tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-44182045414564111352024-03-05T02:26:16.529-08:00SomusoFrom the heart: My collection of poems, songs, stories and reflections.Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-17688246133557045152010-05-09T15:57:00.000-07:002010-05-09T16:08:28.932-07:00For Now<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0v53zKtHSfThzV_hl81fch26veDzC0IrMJZY-dZ4fTEKj_BXOixFbU5XlDa3aqS5gVLSWIJTxmP94sKw-PkkfiaZU75dP1I02CPuXebh0jmbvhFJOsEnergcm0RdNcGKVo23gOOPi0iy/s1600/turn.gif"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 314px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469410363303963634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0v53zKtHSfThzV_hl81fch26veDzC0IrMJZY-dZ4fTEKj_BXOixFbU5XlDa3aqS5gVLSWIJTxmP94sKw-PkkfiaZU75dP1I02CPuXebh0jmbvhFJOsEnergcm0RdNcGKVo23gOOPi0iy/s320/turn.gif" /></a><br /><div>ttyl.</div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-70292966335838235582010-04-23T11:48:00.001-07:002010-04-23T14:45:53.156-07:00They Say The Darndest Things<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKL7-0kbNsOfvqpk36yTzfd8485Ks2q6Q1ACImlCvviD5zXNsBWuHj05OVuD1ri8CQ0mcUsiXSmLvRCHwgT8YoOiqp1zConuVvFWzyHcqMu6oqpOQEHNKadjooaERl2vI6U33CJ1ATOZp/s1600/child.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463448563450371746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLKL7-0kbNsOfvqpk36yTzfd8485Ks2q6Q1ACImlCvviD5zXNsBWuHj05OVuD1ri8CQ0mcUsiXSmLvRCHwgT8YoOiqp1zConuVvFWzyHcqMu6oqpOQEHNKadjooaERl2vI6U33CJ1ATOZp/s320/child.jpg" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>I live with my cousin and her family. Her kids are nine, seven and six years old(boy, girl, boy) and most times, when I need a laugh, I simply listen to them talk. </div><div>They are hilarious.</div><div><br /></div><div></div><div>"Mummy, when are we going to go to Nigeria?" <em>Seven</em> asked my cousin once. </div><div>"One day", her mom assured her.</div><div>"What?!" <em>Seven</em> complained, "Just for one day? Aww men!"</div><div><br /></div><div>On another occassion, my cousin took <em>Six</em> and I to her office and introduced us to her colleagues. When we were about to leave, one of them said bye to <em>Six</em>.</div><div>"Bye!" <em>Six</em> replied, "See you when I'm old!"<br /></div><div></div><br /><div>This is an example of a conversation I have with <em>Six</em> almost everyday:<br /></div><div>"Aunty, can I- can I ask you something?"</div><div>"Yes".</div><div>"You know how...you know when, like, you know...Aunty, can I ask you something?"</div><div>"Yes".</div><div>"This is my playstation game".</div><div>".....okay".</div><br /><div></div><div>I hear things like these on a daily basis. I'm used to it now. But sometimes, kids can surprise you.</div><br /><div>Last Wednesday was my cousin's birthday, so the kids and I cleaned up the house and made dinner to surprise her. We bought a card, baked macaroons (there was no margarine or butter to bake a cake, macaroons were the only thing in the cookbook that didn't need butter) and arranged the dining table all fancy like. By now, <em>Six</em> was fretting about how hungry he was. Usually they ate before their mum came home. But he waited. </div><br /><div>When she came home, she was happy (the house was clean, of course she was happy). </div><div>After all the greetings and picture taking, we finally settled down around the table. <em>Six</em> reached out to grab a spoon.</div><br /><div>"Can we pray first?", my cousin asked. <em>Six</em> groaned and sat back. "Come on, <em>Six</em> pray for us".</div><div>He groaned again, "Aww men! Why can't <em>Nine</em> do it?"</div><div>"I'm asking you, <em>Six</em>", she replied.</div><div>"Okay", he said. He closed his eyes, clapped his hands together and bowed his head. I waited for the usual 'Bless this food, Oh Lord' that they normally said.</div><br /><div>But, in the calmest, most innocent, most solemn voice and in a surprisingly adult manner, he said, </div><br /><div>"Jesus taught us to pray </div><div>Jesus taught us to love one another</div><div>Jesus taught us to help each other...every day</div><div>Jesus taught us to [always be together]</div><div>Jesus taught us to () </div><div>Thank you Jesus for my mommy</div><div>Thank you Jesus for our food<br />Jesus is our only father and </div><div>God is our only father and- and</div><div>Mary and Joseph are our only Mum and Dad.</div><div>Thank you Jesus for this meal. Amen".</div><br /><div>"Amen", we chorused and opened our eyes. For about five seconds, no one said anything. We just stared at him.</div><div></div><div>It wasn't just what he said, it was the way he said it. He wasn't reciting something he was taught, he was actually talking to God. Yes, some parts of it are funny but mostly, it was genuine.</div><div></div><div>"Six, that was so good!" his mum said.</div><div>"I know!" I said.</div><div>"Yeah, where did you learn to pray like that?"<em> Nine</em> asked, looking at his brother like he didn't know who he was. If you knew <em>Six</em>, you'd understand why we were so surprised.</div><br /><div>As we praised him, he just sat, uncharacteristically quiet, looking at his plate.</div><div>"Six, where did you learn that?" his mom asked.</div><div>A small frown formed on his face as he looked up. </div><div>"Can we eat now?" he asked, returning to the six year old we knew. </div><div>So we ate.</div><br /><div>When I was writing this post, I asked him to say the prayer for me again.</div><div>"I can't remember", he said. I urged him to try and remember.</div><div>"I can't", he said, "I don't know, I just said it". </div><div></div><div>In adult lingo, "It was straight from his heart".</div><br /><div></div><div>Maybe it's not such a big deal.</div><div>Maybe it's normal for six year olds to pray like that without being taught.</div><div>But for me, that was a first. It was the most honest prayer I'd ever heard from...anyone really, not just a child.</div><br /><div></div><div>True, kids say the darndest things. But they can also say the sweetest things.<br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><div>**** Permission was taken from their mother to write this.