Truth about women... what women really want!

Young King Arthur was ambushed and imprisoned by the monarch of a neighboring kingdom.
The monarch could have killed him, but was moved by Arthur's youthful happiness. So he offered him freedom, as long as he could answer a very difficult question. Arthur would have a year to figure out the answer; if, after a year, he still had no answer, he would be killed.

The question was: "What do women really want ?"

Such a question would perplex even the most knowledgeable man, and, to young Arthur, it
seemed an impossible query. Since it was better than death, however, he accepted the monarch's proposition to have an answer by year's end.

He returned to his kingdom and began to poll everybody: the princess, the prostitutes, the
priests, the wise men, the court jester. In all, he spoke with everyone but no one could
give him a satisfactory answer. What most people did tell him was to consult the
old witch, as only she would know the answer. The price would be high, since the witch was famous throughout the kingdom for the exorbitant prices she charged. The last day of the year arrived and Arthur had no alternative but to talk to the witch. She agreed to answer his question, but he'd have to accept her price first: the old witch wanted to marry Gawain, the most noble of the Knights of the Round Table and Arthur's closest friend!

Young Arthur was horrified: she was hunchbacked and awfully hideous, had only one tooth, smelled like sewage water, often made obscene noises. He had never run across such a repugnant creature. He refused to force his friend to marry her and have to endure such a burden. Gawain, upon learning of the proposal, spoke with Arthur. He told him that nothing was too big of a sacrifice compared to Arthur's life and the preservation of the Round Table. Hence, their wedding was proclaimed, and the witch answered Arthur's question: What a woman really wants is to be able to be in charge of her own life.

Everyone instantly knew that the witch had uttered a great truth and that Arthur's life would be spared. And so it went. The neighboring monarch spared Arthur's life and granted him total freedom.

What a wedding Gawain and the witch had! Arthur was torn between relief and anguish. Gawain was proper as always, gentle and courteous. The old witch put her worst manners on display. She ate with her hands, belched and passed gas, and made everyone uncomfortable. The wedding night approached: Gawain, steeling himself for a horrific night, entered the bedroom. What a sight awaited ! The most beautiful woman he'd ever seen lay before him ! Gawain was astounded and asked what had happened. The beauty replied that since he had been so kind to her (when she'd been a witch), half the time she would be her horrible, deformed self, and the other half, she would be her beautiful maiden self. Which
would he want her to be during the day and which during the night?
What a cruel question ! Gawain began to think of his predicament: during the day a beautiful woman to show off to his friend, but at night, in the privacy of his home, an old spooky witch ? Or would he prefer having by day a hideous witch, but by night a beautiful woman to enjoy many intimate moments? Noble Gawain replied that he would let her choose for herself. Upon hearing this, she announced that she would be beautiful all the time, because he had respected her and had let her be in charge of her own life.

A Sad Love Story... :(

It had been raining for more than a week, so much rain it made everyday seemed so restless and gloomy. She called and said she was coming up. It was the third time she came up to see me that week. I carried her excuse of why she came all the way here and went to meet her at the nearby seven-eleven. She was standing there alone, carrying her red umbrella. Her friend had dropped her off. It was raining and she was shivering. She looked weak and fragile in the harsh rain, wearing not enough to keep her warm.
I walked up to her and said, "You shouldn't come see me anymore," and stuff like how we shouldn't be together.

She said, "I miss you."

I told her coldly, "Lets go, I'll take you home."
She did not open up her umbrella, I knew she
wanted to share mine. I said, "Open up your umbrella, let's go."
Unwillingly, She opened up her umbrella and walked with me to the car. She said she hadn't eaten lunch or dinner and asked if we could stop at some place to eat.
Right away I answered with a stoned heart, "No!"

