<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33575835</id><updated>2011-04-22T06:05:03.540+04:00</updated><title type='text'>sighs and highs.</title><subtitle type='html'>`in fairy tales, the princesses kiss the frogs and the frogs turn into princes.

in real life, the princesses kiss the princes and the princes turn into frogs.`</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>cheli</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04142905152440625715</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://pic20.picturetrail.com/VOL145/6008471/13586141/220943449.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>4</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33575835.post-116427076788866938</id><published>2006-11-23T11:05:00.000+03:00</published><updated>2006-11-23T12:01:02.103+03:00</updated><title type='text'>ketchup.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:courier new;" &gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;    Waiting for love is like waiting for the viscid UFC catsup to pour down on your plate. It usually pours on globs.  You hold its bottle  on your left hand, carefully watching that it stays on a perfect angle. You wait. And wait. And wait. Because you know that anytime, it may pour. You squint your eyes to see if the red substance is moving at all. And you get tired. From holding. From looking. From waiting. Briskly, you put the bottle down, your arm weary. You let some time pass and then hold the bottle again, angling it perfectly. And again, you wait until it pours down---if it pours down. You get quite successful and it pours scarcely. So you cover it up, shake it and start pouring again, or rather---waiting again.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 204, 255);"&gt;    It's pretty much like that. You wait for that "prince" your whole life, believing there is indeed one for you. you meet a guy and think that maybe, just maybe, he COULD be the one. And you stupidly try to make EVERYTHING work out between the two of you. Then again, all these efforts dry you up. Worn-out, you decide to end things up. But by and by, an attack of nostalgia comes and you reminisce the happy days; consequently feeling that you want him back. It MIGHT still work out. He COULD still be the one. You think it up for some while. But in the end, you get on with the drift. And what the heck?  You wait. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;AGAIN.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(102, 204, 204);font-family:trebuchet ms;" &gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33575835-116427076788866938?l=pinkonearth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/feeds/116427076788866938/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33575835&amp;postID=116427076788866938' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/116427076788866938'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/116427076788866938'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/2006/11/ketchup.html' title='ketchup.'/><author><name>cheli</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04142905152440625715</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://pic20.picturetrail.com/VOL145/6008471/13586141/220943449.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33575835.post-115770198820035594</id><published>2006-09-08T11:28:00.000+04:00</published><updated>2006-09-08T11:53:08.213+04:00</updated><title type='text'>facta, non verba.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I used to write your name.&lt;br /&gt;But now it feels rather strange just writing your initials.&lt;br /&gt;I guess, yes, maybe.&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps I’ve grown tired.&lt;br /&gt;Sick. Worn - out. Dead beat.&lt;br /&gt;You were no more than a child.&lt;br /&gt;Naïve, no, you’re not.&lt;br /&gt;Sure you recognize the moon. The sun.&lt;br /&gt;Bet you know Venus. And perhaps, Pluto.&lt;br /&gt;But their orbits. Did you think about their orbits?&lt;br /&gt;No, you didn’t.  Conceivably, you still don’t.&lt;br /&gt;I would have lingered on. Really.&lt;br /&gt;Succumbed. Yielded.&lt;br /&gt;Then again, you didn’t deserve that.&lt;br /&gt;Although, I wouldn’t have cared either.&lt;br /&gt;But the whole thing was plain too much.&lt;br /&gt;Lucid. Throbbing.&lt;br /&gt;I tried not to see it, though. Or hear or feel, in the least.&lt;br /&gt;I was strong. I was.&lt;br /&gt;I am not anymore.&lt;br /&gt;I used to write your name.&lt;br /&gt;Writing it felt so familiar.&lt;br /&gt;Made me feel good.&lt;br /&gt;About you. About them. About myself.&lt;br /&gt;Reading it, nonetheless, was discrete. Different.&lt;br /&gt;Sick. Worn – out. Dead beat.&lt;br /&gt;Succumbed. Yielded.&lt;br /&gt;I was strong.&lt;br /&gt;I am not anymore.&lt;br /&gt;About you.&lt;br /&gt;About them.&lt;br /&gt;About myself.&lt;br /&gt;No. No, not myself.&lt;br /&gt;It was all you.&lt;br /&gt;You and your world.&lt;br /&gt;You. Just you.&lt;br /&gt;Because I used to write your name.&lt;br /&gt;I have forgotten how to write my own.&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33575835-115770198820035594?l=pinkonearth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/feeds/115770198820035594/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33575835&amp;postID=115770198820035594' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/115770198820035594'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/115770198820035594'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/2006/09/facta-non-verba.html' title='facta, non verba.'