Would you rather that your boyfriend has a crush on your best friend or that they can't stand each other?

Would you rather that your boyfriend has a crush on your best friend or that they can't stand each other?

Answer here

I think I will be the kind of girl who doesn’t have many boyfriends. I think because I take things slow and I’m scared of getting hurt that I’ll be the kind of person who only dates if I think I could see myself marrying him/having a future with him. I know that pretty much guarantees that I will be lonely for a long time, maybe even always, and I know that my expectations are probably too high but it’s better not to expect anything if it won’t last, or even start at all.

from Tumblr

His Reply

So the day before my birthday, I shared an article of a letter written by someone I swear is my soul sister. And then today, while I was browsing through Tumblr, I found this. It was like his reply to that letter, a reply to all my doubts and frustrations and loneliness. Oh gawd, he's real somewhere. I just know it.


Dear You,

I will admit that it came as a surprise to me when you decided to write a letter such as this. I always thought you were the type to keep things to yourself—one of the many things that keep us apart until now.

There is a part of every boy’s heart that dreams of his princess. However, no matter what the age, this princess does not change.

Nineteen years into this life, and although your unwillingness to give your heart away is what troubles you, what troubles me is how willing I am each and every time to give my complete heart and yet there is no one to receive anything of me.

Try as I might to give my heart to someone I had imagined was perfect, and I end up putting the pieces back together, mustering the courage to make it seems like nothing is wrong and nothing has been lost, when in fact, everything in my life at that point feels otherwise.

Although I have only known you for a few years, I am as confident as a man in love can be, that you are the perfect girl I have been thinking of ever since. Nineteen years into this life, and we are both still apparently waiting… for someone to be swept off her feet, and for someone to sweep you off yours. And yet, here we are closer to each other than you would expect.

I am sorry I took this long. But, I hope you know, it has not been entirely easy, trying to whisk you off to my palace on horseback. I am not alone in this pursuit of your love and I have no palace to show you in comparison to the many other men who will try to win your heart. You have not been entirely cooperative as well, but I do not blame you for this. In fact, it’s just one of the many quirks that sets you apart from other girls out there.

You will be disappointed to know that it has not been such a fairytale - meeting me, and for this I will be eternally sorry. I hope you know guys spend more than enough time trying to come up with the perfect introduction, what with sweaty palms and a shaky voice. As to the extreme disappointment I may cause you, I also hope you know that you are still as perfect in my eyes as always. I may not have begun it as a fairytale for us, but I will go through leaps and bounds to make you feel like the princess that you are.

Your eccentricities are what I love about you. Even during your occasional mood swings, it is the most endearing thing to see you shift gears. Although I must admit, sometimes it can be quite confusing; keeping me on my toes, it just makes me want to be with you even more. I want to be the man you stand beside at your best and your worst—because either way, you are still too beautiful, and I would be nothing less than the luckiest guy in town if you were just as happy as I was, standing beside you.

You are and will always be my best friend, even if one day I end up finding no more shirts because you have borrowed them all. And when you return them I end up not wearing them, still, because the scent is there to remind me of you even when you are not around. You are my best friend because you look out for me, after a stressful day, or after we lose a game of basketball. Even during times when you refuse to speak to anyone, me included—you are still my best friend.

You will be the girl I try so hard to cook for, and despite my best efforts I know I will fail, but I will love how you will try to taste my concoctions, even when the taste might make you cringe. You will be the girl whose mom I will try so hard to impress, and then you will fix my collar in hopes that I am ready to meet your parents. Adventure after adventure, you will be the girl I will see the world with, complete with the local cuisine taste and souvenir shots.

You are the girl I will smile to even in the worst of times. Even when the day feels like s__t, I know that when I see you that my world cannot be so bad if you are beside me. You are the girl whose smile I will wake up to, even when some mornings might find me with a slight case of morning breath. I cannot wait to love you.

Fingers crossed and palms held together, I hope one day you will find me worthy of your heart. In the meantime, know that I am out here somewhere, waiting for you, hoping that you will be mine.

Loving you forever and a day,
Me


P.S.
Thank you again, Sir Walter Raleigh.

The Passionate Maiden to Her Future Love

I am not the last person in the world waiting for the man of her dreams. So I shouldn't act like I am the most hopeless thing to ever set foot on land.

Here's an article from Philippine Daily Inquirer that just rekindled my soul:


My daughter’s letter to the man she will love someday
By Cathy Babao-Guballa


RELATIONSHIPS ARE always a difficult terrain to navigate.

