Sometimes it’s safer to hold it all in, where the only person who can judge is YOURSELF.

- Sarah Dessen

I often find my dreams constricted by the confines of reality. 

Run Forrest, Run

In the sudden interest of all things healthy (okay, so this may have been long overdue), we have decided to partake in a daily session of running around in circles in a huge (like seriously huge) field. This should have started out yesterday but since I have conveniently forgotten to bring an attire for it, I just sat and watched them do it. And then I was filled with jealousy that they were jogging along with everyone else while I was sitting there and contemplating the lack of a lovelife with my friend that we promised to mark jogging as "a-very-important-thing-to-do-before-we-graduate". So there, I might actually do some exercise for once in my life without being forced to do it.

stewie, my favorite baby

MockTurtle

Hello friend, imagine a day of peace without the usual taunts. For me, I can't. This has become a daily routine in our roller coaster friendship that a day without it seems bland in comparison. But then one day, a sense of realization that all may not be well came about. That grinning face was just a facade. You hated the taunts and mockery, you felt it too deeply. To this I say forgive me. I have been an insensitive friend, unappreciative of the solemn kindness you offer to which we scoff at. Forgiveness at this time may be moot, words disappear into thin air so here I put some effort into starting a personal campaign to lessen the mocks and jeers and start treating you in a nicer manner you well deserve. Of course I can't promise i'll lose the taunts, it has become such an integral part of our friendship that I must do it to survive (or simply because you need taunting sometimes). Don't take it too personally, this is just me being friendly, and I swear I'll be nicer. =)

Robert Enke

He was Germany's number one. He loved the beautiful game. Enough to make him forget awhile his problems with depression. The man felt the need to hide his issues from his friends and showed an outer persona without problems but he felt it deeply, and it was deep enough that he was unable to pull himself out of his self made grave. There are so many things to love about football but there are downers too. This problem that Enke had was hidden away because he felt he would be discriminated among his peers. He was experiencing what each of us have felt at least once in our lifetime. And knowing how hard it strikes, it is not easy to experience it all by yourself. He was unable to cope and took his own life.

A tragic tale for a man with such a bright future ahead. I guess success can never really be measured by what you've accomplished, Enke was a successful man but it was the loss of his daughter and the potential loss of another that led him to his demise. Football can give you anything, but it can't give you everything. He was just coming home from training when he decided to commit suicide. Suicide, that ultimate act of giving up. I can imagine the temptation, that need to just end everything because life was getting too unbearable. It's a terrible feeling. And I hope that this issue is being addressed by people all around the world, not just by the football association. 

Depression is a terrible virus that can never be cured alone. 

A simple call for help is enough for people to lend a hand, a shoulder to cry on and ears to listen to. 

On the field and out of it, love and friendship must be on hand, isn't it why they call it a beautiful game? It bonds people from all walks of life. That's the most special gift any sport can give.

500 25,000 600 minutes, how do you measure a year?

How do I even begin to interpret a song like Seasons of Love from Rent? There's something about the song that gives you a feeling of poignancy. It begins by asking you how a year is measured. And then from there, simple words make up a great lyric about life as measured by moments we've had.

PULPO PAUL, ADIOS

I'm bringing out the balloons and party hats and hosting a party!

Twitter conversation regarding Paul:

Me: Whoah,paul the octopus is dead...yehy! Bwahaha. #paul #octopus #worldcup
Me again: i'm reading a lot of ridiculously funny obituaries about paul the now-dead octopus.
Friend: @me "paul-the-now-dead-octopus" haha
Me: @friend i hate that octopus yan. he's better off dead before i hunt him down. and eat him. slowly and painfully. raw. hahahha..JK
Friend: hahaha that's a lot of hatred right there! haha pero bitaw, samok kaayo to nga octopus ba. maayo ra namatay hehe
Me: mao jud. annoying predictor. makasira sa excitement
Me: So long, Paul...The ink will run dry on this obituary,& within your own body, long before the jokes do-Goal.com. LMAO. #paul #dead #octopus

Yeah, he's THAT ugly.

What the...

You don rose colored glasses and you see the world in rosy tints, you remove them and you see its bleak reality.

You put back the glasses because you would rather live a lie. 

Humanity.

"I was standing just inside the door of the pavilion. watching as men hauled her out of the stretcher into the waiting bed inside the grimy provincial ambulance that could be her last ride..."

It was not a gloomy day. There was not a sun to be seen but its light filtered through the dense white clouds. The wind picked up just as we were guiding the stretcher out of the pavilion. Squeak, squeak, it was rusty. Grunts heard as they tried carrying her dead weight. Stop. The linens were an obstruction. Continue. They were then removed. She still has her tubes attached to her body. The bag valve mask that no one was pumping was not putting air into her lungs. A woman's loud voice echoes into the suddenly quiet crowd of observers, "Get the tubes out. You must do it yourselves. We are not accountable to that outside these hall" The man looked in confusion. He does not know how. Yet, they have made a choice. A choice as instructed by the sick woman herself. They have to go home. So, he gingerly places his fingers into the plaster that holds the tube in place. Instructions were given by the woman from inside the bounds of the pavilion. Out, it came. Harsh. I could sense not a hint of remorse from their voices. Like a bad drama, the crowd thickened and looked on. They were deathly quiet, though. It was not unlike a funeral, seeing a woman go. Away from the place that should have offered health. 

 There was a bed in the place that seemed to take the worst ones in. This time, it was a diminutive girl who defiantly sits up against the doctor's orders. She was 28 years old. But unlike other 28 year olds, she had a mental illness and her body was built like a child's, she had dwarfism. As if fate could not be more cruel to her, she was also sexually abused by a stranger. Now she is with child. A child she could not have known existed in her belly. She looks around her with discord. She does not like what she is seeing. The cries, the groans, the grimaces. It was not a place of peace. She frequently mutters pleas to get home. Sometimes, her mood hits her and she demands it while clutching at her IV line until it bleeds. She wants out. Now. She could sense the growing sense of unease this place has given her. Morning, night this is all she faces. She wants to go home.