Friday, February 15, 2008

I'm Not Getting My Hopes Up...

...but I met someone very interesting last night.

Accomplished yet expanding his horizons still. A lover of knowledge and learning. (He has 2 bachelors, an MBA, and wants to enroll in culinary school next.)

He is at home in the kitchen and claims to whip up the meanest mechado in the world. (Promised to cook for me one of these days.)

A singer (baritone who has toured Europe and parts of Asia). A sports buff. (Recently injured himself playing volleyball.) Absolutely loves traveling and the outdoors.

Has the most engaging accent (which reminds me so much of family, we have almost the same roots - Bisaya and Southern Tagalog.) Very funny. He is into charity work, too!

And fantastically, but more importantly, I believe he is taken with me.

It all just sounds too good to be true. Is it too bad to hope?

(I could almost hear Piper thinking to herself, What's the catch?)

2 comments:

  1. WARABAWT.....WAT'S THE FUCKIN CATCH?????

    ReplyDelete
  2. hehe... we will find out together on saturday.

    eeeeeiiiiiiii....

    ReplyDelete

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The Chronicler's Creed

Where there's water and sun, where there are friends to see or new people to meet, where there's something new to learn, experience, or do, where there's life, there I will be.

LA POESÍA

Y fue a esa edad... Llegó la poesía
a buscarme. No sé, no sé de dónde
salió, de invierno o río.
No sé cómo ni cuándo,
no, no eran voces, no eran
palabras, ni silencio,
pero desde una calle me llamaba,
desde las ramas de la noche,
de pronto entre los otros,
entre fuegos violentos
o regresando solo,
allí estaba sin rostro
y me tocaba.

And it was at that age... Poetry arrived
in search of me. I do not know, I do not know where
it came from, from winter or a river.
I do not know how or when,
no, they were not voices, they were not
words, nor silence,
but from a street I was summoned,
from the branches of night,
abruptly from the others,
among violent fires
or returning alone,
there I was without a face
and it touched me.

- An excerpt from LA POESÍA (Poetry) by Pablo Neruda