As a woman, you spend hours pondering—alone or with your girl friends—the intricacies of the human heart. You always hope and pray that the next generation will get it better than you did.

Below is a letter I found in my daughter’s website (I have her permission to share this). She wrote it to “the man I will someday love.”

I was expecting to read a gushing, romantic, idealistic tome. I was humbled instead by her sentiments. It’s filled with sensible expectations.

I pray that this will make every girl believe that hope does spring eternal, and even if your heart has been broken a few times, you can always put the pieces back together, and make it right the next time around.

Take your time. Don’t rush and don’t just “settle.” If it’s part of His plan, God’s best awaits you out there.

Letter

Dear You,

I will admit that sometimes I really do wonder if you exist.

There is a part of every little girl’s heart that envisions her prince charming. At age three, it is usually of a man who can save her from the wrath of an evil stepmother, wake her from eternal slumber or give her that true love’s kiss.

In elementary school, he becomes the boy with the least cooties, the one who’s willing to cross the playground to share his Oreos even if it makes him a target for the week of all the other boys.

Come high school, it’s that boy you stand with at prom, who your father stared down at the door, who provided you with an experience complete with photos you will cringe at a decade later, a corsage that yellows in the refrigerator, and a faded memory of a night that seemed almost too magical to be real.

Nineteen years into this life, however, and still unwilling to give my heart away, I am still that same little girl who hopes for her prince charming. And although I wonder why it has taken you this long to sweep me off my feet and whisk me off to your palace on horseback, I know that it is probably because meeting you will be better than any fairytale I could’ve read as a kid.

A couple of heartbreaks and a few years wiser though, I will admit that there are times when I question your existence. Because I have yet to meet the guy who makes me hear songs like “All My Life” or “A Whole New World” in my head when I see him does not mean I don’t hope that it’ll ever happen.

I may already know you or may still meet you someday—something I leave completely up to God because I’m pretty sure our story will be epic.

However, I can’t promise you that I’d make the world’s most perfect princess. In fact I’ll probably keep you on your toes and amuse you with my eccentricities—there are a lot of them. I’ll probably steal a bunch of your T-shirts and turn them into shirt dresses, or drive you slightly mad with my obsessive compulsivity and my need to fix your collar constantly.

I can promise to be your best friend however—that person you can rant to after a rough day, the hand you can hold when you get sad, or the person you can text when situations get awkward.

I’ll probably mess up your hair sometimes and hug you for too long, but that’ll only be because I absolutely adore you. I’ll bury my head in your shoulder during scary movies and make you feel like superman when you kill those flying cockroaches that really shouldn’t exist. I’ll cook your favorite food on your birthday and try my best to make friends with your mom.

I’ll respect your nights-out with the boys and make you seem like the perfect guy to my barkada. I’ll watch basketball or soccer games with you, and not complain when you cheer too loudly at the TV set.

I’ll know the difference between giving you space and being constantly there for you—even if it means sitting and playing video games with you or taking hot chocolate runs when it rains.

I’ll listen to your music and we’ll go on epic adventures together—seeing the world, taking awesome pictures, eating awesome food, and never running out of things to tell each other along the way.

I won’t be waiting for you to sweep me off my feet and take me on a magic carpet ride, because I know I won’t need anything like that to fall for you—I will love you for you.

You will be that someone to make goofy faces with in pictures, to lace fingers with when I’m lonely, and to take long walks under the stars with on the beach.

You’ll be the guy who takes me the way I am—and will laugh as I burst into Disney song or pick out pink wallpaper.

You’ll be that someone I envision a future with—us filling out visa forms as we travel the universe, picking out our first dog together and arguing about what to name it, or being snap-happy stage parents in our preschooler’s annual mini-plays. And I keep hoping that maybe someday when we find each other, you will become that someone whose smile I wake up to in the morning and the last one I speak to every night.

So to the man I know does exist, and who will help me maybe make sense of the world someday, this man I can’t wait to love. Please know that I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you. But for now, I wait. Fingers crossed and palms held together, I hope that you’re out there somewhere, waiting for me, too.

With the hope I will be yours for always,

Me


P.S.
Thank you, Sir Walter Raleigh for giving me the idea.