</div><div>****The () and [] mean I can't remember what he said.</div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-24271071790315611262010-04-01T15:09:00.000-07:002010-04-01T20:43:39.263-07:00Something to Look Out For<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvYWBpinENqUwxPDReaca3sAT6ndh_JeAXGaoc_aQxhyphenhyphenohCGBR0-GUfaOaQ7d8qItbUWPf7dhfWZaxp_otvxbFZ9W-hXDt7fxE9mfruL9imKiiRuQ3Kc2-Wr-sIWRynaDHfcnDkLqRHZSC/s1600/chicki.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 241px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455373144786876914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvYWBpinENqUwxPDReaca3sAT6ndh_JeAXGaoc_aQxhyphenhyphenohCGBR0-GUfaOaQ7d8qItbUWPf7dhfWZaxp_otvxbFZ9W-hXDt7fxE9mfruL9imKiiRuQ3Kc2-Wr-sIWRynaDHfcnDkLqRHZSC/s320/chicki.jpg" /></a><br /><div><div><div><div>With all the nonsense that we are known for nowadays - yahoo, 419, silly underwear boy...Jos - it feels good to find something positive coming from Nigeria.<br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div>I love mythology and legends and fairytales and all that kind of stuff. Greek and Norse mythology are great obviously and everyone knows that. From 'Percy Jackson' and Thor' to 'Clash of the Titans' and even 'Lord of the Rings', their stories have been used in all kinds of ways and they never get old.<br /></div><div>Still, nothing beats a good Nigerian folktale. I miss 'Stories my mother told me' and 'Tales by Moonlight' </div><div>The tortoise was always cunning, the lion was always hungry and the forests were always filled with evil spirits (and maybe one who took the form of an old woman who changed her mind about eating you because you were nice and helped her carry her heavy water pot to her hut, and so she gave you riches and showed you the way home - remember that story?) </div><div> </div><div>But in recent times, the popularity of folktales has died down and there is no home grown story that the new generation of Nigerian kids can get excited about.</div><div> </div><div>Until now.</div><div><br /></div><p>I was invited to this group on Facebook called Chicken Core and I'm so glad I checked it out. It is amazing!!!</p><div><br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 232px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455372765769044690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjobZLfsOy6X5dd46yCc63VDy58-sXWAHNZHIywlxbOatSqnWgMQF1fVN90gTWqwqM53PtyXcWz-KoOJCzM6ISdRJ6mRvOZdaUZ-w9B6R7Njo1yruxAHTgFDuMNIVbTCtl6UpkID0A88Qak/s320/chicken+core+1.jpg" /><br /><br /><p>Basically, its a folktale/fantasy cartoon series about the animal kingdom (because you know Nigerian stories are not complete if the characters are not animals, lol) and how the smaller animals are treated as inferior by the larger carnivorous animals. Nature wants to rewrite this and a prophecy about a Chicken warrior called Kiki, that will rise against the oppressors to rule the animal kingdom is about to come to pass, so the chicken race is being killed off (of course, Kiki survives and...the battle begins). </p><p>Chicken Core is the name of the group of surviving chickens that join Kiki in the war against the higher animals.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 130px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 79px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455370818628328882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2bAQyG6O2QdzBqabqfLSisCTnruU6942fiuxAMMF9KeAQgc5A2kGtZPbT-u8hPnRq1hM2j5DdC9XAubuOOi52I7FNzmGE8aDld_jqPr8dQxYLHRX33_5s_Yhm-zJrpWXusr7-Ek-v5BB/s400/chicke.jpg" /><br />You have to admit, it sounds good. It's creative and modern without sacrificing the main elements of Nigerian storytelling. And with characters with names like 'Ngozi One Connect' (pictured above), 'Ojekiri' and 'Pius Ogadinma', you know it cannot be dry, lol.</div><div> </div><div>The character whose storyline interested me the most was 'Skinned Yellow Monday' and I thought I'd put it here, just to give you an idea:<br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 232px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455368588602101170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUSdFbzJXkmgkgOejsI-LnbC2tgz_EYmwT8jaHKQxiyDCmq0nqLcuXmT5Lfa4kQ8qWIgdVyhadLzZF7I_IViwPmX91Y0-Zu6-s2aDh84kLOCDTgd4UgdV0E68fl05u1-1PUwwVOkD6Uew2/s320/chic.jpg" /><br /><br />According to Chicken Core's<a href="http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?pid=274380&op=1&o=all&view=all&subj=129031478248&aid=-1&oid=129031478248&id=100000085573903#!/group.php?gid=129031478248"> facebook page</a>, "Monday is the enigma of 'The Core'. Although little is known about his origin, rumors say he is the only surviving member of the Iragule Clan, a highly specialized rebel unit; whose luck ran thin when they were ambushed, chained in their hideout and set ablaze. Monday's feathers were torched, burning holes into his pores. Hearing the anguish of his comrades, he broke free from his shackles shattering his beak in the process. His captors noticed his escape and hunted him to the edge of a cliff. He was rescued by Kiki who was training nearby. Monday swore his allegiance to Kiki for saving his life.<br /><br /><div>He uses a scarf to hide his broken beak and his choice of weapon is a pot cover branded 'Made in Aba' ".<br /></div><div>Honestly, I think it sounds so brilliant and if you can, please support How Now Studios by joining their facebook page or watch their sneak peak <a href="http://www.youtube.com/studiohownow#p/a">videos</a> on Youtube or watch the series when it comes on TV in Nigeria.</div><br /><div>Good job, by the way, to the creators of Chicken Core. </div><div>Good job and Good luck.</div><br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455367999821256386" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijw5pRoH06iepce-hNVTdP9hPBavzEeFUMmWr2FfzMzVPcwpEjj4UY4RD-kcnQ0Q73O5pUZJt1kPYn4w_IKIvRx5h-FV6c9G1CZLIfe0LFfvGb8s9jc2TO8hdbpNgMPX-5O1CMiQleLwHo/s320/chicken.jpg" /> This is a goat called Nnkpime. I don't know what his storyline is, this picture just makes me laugh. I hope he is the clown of the show, lol. </div><div> </div><div>Do you remember your favourite folktale? What was it?