'Cause Pigs can Fly

Silence. My grandaunt left yesterday and my brother and grandmother accompanied her to the airport. My mother and uncle stood near our gate, talking. I was near our door, enjoying the silence. The house was empty, truly empty and even the night was quite silent. It was eerie and beautiful, both at the same time. I’m a silent person. Not quiet, just silent. I can be quite but I’m more silent than quiet. I rarely talk at work, I rarely talk at home. So much so that I have now been labeled as the silent one. I like it though. I feel like people expect less from me, and people notice me less because I keep quiet. I’m very talkative at times though. I can go on and on for hours. But more often than not, I choose to not be heard, not be seen, and not be acknowledged. Sometimes though my eyes dart around, looking for a listening ear. These are the times that are scary, that I try to avoid. Because sometimes, especially when it’s cold and gloomy, the silence, it surrounds me and it...

Today I gave my life a little thought. My articles for this week had been published and I was quite happy with them all. One article was about a man who has dedicated his life to teaching. It felt great to have been the writer of his story. Not that I wrote his story in the sense that a novelist would write the life of a character. There's more to writing though. Its more than telling someone's story when they come to you. It's about looking for a story, where there may not seem to be one. Some of my articles tend to be about my own life or experiences and when I told this to a friend, he said it must be pretty weird to write about one self. In many ways, it is. But when I write about my life, its mostly about the people who are part of my life. Everyone has a story. Whether it's interesting or not, its still a story. Not many are told and not many are heard. There's more to it though, than getting out someone's story. Not many like that. For now I'm cont...

Thought: why is the harmless cockroach killed when the harmful centipede rarely is? Why do we forget certain memories and remember others? Today morning's status update: "the sole reasons for the existence of men are to kill those stuff (cockroaches) and to fix cars. & reproduce" ... Wise words pal, wise words The comment by my editor: http://www.island.lk/2003/06/01/leisur06.html I read the article. And at first I thought, what does memory have to do with roaches? I expected him to go off topic. He didn't though. He says that we choose to forget. We kill the harmless cockroach like we forget a memory. That is, when we intentionally forget, or replace those memories with something else. I do kill the occasional mosquito and ants if there is no way to get rid of them. This always bothers as I've been taught not to kill. But I do, sadly. The annoying mosquito I swap at, mostly absentmindedly, doesn't deserve to die. If we were all mosquitoes, no one...

Two days ago I received a message from a one time friend. I won't go into the details of how we sued to be close friends and how it all ended. Here's the thing though, he said he was sorry for reacting badly to something I should be sorry I did and he asked me if we could be friends again. Did I say yes? No! Since last year or so, I've always wanted to go back and end things with him in a less bitter way. So that we both are happier and there are no ends left lose. So here was the perfect opportunity to do that. What stopped me was the sense of hope I felt when I saw his name. Not hope for love or some bright future with heart shaped clouds and candy rain. Those are silly dreams I didn't even have as a kid. But this hope that maybe I could go back to that time, when friendship, crushes and innocence existed in a less subtle or nonexistent way as it does now. I'm not old enough to give up on something I haven't experienced. But I have, in many ways. Not given...

I'm extremely picky when it comes to clothes, food and friends. With the latter though one rarely has a choice. Over the course of four days I made friends with people I wouldn't have though possibilities of friendship. There were experienced writers who knew things about the world and people like me who are still learning. I saw an entire different side to these people who seemed so ordinary at first. The conversations, time spent together they all proved that, you don't need a whole lot in common to connect with someone and sometimes what you do have in common are things that seem so trivial. “You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.” ― John Green , Will Grayson, Will Grayson    In the end though you realize that you can't pick your friends, but you can pick their nose -not literally. When someone asks you, "what's your name?" it can be the beginning of something just beaut...

First of all, this blog will not be a personal blog. Correction, it won't be a completely personal blog. My opinions will merge with my experiences and likes and dislikes. Here, I will mostly post any musings, and maybe even a few articles I wrote for the newspaper I currently freelance for. I thought of giving an introduction here but maybe it's better found in whatever my posts will be. Like many of my age, I don't really know who I am, or where my life is headed, but for now I know I write, I read and I blog. You can find my personal blog at kiwibox.com/humanhead and my poems, though I am in no way a poet, at spacedoutbookworm.blogspot.com