught wind of the malicious rumors and confronted her daughter. The princess got infuriated with her mother’s meddling and instead of changing for the better, rebelled some more. She even ran away several times just to prove to the Queen that she can make it on her own. But Queen Doting never gave up on her.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Princess Enigma continued living a distorted life, but just before her 19th birthday, she met Prince Charming. They fell in love and the princess changed tremendously because of him. She stopped fooling around and started acting like a princess again. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love meant changing for the one you love. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After two years of romance, the two heirs got married. Princess Enigma was very exultant on her wedding day. She would finally have her "happily ever after". The wedding was held at the Garden of Enchantment, the princess’ favorite place in the entire world. The ladies wore sparkling silver dresses while the gentlemen sported powdery blue suits. It was a day of celebration indeed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love really meant committing oneself to your partner, promising to stay for better or for worse. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One boring day, while the princess was strolling around the palace, she went inside the chamber of the ladies-in-waiting but was disappointed when she saw that no one was there. She had no one to talk to.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Bored to her wits, she picked up a small book covered with lilac petals and flipped through its pages. She soon figured out that it was the diary of one of her ladies-in-waiting. She fought the temptation to snoop into her private life but her handwriting was so inviting that she started reading the diary page by page. To her astonishment, she found out that her husband, Prince Charming, had a secret relationship with her even before they met. The princess continued reading and was very heartbroken when she found out that her husband slept with her the night before their wedding.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
She walked about the Garden of Enchantment the entire night, thinking about her next move. The next day, she talked to her husband hoping that they could start over but when he confessed that he was still&amp;nbsp;in love with Lady Blossom, her heart sank for she knew that she couldn’t fight love. She had no choice but to let him go.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love really meant sacrificing things for the one you love. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Prince Charming fled the kingdom while the distraught princess locked herself inside her room for days. After a week of isolation, the princess approached her mother and asked for her permission to leave the kingdom. She wanted to find herself. She wanted to know who the real Enigma was, with or without the crown. She wanted to find out what really makes her happy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Princess Enigma, now only Enigma, traveled to a faraway land named Chin and volunteered to teach children. She taught them how to write and count and draw and she cultivated in them a passion for reading. Princess Enigma fell in love with teaching. She knew that this is something she can do for the rest of her life.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One year after leaving her old life behind, she met a handsome prince, named Gorgeous, who fell in love with her wit, her charms and&amp;nbsp;her beauty within. The prince's love was intimate and intense. But he was also jealous most of the time and he wanted the princess all to himself.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if real love was obsessive, if it meant having excessive feelings for your partner.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Soon, the prince’s parents found out about Princess Enigma and they were quick to ask the prince to stop seeing her. They didn’t approve of her because she was a commoner, a lowly teacher who didn’t have royal blood. The prince, however, did not care about what his parents wanted him to do. He fought for her love for Enigma. They fought for their love.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love entailed fighting for what you feel, not caring about how other people feel.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After 3 years of being together against all odds, the Prince left Enigma. She did everything to save their relationship but she learned later on that you can't force a person to be with you if they don't want to.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Enigma was a train-wreck. Everything she lived for disappeared the moment Gorgeous walked away. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;em&gt;She wondered if love was really fleeting, regardless of its intensity. If in the midst of trials and obstacles, love fades.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Princess Enigma finally reentered the gates of her own kingdom. The people barely noticed her but when the Queen saw her she was overjoyed. When the kingdom found out, they rejoiced for they knew their sweet princess was back.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Princess Enigma continued teaching. She opened up a school, not for children this time, but for adult commoners who can have a better life if given the proper education. She taught farmers, and servants, and everyone else who was willing to learn more than what they already know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After picking up the pieces, Princess Enigma started dating again. She was ready to begin her search for the meaning of love once again but she was more careful this time. She was now aware that she had to love herself first, in order to be able to find what love really meant.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8YfoKSA_Qrk/Te4SbmDvj_I/AAAAAAAAB2s/IsBLUdTI_-A/s1600/love+is.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-8YfoKSA_Qrk/Te4SbmDvj_I/AAAAAAAAB2s/IsBLUdTI_-A/s1600/love+is.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-7261750011583424672?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/7261750011583424672/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/02/princess-enigmas-search-for-meaning-of.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7261750011583424672?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7261750011583424672?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/wlegjVipq04/princess-enigmas-search-for-meaning-of.html" title="Princess Enigma's Search for the Meaning of Love" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/S2c7GSfuqwI/AAAAAAAABes/vBdJG3VNNB8/s72-c/pretty+poppies.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/02/princess-enigmas-search-for-meaning-of.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUAQn4ycCp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-6990298462373135964</id><published>2010-01-19T07:12:00.015+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:24:03.098+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:24:03.098+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="poetry" /><title>The Yin and Yang of Me</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/83942215/a184ad7e" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;All American Rejects - Dance Inside&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" ps="true" src="http://img.allposters.com/6/LRG/8/881/EJYJ000Z.jpg" width="252" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
One is yin, the other is yang. &lt;br /&gt;
