Monthly Archives: August 2012
It has been more than more than two years since my papa died… Life has gone on since then.. I still miss him so much and the only difference from the early days of his death to today is not on the lessening of pain I feel but on how I have come to manage it. There is a technique (one of which i become quite adept at) on how to manage pain–it is on not thinking about it. That’s how I do it. I guess that’s the most common defense mechanism or self-preservation technique–to not think and dwell too much on sad or bad things that has happened lest we go over the edge and lose our sanity. So when thoughts of his death and the realization that I actually have lost my father sinks in on my consciousness, I think of something else. That’s how I do it. And it works most of the time.
Days fill the mind with many preoccupations but the nights leave the mind free to think… and it is when sadness comes to consume your being. Yes, there are moments during the day that grief threatens to come to the fore but slips away as worries of the day tend to divert the mind back to the here and now. It is during the night as the body prepares to rest that the heart makes known the presence of pain and sadness. Then the tears come. I grieve for my father and I know I will grieve him until the day I die. I’m missing him everyday.
Let me share with you a quote from Edna St. Vincent Millay that I especially like.
“Where you used to be, there is a whole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around, in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.”
Time has a way of flying when you don’t want it to–
And a way of dragging when you wish it not to.
Time simply flew when one is happy
And lingers to taunt you when you’re blue.
Time can sharpen…or dulls one’s pain,
But one thing I know well–only TIME can really tell.
Fifty Shades of Grey by E. L. James struck me as a mills and boonsy type of book where there is a superrich guy who fell in love with an ordinary girl but without the sexual content, history of abuse and all that. I used to like that kind of mills and boonsy stuff but it seemed that I’ve outgrown it already. I really did want to like the book since the descriptions of the characters were patterned after Twilight’s Edward and Bella sans all things vampire. But sadly, I’ve outgrown those characters too.. The only interesting part were the sexual contents of the book but even those parts failed to get my inner goddess unfurl for Christian which he no doubt did to the single women who made the book a best seller.
That’s only my humble take on Fifty. Who am I compared to the majority, right? So peace to all you Christian Grey lovers. I’m just a bookworm sharing an opinion. I’ve read the second book Fifty Shades Darker though and it was no better than the first one. what can I say, I’m a compulsive reader and i’ve got nothing to do now that i’m( temporarily) stuck at home these days.
This is my first blog so I’d like to write a little something about myself.
My name’s Hyacinth and I love reading. I have an eclectic taste in books so most probably I’ll be blogging about what I have read. I actually am a frustrated writer with an emphasis on the word frustrated. Back when I was younger–around twenty years younger and had such high hopes for myself –I had actually attempted writing a book and finished like three chapters of it until I got bored of the plot and started to write another then write like a chapter and stop again to move to a new one. I remember that I was in the middle of a second chapter of my suspense love story–my fifth attempt in writing–that I finally stopped. I remember telling myself at that time that I was only putting my writing ambition on hold until I’ve finally grown up. I was probably fifteen. Nobody knew of my writing phase in spite of the constant noise of our portable typewriter from my bedroom. I was such a dreamer back then. But now I know better. I have come to realize that I wanted to be a writer because I loved and still love reading so much. The first novel that I’ve actually finished reading was when I was in grade four and it was A Stone for Danny Fisher by Harold Robbins. I didn’t understand half of the words I read there but had understood the story. It was my Dad’s book and I saw it lying around on the coffee table so I took it to my room and read it. Had my dad known his nine-year-old would read it he wouldn’t have been so careless. He probably didn’t expect anyone at home interested enough to read it since all five of his children ranged from thirteen to four years of age. And ever since I finished that book, I started visiting my school’s library and became its regular customer.