/><author><name>cheli</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04142905152440625715</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://pic20.picturetrail.com/VOL145/6008471/13586141/220943449.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33575835.post-115742123690043254</id><published>2006-09-05T05:31:00.000+04:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T06:17:21.926+04:00</updated><title type='text'>colloq.</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="justify"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Hindi naman talaga ako adik sa'yo eh. I was just bluffing&lt;/em&gt;. c",)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;Kasi masarap kang utuin. Kapag hapon at magkasama tayo, kapag naubos na lahat ng mga biro at tahimik na tayo pareho, sa mga panahong ito ko karaniwang inuumpisahan ang kwentong nagpapasaya sa'yo. Yung kunwari, gusto kita. Ikaw - na patay na patay sa akin.:P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;Kapag tinititigan kita, pinipigilan ko talagang matawa. Kase, damn! grabe ka mamula. Paniwalang paniwala ka talaga sa storya na'to, noh? Minsan na-gui-guilty ako when i have to look at you straight in the eye and tell you i like you. After all, we're friends. And hey, i still have my conscience. Pero ewan. Masarap ka talagang papaniwalain. Napaka-willing mo kase. :P&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;At kapag kasama na natin ang grupo, du'n mas masaya. Dahil kapag tinutukso na nila tayo, para kang uod na namimilipit. Itinatanggi mo pa na masaya kang kasama ako kahit halatang-halata naman sa mga mata mo. &lt;em&gt;I've always thought that the stars are too far and it would be impossible to reach them. Well, i don't anymore. Bakit pa? Eh ayan na sila sa mga mata mo?&lt;/em&gt; Haha. Me and my lousy one-liners. Yeah, lousy. Pero lagi namang bumebenta sa'yo. Man! I'm really seeing stars. Nahihilo na ako sa katangahan mo.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;Pero salamat na rin. Salamat dahil lagi mo akong tinutulungan sa mga projects at exams ko.&lt;em&gt; You're my inspiration.&lt;/em&gt; Mas lalo akong nai-inspire na ipagpatuloy ang storyang ito. c",)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;At ngayong kasama ulit kita, ngayong tahimik tayo pareho, sasabihin ko ulit ito. G&lt;em&gt;usto kita. Adik na yata ako sa'yo.&lt;/em&gt; At tulad nang dati, namumula ka na naman. Nahihiya, pero kitang-kita ko sa mga mata mong masaya ka.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;.....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;Nagpakawala ako ng isang buntong-hininga. Friends tayo, 'di ba? At ayoko nang lokohin ka pa. Tatapusin ko na itong kwentong ito. Itong kwentong alam kong nagpapasaya sa'yo. Itong kwentong ginawa ko. ULIT. &lt;em&gt;Hindi naman talaga ako adik sa'yo eh. I was just bluffing.&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;masaket.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;color:#ffccff;"&gt;dahil sa akin sinabi yan.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33575835-115742123690043254?l=pinkonearth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/feeds/115742123690043254/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33575835&amp;postID=115742123690043254' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/115742123690043254'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/115742123690043254'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/2006/09/colloq.html' title='colloq.'/><author><name>cheli</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04142905152440625715</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://pic20.picturetrail.com/VOL145/6008471/13586141/220943449.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33575835.post-115692610151232781</id><published>2006-08-30T12:19:00.000+04:00</published><updated>2006-09-05T06:03:30.500+04:00</updated><title type='text'>three minutes</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="color:#ffccff;"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:trebuchet ms;"&gt;darn those drums.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"not the drums, doofus. that's your heart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh yeah. that's mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and i did not want to look at the clock.&lt;br /&gt;i did not want to see the time running out.&lt;br /&gt;i did not want to feel the pressure.&lt;br /&gt;i did not want to stop holding on.&lt;br /&gt;to stop hoping.i wanted to keep the faith.&lt;br /&gt;i wanted to keep the faith that has always been there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;why is it so hard to hope? why is it so hard to believe?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;last three seconds. damn.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;and you didn't take the shot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/33575835-115692610151232781?l=pinkonearth.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/feeds/115692610151232781/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=33575835&amp;postID=115692610151232781' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/115692610151232781'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/33575835/posts/default/115692610151232781'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://pinkonearth.blogspot.com/2006/08/three-minutes.html' title='three minutes'/><author><name>cheli</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/04142905152440625715</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='14' height='32' src='http://pic20.picturetrail.com/VOL145/6008471/13586141/220943449.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry></feed>