Disappointed, she asked me to take her to the train station, she said she would take the train
back home. Maybe it was the rain, all the trains were full of people with umbrellas and suit cases who were eager to get home, not caring about who just passed by. We waited and waited, she looked at me innocently. Being together for so long, of course I knew what she meant. I understand how she must feel when she came all this way here in this kind
of weather and I treat her like this. With her soft eyes staring at me, I felt guilt and wanted
to let her stay for the night.
But reality struck again, I said to her coldly, "Let's go try the other train station."

We were living in the same apartment building, on the same floor. Back then there were four of us, and we got along well. We would always eat dinner together, watch movies, and sometimes go camping. We were more like a family, but I didn't know I would end up falling in love with the only girl of the four. Maybe it was during the last year of college, having living together for two years, we developed deep feelings for each other. After she graduated she went back home, and I stayed for one more year to finish school. During that year I was only able to take the train down to see her on holidays, but never for long. That was how we kept the treasured relationship.

We were walking along the side of the road. She was in front of me and I was right behind her. Her umbrella had a broken spoke. She looked liked a wounded soldier, carrying her rusted rifle walking weakly. Many times, she was too into thinking or whatever she was doing, drifting off the road, she almost got hit by the cars passing by. I wanted to just take her in my arms, but with the love I had for her and the constant pain in my stomach, I did
nothing. On the way, we passed by the park where we use to always go.
She begged and said, "Lets go in the park just for a little while please, I promise I'll go home
right after this."
With her begging, my cold heart softened, but I still put up an annoyed face and walked in the
park. I was just sitting on the benches looking like I wanted to leave. She went to the big oak
tree and she was looking for something. I knew she was looking for what we wrote on that tree with a silver ink pen half a year ago. If I remember it right, it said, "Chris and Susan was here, Chris had tea and Susan was drinking hot chocolate. Hope Chris and Susan would always remember this day, always loving each other, forever."
She was looking around for quite a while, then she came back slowly with tears on her face.
She said, "Chris, I can't find it, it's not there anymore."

I felt so sour inside, there was a stream of pain, flowing into my heart, the kind of pain I've never felt before. But all I could do was pretend I didn't care, and said, "Can we go now?"
I opened up my big black umbrella, she was just standing there, didn't want to leave yet, hoping there was still a chance. She said, "You made up the story of you and that other girl didn't you? I know I frustrate you sometimes, but I'll change, can't we start over?"
I didn't say a word, just looked down and shook my head. After that we just kept on walking towards the train station, didn't say a word to each other.

Four years ago, the doctor said I had cancer, but it was found early, so it was still curable.
Thinking that it was okay, I started living my normal life again, and even forgot about the
cancer. I didn't think about the cancer again and did not go back to the doctor. Until a month ago, my stomach was hurting for two weeks straight, and the nightmare awakened me again. First I thought the pain would go away, but it grew stronger until to the point that I couldn't take it anymore. I went back to the doctor and took an X-ray. The picture came out and there was a big black spot, which proved the truth that I did not want to believe. I was at the most glittering part of my life, but it was coming to an end. I wanted myself and the people around me to go through the least pain possible, so I decided to commit suicide. But I couldn't let people find out about my intentions, especially Susan, the person I love the most in this whole world, who still doesn't know about the truth. Susan was still young, she shouldn't have to go through this. So I made up some stories and lied to her. It was a cruel thing to do, and it broke her heart, but it was the fastest way to wipe out three years's feelings. I didn't have much time, because I would soon start to loose hair and she would find out eventually.
But now I'm close to succeeding, this drama would soon be over. Thirty minutes more this would all come to an end, that was what I had in mind.

The train had stopped running so I called a taxi for her. We were just standing there, waiting,
losing our last moments in silence. I saw the taxi from far away, I held my tears and said to her, "Take care of yourself, take good care of yourself."
She didn't talk, just nodded lightly, and then opened up her misshaped umbrella and stepped out on the street. Out in the rain, we became two single life forms, one red, one black, so far away from each other. I opened the door for her and she got in, then I close the gate that would separate me from her forever. I stood by the car, staring in the dark window, at the first love in my life, also the last one, walking out of my life. The car started, driving into the street. Finally I couldn't hold my sorrow and the twist in my heart any longer, waving my arms rapidly chasing after the taxi, because I knew, this would be the last time I see her. I wanted to tell her I still love her, I wanted to tell her to stay, I wanted to tell her so much, but the taxi had already turned in the corner. Warm tears kept falling down my face, blended with the cold rain drops. I was cold, not because of the rain. I was cold inside.