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-50525488296931961382010-03-21T17:12:00.000-07:002010-03-22T16:36:04.944-07:00I Want You to Know His Name<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQ_i5LA8b3Uvq70Aa_DyvuJOLCt3pMWVkYKtGnlBCRLIBoZIJ-N32wkUrjnVY2r8_ZJWDJ_UwZwewH2_WH2FHkcF2Yac_r7ctVPbrOuw3kVZX_ytxcoXfAtNI7oTD99cInvBjWj6WTDh_/s1600-h/ch.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 180px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451249713971663522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrQ_i5LA8b3Uvq70Aa_DyvuJOLCt3pMWVkYKtGnlBCRLIBoZIJ-N32wkUrjnVY2r8_ZJWDJ_UwZwewH2_WH2FHkcF2Yac_r7ctVPbrOuw3kVZX_ytxcoXfAtNI7oTD99cInvBjWj6WTDh_/s320/ch.jpg" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>Please remember, remember well,</div><br /><div>This thing you are going to sell,</div><br /><div>You'll probably get ten grand, maybe more.</div><br /><div>You'll probably blow it on booze and whores.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Remember, when you delete his pictures,</div><br /><div>Those smiling faces are now empty fixtures.</div><br /><div>Drowning in tears for what they lost.</div><br /><div>Trying to move on because they must.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Remember, when you delete his files,</div><br /><div>He was a young man travelling for miles,</div><br /><div>On his way to work, to make a living,</div><br /><div>In a country that always took, never giving.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Remember, before you make your excuse,</div><br /><div>He was a young boy just like you.</div><br /><div>Yet he was doing a nine to five,</div><br /><div>Not killing and stealing with a gun or knife.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You could have shot him on the leg</div><br /><div>Instead, you aimed it at his head</div><br /><div>And what did you take, what was your prize?</div><br /><div>For a laptop, you took a life.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>And while you go home and you rest</div><br /><div>His broken old man beats his chest</div><br /><div>Shouting incoherence to the above</div><br /><div>That God, I promise, will take note of.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Please remember, armed robber man.</div><br /><div>When you stand where we all must stand</div><br /><div>And the heads of Cerberus greet you with snarls</div><br /><div>Just so you know, his name was Charles.</div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-73739219648008211732010-03-07T07:36:00.000-08:002010-03-08T19:56:57.946-08:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBuYYvZZbi2yRUx7Mk5e5r_xMvtC-CxVzRsF3p9oM4TrYsJA5i4z5TY7a30RPVi9EV-3cbP4bIl697BcXFUbc05wHycmp0PY62aQpSGQ-c5HjqC-N8-XKM3TjDjC0qoWI8Z4s__uelrvj/s1600-h/charles.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5446474151020753810" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 180px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPBuYYvZZbi2yRUx7Mk5e5r_xMvtC-CxVzRsF3p9oM4TrYsJA5i4z5TY7a30RPVi9EV-3cbP4bIl697BcXFUbc05wHycmp0PY62aQpSGQ-c5HjqC-N8-XKM3TjDjC0qoWI8Z4s__uelrvj/s320/charles.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>1 Thessalonians 4:13-14 </div><div></div><div></div><div></div><div>.</div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-64041422188925229992010-02-23T11:49:00.000-08:002010-02-23T11:57:42.163-08:00Dream On<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgviBy6NospgtT2F-WUbxhmtrWSm4e3HcNTexCVpgIVEjf7TMUYkT6CUqSzYl5fBUspE6_nHjqGKRyEkMP00M9WXU0An2683ajFhDgPDLJU6500d9O4G4Ozq5SbbzEyeVSy_5Y1zzKAsaVf/s1600-h/luis_royo02_02.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441530327344084866" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgviBy6NospgtT2F-WUbxhmtrWSm4e3HcNTexCVpgIVEjf7TMUYkT6CUqSzYl5fBUspE6_nHjqGKRyEkMP00M9WXU0An2683ajFhDgPDLJU6500d9O4G4Ozq5SbbzEyeVSy_5Y1zzKAsaVf/s320/luis_royo02_02.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Thugs and bad men</div><br /><div>Punks and lifers</div><br /><div>Fucked up interns</div><br /><div>Pigs and snitches</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Rest your weary heads, all is well</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You won't be strip-searched, torn up tonight</div><br /><div>You won't be cut up, bleeding tonight</div><br /><div>You won't be strung out, cold, shaking to your bones</div><br /><div>Wishing you were anywhere else but right here</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So dream on</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Thieves and muggers</div><br /><div>Tricks and hustlers</div><br /><div>Cheats and traitors</div><br /><div>Scum and low-lives</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Rest you weary heads, all is well</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You won't be sad or broken tonight</div><br /><div>You won't be squealed on, ripped up tonight</div><br /><div>You won't be back-stabbed, double crossed, face down</div><br /><div>Teeth knocked out, lying in a gutter somewhere</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So dream on</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Freaks and junkies</div><br /><div>Fakes and phonies</div><br /><div>Drunks and cowards</div><br /><div>Manic preachers</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>Rest your weary heads, all is well</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>You won't be pushed or messed with tonight</div><br /><div>You won't be lied to, ruffed up tonight</div><br /><div>You won't be insane, paranoid, obsessed</div><br /><div>Aimlessly wandering through the dark night</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>So dream on</div><br /><p> </p><p>-Robyn</p>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-9194971599113908142010-02-13T17:19:00.000-08:002010-02-13T20:16:56.023-08:00It's A Beautiful Thing<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8awwIFuF-rarZSpdWyBT7G5bkQcaiM5IqGv8NCieb8738E9Iq1ZA1Bb7ACsDtlX3SZYwsP5CgiXZt6FfbJNWeElvHbq8gODKNYj1AI5bNlkKbZ-q8smGqSZJLRkxaO2M_BcWgQ71JN4mq/s1600-h/lo.