Two entities balancing the extremities of my being. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One lives in a make-shift world where talking horses and Peter Pan exists. &lt;br /&gt;
The other subsists in the harshness of reality. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One is a tropical cyclone, bringing winds of excitement and hurricanes I'll never outrun. &lt;br /&gt;
The other is my calm after the storm, always waiting for the dust to settle and the sun to shine. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One has a dark heart and a soul I cannot seem to find. &lt;br /&gt;
The other has a good heart beneath a shady character. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One has eyes constantly veiled beneath dark glasses.&lt;br /&gt;
The other gazes towards nothingness, with eyes that constantly speak of pain and misery. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One piques my mind with overwhelming intelligence, continuously stimulating my brain with talk of politics, religion, and philosophy. &lt;br /&gt;
The other talks about mundane things like film and music. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One is a puzzle I'll never be able to solve. &lt;br /&gt;
The other is just missing a few pieces in order to be whole. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One is satisfied with the way things are, lacking the motivation to dream big and pursue better things. &lt;br /&gt;
The other wants to do so many things because he wants to be someone other than who he is right now. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One is rough and knows a lot of dirty tricks. &lt;br /&gt;
The other is gentle and knows a trick or two himself. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One won't run after me if I walk away from him. &lt;br /&gt;
The other keeps on begging me to stay. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One pulls me towards him like gravity.&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;But the thing is the other does too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-6990298462373135964?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/6990298462373135964/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/01/yin-and-yang-of-me.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6990298462373135964?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6990298462373135964?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/rESRvF_vOkE/yin-and-yang-of-me.html" title="The Yin and Yang of Me" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/01/yin-and-yang-of-me.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUAR3Yzfip7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-6815913781148634376</id><published>2010-01-11T19:22:00.016+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:24:06.886+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:24:06.886+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tv shows" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="crushes" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="celebrity" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="men" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lists" /><title>Bad Boys, Bad Boys (Watcha Gonna Do?)</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/81780406/e777e4e4" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Bad Boys by Bob Marley&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://static1.businessinsider.com/image/4b0bf2de0000000000981274/glee2jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://static1.businessinsider.com/image/4b0bf2de0000000000981274/glee2jpg.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I got hooked up on Season 1 of&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glee_(TV_series)"&gt;Glee&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;over my fleeting holiday break. Some say it's a rip off of&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/High_school_musical"&gt;High School Musical&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;because of the concept but in my opinion Glee has more complicated plots and much more twisted characters. After 13 episodes, I grew a fondness for Mark Salling's character,&amp;nbsp;&lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Puck_Puckerman#Noah_Puckerman"&gt;Noah "Puck" Puckerman&lt;/a&gt;. Puck is the cocky football player who sees himself as a stud. In other words, he's the resident bad boy.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
And then I realized, not only do I gravitate towards bad boys in real life, even my on-screen crushes are potential bad romances.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So what's so attractive about bad boys? The sense of danger? The thrill of the chase? Their unconventional beauty? Their relentless womanizing? Their inaccesibility? The smouldering sex? I guess it's a little bit of all these and more.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here's a list of bad ass TV characters who visit me in my dreams:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://jaymckinnon.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/dexter-morgan-season-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="153" src="http://jaymckinnon.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/dexter-morgan-season-5.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
1. Dexter Morgan from Dexter&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt; Dexter is the epitome of a sociopath. Yes, Dexter Morgan is the ultimate bad boy because he is a serial killer who cannot control his gruesome drive to kill. Perhaps the most intriguing dimension of Dexter's personality is his internal feeling of emptiness. He deceives those around him with his facade of normality and calculated charm. Because of this, Dexter is definitely on top of my bad boy list. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
2. Michael Scofield from Prison Break&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kZxk8fAhoQU/TLXTsj96zYI/AAAAAAAAC-s/NO3-UpimMyI/s1600/Michael-Scofield_5%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="168" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kZxk8fAhoQU/TLXTsj96zYI/AAAAAAAAC-s/NO3-UpimMyI/s200/Michael-Scofield_5%5B1%5D.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt; Scofield is a genius who ruined his perfect life to save his bad ass brother from death row. To succeed in breaking his brother out of prison, he made an incredibly detailed plan, encrypted in a tattoo. Apart from the fact that the actor portraying the role of Scofield is undeniably hot, Scofield's limited range of facial expression increases his appeal. He has that "mysterious" vibe going for him. And yes, Scofield may have a strong moral sense but to be able to fulfill his intricate plan, he does criminal things that make him a bad boy.  &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs36/f/2008/259/d/3/Chuck_Bass_by_carlocharmed89.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="139" src="http://fc05.deviantart.net/fs36/f/2008/259/d/3/Chuck_Bass_by_carlocharmed89.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;3. Chuck Bass from Gossip Girl&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;Chuck Bass is one hot and loaded badass. He's a notorious playboy who's downright manipulative and obnoxious. His conniving ways of getting what he wants has a strange appeal. He also has a unique way of showing his love for his on-screen partner, Blair Waldorf, and I guess that adds up to his bad boy charms. Chuck Bass is one bad boy I would definitely date. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://four815162342.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/l356cbf7a0001_1_14338.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="160" src="http://four815162342.files.wordpress.com/2010/03/l356cbf7a0001_1_14338.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;4. James "Sawyer"  Ford from &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lost_(TV_series)"&gt;Lost&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sawyer is a con man who utilizes his looks and charms to seduce women. This untamed redneck clashes with the other survivors on the island because he's so full of himself. He's rude, overly sarcastic and has a habit of calling everyone by humiliating nicknames. He also finds it difficult to work with other people, especially with their assigned leader, Jack. Sawyer is definitely one bad boy I'd like to get lost in an island with. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://j.imagehost.org/0565/dr-house-saison-5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://j.imagehost.org/0565/dr-house-saison-5.jpg" width="135" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