She left, and I didn't get anymore of her phone calls even until today. I know she didn't see my tears, because they were washed away by the rain. I left without regrets. But I'm not Chris, I'm that girl Susan, using my memory, and his diary I found after one year since he left, writing down these last words. :(

"in4mation pls"

When I was very young, my father had one of the first phones in our neighborhood. I remember well, the polished old case fastened to the wall & the shiny receiver on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the phone but used to listen with fascination when my mother would talk to it.Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person & her name was "In4mation Pls" & there was nothing she did not know. My first personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor.Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible but there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway. The phone! Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor & held it to my ear. "In4mation Pls," I said into the mouthpiece just above my head. A click or two & a small clear voice spoke into my ear."In4mation." "I hurt my finger," I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. "Isn't your mother home?" came the question. "No," I blubbered."Are you bleeding?" The voice asked."No," I replied. "I hit my finger with a hammer & it hurts." "Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could."Then chip off a piece of ice & hold it to your finger," said the voice. After that, I called "In4mation Pls" for everything. There was the time Petey, our pet canary died. I called "In4mation Pls" & told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual thing grown ups say to soothe a child. But, I was inconsolable. I asked her, "Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully & bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?" She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,"You must remember that there are other worlds to sing in." Somehow, I felt better. Another day I was on the phone. "In4mation Pls." "In4mation," said the now familiar voice. "How do you spell fix?" I asked. All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.

When I was 9 years old, we moved across the country. I missed my friend very much. "In4mation Pls" belonged in that old wooden box back home & somehow I never thought of trying the tall, new phone that sat on the table in the hall.As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, & kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half-an-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister who lived there now. Then, without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator & said, "In4mation Pls." Miraculously, I heard a voice I knew so well. "In4mation." I hadn't planned this, but I heard myself saying, "Could you please tell me how to spell fix?" There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, "I guess your finger must be healed by now." I laughed, "So it's really still you," I said. "I wonder if you have any idea how much u meant to me during that time?" "I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children & I used to look forward to your calls." I told her how often I had thought of her over the years & asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister. "Please do," she said. "Just ask for Sally."

Three months later, I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, "In4mation." I asked for Sally. "Are you a friend?" she said. "Yes" I answered. "Sally had been working part time in the last few years because she was sick. She died 5 weeks ago, Wait a minute. Are you Paul?" "Yes." "Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called wen she was too sick to work." The note said, "Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean." I thanked her & hung up. I knew what Sally meant.


Never underestimate the impression you make on others...

~ this is one great story from unknown...

jazzie, thanx

Inside of My Guitar ~ Ken Zhu

Now, there's a place I want to show you
And don't you know it's not too far
And there's a place I want to know you
Inside of my guitar

In my guitar there is a garden
Where rainbows bloom and shine like stars
If you say no, I beg your pardon
Come inside of my guitar

*I'll make you laugh
And make you sing
And we can play among the stars
And we'll make love and dance beneath the strings
Inside of my guitar

Now, there's a feeling that I'm after
So please don't think my love's bizarre
But I hear music, girl, and laughter
Inside of my guitar

Repeat * (3x)
Inside of my guitar...