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437870258096931954" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 301px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8awwIFuF-rarZSpdWyBT7G5bkQcaiM5IqGv8NCieb8738E9Iq1ZA1Bb7ACsDtlX3SZYwsP5CgiXZt6FfbJNWeElvHbq8gODKNYj1AI5bNlkKbZ-q8smGqSZJLRkxaO2M_BcWgQ71JN4mq/s320/lo.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><p>The scent of love is in the air</p><br /><p>Valentine's day is finally here.</p><br /><p>*sigh*</p><br /><p>I love Love.</p><br /><p>Yes, I understand when people say that such holidays are just business propaganda, meant for commercial use so that businesses can make money off of love sprung couples. </p><br /><p>Yes, I understand that you don't need a day to tell your partner you love them, when you can do that everyday.</p><br /><p>Still...</p><br /><p>What does it hurt?</p><br /><p>If you look past the roses and cards and perfumes and teddy bears and chick flicks...Valentine's day is truly and simply beautiful. </p><br /><p>It's like Mother's day. Of course, we love our mothers all year round. Still, if you think you don't have to tell your mother you love her on that day because you already said it yesterday and the day before...are you crazy?</p><br /><p>I think we can spare a day to celebrate couple's love.</p><br /><p>A certain someone I know :) will be celebrating her first Valentine's day in her current (and last :) ) relationship. </p><br /><p>It's amazing, I've known her most of my life but I think this is the first time that I have ever seen her truly and completely happy.</p><br /><p>Love can do that. </p><br /><p>It's a beautiful thing to see, even more beautiful to feel.</p><br /><p>So, in the spirit of Saint Valentine and for anyone who's in love, here are a few of my favorite love quotes, just in case you need help in telling that special person how you feel tomorrow. Beautiful, *swoon*-worthy words from people who have felt love and know what a magical thing it can be:</p><br /><p>"I am my beloved's, and my beloved is mine" - Songs of Solomon 6:3</p><br /><p>"There are sixty queens and eighty concubines and virgins without number. But my dove, my perfect one, is the only one..." - Songs of Solomon 6:8-9</p><br /><p>"In my dreams, you were perfect. When I woke up, you were perfect" - Vanessa Amorosi</p><br /><p>"Robin is not the girl of my dreams...Robin is better than the girl of my dreams. She's real" - Paul in '500 Days of Summer'</p><br /><p>"Stop talking about love. Every asshole in the world says he loves somebody. It means nothing. It still doesn't mean anything. What you feel only matters to you. It's what you do to the people you say you love, that's what matters. It's the only thing that counts" - Stephen in 'The Last Kiss'</p><br /><p>"When you're in love, there is no way on earth to hide it. When you're in love, really in love, you simply let your heart decide it" - Millie in 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers'</p><p>"How can you tell what's in its spell? How can you tell unless you've tried it? Wait for that kiss you're certain of. And let your heart decide when you're in love" - Adam in 'Seven Brides for Seven Brothers'</p><br /><p>"Never could imagine there were only ten million ways to love somebody" - Shakira, 'Whenever, Wherever'</p><br /><p>"You own the place where all my thoughts go hiding...Because of you, I'm running out of reasons to cry" - Shakira, 'Underneath your clothes'</p><p>"Two souls with but a single thought, two hearts that beat as one" - John Keats</p><br /><p>"You are what I never knew I always wanted" - Alex in 'Fools Rush In'</p><br /><p>"Other men said they have seen angels, but I have seen thee and thou art enough" ~ G. Moore</p><br /><p>"I'd like to run away from you, but if you didn't come and find me ... I would die. ~ Shirley Bassey </p><br /><p>"Don't get it twisted, love is a beautiful thing...See, I never thought that I would find someone like you, that could capture my heart and there's nothing I can do" - Dbanj, Fall in Love</p><p>"You must be true to your heart, that's when the heavens will part, and shower you with my love. Open your eyes. Your heart can tell you no lies. And when you're true to your heart, I know it's gonna lead you straight to me" - Mulan soundtrack</p><br /><p>Yes, there are just as many quotes for the broken heart...but we can do that some other time.</p><p>Happy Valentine's day.<br /></p><p></p><br /><p><br /></p>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-11415637684737885472010-01-31T11:39:00.000-08:002010-01-31T12:41:45.609-08:00A Good One<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4eH3mcaJKVMhcTGawS_604YHub5koWE0Biq_LhBzkOaZ3b1bioJDncb6esUd3p0m0i-B-ugxfXl7JHmtJIow4nETsPxbwwMaj3jv_C10om3cuDtue39UN0ir4KbxhXIjlVbSbOgy2tN81/s1600-h/happy.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5433001099076843330" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4eH3mcaJKVMhcTGawS_604YHub5koWE0Biq_LhBzkOaZ3b1bioJDncb6esUd3p0m0i-B-ugxfXl7JHmtJIow4nETsPxbwwMaj3jv_C10om3cuDtue39UN0ir4KbxhXIjlVbSbOgy2tN81/s320/happy.bmp" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div><br /><div>As my first official post for this year, I thought I'd talk about something positive. It's only been a month but this year already feels like it's going to be a good one. I didn't make any resolutions (I never keep them )but I've already done a couple of things I promised myself I'd do. I hope I keep up the pace (I hope). </div><br /><div>For anyone who's looking forward to having a good year, I thought I'd share a few sentences my Mama gave me to recite when I pray:<br /></div><div>"This year 2010:</div><br /><div>The error in my life has been corrected.</div><br /><div>My jar of oil will never run dry.</div><br /><div>All my hidden blessings shall manifest.</div><br /><div>I will be a subject of discussion in the meeting of the great."</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>P.S: Sorry I disappeared again. See you in February.</div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-12224188307728791982010-01-29T15:16:00.000-08:002010-01-29T15:23:59.924-08:00Hello<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibNuc_BDviFG36rSpm9xTXjg4hrvFI5-XhdDTKFt4P3ZS_zK8D2BweoAbuid6Bzj1xpjfTufE2bVOKgLMwzoADHlJSgLmqiimLJhcloZrjUZ2kLTfa-9MwlW6earkEfU9tk4KqmfxOWev6/s1600-h/89723685.