She was elusive.
She was today. She was tomorrow.
She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower,
the flitting shadow of an elf owl.

We did not know what to make of her.
In our minds we tried to pin her to corkboard like a butterfly,
but the pin merely went through
and away she flew.
- Jerry Spinelli

Please view me in Firefox.

Had a brilliant start of the day.
-grins blissfully-

update: it happened again almost a week ago (it's now the 19th of jan)
Moony reminded me to blog again yesterday evening and only then did I remember of this activity I've almost abandoned.

-adopts her theatrical voice and shuts her eyes as her chest heaves a breath-

You're back. Didn't think that you'd be gone forever but this is kind of early, is it not? Yeah, all this while I've been ducking under everything to escape you. Yet, like a bird of prey soaring high, scanning for its defenseless victim you found me under your clutches as if the rest of the world is transparent.

And down once more I venture into this endless vortex, the black hole which drains every colors from this life of mine; deep into you I dwell, unblinking eyes watching wearily as I sink yet again. No, I do not fight this time. From our previous encounters I've learnt: how futile it is to scream, how useless to trash wildly against the current as you engulf me, devour me, forlorn of all hope.

Fierce is this surge holding me at its mercy. Merciless are you oh Loneliness.

(c) Pauline Valentine Sugiharto on August 27, 2005. Intended to be used for MSN Messenger.
Ps. Do observe every pixel of the avatar carefully before raising a finger to accuse me of being a 'racist'

-twirls joyously around the room, a blissful expression of accomplishment drawn upon her face-
And then I cried. Not the chest-beating, "Stella!" kind of crying. But I sat quietly, listening to his brother's toast for the happy couple, and the tears just came. I didn't cry because I wanted him back. I didn't cry because I want the white picket fence. I didn't even cry because I had to wear a "This ain't your mama's" shaping garment under my dress. Well, maybe that last one was part of it.

I cried because I just don't know him anymore. It struck me as sad that I was familiar with the first pictures of the slide show and only the initial references made in the best man's speech. I cried because I gave several years of love and friendship (and work, God damn it!) to a relationship that for all intents and purposes no longer exists. I cried because I know that I'll never know him again. We've both moved on to lives with different scripts and supporting casts, and neither of us really plans to watch those reruns again for any reason other than nostalgia.

Beautiful insight quoted from a random blog I found; I'm now a big fan of that particular blogger.
How to Make a Woman Happy
It's not difficult to make a woman happy.
A man only needs to be:

1. a friend
2. a companion
3. a lover
4. a brother
5. a father
6. a master
7. a chef
8. an electrician
9. a carpenter
10. a plumber
11. a mechanic
12. a decorator
13. a stylist
14. a sexologist
15. a gynecologist
16. a psychologist
17. a pest exterminator
18. a psychiatrist
19. a healer
20. a good listener
21. an organizer
22. a good father
23. very clean
24. sympathetic
25. athletic
26. warm
27. attentive
28. gallant
29. intelligent
30. funny
31. creative
32. tender
33. strong
34. understanding
35. tolerant
36. prudent
37. ambitious
38. capable
39. courageous
40. determined
41. true
42. dependable
43. passionate
44. compassionate

WITHOUT FORGETTING TO:
45. give her compliments regularly
46. love shopping
47. be honest
48. be very rich
49. not stress her out
50. not look at other girls

AND AT THE SAME TIME, YOU MUST ALSO:
51. give her lots of attention, but expect little yourself
52. give her lots of time, especially time for herself
53. give her lots of space, never worrying about where she goes

IT IS VERY IMPORTANT:
54. Never to forget:
* birthdays
* anniversaries
* arrangements she makes

How to Make a Man Happy
1. Show up naked
2. Bring food
3. Hand over the remote.

And from what I learnt from Mr. "Kecebong Item" Feno Ogutu's Sociology class, you can't point a finger and accuse me of being sexist as I am a member of the party which is being put at a disadvantage... sort of.
These be
Three silent things:
The falling snow... the hour
Before the dawn... the mouth of one
Just dead.

A classical cinquain, one in which you count the number of syllables rather than number of words. I found that on the net upon brainstorming for a testimonial. It lead me to wonder though; there's something about death which mystifies me, as if beckoning me to draw near as though there's this invisible hand circled around my neck. In poems, the mention of the word itself will promptly steer my eyes to the beginning of the literature piece, rereading with more focused attention. The greyish gap between aging and death always add a certain appeal.
It's become some sort of a habit to me; a game if you put a tad of imagination into it: Sometimes... alright, so it doesn't happen that rarely. My point is, it seems as if there is a secret pathway into the musical part of my brain that a rich variety of tunes appear to have discovered. When such occurences happen, an immediate prompt will drive me to walk the distance to look for that song in the vast seas of data swimming in the harddisk of my laptop. Perhaps it's the satisfaction evoked once I managed to find it before the tune walk its way out of my head. Perchance it's something entirely different from this hypothesis of mine. The thing is, this is almost like a game to me. The sudden obsession of it all...
-pauses and sighs almost-wearily- You're weird, Pauline, I'm certain that you are. Oh and you're talking to yourself very often lately.
finally satisfied of a little online investigation and it seemed that my hypothesis was right all along... *clears her throat nonchalantly and puts up a facade of blameless innocence*
mischief managed

I wonder if this curiosity is inborn or if it develops with time as hormone takes control and as your peers begin to do the same. I mean, people would probably roll their eyes and snort (not for the better-behaved few though) at the idea of investing their time and effor just to find out about a rumour concerning nothing important such as whether this couple has broken up or silly things like that - I'm not labeling that a break up is nothing important of course. I know, I used to be one of those. And don't bother to ask what's gotten into me cause I don't even know. Yet, when I was doing it, satisfying your curiosity seems like the most natural thing. This ain't the first time I'm doing this but I suppose this is my first point of realization of what I'm executing... sort of.

tired...
i shall sleep...

Phoebe Pauline Valentine Kribben Sugiharto 朱宝玲, B.S.
110888
Eldest of 3
UCSD Psychology, class of 2008
University of Cambridge, King's College, summer of 2007
TKSS, class of 2004
ICHS, class of 2006, left on 2001
San Diego, California

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Picture courtesy of Eliara.
Meticulously hand-coded by yours truly,
with much ColorSchemer tweaking fun.
(c) 012509

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