2013 in review

The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2013 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 17,000 times in 2013. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 6 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

Conversations with an Actor

Interviewer: There’s something that I’ve always wondered. How can anyone act something out if he hasn’t e

xperienced it before. I mean, how can you cry and be sad at the death of your child when you haven’t even experienced his birth?
Actor: That’s very simple and yet very difficult. Let me ask you something back. How do you know that a real-life father is sad when his kid is dead. How do you know that he’s not the one who’s acting?
Interviewer: Umm.. Well..
Actor: The only thing that makes you think that the father is sad and devastated at the death of his kid is because he himself believes in it. That’s why when you look into his eyes even you believe in it. Nothing we ever feel in our life is absolute. Everything is an inherent belief in our feelings and emotions. Everything is an illusion. And a good actor is nothing but an illusionist who just happens to believe in what he’s supposed to feel.
All the world’s a stage and all the men and women just merely players……

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Being Sally

ImageBeing Sally meant having that pe-er-fect body.

Being Sally meant having those long and supple hands.

Being Sally meant having wonderfully lustrous hair.

Being Sally meant moving gracefully.

Being Sally meant playing with fire, yes.

Being Sally meant entertaining all those who thought playing with fire was entertaining.

But no one ever asked what being Sally actually meant to her.

All everyone bothered about was the beautiful dancer who danced with fire.

She was enticing, she was engaging, she was alluring, she was entertaining.

But for her, she was no more than a circus lion on display. Someone everyone was afraid to get close to but everyone wanted to see on display. She was that clown everyone wanted to look at and feel good about being themselves. She was that object that men devoured by their looks and women went green with envy. Yet no one ever dared to get close to her.

She often wondered if she really loved playing with fire. She often wondered if it was really worth being a fire dancer. 

She got frustrated and irritated and mad at the whole world and blamed everything and anything under the sun for her predicament. Until the pay-day arrived. Then she would glance at her cheque and she would think everything is fine with the world.

Being Sally is not that bad after all, she would think.

Being Sally is just her attempt to show the world that she could play with fire. The one within her. And the one around her.

—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

This post has been written for picture it & write  by ermilia

Knock Knock!! Any Quiz Wiz Here?

I love reading.
I love dancing.
I love writing.
I love rains.
I love winters.
I love sudoku.
I love crossword.
I love puzzles.
And I absolutely love quizzing!
So you can imagine how excited I was when my best friend in the whole wide world developed a quizzing website. I adore it! And for all of those out there who love quizzing too here’s a chance to see if you can outsmart my best friend in the whole wide world.

qcollage

Please visit the website http://quizot.com/!

It’s fun! It’s challenging! It’s informative! And I’m sure you guys will have a great time!

Back to School

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As I walk today through this empty corridor of what once used to be my school, I am shocked. Shocked at the change. I mean, everything look the same. The lockers, the corridor, the ever-so-depressing lights, the paraphernalia of childhood. It looks exactly the same. But everything seems so changed.

I am changed. I am no longer the gangly kid with braces and plastic frame glasses. I am no longer the last person to be chosen on any game team. I am no longer the heartbroken kid who doesn’t have the guts to go and tell that boy that I like him. I am no longer the kid who comes up with stories to impress her friends about how cool her father is. Yes, I have changed.

I am grown-up and successful and decent looking. I can draw people’s attention for all he right things if I want to. I can go ahead and buy that pretty dress I loved without thinking twice. I can make good-looking men buy me drinks at a bar whenever I want to. And all this is all that the gangly kid ever wanted.

So why does walking through this corridor make me ache today? Because the world is not the same. Because I am not the same. Because I have realized that the world, as I saw through those plastic frame glasses, is a myth. The “Ideal Life” doesn’t exist. I have lost my innocence. I have lost the ability to give without expecting anything in return. I have lost my childhood. And today, I would give away anything to be back to what I was. To go back to school.

—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

This post has been written for picture it & write  by ermilia

Talking To You

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Talking to you was easy,

Once upon a time.

I could see you

I could feel your presence

I could reach out to you

Today, we are so far apart

All I can do is tap on this keyboard

And hope that you read what I want to say

Not the words, no.

The thought, the feel, the emotion

The knot in my throat

The smile on my face

The goosebumps on my arm

The water in my wet hair

I know you do not feel that

Because tapping here on this keyboard

Is not the same as

Talking to you.

—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

This post has been written for picture it & write  by ermilia

The Broken Bride

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She was happy just thinking about what she wanted. She wanted a spectacular wedding. A groom who would dote on her. A mother who would cry as she walked down the aisle. A father who would look at her with utmost affection as he walked her down the aisle. The melody of the harp soothing her nerves. And the red roses all around.

She was happy thinking about what she wanted. But she knew she could never have what she wanted. They had made sure of that. The military, the soldiers, the bombings. They had taken away all that she had. Her perfect groom, her loving parents, her best friends and everyone else who even looked familiar. All that was left was the wait. The wait for the next bombing, the next night when the hungry soldiers would come to hunt, the next time she would actually have food to eat.

But she dreamt and thought and wondered. And she was happy when she did that. She knew that her days were numbered. Until the day it all ended. The pain that was beyond tolerance, the hunger that never ceased, the darkness that never lost.

And she saw a flash. Something close to a million cameras being flashed at her. And she saw them all. The groom, the parents, the friends. And she was happy. The broken bride was happy.

—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X—X

This post has been written for picture it & write  by ermilia

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