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432305336657210642" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibNuc_BDviFG36rSpm9xTXjg4hrvFI5-XhdDTKFt4P3ZS_zK8D2BweoAbuid6Bzj1xpjfTufE2bVOKgLMwzoADHlJSgLmqiimLJhcloZrjUZ2kLTfa-9MwlW6earkEfU9tk4KqmfxOWev6/s320/89723685.jpg" border="0" /></a> Hello again.<br /><br /><div></div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-25074572667533878262009-05-24T23:31:00.000-07:002009-05-24T23:44:38.668-07:00Not While I'm Around<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrTNCdf4NrTijEv9X_zWsz2ls_K-SgSnUmbRBVmG1BH7W3zKSwJ6RC6luPGiTSKSZlBOepKqu77dco1gdjlCDfDRYysUOn7NRp7ygZd6pkq7Jf_tiPH763MKwjQ4WWmlSm5lWTkRZG4Nl5/s1600-h/sweeney.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5339646670083395362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrTNCdf4NrTijEv9X_zWsz2ls_K-SgSnUmbRBVmG1BH7W3zKSwJ6RC6luPGiTSKSZlBOepKqu77dco1gdjlCDfDRYysUOn7NRp7ygZd6pkq7Jf_tiPH763MKwjQ4WWmlSm5lWTkRZG4Nl5/s320/sweeney.jpg" /></a> This is one of my favourite songs from a musical. It's from Sweeney Todd:<br /><br />Nothing's gonna harm you, not while I'm around.<br />Nothing's gonna harm you, no sir, not while I'm around.<br /><br />Demons are prowling everywhere, nowadays,<br />I'll send 'em howling, I don't care, I got ways.<br /><br />No one's gonna hurt you, No one's gonna dare.<br />Others can desert you, Not to worry, whistle, I'll be there.<br /><br />Demons'll charm you with a smile,<br />for a while,<br />But in time...<br />Nothing can harm you. Not while I'm around...<br /><br />Not to worry, not to worry. I may not be smart but I ain't dumb<br />I can do it, put me to it. Show me something I can overcome<br />Not to worry, Mum<br /><br />Being close and being clever, ain't like being true<br />I don't need to, I would never hide a thing from you,<br />Like some...<br /><br />No one's gonna hurt you, no one's gonna dare<br />Others can desert you, not to worry, whistle, I'll be there!<br /><br />Demons'll charm you with a smile,<br />for a while<br />But in time...<br /><br />Nothing can harm you. Not while I'm around...Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-15879818711430481202009-05-01T22:47:00.000-07:002009-05-01T23:20:02.809-07:00Heaven<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV32PBhgxyJ2aS_IIRD-SxqohG018oN22yx2awUgKPMQUKng-mqyc6zLhku2EzrVkYcn5KcjqOGhGbzed1Nj93rIrksOLEPmu5RaKRuggP5gKlPM5-Dls6JjEXFVfRn7-63uJmq0Teb61W/s1600-h/Tobi.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312004934350707202" style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; width: 240px; height: 320px; text-align: center;" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV32PBhgxyJ2aS_IIRD-SxqohG018oN22yx2awUgKPMQUKng-mqyc6zLhku2EzrVkYcn5KcjqOGhGbzed1Nj93rIrksOLEPmu5RaKRuggP5gKlPM5-Dls6JjEXFVfRn7-63uJmq0Teb61W/s320/Tobi.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />It's the sun on my skin<br />The wind in my hair<br />It's the sound of the sea<br />The smell of the air<br /><br />It's the colours in the sky<br />The sand between my toes<br />The song in my heart<br />That no one else knows<br /><br />It's the silence in my ears<br />The laughter in my eyes<br />The happiness from within<br />Where all sorrow dies<br /><br />Indescribable, inexplicable, almost-painful joy<br />It's calm<br />It's bliss...it's Heaven.<br /><br /><br /></div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-29508250295079265692009-04-16T23:25:00.000-07:002009-04-16T23:34:03.445-07:00Just Because!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikANMckKA8Fm18kO5vkImb2D6r840QaI00a4AXwzH41GCqCUzANVRdiJu1wIvurGdXJ8SYnWGMILVk8MeHC391DLVAALUiRXEwvYGMVKhHtsVN4BeXSdCtbA4h7by3W12moD-4Y-CYZUzA/s1600-h/ben.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikANMckKA8Fm18kO5vkImb2D6r840QaI00a4AXwzH41GCqCUzANVRdiJu1wIvurGdXJ8SYnWGMILVk8MeHC391DLVAALUiRXEwvYGMVKhHtsVN4BeXSdCtbA4h7by3W12moD-4Y-CYZUzA/s400/ben.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5325544633208363042" /></a><br /><br />I honestly have nothing say. I've been so busy with exams. My last one is tomorrow morning (thank God). I was taking a break - browsing - and found this wonderful picture of Ben. I just had to put it up..........*sigh*..........<br />Ok, enough swooning. Back to work. Wish me luck!Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-88085991210362305622009-03-26T14:36:00.000-07:002009-03-26T15:16:35.445-07:00An Unlikely Cohort<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRh7ofAymYWTJoVyI6rTRk0AoOIf4t6CK0DzqKvdkgZPAU51z7SJI8O_TqfrYh-699_0V0IuI1_qJ09rew_Lg3VhfvLblKAmn6qr-4PTHLNXCwG7ZHeGIGWL4d2y5AUyDdSpGeHwH4Yd8d/s1600-h/friend.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5317622982481361298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRh7ofAymYWTJoVyI6rTRk0AoOIf4t6CK0DzqKvdkgZPAU51z7SJI8O_TqfrYh-699_0V0IuI1_qJ09rew_Lg3VhfvLblKAmn6qr-4PTHLNXCwG7ZHeGIGWL4d2y5AUyDdSpGeHwH4Yd8d/s320/friend.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>As some of you might have guessed already, her name's not really Tobi. We'll just say it is. I don't know exactly how we became friends. We couldn't be more different people. </div><br /><div>The thing about human beings is that we all go through difficult times. That's life, sometimes it throws crap at you. And at that moment, there is nothing more assuring than finding someone who is going through the same crap as you. Situations really do make people bond.</div><br /><div>That was the case with me and Tobi. We lost things...but found so much more.</div><br /><div>Our friendship may have been short, but I will remeber if for life.</div><br /><div>Tobi is one of those people who come into your life for one fleeting moment...to teach you something...and leave you with the most unforgettable impression.</div><br /><div>I can't write about most of our conversations or stories, I might reveal more than she would like.