5. Dr. Gregory House from &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/House_(TV_series)"&gt;House&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
House is an medical genius who has the "Rubik's Complex". He uses unorthodox diagnostic approaches to solve every enigmatic case he comes across. Sarcasm is House's trademark as he always throws sharp comments at other people. The limp and substance abuse make him even more of a bad boy. Doctor, doctor I am sick. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kps6ggyDmW1qzmsloo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_kps6ggyDmW1qzmsloo1_500.jpg" width="196" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
6. Sheldon Cooper from &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Big_Bang_Theory"&gt;Big Bang Theory&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
There's something strangely appealing about nerdy Sheldon Cooper. He has an overblown ego and believes everyone else is intellectually inferior to him. He's stubborn, socially inept, sharp-tongued, and is burdened with obssessive compulsive tendencies.Because of this, Sheldon is the badass of the geek community. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_06sX-KOaEp8/TAxd_U_6H7I/AAAAAAAAAjw/n9K_GKsfVcc/s1600/barrons2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="200" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_06sX-KOaEp8/TAxd_U_6H7I/AAAAAAAAAjw/n9K_GKsfVcc/s200/barrons2.jpg" width="143" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
7. Christian Troy from &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nip_/_tuck"&gt;Nip / Tuck&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Plastic surgeon Christian Troy is the ultimate narcissist. He's prettier than most of the women he bangs and he knows it. He drives flashy cars, wears branded suits, and frequents nightclubs. He is a relentless womanizer and a sex addict. Dr. Troy is like fine wine, he gets better and badder as he gets older.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_krxtqy7Hyu1qzcy2uo1_500.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="187" src="http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_krxtqy7Hyu1qzcy2uo1_500.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
8. Noah "Puck" Puckerman from Glee&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
Puck is a cocky football player who sees himself as a stud. Like teenage guys his age, his hormones are overflowing. Clad with a hard, rebellious exterior and a funky mohawk, this jock also has a soft side. Oh Puck, sing me a song baby!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Note: Thanks to wikipedia and to some other sites for the images =)&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-6815913781148634376?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/6815913781148634376/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/01/bad-boys-bad-boys-watcha-gonna-do.html#comment-form" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6815913781148634376?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/6815913781148634376?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/f6TznZyzJCQ/bad-boys-bad-boys-watcha-gonna-do.html" title="Bad Boys, Bad Boys (Watcha Gonna Do?)" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_kZxk8fAhoQU/TLXTsj96zYI/AAAAAAAAC-s/NO3-UpimMyI/s72-c/Michael-Scofield_5%5B1%5D.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>4</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2010/01/bad-boys-bad-boys-watcha-gonna-do.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIARXc4eCp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-7214056668453294435</id><published>2009-12-10T05:22:00.009+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:29:04.930+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:29:04.930+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="lessons" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="birthday" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="journey" /><title>It's My Birthday and l'll Blog If I Want to: Post-It Notes</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/20531923/18e001b9" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;In Da Club by 50 Cent&lt;/i&gt; ||&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WTW7DfrnqPw/TeMBAcDYrOI/AAAAAAAABs0/G9RP7wvtu7M/s1600/SSC_1776.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WTW7DfrnqPw/TeMBAcDYrOI/AAAAAAAABs0/G9RP7wvtu7M/s320/SSC_1776.JPG" t8="true" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
20 years ago I was an innocent soul whose life revolved around school and home. My dreams were still vague. My frustrations were playing the piano and being part of a broken family.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
10 years ago I was not so innocent anymore. My dreams were to become a lawyer and to marry my one great love. My frustrations were Math 17 and boys. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
5 years ago I thought I was living the life I wanted. My dreams were to be the best in my field and to make my marriage work. My frustrations were cooking and being a good wife. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now as my calendar refreshes, I travel towards an unkown destination with a broken compass in hand. My dreams are to transcend my limitations and to find the person whose never going to let go of my hand as I tread life's path. My frustrations are bad romances and being a good mom. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
For me, birthdays used to mean enjoying big family dinners, having the license to cut class or skip work, getting drunk with friends, and receiving surprises from loved ones. As I grow older, birthdays have become a time to reflect on the year that went by. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
On my 29th year, I decided to write a blog entry on the "post-it notes" that I picked up from the past 365 days of my life. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
10 Things I Learned This Year: &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
10. Enjoy every ride. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
9. Expectations are the serial killers of relationships. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
8. Mind games are a waste of time. Honesty is the new black. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
7. It doesn't matter if you're making baby steps or big steps, what matters is that you're moving forward. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
6. Adventures help us stay young. Just make sure you pocket bits and pieces of wisdom as you go along so they help you mature as well. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
