Pieces of individuals make us.

People that you get involved with, regardless if it is a strong one or
not, share to you a piece of themselves. The pieces shared are then,
subconsciously, affect you in a manner which makes you a person apart
from what, when, why and who you are yesterday.


It is like a tub of laundry. Clothes get in, tumbled through shared
substances, and come clean.


But the catch is that it only works when you let the feathers of love caress your heart, the hammer of friendship tear down the walls of loneliness and give those pieces the opportunity to mould us into a better individual. No man is an island, as the famous saying goes.


One way or the other, people come and it is solely up to us how shall we be a part of a human “archipelago,” if I may say.

"

It was early in the morning, but he knew exactly what was happening in his chest and woke my mother to ask her to call an ambulance. Our telephone was in the living room, but before she could leave their bedroom to use it, he asked for something else. My father asked that the ambulance not use its siren.

Weeks later, when the fear of death had receded like some strange tide, my mother asked him about the siren. My father said simply that he worried it would have woken and frightened his three sleeping daughters. It is true that we were all light sleepers and that our farm was usually blanketed by the polite silence that comes from having no close neighbors, but what impossible kindness there was in my father’s request.

I have called it an act of kindness, which I think it was. It was considerate in a way I cannot begin to understand; generous in a way no one would expect, much less demand. Years later I still do not comprehend how in what very well might have been the final moments of his life, my father thought to ask for quiet so that his daughters might continue sleeping.

Kindness is like holding an ice cube in your hands. It stings, but then the cold dissolves; what at first you could barely hold becomes something you cannot let go. My father’s request for a quiet ambulance came from a man so familiar with kindness that the sting was completely gone: the ice was no longer cold, but one with the flesh.

"

Absolutely exquisite essay by Casey E. Cep, who recounts what her father’s heart attack taught her about kindness – a virtue that Kerouac captured beautifully and Einstein articulated so memorably.

Henry James, it turns out, was right.

Do your soul a favor and read Cep’s full essay.

(via explore-blog)

3rd book to finish this year. Seems that I’m doing a slow pace in reading this 2014.

749 Pesos. 90% off! hahahaha lucky!

Keep it low so that it won’t go

To mouths of others where there is woe

But there, still swooping high above, a crow

Who won’t let go and squeal to your foe.

rolzie:

heartachesandcityscapes:

Grumpy cat, says NO to Disney.

HAahaha

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAA WTH

(Source: tsaoshin.deviantart.com)

japanlove:

ludicrouscupcake:

bigdrunkgay:

iraffiruse:

Frozach Submitted

IVE NEVER HIT REBLOG SO FAST IN MY WHOLE LIFE

leaf meat

image

Got this for a whopping 50 bucks. Yey.

Hindsight

Intangible. Eternal. Without beginning nor end.
The nameless, formless energy that permeates all living things.
That sweeps through nature like a ripple in an ocean,
Sending cascades of timeless wonder through the air,
On the song of a bird, the freshness of the morning air.
A clear calling for our inner nature to awaken beyond our every day lives, and fears.


Love is timeless, love is purity.


It is the lightless light, the rays of the sunrise dancing on the surface of the sea.


Love is you, and love is me.


It is the deepest knowing,
The serenity of being, the laughter of the earth,
The limitless breath of the wind, the wonder of potential,
The power of thought, the gift of life, the highest vibration,
The most profound awareness… the knower.


Life. Love. Infinite. within you. Now. Always.


For it is in love’s gentle embrace that we come to know the space between us.
A feeling deep within that not all is what it seems
That we bear witness to a magic as deep as our own,
To a summernight horizon that whispers ‘welcome’ to your soul.
And in those fleeting, trembling moments that we share between the worlds,
It is enough for us to know that in each other we must care,
For alive and not alone are we the children of the world,
Here to witness time and the unfolding miracle of the soul.
There is no difficulty that enough love will not conquer.
There is no disease that enough love cannot heal,
No door that enough love will not open,
No gulf that enough love will not bridge,
And no war that enough love will not throw down.
It makes no difference how deeply seated may be the trouble,
How hopeless the outcome, how muddled the tangle,
How great the mistake.
A sufficient realization of love will dissolve it all.


And if you could love enough,
You would be the happiest and most powerful person in the world.

CANNED BREAD!

gupple:

gloamvalley:

IM STILL UFCKING CRYING OVER FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST CANNED BREAD

image

im laughing really hard at “is it hope, or bread?” what hte HELL DOES THAT EVEN MEAN

(Source: oudkee, via japanlove)

A sad book for its history.

septemberstorm:

I know it. I’ve been stupid. I was jealous but I was passive. Cognitive dissonance, as Scott Fitzgerald said. There were the stories of Zelda Fitzgerald being a [first] flapper: being flirty and dressing suggestively, and Scott did nothing. Either he couldn’t or he won’t. The most depressing part of a man’s life is when that most special person in his life is doing everything that hurts him and all he can do is watch, get hurt, and get over it.

The cost of promised stars

…you promised me the stars. I hanged on to it and nourished the magnificent feeling of those being given to me. Yet you gave me the moon.


Ideal as it was, I attached myself to that beautiful thing, hoped and dreamt that it was something uncompromisable. Yet you gave me the moon.


Now I am flustered. I became a stooge because I fell for those stars that aren’t really reachable. It’s not your fault, I exaggerated stuff and rushed myself. The moon is nearer as a matter of fact.


But at the back of my head, I absolutely love the moon. I fancy how you presented it to me, how you casually reached my hand and placed it like it is something ordinary yet paradoxically extraordinary.


You reminded me that I am and still am a moon child by blood, where one sticks to the real more than the ideal.


And I fell for you more.

Orange boy. My fave hue of orange haha

First book finished this year.

Late upload though. :)