</div><br /><div>But some things I write from now on will definitely have been influenced by her. Maybe, once in a while, when I remember something funny or nice that I just have to share, I'll put it here.</div><div> </div><div>And maybe, one day, we'll cross paths again...</div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-81591234430427597752009-03-11T10:17:00.001-07:002009-03-11T11:45:39.081-07:00Back Home<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRmK7Co3Ymwk_6-DkeOMoAgJ2V54dGkxtrZWb17DhFOcpsK0d3CyPgbeREN5Q4KnwrUA9rkyi0HmeiPmo6fKYnnL7QLIEu5ECSKIvhNmxVDcqcWezpSAWbZutAh5Lx2HuCS9x41odqurP/s1600-h/som.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5312000755265161378" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYRmK7Co3Ymwk_6-DkeOMoAgJ2V54dGkxtrZWb17DhFOcpsK0d3CyPgbeREN5Q4KnwrUA9rkyi0HmeiPmo6fKYnnL7QLIEu5ECSKIvhNmxVDcqcWezpSAWbZutAh5Lx2HuCS9x41odqurP/s320/som.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>Hello. It's been a while. I hope this year has been good for you, my dear one - or two...maybe three - reader(s). So much has happened over the last three, four months. Hopefully, I'll get to share it with you over time. Don't worry, I won't disappear again. I promise. For people like me (or us) who don't have the skills to live or interact properly in the real world, blogging, writing, imagining, silence...these are my sanctuaries. That's how I know for sure that I won't disappear again. Because for me, this is home.<br /><br /><div><div><div>And now that I am back home, I'd like to share with you some of the adventures that I've had lately. Some were good, some were bad. But most of them involve a new friend. Her name is Tobi. I think you'll like her...</div></div></div></div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-29326421971420263682008-12-27T22:24:00.001-08:002008-12-27T23:58:39.396-08:00The Healing<div><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284723097538383778" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBSYPWIYZIXYcDr_TRpsuFOn9FXgBrD_kuvKw10z_p669DArqConSSAjwIV0YEumzBRy4NYPQXG69pyrotVj2fZTwtc4FT_pYlLj5mt0oQoUw-iztfLw6CXYiBJsR18UsJA1Ettvz8K7Dj/s320/SOMS.jpg" border="0" /><br />I sit on the floor, weak and simple before him, with the gaping wound in my torso. I watch him lift one bloody hand after another, pounding on the faintly beating heart that he tore out from my chest. He has the look of a deranged lover as his fists come down on the dying muscle. And when my heart is finally purple and shriveled and bloodless, he cleans his hands with my tears, takes <em>her</em> hand and they both walk away. I watch them go. They don’t turn back. Why would they? They left nothing behind. There is nothing for them to see. Nothing to regret. Nothing to apologize for.<br /></div><br /><div>I continue to watch their retreating backs, the echoes of their laughter ringing mercilessly in my ears. At first, I remain like this, sitting half dead with my grotesque organ lying on the floor in front of me. The pain I feel is unbearable, unimaginable. I cannot get up, will not get up.<br /></div><br /><div>“Really?” Veeka asks me. I slowly look up and see Veeka, my mind’s manifestation of a<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4xp28f6IFlh5AIHnAlIiBntWxdvWXRDtn54x2QpLh8_5F2wasBZeW67n6eQ51Fjrq4Ob83PhnrdC4UaudKMu5vLGBUHQV9TMHPEL9Z1MVgbngamExYNY_aztXdJlnB_mbP0uvnRZsiJj/s1600-h/SOM!.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5284723551830198242" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 142px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh4xp28f6IFlh5AIHnAlIiBntWxdvWXRDtn54x2QpLh8_5F2wasBZeW67n6eQ51Fjrq4Ob83PhnrdC4UaudKMu5vLGBUHQV9TMHPEL9Z1MVgbngamExYNY_aztXdJlnB_mbP0uvnRZsiJj/s200/SOM!.jpg" border="0" /></a>n alter ego, the rational side of me who thinks with the head, not the heart. I know who she is, though I have never met her before. She has always been there, lurking in the corners of my mind, cautioning, warning. I pushed her away when she warned me about my vulnerability, shut her out when she told me to guard my heart around sweet talkers like him. But now she stands before me, no longer a little voice, but a visual presence that can not be ignored. She has seen enough.<br /></div><br /><div>“You will sit here and watch them go, bore your eyes into the back of their skulls until they have gone too far and disappear from your sight?”<br />I continue to look at her but I do not reply.<br />“Are you waiting for him to let go of her hand and come back for you?” she asks.<br />I turn away from the truth I see in her face. I focus instead on my bruised heart. Veeka kneels beside my limp bloody body and whispers, “He won’t”.<br /></div><br /><div>A new wave of excruciating pain engulfs my entire frame. My heart turns a deeper hue, almost black. My vision becomes a blur. The tears and the pain are beginning to blind me. I hear the bloodcurdling scream before I realize that it escaped from my own throat. The scream drains the last shred of strength left in me. I am left a pitiful sack of bones and skin. Veeka remains quiet and allows me a moment to let out my sorrow, to grief. She watches me closely as my face twists with anguish. And then, after an eternity of pain, she says softly, “Aren’t you tired of this? Aren’t you tired of playing the victim?”<br /></div><br /><div>I say nothing to Veeka. My conscience is so tired of having been muffled all this while, she makes no effort to sugarcoat her distaste for my actions. But all I did, I did because I was in love.<br />“You say were in love. I say you were spineless, foolish, weak, spoony! Allowing him to trample all over your heart like that, in the name of an affection that he did not return. Look at it!” she vented, gesturing towards the large prune-like object that lay barely five feet from were I sat. “Well, no more. There is no one here to take your hand, or carry you, or heal you. Look at me,” I turn to her slowly, weakly, “Get up.”