I am Woman

I Am Woman (SATC 2 version)

I am woman, hear me roar
In numbers too big to ignore
And I know too much to go back an' pretend
'Cause I've heard it all before
And I've been down there on the floor
No one's ever gonna keep me down again

Oh yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to
I can do anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

You can bend but never break me
'Cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger
Not a novice any longer
'Cause you've deepened the conviction in my soul

Oh, yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to
I can face anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

I am woman watch me grow
See me standing toe to toe
As I spread my lovin' arms across the land
But I'm still an embryo
With a long, long way to go
Until I make my brother understand

Oh, yes, I am wise
But it's wisdom born of pain
Yes, I've paid the price
But look how much I gained
If I have to
I can face anything
I am strong (strong)
I am invincible (invincible)
I am woman

Oh, I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong

I am woman
I am invincible
I am strong
I am woman





This is the song I was talking about in my article. :)

I just changed the name of this blog...

Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we’re told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we’re so focused on finding our happy ending we don’t learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don’t, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn’t include a guy, maybe… it’s you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is… just… moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope.

-He's Just Not That Into You

...because there's more to life than counting down the days until I meet him.

Re-finding Neverland

Where the white sands and the coral
Kiss the dark blue Southern Seas

Penelope’s first ever class in her first year in college was at Com Room 1, Guy Hall. It is one of the classrooms in the whole university where someone can get the best view of the Visayan sea. Penelope’s afternoon classes in that room would often get interrupted for a couple of seconds by the loud sound of a ship telling everyone that it’s about to leave. But she doesn’t mind. The noise had become music to her ears. She also loved looking outside the window of that classroom because whenever she does she is reminded of the reason why she decided to spend her four years of college in Silliman in the first place.

And the palm trees tall and stately
Wave their branches in the breeze

Sometimes when there was nothing to do, Penelope remembers laying for hours with her friends underneath the trees near the president’s house, feeling the newly-mowed grass on their hands, the wind brushing softly on their cheeks. They would just stay there, talking about hopes and dreams and problems and love until the evening mosquitoes begin to bite them, and no one would tell them to leave. Some other times when she’s alone waiting for her class to start, she would read the words written by students on the green benches located at the same area and make up stories behind them.

Stands a college we all honor,
In our hearts without a peer

Silliman was always a part of Penelope’s favorite childhood tales. Some of her uncles and aunts have also had their chance to enjoy the beauty of the campus during their time and they would often share what they recall of that beauty with her. The Neverland of carefree people was what she thought Silliman was back then. She loved the place way before she was able to set foot on its land.

Silliman, our Alma Mater,
Ever lovely, ever dear.

Penelope is now on her fourth year and she couldn’t help but wonder these days. What has happened to her dear old university—her Neverland?

With the new regulations and changes set before the students, every Sillimanian’s right to freely express his or her self, as well as the unique artistic and laidback feel of the university, has been put at the pedestal. And Penelope worries a lot about this. There are plans of transferring her college to another building away from the fresh breeze of the sea. The benches near the president’s home have already been taken out. There are now certain areas restricted to playing Frisbee, one of the much-loved sports of Sillimanians. The Freedom Wall has recently been painted plain. New buildings are sprouting in some places, taking the space that could have been used for more Acacia trees and Gumamelas. Penelope can’t even go to her major classes wearing only shorts and slippers, a fact that she used to brag about to her friends from highschool.

And so Penelope begins to wonder--what went wrong? Maybe it’s because of the transition of time, or change of interests and development of technology, or maybe it’s because of the growing population that grounds to having a few changes in infrastructure and policies, that’s why the Silliman before is heaps away from the Silliman right now.

If students would just spend more time jamming along to old school songs at the amphitheater instead of drinking vodka at secret spots until the wee hours of the morning, if students would just kill the apathy on relevant issues and talk less of their recent test results, then Silliman could still become the beautiful Boho sanctuary that it was.

Let go.

No matter how much he keeps you expecting and no matter how much you love the idea of you and him together, the cheesy things you daydream about will never happen if there’s always going to be another girl better than you. To him, you’re just the one he’ll wonder where to place in his perfect, perfect life. His second friggin choice and that’s all you’ll ever be. Forget the fact that you got him first. She’s smarter, prettier, awesome-er than you.

She’s way too better, so obviously he chose her. Yet he still does things that make it impossible for you to hate him. That’s the thing about him, you think. He just doesn’t know what he wants. He is with this girl yet he keeps giving you the hope that he also likes you.

Why can’t he just leave you alone, right? Why does he have to keep you hoping when he’s already with someone else?