5. People are innately good. You just have to know where to look. While you're searching, it won't hurt to stand by them and hold their hand. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
4. Assert yourself. If you know you can get things done, then do it. Failure is a dreaded consequence but the joy of fulfillment is a prize not everyone gets. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
3. Flexibility is the key to success. Bend and break if you have to in order to achieve your goals. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
2. Love is something that you will never find, especially if you're not ready to welcome it with open arms. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
1. Boys will always be boys. Apol will always be Apol. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm looking forward to the coming year. After all, being 29 is not as bad as being 30.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-7214056668453294435?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/7214056668453294435/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/12/it-my-birthday-and-i-blog-if-i-want-to.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7214056668453294435?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7214056668453294435?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/pqP8M7_CNHI/it-my-birthday-and-i-blog-if-i-want-to.html" title="It's My Birthday and l'll Blog If I Want to: Post-It Notes" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WTW7DfrnqPw/TeMBAcDYrOI/AAAAAAAABs0/G9RP7wvtu7M/s72-c/SSC_1776.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/12/it-my-birthday-and-i-blog-if-i-want-to.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIDRX88eip7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-7598411464380513831</id><published>2009-12-01T05:00:00.031+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:29:34.172+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:29:34.172+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Confessions Part 8: Bad Romance</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;object height="265" width="320"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QjRHSang4Jo&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0xcc2550&amp;color2=0xe87a9f"&gt;





&lt;/param&gt;
&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;





&lt;/param&gt;
&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;





&lt;/param&gt;
&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QjRHSang4Jo&amp;hl=en_US&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0xcc2550&amp;color2=0xe87a9f" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="320" height="265"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
A year ago, my heart got broken into tiny little pieces.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was a mess. I was drunk every day. I got into a major car accident. It was a total nightmare. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now whenever I look in the mirror, I see shadows of my past lurking around my image. In a span of a year, I have slowly crawled back into my cocoon. I have metamorphosed into my old self. It's neither good nor bad though. I'm not a bitch but I'm definitely nothing in between.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"What happened to you?" someone I used to date asked me, questioning my refurbished self.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I wanted to answer, "You and a shit load of assholes did." But I controlled myself. Like I said, I'm never a bitch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After five months of not talking to each other, he called and asked me out. After having an appetizer of lies and a plateful of deception for the main entree, he started making his moves. It was obvious what he wanted from me that night. He's such a scheming rat. Come to think of it, I wouldn't be there that night if I knew his personality matched his puppy-dog eyes and his boy-next-door looks. It 's another "bad romance" I guess.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Do you think we could work things out?" he asked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"We didn't work out in college, we didn't work out a few months back, I don't think there's a chance we'll ever work out", I nonchalantly replied.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Don't you like me?" he fished.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I did", was all I could say.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"So there's no chance you'd like me now?" he pushed.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"No. I actually like someone right now" I honestly responded.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I actually give props to him for playing the game well. He knows what girls need to hear and he knows when to say them. But if I were to rate him from 1 to 5, I'd just give him a 4. He has the skills but he's a little rough on the edges. I think he actually believed his moves worked on me. I guess he forgot it was me he was trying to play.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"You know I would have believed you a few months back. I'm sorry but I just don't believe in you anymore." I bluntly said. "If it's sex you want, you should have told me from the beginning".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"It might have crossed my mind but that's not my objective tonight. If it's going to happen, then it's going to happen" he defended. "You think too much".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Well, that's why we have brains honey", I jokingly retaliated .&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
At that point, he decided to stop the futile conversation and tried another technique. I humored him to see if his ego would bloat from his pseudo- victory.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In a way, I like immersing myself in such situations so I can put human behavior under a magnifying glass. Weird I know, but I find thrill in the difficult and the unconventional. I guess it's because I believe that beneath every person's facade is innate goodness. You just have to know where to look.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
(Note to self: I really should stop believeing too much in humanity)&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I think I'm crazy", a guy I'm seeing now said.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I don't care if you're crazy. I'm actually crazier for embracing your craziness", I thought. In fact, the more he shows me the man behind the dark glasses, the more I'm drawn to him. In Gwen Stefani's words:&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;blockquote&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;There's times where I want something more&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;Someone more like me&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;There's times when this dress rehearsal&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;Seems incomplete&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;But, you see the colors in me like no one else&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;And behind your dark glasses you're...&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;You're something else&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