<br /></div><br /><div>Then, she’s gone. Once again, I’m alone. Veeka has retreated into the depths of my mind, and there she will remain, cautioning softly like before. But I know now that she will not stay quiet if I falter again. I look around me. I see nothing but my heart on the floor. I ignore all the pain I feel as I get up and walk slowly towards it. I pick it up and it feels cold and hard in my hand. I put it back into my chest and wait. Slowly, it begins to pulsate. The blood it pumps through my body is cold and dry but at least it’s alive. It continues to thump weakly. I fall back to the floor. I get on my hands and knees and I crawl. </div><div> </div><div>I am still crawling. Sometimes, I fall down from weakness and pain. My wound is still open. My purple heart still pumps black stale blood. But one day, I will heal. The sore in my chest will close and my heart will be huge and red and pulsate rhythmically with the movement of fresh blood. </div><br /><div></div><div>The love I have lost, the pain I feel and even Veeka’s harsh words have not deterred me from wanting to feel the bond of companionship and love once again. One day, I will walk. And one day, someone will walk with me hand in hand and he will never let go.<a href="mailto:fiction@newyorker.com" target="_blank" rel="nofollow" ymailto="mailto:fiction@newyorker.com"></a></div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-45582415774487221302008-12-17T01:01:00.000-08:002008-12-17T16:11:43.093-08:00A Dark Man<table id="HB_Mail_Container" height="100%" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="0" width="100%" border="0" unselectable="on"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWeTFg3y9zbDpMAMgLpbr5InuAgCzI-aXs9wpuWtWGW3VMpOS-RpuTdbK1gBd-P9laHK6aknZk7YeJC26rJiu_62mJu5gAr0pAutrRO7V5QcvX7xhOIMkDx7i-NV5lDwU9opB1dQj7BfZ/s1600-h/dark.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280708327872635522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 263px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWeTFg3y9zbDpMAMgLpbr5InuAgCzI-aXs9wpuWtWGW3VMpOS-RpuTdbK1gBd-P9laHK6aknZk7YeJC26rJiu_62mJu5gAr0pAutrRO7V5QcvX7xhOIMkDx7i-NV5lDwU9opB1dQj7BfZ/s320/dark.jpg" border="0" /></a> <tbody><br /><tr height="100%" unselectable="on" width="100%"><br /><td id="HB_Focus_Element" valign="top" width="100%" background="" height="250" unselectable="off">He sat watching the door. In the queit. In the dark. The only sound he could hear was the ticking of a clock on the wall, reminding him of the slow and steady passage of time. He must have been sitting there for hours, but it didn't matter. He was in no rush. He would wait. Patience is something he needed to survive in his work, among other things. You needed skill, of course - you had to know what you were doing. You needed tact. And it's always best to work at night. It's the best time to be invisible, to be quiet. Yes, in this business, the darkness was your friend. Your only friend. Not many people can warm up to the idea of having a killer for a buddy. He knew that. But sometimes, it got so lonely, and he wished for human contact. He wished for someone he could share his life and his secrets with.<br /><br />Someone he could trust.<br /><br />That's why he was so happy when he met Sylvia. She had seen his ugly truth, the side of him that he hid from the rest of the world and she hadn't turned away. She accepted him. She loved him.<em> </em>Or that's what he had thought before she started sneeking around the house. Before he saw her talking to the cop. Before she betrayed him.<br /><br />Lights from her car headlights sifted in through the windows. She's home. He sighed. He didn't want this. But he'd do what had to be done. He remained still when she came in. She walked passed the chair where he sat and dropped her car keys and her purse beside a porcelain vase on the table.<br /><br />"Hey", he said. She squealed and jumped back. She ran to turn the light on and faced him.<br /><br />"Robert! God, you scared the crap out of me! What are you doing here?"<br /><br />"Waiting for my girlfriend, who normally gets off work at 7. Imagine my suprise when I got here and you weren't here".<br /><br />"Oh", she replied<br /><br />"So...where were you?" he asked calmly.<br /><br />"At Phil's bar", she said, looking aimlessly through her purse, obviously avoiding eye contact.<br /><br />He looked at the ticking clock. It was 3 A.M.<br /><br />"Phil's closes at midnight." he said watching her closely. She paused. "Where did you go after that?"<br /><br />"Umm, I went to Ally's place. Wow, I didn't know it was that late. Well, you know what happens when we girls get together", she made a weak attempt at a laugh.<br /><br />"See, I knew you would say that", he chuckled, "But you couldn't have been with Ally."<br /><br />"Of course, I was", she scoffed, "where else would I be? You could call her and ask".<br /><br />"I could." He stared at her. She stared back. He smiled. She was trying so hard to act normal, not to reveal how scared she was. She started to walk towards the kitchen.<br /><br />"But I don't need to. You couldn't have been with Ally because she was with me", he said. She stopped and turned slowly. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with quick heavy breaths. He could see her pondering in her head. She was scared to ask, scared of what the answer would be. She swallowed.<br />"And where is she now?" she whispered, unable to stop herself from asking the question. From hoping.<br /><br />"She's dead", he replied simply. Sylvia gasped and fell to the ground, a tear sliding down her cheek, "Oh my God, Robert!" she sobbed, "you killed her?"<br /><br />"No", he shook his head at her, "no no no no, <em>you </em>killed her. Not me. You shouldn't go blabbing to innocent people about things that aren't their business. <em>You</em> got her involved, <em>you </em>made her a liability, <em>you </em>killed her."<br /><br />"She didn't do anything!" she screamed through her tears.<br /><br />"You shouldn't be meeting with cops in the middle of the night. You shouldn't have told her what I do. Then, she'd still be alive", Robert replied, still calm.<br /><br />"You're a monster!" she yelled. He said nothing at first. He just continued to smile at her. It's true, he was a monster. And monsters couldn't have friends or family or girlfriends. He knew that now. Trust was something he couldn't afford to give. Love was something he couldn't afford to feel. He wouldn't make that mistake again.