And after all the thinking, finally, now you realize something about him. He’s selfish, he’s a jerk and, hey, you’ve been right all along: he’s just not man enough to fill the spot of the guy you’ve been waiting for all your life.

So let go. You’ve already wasted almost your whole college life for him.

Obscured dreams

If you asked me before if there is one thing that I am most certain about in my life, I probably would have said that it’s my course.

I still remember that moment when I knew I wanted to be a Journalist. It was when I first realized that writing is my passion. And writing is a passion that started way back during that time when I first learned the function of a pencil. HAHA. I'm sounding like Rachel Berry right now.

Anyways. When I was three, I was already writing these so-called love letters. By the time I was six, I was already constantly curling myself up on the corner of our house and making my Journal listen to the things that I couldn’t possibly tell anyone else.

Language and Writing have always been my favorite subjects in the world. I was always that girl who had the highest score in random writing activities. The girl who was always sent to represent whenever there was a student press competition or a nearby shindig of some sort for student writers.

Choosing my degree in college wasn’t much of a biggie at all. I didn’t even have to bother consider other courses in the university because ticking that box beside Bachelor of Mass Communication was enough for me to picture out my whole life in college.

The thing is that I’d die by the mere sight of blood and everyone who knows me even from afar could tell that I barely know how to place the x and y axes in a graph. So yeah. The whole point is that writing, it seems, is the only thing I’m good at. And to tell you honestly, I cannot imagine myself ever doing anything else in life.

But if you ask me again about that one thing I am most certain about, I’d say I’m not so sure anymore.


Now that I am having a little taste of what I’ve always wanted, I tell you, nothing seems to go right. This internship really is making me doubt something that I used to be so sure of. What I thought would just be an extension of what I do for the Weekly Sillimanian or ma’am Acedo’s class turned out to be something more than I could fathom.

This is the real deal where hunting for news becomes more terrifying now that competition is always around. Where the people who are needed to be interviewed are ruthless and intimidating. Where the place for interview is not just one pedicab ride away and making a complete story takes more than just one day. Where editors are not to be ignored but pleased.

Right now all my hopes and dreams have become obscured. How can I manage to be what I want when I can’t even ace my internship? I hate to admit this but right now all I really wish is that I could just spend all my life Facebooking and watching YouTube covers of my favorite bands. Right now I wish that I could forever stay young and carefree, just dreaming about my future and not actually starting to live it.

But then again, at some point in the remaining days of my college life, I would have to realize that updating my status in Facebook every three minutes and posting pretty pictures in Tumblr will never get me to the dreams I’ve set for myself. At some point I would have to grow up and start planning for my future. I have come to this part of my life as a student where every single day matters, where every single day is an opportunity to make my resume a little more appealing.

Even though on a regular basis the only thing that comes out of my mouth is very superficial, I do have dreams bigger than defeating an evil witch and being carried away by a handsome prince to a faraway land. I have dreams that include making a name for myself, proving wrong the people who have doubted me and giving back to my family who have sacrificed far more than anyone I know.

But again, the problem now is that I am not so sure about my plans anymore.

Oh gosh.

Changing

After all these months, all this time, so much has happened. The talks, the phone calls, the laughs, the feelings. If I were to look back, I would never believe that that person was once me. I wouldn’t recognize that girl because she’s so different from who I am now. But I guess changing and moving on is part of growing up. I’m growing up and finding out what kind of person I want to be for the rest of my life. And maybe in the future, more changes will come, but as for right now, this is who I’m proud to be.

Some things don’t last for ever, but some things do. Like a good song, or a good book, or a good memory you can take out and unfold in your darkest times, pressing down the corners and peering in close, hoping you still recognise the person you see there.

-This Lullaby, Sarah Dessen

To my Daddy Gordy

THANK YOU.

For the exciting election your automated system has provided. For making me see that there still are people in politics who are actually there not because they are forced to continue his or her family's legacy or because he or she wants to earn more than what's supposed to be earned. But most of all, for believing in me and the millions of youth all over this country--for believing that we are the real instruments of Bagumbayan.

In my heart, you still are the rightful president of the Philippines. In my heart, you'll always be my president.

I know that the fight does not end here.
And don't worry. I'll continue fighting with you.

GOD BLESS YOU, Daddy Gordy.
:)

Oh Sara Bee.

When are you coming over to the Philippines? When will I ever get to meet you and your awesomeness???



I LOVE YOU SARA BEE. YOU'RE MADE OF PURE AWESOMENESS.


