Kill Bill Vol.I (2003) dir. Quentin Tarantino
I love his quirkiness in buttoning even the top button of his collared shirt. And that he had his both ears pierced, knowing that it has nothing to do with sexuality. I love the stories behind the tattoos on his arm and chest, especially the one that I’ll be changing my surname with.
I love it when he asks whose butt he is going to kick for making my teeth gnashed. And I love that he always seems to know what I need. I love how he listens anyway even if what I’m talking about isn’t relevant at all. I love how my sporadic sadness does faze him at times. I just love the way he makes me feel better when I’m off track.
I love that he is competitive and that he has strength of character. I love how he suspiciously observes his surroundings because of this traumatic hold-up incident he had before. I love the way I get nervous when he becomes serious because I may have done something that might cause me or us trouble. I know that it’s just his way of protecting and defending me.
I love how badly he wants to give our children a Filipino name even though I truly disagree with his idea. I just love that things seem so easy for him. I love the way he pushes my hair out of the way when we kiss. I love his touch and how his body feels next to mine. I love cuddling with him and that he’s ticklish. I love the way he looks when he’s sleeping. And I love the way he calls me “baby”. This guy, I don’t understand what he sees in me but it’s magical that I hope he never stops seeing it.>>
I’ve been living my life not believing that love, as cliché as it sounds, can actually change someone in a manner that my brilliant mind couldn’t even imagine. I always figured that I’d be one of those people who would always let their mind rule over their heart. It’s just incredible how our world spiraling out of control can change all that. It turns out that my prince charming made me discover how to balance both by not losing my mind, and at the same time, not forgetting about my heart. As a matter of fact, no one can really understand a lot of what has happened in the last few months, but one thing I know for sure is that I didn’t expect I could actually fall in love with someone like him. I probably would have never found out, either, if it weren’t for how those remarkable days unfolded.
It was a Sunday evening when I met him at my former schoolmate’s birthday party. He was wearing a plain white V-neck shirt and his spiky hair was freaking adorable. Sitting right in front of him, I got not just butterflies in my stomach, but the entire zoo. The night could not have been favorable to me if I wasn’t the tanggera of that Ginuman session. I was fortunate that I did not need to think of a conversation starter just to talk to him. Besides, he was the one who initiated a discussion. We started off by talking about these intricate tattoos on my arm and how we like the same music. I could not remember all, but I certainly felt comfortable talking to him. My stare was frozen on his face like a lost child; carefully staring at him, yet too anxious to let him notice how stunned I was. Oh my God, I love his smile.
Halfway through the session, however, something happened with his breathing. To my surprise, he was gasping for air due to binge drinking and smoking cigars. I sat beside him in confusion, wondering if I, the tanggera, was the one to blame or not. So, I asked him first if he was fine, and told him that I could volunteer to be his nurse if ever he would need one. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but clearly, he was saying that he’s all right.
Stuttering and stammering, I began to pull myself together and snapped back into reality. That night was already over. Since then, I always thought that we might not see or talk to each other again, but Facebook made it all wrong. For the first few months after that Ginuman session, our chitchat moments happened through Facebook. His sense of humor never failed to paint a smile on my face. Until now, I am curious about where his wittiness extract from and how it makes me ridiculously laugh that I end up scraping his arm. And oh, I love his way with words and everything he writes.
After four months of that getting-to-know stage, we finally met up again, and again, and again, and again. Oddly enough, I love how all those times I looked at him, he took my breath away. The way he made me feel whenever I was with him was supernatural. Apparently, right there, I fell in love…>>
Sums up my love story. Wew.
A very good way of going about explaining this issue. It’s good to see something positive come from Tumblr.
Fear of a Black Victim [credit]
Maybe this isn’t such a bad idea.
I don’t mind, really – people always talk. About things they don’t know and times that have long been swallowed up in space and heartaches that are entertaining and all these things they shouldn’t even bother themselves with but do – so I don’t mind.
With you, my dear, I feel safe. Maybe it’s the oddness of it all, maybe the lacking of your touch, maybe the abundance of it, maybe it’s the confusion in your drunk kisses and the clarity in your fickle sobriety, maybe it’s that I’m a million miles away from wherever anyone thinks I am, and maybe I’m just tired of love.
Or lack thereof.
And maybe, for the first time in my life, that’s okay, too.
The lacking requires filling, and yes, I need some replenishing.
In these dry hours and as my hair impales my watery eyes and as I lose myself in the melodies I am not familiar with, I’m finally okay with not being okay.
Tear me down and build me up and inhale me until I can breathe again.
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Fact submitted by: bonjourtammy
Sometimes I need to be held not because I am feeling particularly amorous, but because the state of the the world scares the living crap out of me. Sometimes I need to be smothered by skin and sweat and cocooned in sheets stained with cum so that I might shrink the world into something I can manage. Sometimes I fuck because I am fucked, because we are all fucked, and because for a short time, in the small oasis that he and I create in this bed together, there is no hate, there is only love.
The most emotional and inspirational commencement speech I’ve heard. It never gets old.
Way back 2006. Sienan days.
Anonymous said: What's your tatoo? Can you show us a picture of it please? How many do you have? Do you plan to get others in the future?
All in all, I have seven (unfinished) tattoos; where each of them either portrays sufficiently noteworthy things I have in life, personal interests, or designs carefully customized by the artist himself. [1. a Nami-swan tattoo combined with my Zodiac sign; 2. fire-water wolves that I’d love to be covered up real SOON; 3. a balance tattoo composed of four classical elements, which will permanently remain in plain B&W; 4. a Sakura; 5. a puzzle piece that I also want to be replaced by something odd; 6. THE ring me some conscience; and 7. a carousel].
Few of these pictures are posted somewhere in this tumblelog, and I apologize for not trying to look for them at all. Right now, I badly want to have my sleeve done — cover ups, filling of spaces, and retouches — before I’ll get a new one. Hay, this itch. My, my, obsessive-compulsive.>>
wrestlewithwriting said: hi jah! it's kin from xight. bakit mo tinakpan yung face mo sa picture nyo ni ashley? haha! :D i followed you by the way. high five! :)
Followed you back! Hihi kasi I look pathetic compared to her. *sighs* jk OA smile kasi ako dun. :))>>
Feel better, Tricia. Sobrang brave mo, I admire you a lot. Mimiss ka na namin ni Seth!When everything seems wrong, I learned that small victories would keep you going.
Thankful for all the good things that happened to me so far. :) Chemo session 3 in a few hours.