"You're not scared of me?" was his follow-up question.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Of course not. Why should I be?", was my answer. "Is that your objective in life, to scare away people?" I curiously inquired.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"No" he replied.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I don't know. Sometimes I just can't control my rage. There are times when I just erupt without any reason at all", he shared. "And I get paranoid all the time".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"It must be the drugs. I hope you haven't returned to your bad habits."&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"No. I'm clean now".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Good. Maybe all you need right now is a diversion to help you get your mind off things", I suggested.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Is this where the Superman complex comes in? Are you here with me because you want to save me?", he asked.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I don't think I can" I answered with a grin. "Besides, I'm here because I want to be with you".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Sometimes I try to figure out whether I get attracted to "bad romance" or it's "bad romance" that I attract. I don't know.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I've gone through a lot of "bad romances" this year. If I had a heart it would be breaking right now. But it's not. That's why I don't see myself getting into anything serious. I kept a promise to myself that I wouldn't dive into anything within a hairline of being serious as long as I cringe at the thought of commitment.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Disclaimer: I don't have a problem with love. I think I'm a very loving person and I'm not afraid to love someone with my all. It's just the labels that scare me. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I also promised myself that when I'm in a real relationship again, I should be able to let go of all the "bad romances" that fate keeps on throwing down my pond.For now, I'm just living my life the way I want to.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Two consecutive nights. Two adventures. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://rlv.zcache.com/bad_romance_tshirt-p235156226692322815ymjq_400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://rlv.zcache.com/bad_romance_tshirt-p235156226692322815ymjq_400.jpg" width="320" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-7598411464380513831?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/7598411464380513831/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/12/confessions-part-8-series-of-adventures.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7598411464380513831?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7598411464380513831?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/9Y19B3YSGQg/confessions-part-8-series-of-adventures.html" title="Confessions Part 8: Bad Romance" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/12/confessions-part-8-series-of-adventures.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkIMR3c7eyp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-5739803808413362703</id><published>2009-11-02T23:22:00.026+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:29:46.903+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:29:46.903+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="confessions" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>Confessions Part 7: Gravity</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/108963887/1225bfa1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Gravity by Sara Bareilles&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;||&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3199/2872368503_85dee5f8b8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="320" src="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3199/2872368503_85dee5f8b8.jpg" width="280" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;
While I was watching the intoxicated people unreservedly dancing in the middle of the room, I dared him to introduce himself to a girl with a boyfriend in tow. He looked at me and flashed a familiar smile, a smile that's so boyishly mischievous.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Finally, I got to have some fun again after a series of stressful events.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With me that night were a couple of friends, including someone who made me want to choose risk over stability a year ago. He's a special entree on the blacklist menu: a terminal bachelor, serial chicker, junkie and psycho all mixed in one devilishly delicious dish.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I'm strangely drawn to him, like Blair is to Chuck. It's like... gravity.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I know who he is inside and out. I have seen him at his worst but no matter what he does, I can never force myself to walk away from him because I know that beyond the distorted mask he's wearing is a broken soul crying for help.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He's the only person I can love and hate at the same time.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
"Do you want to play a game?" he asked, breaking my scattered thoughts.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
"Sure", I replied without hesitation. He loves games, especially dangerous ones.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
He explained the rules and asked, "What's my prize if I win?"&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
I shrugged and answered, "Whatever you want."&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both;"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Being the shrewd guy that he is, he won the silly little game and got his reward.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After a long night, the pack decided to go home. And as if the stars decided we needed more adventure that day, my left tire rapidly deflated leaving us with no choice but to stop in the middle of nowhere. I was about to panic when he grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the car, which was awkwardly parked on the sidewalk.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Let's take a walk so we can shake off the booze from our system", he uttered in a manly manner.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It was crazy treading the dangerous streets of Manila at around 4 in the morning while holding hands. It was also sweet, in a twisted sort of way.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
To solve our dilemma, we hooked up with a friendly "padyak" driver and asked if he could change the flat tire. Even then, we were fooling around while trying to help "manong".&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Let's go to church", he said while tugging at my sleeve and pointing at the big church beside us.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"I don't go to church", I said flatly.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
"Me neither. But I just feel like it", he replied with a tinge of enthusiasm in his voice while pulling me towards the ancient edifice. He was like a kid asking his mom to buy him a balloon.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I looked at him and vaguely remembered how fascinated I was with him in the past.To me he was like an unspeakably beautiful puzzle waiting to be solved. But after one year, here I am, still with missing puzzle pieces in my hand. I guess I'll never be able solve him. No one ever will.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When my car was ready to go, I offered to take him home. It was around 5 in the morning. He insisted on taking me home but I didn't want him to. It was so.... not us.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
