Strange Me

Life is a picture mosaic composed of priceless memories-too many unforgettable moments that are treasured most. Those which contribute to build a strong foundation of hope and aspiration to become a better human and above all to have the best of what life has to offer.

As my memory rusts and starts to decay passively overtime, even if I’m not that old and I’m still young at heart and soul, I remember the good old times spent with friends and relatives.

I’ve made up my mind to enjoy this drive. It’s been my experience that you can nearly always enjoy things if make up your mind firmly that you will.

And isn’t pink the most bewitching color in the world? I love it, but I can’t wear it. If you’re about to ask me why, well I will answer you with very discombobulating things… I just can’t figure out why I hate the color badly that I started to like it more. But I still believe that my favorite color is black. Maybe because I live in despair. Not an emotional one.

When I was younger, I thought my life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes. That’s a sentence I read in a book once, and I say it over to comfort myself whenever I’m disappointed in anything. Later on I wonder where the comforting comes to my self.

Then the generation is completely changing and evolving. I am fond of romantic things as one can imagine. They say I’m a helpless romantic but I’m telling you, I just want to enjoy being single.

And isn’t rose the most romantic flower in the world? I love it but I’m disgusted with its smell. I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I’ve never been able to believe it. But I don’t believe a rose would be as nice if it was called a thistle or a skunk cabbage.

And isn’t chocolate the loveliest gift ever? I love it. And there’s no wonder that I really love any of its kind. I wonder why men give bunch of roses to women when I think chocolate is the BEST.

Have you ever gone to the beach or to the sea? The shore road was 'woodsy and wild lonesome'. On the other hand, scrub firs, their spirits quite unbroken by long years of tussle with the gulf winds, thickly on the left where the steep red sandstone cliffs, so near the track places that a mare of less steadiness that the sorrel might have tried the nerves of the people behind. There is the fear of getting drowned whenever I come to swim. Wondering if there is my friend waiting for me, waiving his hands and telling come with him. Though I want to take his hands and follow him where ever he is, I just can’t do that. Maybe that is the plan of our Creator. But I miss him so much!

Sometimes my imagination just keep on playing a little illusion-I am the main character of the book that I am reading. I don’t care if they think I’m always day dreaming. There is nothing wrong when imagining. :)