Love,
Your Greatest Fan

Hair

Of course a girl’s hair is her crowning glory. On a typical day, she could have her tummy burst out of her blouse from a very big lunch and still feel beautiful as long as her hair is. That’s why they call it Bad Hair Day, not Bad Skin Day or Bad Breath Day, when someone wakes up one morning and looks at herself in the mirror and sees something wrong and feels very much uglaaay for the rest of the day, because it is the hair, depending on its condition, that affects the disposition of a person.

When I was a kid, my dad would sometimes steal away my precious time that I was supposed to use enjoying my childhood. He would make me sit in front of him and with a comb on his hand I always knew what he would do next. I hated those times because untangling that excruciating mess also known as my hair was worse than ten boosters or ear piercings (well, I was exaggerating but you got the idea).“You have to comb your hair all the time so that the natural oil will come out,” he used to tell me. When I look at my six year old self in the photos, I realize how beautiful my hair had really been. Oh gosh, if only I listened to my dad, I’d think to myself. But since I did not listen--I did not take care of my beautiful hair that not all girls my age had—my dad eventually gave up on me.

One day he took me to a beauty shop where I lost my pretty, pretty hair. My hair was cut so short that when I left the place, this one lady looked at me and I swear she must have thought I looked like a boy on girls’ clothes. I did not cry on our way home. I just kept looking at myself in the side mirror of our car thinking about how I’ve never seen anything so ugly in my life.

I lost my confidence because of that. During the years while I tried to grow back my hair, I couldn’t use all these pretty, colorful hair accessories like my friends did and I couldn’t join princess games and pretend to be a princess anymore because, as my friends have often pointed out, princesses always have long hair. I felt so left out. Oh, it was really terrible.

When my hair grew back, it no longer was the super straight, glossy hair that it used to be. It became very unruly and frizzy and sometimes on really terrible days, bushy. I swear it was like Hermione Granger’s hair—not Emma Watson’s in the movie but, really, the real Hermione Granger’s.

I wish I could hate my dad because of what he has done to my hair but the thing is that I realized that the unfortunate fate of my hair was because of my own doing. Had I listened to him and had been persistent enough to grab a hairbrush and use it when my hair was beginning to make tangles and all that, then my dad never would have decided to give me a lesson.

When I entered highschool, I decided that it was time to do something with my hair. I needed to get rid of the ugliness that I am each day forced to carry on top of my head everywhere I go. I wrote a 4-page letter to my mom explaining to her how sick I am of being ugly and that, well, I no longer will feel ugly if they do something about my hair. That’s when she decided to have my hair rebonded. I think my parents have had countless of arguments because of that decision my mom made, considering that that was a long time ago and this artificially straightening your hair method called rebonding was still just becoming popular because of one shampoo commercial and it cost at around Php 6,000, and also considering that I was in a really expensive school...well yeah, the point is that they had a lot of arguments. Right now I can totally say that I’ve been selfish that time but back then, I was really just desperate that I would do whatever it takes to get rid of my bushy hair. Anyway, my mom won and I had my hair rebonded, which I tell you, was really worth it. When I sported my new look in school, people were all suddenly complimenting me. Even my ultimate high school crush, who often made fun of me, became flattering.

It definitely brought back the confidence that I’ve lost for a very long time. My hair stayed artificially beautiful for a while. However, I’ve been told that rebonding my hair could cause severe damage and I did not believe it until, in time, it happened to me. Breakages and split ends appeared that I had to say goodbye to my 6,000-peso chemical-coated hair and cut it.

I’m just glad, though, that even if my hair never really turned back to its shape when I was six, at least it also never turned back to its shape when I was thirteen. My hair still sometimes is unruly but at least it never again is bushy.
To date, I must say I have done all kinds of things to my hair already. In college alone I think I’ve worn my hair straight, curly, short and long.

Every girl in this world probably has this one part of her body that she obsesses about. As for me, my hair—after all that we’ve been through—has now become that one obsession. Without a doubt, I’ve spent the most bucks on it, regularly giving it treatments and changing its style every now and then. Like for the recent months, it’s become a ritual for me not to leave the house without ironing my hair first. As in since I received the hair iron for my birthday, I’ve never left the house without using it—even if my destination was the beach or if I’d just be gone for a few minutes to return something I borrowed from a neighbor.