We're just.... an odd pair who's neither here not there. And honestly I don't want to change a thing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don't expect to see him soon (especially after making him wait for 3 hours that night), but I know I'll hear from him as soon as this adventure has faded in my memory.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Another night. Another adventure.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-5739803808413362703?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/5739803808413362703/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/11/confessions-part-7-series-of-adventures.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5739803808413362703?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5739803808413362703?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/WhgG2HXi1XU/confessions-part-7-series-of-adventures.html" title="Confessions Part 7: Gravity" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://farm4.static.flickr.com/3199/2872368503_85dee5f8b8_t.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/11/confessions-part-7-series-of-adventures.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkINQHw8eCp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-7468496922095126544</id><published>2009-10-28T04:49:00.026+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:29:51.270+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:29:51.270+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="crime" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="internet" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="men" /><title>The Anonymous Texter</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/58907642/1ec2739d" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;One Wish by Ray J&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;i&gt;||&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_WFWqorCm44/TbsfB83G5sI/AAAAAAAAAAU/qiMh6mENYTE/s1600/medium_faceless210_copy18571.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_WFWqorCm44/TbsfB83G5sI/AAAAAAAAAAU/qiMh6mENYTE/s320/medium_faceless210_copy18571.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"&gt;&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Last week, I received an SMS from unknown number. At first, I thought it was just another one of those irritating love quotes but when I actually read the message, it was the lyrics to the song “One Wish” by Ray J.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;blockquote&gt;
&lt;i&gt;If I had one wish, we would be best friends&lt;br /&gt;
Love would never end, it would just begin&lt;br /&gt;
If I had one wish, you would be my boo&lt;br /&gt;
Promise to love you, trust me I'll trust you&lt;br /&gt;
If I had one wish, we would run away&lt;br /&gt;
Making love all day, have us a baby&lt;br /&gt;
If I had one wish, I’ll make you my whole life&lt;br /&gt;
And you’ll be my wife, make it right this time&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I was using a different mobile phone then because mine was busted and was still fighting for dear life. Since none of my contacts were stored in the phone that I was using, I asked who the sender was.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The response was short:  &lt;i&gt;Someone who used to love you.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
My curiosity got aroused. I wanted to know who was behind the intriguing charade. At that time, I was pretty certain that the anonymous texter was a friend who was playing a prank on me.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After a volley of messages, I was convinced that he is not who he says he is. I was supposed to ignore his messages as soon as I sensed a tinge of deception, but the more he disclosed facts that he knew about me, the more I wanted to know who he really was.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
I took things lightly and was even a little flattered until he revealed that he was my stalker in college. I sort of found the confession a little disturbing.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
According to Wikipedia, stalkers pursue and attempt to insert themselves or control the lives of others, which is what my anonymous texter is doing right now.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I’ve actually had several stalkers prior to this, like a security guard who followed me around school grounds and sent me a screwed-up love letter, a friend’s cousin who parked his car outside our house for several hours at a time, and an unidentified neighbor who left notes in our mailbox.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I’m sure a lot of us have worn stalker capes at one point in our lives too and have stalked a significant someone like a crush, an ex-boyfriend, a boyfriend’s ex-girlfriend, our father’s mistress, or an archrival.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I must admit, I’ve had my fair share of stalking activities in the past. Back in UP Diliman, I had a big crush on this guy who was a year my junior. I really wanted to meet him so my manipulative nature came into action. When we finally became friends, I would make spontaneous stopovers whenever I see his Maroon Honda Civic and pretend to bump into him.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Up to now, I still have stalking tendencies. They even call me "NBI" at work because of my ability to extract information about people. But I “stalk” for fun’s sake. It’s nothing obsessive or consistent.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Unfortunately, there are many out there who carry out obsessive behaviors, especially now that personal information can be gathered using various media. Because of our ages' technological advances, stalking has gone cyber.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
According to the &lt;a href="http://www.ncvc.org/ncvc/Main.aspx"&gt;National Center for Victims of Crime,&lt;/a&gt; cyberstalking takes many forms such as: &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
1. threatening or obscene e-mail&lt;br /&gt;
2. spamming&lt;br /&gt;
3. live chat harassment or flaming (online verbal abuse)&lt;br /&gt;
4. leaving improper messages on message boards or in guest books&lt;br /&gt;
5. sending electronic viruses&lt;br /&gt;
6. sending unsolicited e-mail&lt;br /&gt;
7. tracing another person's computer and Internet activity&lt;br /&gt;
8. electronic identity theft&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The simplest and easiest way to stalk someone is by using search engines such as Google. A sprinkle of ingenuity combined with the right key words could lead a stalker to the information that he needs. If narcissistic net junkies “google” themselves to satisfy their vanity, cyberstalkers “google” the person they have a fixation on. Some simply research on their victims to feed their obsession. Others try to fit small pieces of information like a puzzle and carry out extreme actions depending on their motive.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But Google is just an appetizer for hungry cyberstalkers.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
With the recent emergence of social networking sites, like Facebook, Twitter, MySpace and Multiply, cyberstalkers have found new ways of feeding their appetites.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I read on the different types of cyberstalkers online and came up with more cultural-appropriate version. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"&gt;
&lt;a href="http://dynamicdating.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/heartbreak.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" height="198" src="http://dynamicdating.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/05/heartbreak.jpg" width="200" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;b&gt;1. The Dumped One&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
