Impulsive Writer

You're Beautiful

2010-09-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

I just HAVE to say, if ever there actually WAS a certain thing called K-Pop fever, I have been blissfully spared by it... not until now.

After spending my entire day yesterday (9am Saturday) until the wee hours the next morning (4am Sunday) just watching the complete DVD copy of the Korean series "You're Beautiful", then I'd guess it's about proper to admit, "I'm guilty as charged, your honor."

If my memory serves me right, there are only three Korean series I've been hooked up before, and they are (in no apparent order) Lovers in Paris, Memories of Bali and Princess Hours.

Well, I guess, NOW, I had to add "You're Beautiful" to that list. How was I to know that my plan of fending off sleepiness would end up with me sitting in the living room for the entire day!

The story revolves around a girl who was pulled out from her quiet existence in a convent to pretend to be her fraternal twin brother, who was an up-and-coming rock star, as he got himself stuck in the US with a blotched surgery. And once she got herself introduced (incognito as her brother) to the leading Korean pop group, the excitement all broke loose.

If you look at it with critical eye, you'll be able to see a lot of glitches in the plot, take for example, the fact that the leading female star doesn't really look male in any angle no matter what baggy clothes you dumped on her! But that's television for you, I guess, it doesn't have to be politically correct, you just have to use a certain amount of imagination to go with what you're watching.

And apparently, it worked for me!

It served me a good deal to relax actually and it was a nice break --- some thing which I've been just longing to for days!

And the fact that all the actors on the series are pleasing on the eyes wasn't really bad at all, it was more than a consolation, it was as President Ahn's tag line in the series, it was a "Jackpot!"

So, here's me, currently fighting off a series hang over and a certain instant crush developed for the leading male character, Taekyung! Sheesh.

Can I also join your fan club, Taekyung? You're also a 100% on my book!

A Dedication

2010-08-16T07:37:00.000-07:00

I think I owe you an explanation. This won't come easy so listen first.

I know you need everything spelled out for you. So I'll spell it out.

Remember that conversation we had two weeks ago? Guess what? That was all about you.

So stop getting puzzled with my sudden burst of mood swings and tantrums. Know that these things, these emotions, are so new to me, so alien, I try so hard to make sense of it, to contain them too much, that sometimes I can't help if it explodes right out of me.

Don't ask me why, how or when. These are things I cannot answer either.

The first time everything began to dawn on me, it scared the wits right out of me. It's like I cannot think, I cannot breathe, I cannot move. I'm stuck in an emotional quicksand and I'm sinking way too fast.

So I did what seemed to me the most logical solution that my increasingly incapacitated mind could think of. I tried to do away with you.

And I did. Quite successfully. For awhile.

What I wasn't expecting was how difficult it actually was to do away with you.

I fool myself sometimes a thousand times that it just isn't so. It just isn't so. It JUST isn't. But I've been repeating it too much lately it's beginning to sound rather lame.

You've knocked your way into my orbit, you've become a part of my world's axis, and I don't even have any idea how that happened.

I just don't know.

I used to find it so strange how easy it was for you to anger me and then erase it all the next breath. It's terrible. It’s awful.

You bring out the BEAST in me. I just hate the way I react with you. I hate what I become when I'm around you.

I hate the fact that you're so close, but I also hate the thought of not having you around.

I hate how you always solve every mess I make. I even hate how you don't hate me for all the mess I've forced you to solve.

I hate the way you seem to start my day when you arrive, much worse how empty it is when you don't show up.

I hate how you keep me on my toes waiting for your replies. I hate the fact that you make me smile when you DO reply

I hate how you don't speak to me at times when I won't speak to you. You know I hate the silence. I just can't stand the way that you can stand it when I surely can’t.

I hate how mature you handle the times when I'm being immature. I hate how you can put me in my place when I'm being stubborn and unreasonable.

I hate how I remember every little thing you did for me. Even worse, hate the way you forget every single thing I did for you.

And if there’s one thing I hate most of all, it's knowing how strongly you are affecting me, when I don't affect you just as much as you do me.

I hate it. I simply hate it. And I hate it even more that I don't hate you. NOT for my lack of trying, but because I can't. And whenever I do get the energy to "hate" you, I end up all drained and exhausted.

Now don't go hysterical on me. If you do, then there'd be two of us.

It's a bad combination to start with really. You're emotionally-impaired, I'm oversensitive. Things that mean nothing to you can mean a whole lot to me.

I really need to get this out of my system. I really need to get YOU out of my system. Coz if you think throwing tantrums and sudden bouts of fit is easy, well you're in for a surprise. It’s a whole lot harder than you'd think.

You are a puzzle to me. A puzzle which I still cannot seem to solve no matter how much I try to arrange and rearrange it. It bothers me to no end!

But I'll get there. One day I'll be able to figure you out. And once I do, you can take my word on this, I'll tuck that puzzle safely, hidden away, somewhere, until all that is left of it in me will just be a memory. And there'll be no turning back.

WRITER’S BLOCK

2010-08-01T14:48:00.001-07:00

I used to have this crazy belief that I was a born writer. A natural.

That words come miraculously out of my head and form themselves into one cohesive idea that can, by some freak of nature, translate itself into something that readers can actually relate. Writing was a gift.
I mean, I really DID believe that.

And, God was I delusional!

Earlier, I had just created myself a blog --- after some reasonable urging from my equally delusional best friend --- where I can actually store all my bottled up writing energy and share my less-than-significant thoughts to anyone who had the patience to read. I had created it about two hours ago, and I’ve been staring at the monitor ever since.

TWO FULL HOURS! And not a single word. Unbelievable.

Apparently, I forgot to take note of some pretty minor details when I began summoning up the words. The last time I actually wrote a decent article was when I was in high school, and all throughout college the only pieces I’ve done were research papers and dissertations which are usually the result of a series of carefully-thought of “cut-copy-paste’s” and hardly needs any personal literary input.

What a way to dust off the cobwebs. Eight years ago I wouldn’t have thought it possible! It never even crossed my mind.

Thesaurus was my one true friend in my teens, always in my reach whenever I’m in need. With books I found my first love, and in writing I found a very intimate relationship, so intimate that when others read my pieces I felt like they were invading my personal space! Therefore, it also goes to follow, that I had a virtually zero social life.

I just didn’t understand people before. I was terribly socially-inept. And as a means of conversing, I turned to writing journals instead.

I didn’t quite expect to lose all that passion in writing when I learned social skills 101 though.

Apparently, the only thing that remains unchanged is my continuing fascination with pens. Even though all I seem to produce with it now are some random scribbles that include countless repetition of my name in different lettering styles and some futile attempt in sketching officemates to keep self from being sleepy while in a meeting.

It would be wonderful to rediscover the art of putting thoughts into words again and survive from this literary rusting. Because that crazy belief of being a born writer, is one very crazy belief I would not mind believing again.

*wink-wink*