The obsession has probably paved way for my developing narcissistic habits. But again, let me just say this: I really do believe that no matter how much wrong things you see in the rest of your body, if your hair is looking its best, then everything would be alright. I can forget about my blemishes and huge thighs as long as my hair is tamed to perfection. Not many people get it, I know. They wouldn’t understand because they have not been in my shoes. They’ve had lives filled with memories that don’t include being laughed at for looking like a boy or Hermione Granger. Pretty hair has become my obsession—my frustration—because I’ve spent far too awful years not having one. And now I’m just making up for all those years I’ve lost.

Are you real?

He is so cute, so exactly like the image of what you think a boyfriend should be when you are nine or ten years old—what you think your own boyfriend will be, your birthright—that he breaks your heart a little. She hardly knows him (maybe he isn’t that great), but it’s still unfair that only some girls grow up to get boys like this.

-Hannah Gavener from The Man of my Dreams by Curtis Sittenfeld

Someone asked me in my Forsmpring which book last made me cry. I recently finished Bridget Jones, yes the mother of all modern chic lit, and did not enjoy it at all. I did not relate to Bridget as I expected I would, I did not cry by the end of novel as I thought I would. Maybe it’s because although like Bridget I am also sick of being single and just like her I also rant nonstop about how alone I feel, she was very much cynic. And if you’re someone who knows me even from afar, that is one thing I will never ever become. If Harry Potter had a counterpoint in the world of Hopeless Romantics, it would probably be me.

So, no. Bridget Jones wasn’t the last book to make me cry. It was The Man of my Dreams.

I bought the book in Booksale for only P50. I remember screaming with excitement the moment I saw it. I’ve been eyeing on the one and only copy of it at National Bookstore and when I finally decided to buy this copy, I was told that somebody went ahead of me already. Frustrated, I went home to Cebu one weekend and I hurriedly went to Fully Booked only to find out that there were no more copies available as well. I asked my tita from the US if she could send me a copy of it and then she kept sending me books that were anything but the one I want. Eventually, I let it go. So anyway, despite the little girl who was beside me, almost teary-eyed from the fright of my sight screaming over a book, I continued with my enthusiasm. The book was meant for me, after all.

I spent one Saturday reading this book, stopping only to highlight my favorite parts. You know the feeling when you get so attached to something you’ve been reading or watching that you feel like it wasn’t just a book or a movie or a TV Show? You feel as if it was your very own life right there printed on pages of paper or there shrunk to fit the box of entertainment. So what if that something turns out to have a bad ending? Or at least, an ending that you don’t like?

I didn’t like the ending of the Man of my Dreams. Simply because Hannah, the heroine of the story, did not end up with, well, the Man of her Dreams. Oh come on, stop looking at me like that. I’m pretty predictable when it comes to things like this. Heehee. ;)

I mean, of course I’d love for her to get what she wants. But considering that she didn’t, and considering how attached I was to the story, it made me kind of fear what my own life’s ending would be like. I’ve been living with the idea that although things are always tough for me right now, in the end I’d still get the Happy Ending I rightfully deserve. And my dream Happy Ending is something that comes straight out of a Fairy Tale book.

But what if Fairy Tales—Happy Endings—really are just some bullshark that Walt Disney purposely fed on girls like me, so that we would be susceptible enough for the society to use up until we’re all dull and filthy?

What if The Man of my Dreams never does exist? Frankly, what I fear most about my future relationships is that I might engage into them with guys whom I’m just settling for. I fear that because of my very high expectations, I will never be contented enough to realize that I have found The One. I probably will keep comparing these guys to my poster guy and think how much they’re not qualified enough to live up to my expectations. They’re always going to be too immature, too serious, too lazy, too hardworking, too short, too tall. Now, I wouldn’t want that to happen because that’s really unfair for them who I’m sure are all going to be amazing.

Oh gawd. I need intervention. :(

My favorite song at the moment.

They're two lovers in the night
Waiting on the sun to rise
Passing ships into the night
Under different skies

But you just whisper what you said
One last time
I could have sworn I heard you say
That you are mine

Faded flowers in your hand
The best that I could do
It's the only way I've had
Of reaching you

I never saw it like you did
Didn't know that it was there
You don't see it in your hand
Until the end

Be the one and only, wait for me
Will you be the only one
Will you be, be the one and only
Wait for me, will you be the only one

What if I knew how to yell
What would I pray
What if I knew how to tell
What would I say

I will be the only one
If you say you'll never go
I'll be screaming out your name
From the back row

Be the one and only, wait for me
Will you be the only one
Will you be, be the one and only
Wait for me; let me be your only one