- cannot get over a recent relationship loss&lt;br /&gt;
- obsessively checks on updates, especially shoutouts, pictures, and relationship status, to keep track of the ex&lt;br /&gt;
- gets hurt with stalking activities but cannot seem to stop&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;2. The Skid Mark&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
- usually a guy who’s obsessed with “the girl of his dreams”&lt;br /&gt;
- believes that his extreme stalking attempts will win her affection&lt;br /&gt;
- bombards the victim with hundreds of phone calls, text messages, and emails everyday&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;3. The Silent Observer&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
- stalks from a distance by following the victim online&lt;br /&gt;
- has tons pictures of the victim on his / her hard drive&lt;br /&gt;
- silently observes the victim’s every move, from status messages to blogs&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;4. The Gossip Girl&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
- usually a girl who obsesses on the lives of others because she has nothing else better to do&lt;br /&gt;
- follows social networking sites and blogs to acquire juicy gossip&lt;br /&gt;
- spreading rumors is this person’s sole social activity&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;5. The Vindictive-&lt;/b&gt; usually a wounded soul who’s out to seek vengeance on the person they hate&lt;br /&gt;
- publicly shames the victim by post malicious and inflammatory statements online&lt;br /&gt;
- derives pleasure when causing misery or harm to the victim&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;6. The Paranoid&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
- usually a jealous girlfriend who wallows in paranoia&lt;br /&gt;
- silently stalks boyfriend’s past girlfriends accounts to check if they still communicate&lt;br /&gt;
- logs in to boyfriend’s accounts to discover unknown activities&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;b&gt;7. The Loser&lt;/b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
- usually a loner who has zero sexual activities and is motivated by the desire for sexual gratification&lt;br /&gt;
- forms non-existent relationships with their victim in their head&lt;br /&gt;
- engages in obscene phone calls / texts, voyeurism, and surveillance&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Here are some chilling stories I found online: &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.heartland.org/article/26129/I_Was_Cyberstalked_by_My_Teacher.html"&gt;I Was Cyberstalked by My Teacher &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
For three years, a regularly updated Web site describing me as a "psycho" and my late mother as a "perverted drug addict” was available on the Internet. Another high school prank, maintained by a bullying classmate? Unfortunately not. The site was created by my former high school English teacher.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.wsoctv.com/news/15186700/detail.html"&gt;South Charlotte Teen Charged With Cyberstalking Of Teacher &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
A Providence High School freshman is charged with cyberstalking after officers say he created a Web site link that suggested the male teacher was a pedophile. Four other freshmen have also been disciplined by the school district for targeting the teacher on the social networking site Facebook.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.wftv.com/news/15369433/detail.html"&gt;20-Year-Old Accused Of Using MySpace For Cyber-Stalking&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
A local woman was stalked on a popular website and the Internet giant helped track down the suspect. The victim said her ex-boyfriend made the threatening statements on her MySpace page. &lt;a href="http://womensissues.about.com/od/violenceagainstwomen/a/CyberstalkStory.htm"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;a href="http://womensissues.about.com/od/violenceagainstwomen/a/CyberstalkStory.htm"&gt;I Was a Victim of Cyberstalking&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Standing at the main gas station in our small town, I swiped my credit card and put my hand on the pump handle, ready to lift it up when the payment went through. Nothing happened. I tried again. This time a note flashed on the electronic board, "Please see cashier." I ignored the message and tried another credit card instead. Crap. Same message: "Please see cashier." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2000/03/23/48hours/main175556.shtml"&gt;An Online Tragedy&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
"What we found on his computer was a Web site that he had constructed titled 'Amy Boyer,' Campbell says. "When we clicked on the Web site, what we saw there was a detailed chronicle of how he had stalked her for years, how he felt about her and how much he wanted to kill her." &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
After reading all these stories, I realized that once cyberstalking becomes an obsession, it can metamorphose into something dangerous. This is something that each individual should be educated on so they can learn how to protect their identity on the web.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;"We need to get the information out there. It's potentially going to be a very big problem if people don't learn about it, don't understand it, and don't know how to protect themselves"&lt;/i&gt; - Jayne Hitchcock, president of Women Halting Online Abuse. &lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
As for me, I already deleted my contact information on Facebook.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-7468496922095126544?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/7468496922095126544/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/10/last-week-i-received-sms-from-unknown.html#comment-form" title="2 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7468496922095126544?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/7468496922095126544?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/JXrSeWP1UI4/last-week-i-received-sms-from-unknown.html" title="The Anonymous Texter" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_WFWqorCm44/TbsfB83G5sI/AAAAAAAAAAU/qiMh6mENYTE/s72-c/medium_faceless210_copy18571.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>2</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/10/last-week-i-received-sms-from-unknown.html</feedburner:origLink></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkINR3s_cSp7ImA9WhdREUg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6045816037386082170.post-5610806713048513706</id><published>2009-10-22T00:19:00.017+08:00</published><updated>2011-08-01T08:29:56.549+08:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2011-08-01T08:29:56.549+08:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="short stories" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="fiction" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="love and relationships" /><title>A Fifth-Grader's Definition of Love</title><content type="html">&lt;div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"&gt;
&lt;embed flashvars="audioUrl=MP3_FILE_URL" height="27" quality="best" src="http://www.4shared.com/embed/250299676/2d8c4542" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="400"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;Love Song by 311&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;i&gt;||&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/St84yXXufFI/AAAAAAAABbE/BnUFGX2_oU8/s1600-h/question+mark.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"&gt;&lt;img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/St84yXXufFI/AAAAAAAABbE/BnUFGX2_oU8/s320/question+mark.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