Women listen better

...
I think women have this listening faculty more than men. It is not the fault of men. They lose it because of their long habit of striving in business, of self-assertion. And the more forceful men are, the less they can listen as they grow older. And that is why women in general are more fun than men, more restful and inspiriting.
Now this non-listening of able men is the cause of one of the saddest things in the world - the loneliness of fathers, of those quietly sad men who move along with their grown children like remote ghosts.
When my father was over 70, he was a fiery, humorous, admirable man, a scholar, a man of great force. But he was deep in the loneliness of old age and another generation. He was so fond of me. But he could not hear me - not one word I said, really. I was just audience. I would walk around the lake with him on a beautiful afternoon and he would talk to me about Darwin and Huxley and higher criticism of the Bible.
"Yes, I see, I see," I kept saying and tried to keep my mind pinned to it, but I was restive and bored. There was a feeling of helplessness because he could not hear what I had to say about it. When I spoke I found myself shouting, as one does to a foreigner, and in a kind of despair that he could not hear me. After the walk I would feel that I had worked off my duty and I was anxious to get him settled and reading in his Morris chair, so that I could go out and have a livelier time with other people. And he would sigh and look after me absentmindedly with perplexed loneliness.
For years afterward I have thought with real suffering about my father's loneliness. Such a wonderful man, and reaching out to me and wanting to know me! But he could not. He could not listen. But now I think that if only I had known as much about listening then as I do now, I could have bridged the chasm between us. To give an example:
Recently, a man I had not seen for 20 years wrote me. He was an unusually forceful man and had made a great deal of money. But he had lost his ability to listen. He talked rapidly and told wonderful stories and it was just fascinating to hear them. But when I spoke - restlessness: "Just hand me that, will you? ... Where is my pipe?" It was just a habit. He read countless books and was eager to take in ideas, but he just could not listen to people.

~ Brenda Ueman

sowee...

these last few days, i haven't updated my blog..
i'm so much into this training thing of mine in a big
cellphone company..
very difficult training~ so hard indeed!

slumber topic ~ BOYS, MEN

I just had a petty conversation with two of my peers the other night during our slumber activity. The usual girl-talk with ordinary topics --- about our friendship, reminiscing experiences, reliving the good old days, and well, the favorite --- boys. But that night was different, well, not at least when the subject shifted to BOYS. We were talking about our simple sexual experiences, the first kisses and stuff. It was fun, of course. You don’t really share your “experiences” about things like that. We talked about how it went, when and where it happened, and until what part. Of course, I’m talking about the 1st base, 2nd, 3rd, and that “home run.” It was enjoying at first, revealing those little secrets we had, exploring those clandestine, and breaking the walls of denials that we kept then.
It hit me. The then… The past. How long have we not experienced kissing, anyway? How much time had passed after that last tingling sensation we felt? And how many days, worse, months had flown by since the last time we kissed someone? Right. Big deal.
I had my break-up with my last boyfriend summer last year. Summer last year? My, it’s already the start of a new year and another summer is fast approaching. I hardly noticed I was single for almost eight months now. Carefree, alone, single. I know I was too busy in school since I’m hopefully graduating this March. I was too engrossed of, not just my studies, but also my internship, my club duties as officer, and responsibility as school paper writer. I was occupied with many things, too hectic to notice my love life’s emptiness; too engaged to fathom that my life has been meaningless. Well not to the point of living purposeless and totally bare. I just can’t think of myself not being aware of what’s happening, of what’s arising --- me, loveless. I admire some guys yes, I appreciate a couple of them.

I felt again a giggling moment, about three months of recovery with my last man.
I don’t really know if it’s a good thing, recovering only a few months after we broke up, I mean, the first time I fell in-loved, I had it with me for more than four years. Imagine, four years and more! To think that we didn’t even have a relationship, my first love. I was just too young, though. I’ve heard some individuals specifically women, tend to carry the pain of breaking up for years. A good example is my friend, Annie. She had her last serious boyfriend when we were in our second year. That was a few years ago and yet, when she’d known that the guy got married last month, she’s still lamenting it over. It was painful for her and it obviously shows she still is well damned in-loved with the guy. Another is my other peer, Donna May. She’s been into this guy since our freshmen days and still is clinging to her feelings for him. It’s just a pity that the guy is too impassive to notice her emotion. Michelle, on the other hand, contents herself with long-distance relationships through the limited space of the chat room; not forgetting the four corners of her cellular phone’s screen. (end)

… I’ve written this article a few years ago, way back 2003.