<br /><br />"Where you really going to help the police put me away?" She said nothing. He stood up. "You know I can't let that happen" He began to approach her. She reacted immediately. She tried to run to the door but he was in her way now. She picked up the porcelain vase and flung it at him. He ducked and it wheezed passed his ear. He sighed.<br /><br />"Sylvia sweetie, don't make this harder than it has to be. Just come here so I can kill you."<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></td></tr><br /><tr unselectable="on" hb_tag="1"><br /><td style="FONT-SIZE: 1pt" height="1" unselectable="on"><br /><div id="hotbar_promo"></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p></p>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-79228881137373338752008-11-26T23:04:00.000-08:002008-12-17T04:56:31.772-08:00British InvasionWow. When my friends convinced me to start blogging, I didn't realize just how popular it was. I don't know why I thought I was the only one who had something to say. I guess everyone does. Let's just hope people think what I have to say is worth listening to.<br /><br /><div><div><div>So, I thought I'd choose something interesting for my first topic, and what could be more interesting than boys! lol. Ok, I don't mean to sound like a boy-crazy teenager (trust me, I'm not), but ladies of North America, we have been invaded! Don't get me wrong, I love my Nigerian brothers, but these skinny white British boys just keep on coming! Forget Jude Law and Orlando Bloom, that's old school. I'm talking Bin Bones and Spunk Ransom! </div><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEXIdoIA4ZUjiG5LJF6SR8ye0Ey5Tryv5wI6XPQYIQ-FDwnqfo2vsRwnVmXlNTk6jUYFcqhAJsxrQlGRn38qi3_27elaBPGWJoR5eA25tBADju_jm-HKUrkMeQfIU8_GJhDvBQjqAMiTR/s1600-h/robby.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273263031896219650" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 395px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEEXIdoIA4ZUjiG5LJF6SR8ye0Ey5Tryv5wI6XPQYIQ-FDwnqfo2vsRwnVmXlNTk6jUYFcqhAJsxrQlGRn38qi3_27elaBPGWJoR5eA25tBADju_jm-HKUrkMeQfIU8_GJhDvBQjqAMiTR/s400/robby.jpg" border="0" /></a><br />I had been hearing all the hoopla surrounding Twilight but I never really took notice. Then I saw the movie, and like my sister said, "mmm mmm mmm. I need an Edward Cullen in my life". I never thought the one thing I would want from a boy is for him to bite me, but that's what I think anytime I see Robert Pattinson (or Spunk Ransom as he prefers to be called). He can act, he can sing, and he can play the guitar <em>and </em>the piano. What's not to love?</div><br /><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWESKjTxXF1S7-PvdbuuOJuwKXPuqR9eAhJKXNz2yjT-DoBzWIvoeLqezmSKt8SC3ntaBZYw0y7pV1gQA0HcdTdrUBsosvPKp-3SVOIcvhyphenhyphenQWCnqeNMJ0cv7_mrXOpt_AJcBrXYpEWlcU0/s1600-h/james+mc.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273244069684197170" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWESKjTxXF1S7-PvdbuuOJuwKXPuqR9eAhJKXNz2yjT-DoBzWIvoeLqezmSKt8SC3ntaBZYw0y7pV1gQA0HcdTdrUBsosvPKp-3SVOIcvhyphenhyphenQWCnqeNMJ0cv7_mrXOpt_AJcBrXYpEWlcU0/s400/james+mc.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><div>And then, there is James McAvoy. Well, technically he's Scottish but you get what I mean. <em>all join. </em>He is the brooding, quiet stranger who isn't necessarily your cookie cut idea of handsome, but is shrouded in mystery. And you know girls love a little mystery in a man. Technically speaking, he's Edward Cullen brought to life. Minus the vampire part. Who else can make playing a goat in the Chronicles of Narnia look sexy? </div><br /><div>Speaking of Chronicles of Narnia, I come to my personal favourite British export, the man I am going to marry (seriously), Ben Barnes aka Bin Bones aka Prince Caspian. Lawwd Jesus, I freeze and melt at the same time whenever I see this fellow. He is so beautiful, it's almost annoying. He's so beautiful, infact, that he was<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRokZUKNIGQpMdI3b7nAc5lcZO9DDE2fMV_aL9tenCxhcHKPfI7xv0Ic5AVDIeFt_t9CNdkRHl5p4YP0r9HYsB5X4hQBw4aDJ4OatlbZZ062xdAxG6hMm-DOh3BjovC42rM7XelVIAMs4/s1600-h/ben+barnes.bmp"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273248568973285778" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 279px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRokZUKNIGQpMdI3b7nAc5lcZO9DDE2fMV_aL9tenCxhcHKPfI7xv0Ic5AVDIeFt_t9CNdkRHl5p4YP0r9HYsB5X4hQBw4aDJ4OatlbZZ062xdAxG6hMm-DOh3BjovC42rM7XelVIAMs4/s400/ben+barnes.bmp" border="0" /></a> chosen for the role of Dorian Gray. Dorian Gray is the Oscar Wilde story about a man who was so handsome, that a wish was granted for him to never age so that he's beauty could be preserved. Now, you know they won't pick just anyone to play that part (can't wait for the movie, by the way). But it's not his beauty alone that makes him attractive. He is humble and talented. *sigh* You couldn't ask for more. </div><br /><br /><br />These three are just a few of good ole England's hot commodities (I didn't forget our favourite gossip guy, Ed Westwick and Bond Girl Gemma Arterton for the boys).<br /><div></div><div>I don't know, maybe it's the accent. Maybe it's the hair. Maybe it's the fact that they all have beautiful voices (has anyone heard James McAvoy sing? And Bin Bones was in a boy band...thank God <em>that </em>didn't work out). Whatever it is, I better be careful, I just might move across the pond and get myself a white bloke!</div></div></div>Somusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4418204541456411135.post-51581517046050598942008-11-25T03:36:00.000-08:002008-11-27T02:42:38.924-08:00AsinineA sunflower, blossoming fully<br />In the middle of a winter storm<br />A granite stone set on a ring<br />Taking a diamond's form<br /><br />A lamb sleeping peacefully<br />Aware the wolf lurks near<br />A lion hiding terrified<br />Of the gallop of a deer<br /><br />It seemed a meaningless dream at first<br />But then I saw the message better<br />These things make as much sense<br />As you and I togetherSomusohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16342980217857124700noreply@blogger.com1