A fifth-grade class was given an assignment by their English teacher. They were asked to write a composition about love.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Love is a very abstract concept. It is a universal language although it doesn’t have a universal meaning. Its definition may vary from person to person depending on their cultural and social upbringing” the teacher said.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“What I’d like you to do is write a composition about what love means to you” the teacher continued. “You have the entire weekend to work on this assignment”.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The students murmured a chorus of boos right before the school bell rang.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The students scrambled their way out of the room. Gabriel, a quiet fifth-grader, sluggishly took his backpack and started walking to his house which was just a few blocks away from his school. While he was on his way home, he thought about the huge undertaking his teacher gave them over the weekend.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Gabriel was part of a fused family. He had a brother, 3 sisters, 2 stepbrothers, 3 stepsisters, and 2 half brothers. He was the youngest among this big brood and he was planning to interview his entire family and ask them about their own definition of love.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
That night, Gab started making rounds for his interview and quickly scribbled down their responses.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Lola, 20, dancer in a downtown club&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Love is all about exchanging turpentine kisses and drowning in honey-coated embraces”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
William, 21, loves writing poetry, Literature major&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Love means exposing yourself up to an entire spectrum of emotions, from bliss to pain”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Serena, 16, Middle School student, cheerleader&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Love is feeling butterflies in your stomach and tingling in certain places”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
John, 30, pastor&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Love equates to commitment, it is vowing to stay with your partner for better or for worse”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Rene, 28, Math teacher&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Love is a challenge, it is a puzzle meant to be solved”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Chase, 19, junior high student, football captain&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“It is a game meant to be played. If you don’t know the rules, then you are bound to lose”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Joan, 27, chemist&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“It is a matter of trial and error; if you don’t find it with one, you need to move on to the next”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Michael, 21, philosophy major&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Love only exists in books. It is a concept concocted by writers to sell their work”.&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Blair, 26, budding entrepreneur&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“Love is an investment. The bigger you invest the higher you risk”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Raymond, 18, racecar driver&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“It’s what makes the ride worthwhile”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Carrie, 19, college student, shoe shopaholic&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“It’s looking for the perfect fit and once you do, make sure you fight for it no matter the cost”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Dad, early 60s, Physician, a busy man&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“It’s taking care of the one you love”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Mom, early 50s, stays at home to take care of us&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;i&gt;“It is giving without expecting, loving without asking to be loved”&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The next day, Gab worked on his composition. He didn’t know where to start. He was more confused now than he was before he interviewed his family. It took him 6 grueling hours and about a dozen notebook leaves to finally finish his assignment.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When it was time to hand over their compositions, Gab took a crumpled sheet of paper and shyly passed it to his teacher. The teacher was surprised to receive a blank paper from him and demanded an explanation.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“Well, it’s not entirely blank miss”, Gab murmured in a shaky voice.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“I wrote my name and the title of my composition on it”, he continued.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
“I can see that”, replied the irritated teacher. “But that’s all there is. Where is the composition I asked you to write?”&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div&gt;
“Well you see miss, after interviewing the entire household about their definition of love, I realized that love is such a vague and complicated word. At my age, I really don’t have any idea what it is, that’s why my paper is blank. I know one day I’ll learn what love really is, like my siblings and my parents, and I’m sure that if you ask me to write about it several years from now, I would be able to write something down on the blank sheet of paper I handed you today”.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;strong&gt;Post-script &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
Like Gab, many people don’t know what love really is. It’s either they’re confused or have an entirely distorted idea of what it is. And like his family, we all have our own definition of love which we believe to be true. After 28 years, my own definition of love has drastically evolved. All the definitions above are actually my own, with the last being my most current interpretation of what love really is.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6045816037386082170-5610806713048513706?l=apolcano.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/feeds/5610806713048513706/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/10/fifth-graders-definition-of-love.html#comment-form" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5610806713048513706?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6045816037386082170/posts/default/5610806713048513706?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/apolcano/~3/gQIfxL4dCfA/fifth-graders-definition-of-love.html" title="A Fifth-Grader's Definition of Love" /><author><name>Apol Suyo-Cano</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/12385777258475545250</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail" width="32" height="31" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaGYKboyqAA/ThDfcdE50mI/AAAAAAAAB-U/FQfnbSF9EsM/s220/nov%2B2009%2B2.JPG" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_OABYyQtvljc/St84yXXufFI/AAAAAAAABbE/BnUFGX2_oU8/s72-c/question+mark.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total>5</thr:total><feedburner:origLink>http://apolcano.blogspot.com/2009/10/fifth-graders-definition-of-love.html</feedburner:origLink></entry></feed>