I couldn’t even remember why I wrote this stuff.

Kkk… the pain of being loveless; the throbbing fact of not having a boyfriend, a partner.
Well at this time, I can’t really say having no boyfriend means loneliness. I currently don’t have a partner, but I’m happy. I have my friends all around me. And I can’t think of myself sticking up to only one person. That’s a bit boring to think now. My last boy friend (just last year) was too old for me and the relationship’s not really worth remembering, kkk. For now, my friends and I have moved on. We have almost forgotten that “lonely” past. We’ve had relationships; some are still having their relationships; and the others, still the same ~ sweet and single. We have responsibilities now, many obligations. So I guess we have to set aside having boyfriends first.

Que Sera, Sera~ whatever may be, may be…

Fallen'... and hurt.

When you say you like somebody~ it means you adore whatever that “thing” is with and about him. It doesn’t necessarily mean the person is perfect, ‘coz each person has his/her own description of admiration, way beyond others’ understanding and knowledge. It’s a general word with a deep meaning~ depending on how the person likes to describe it… But always, it is misunderstood by many people~ especially those whose minds are (pardon the term) too shallow to understand. Duh!

I had this friend before~ he was much younger than me… but we got along. He seemed to prefer going out with older (more mature, I suppose) girls than with gals his age, and, in my case, I was in that state of “i-think-i-prefer-younger-guys-now” stage. Kkk… Anyway, we were so close then, too close that people were asking if we were a couple (way back, in my dreams, I hoped).

But we were not. The mutual understanding was obvious,

yet there were denials and preclusion of emotion.

Not to mention the reactions and comments of other people.
It was hard. We were in a situation where we didn’t know where to stand, and what to say, and how to act. We were not a couple. We did not become a couple. Of course, we were considering a lot of things… gossips, comments, hearsays, remarks~ all because of the people surrounding us~ people, who, from the start, have been too crude to put in mind the sense of the sentence,

“Mind your own business!”
Why were they not able to get the fact that we liked each other
~we admired each other…

And then just recently, there’s this one foreigner who looked a lot like somebody [younger than me] I really like… We were almost of the same age; that may be the reason why we clicked... I mean, we were very close at first~ always together~ hanging out, chatting, talking over the phone for hours, sending text messages almost every night, and jokingly telling how much we like each other. It was at first.
My real problem was when a new girl friend arrived. Girl pal. Until now I still don’t know what happened. I’ve just realized one day after that that everything changed. Slowly, our closeness made tracks. The intimacy drifted little by little, as days went by. Then one day… I saw myself and him apart. End of the story.

The main picture here is this~ I liked him, I admit. He really looked a lot like “somebody”. He resembled “somebody” that much that there were times, I thought he was that somebody. But at that time, he was the one present. He was the one real~ I had his company. It was like he epitomized “somebody,” who was, at that time, not around. But I didn’t use him in exchange of “somebody.” He was different from him, not physically though. He’s kind, very kind. I’ve noticed his sweetness, though only shown in his own ways. He’s sometimes strange, yet gentle. He has a great body, and his sense of fashion’s damn good. He really isn’t that good-looking, but I find him very cute and charming. I like him, so it makes sense…

But then, the people around us started to interrogate, started asking about the two of us. We were friends~ just friends~ very close friends… It was fine with me. I was contented with the fact that it was, maybe and I hope not, only a one-sided admiration. I didn’t ask for more, though of course sometimes I wished. But I’ve accepted it already. I know everything’s not meant. And everything’s impossible. Things will never work out. I know. But I didn’t ask for more… Why did people start on intruding? Why did people start on asking? Why did they intervene? Talking about me behind my back! Gossiping and starting tattletales, spreading rumors and stuff.

I like him, I admit. What do they care?! Why do they care?!