Christmas in 5 days!

omjim:

In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem:

She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by.

(Source: leetakeuchi, via fuckyeahabibabzzz)

Bok

I’ve never been happier.
But in a few days you will leave.
And oh how bittersweet it is.

She sat on the tip of the jeepney, her face nonchalant and withdrawn from the rest of reality as usual. On auto pilot, she reached into her back pocket and pulled out a couple of coins and some crumpled bills. She counted seven pesos and put the rest back into her pocket. The jeepney gave a sudden lurch forward as it went over a well-disguised pothole.

It was then that three things happened at once: The driver let out a long string of nasty curses, the contents of the lady’s bag sitting beside her spilled out onto the metal floor, and the girl’s eyes just happened to come upon the 100% perfect boy sitting right there across the old lady whose coins and makeup and everything else had spilled quite ungracefully onto the jeepney’s floor.

Why she was so sure of his perfection, the girl couldn’t answer. He wasn’t particularly beautiful, in the conventional sense. His hair was wavy and there was a good chance it had been uncombed that morning. There was a faded scar on his left hand, just between the thumb and forefinger. He was holding a battered-looking textbook with a couple of dog-eared pages in the middle. There was a splotch of blue ink on his dirty white sneakers and the shoelaces were tied loosely enough to become undone at any moment. He was gazing blankly out the window, blinking sleep out of his eyes. The guy wasn’t anything near perfect, by any logical standards. Except to her. Because for some unknown reason, she knew. She knew that sitting with her and the lady inside the jeepney that Tuesday morning was the 100% perfect boy for her.

She began to sweat profusely. She would have given anything to have him notice her, but given that she had never been the type to come on to guys first, she wasn’t quite sure how. She racked her brain for any way to strike up a conversation with a nameless stranger inside a hot jeepney in the middle of early morning traffic without sounding stalkerish, or pathetic, or desperate, for that matter.

“Hi, you don’t know me. And I don’t know you. But you are without a doubt the 100% perfect boy for me.” Stalkerish, check. Pathetic, check. Desperate, check.

She wanted to say something, anything, just to let him know she was there. Maybe, just maybe, when he looked at her, he would think her to be the 100% perfect girl for him, too. She wanted to say something but she couldn’t do it. So she just sat there, beside the old lady with the spilled bag, casting furtive glances at the 100% perfect boy.

The jeepney continued to lurch forward. The lady pulled a loose string of thread from the seam of her bag. The driver let out another string of curses when another jeepney overtook him from out of nowhere. The boy gazed blankly out of the window, and the girl gazed under hooded lids at the boy.

It was then that three things happened at once: The traffic light turned green, the boy got hurriedly off the jeep, and she had her chance to steal a last glance at the 100% perfect boy.

(via quote-book)

Dedicated to my fortune-telling burkes:

To camunggays and making our own little fortunes come true.

Random Thoughts Inside a Persian Restaurant.

I have just finished eating a two sticks of chello kebab and half a plate of rice. (I just read The Kite Runner and I wanted to culminate that by tasting what Amir and Hassan considered the most delicious food in the world.) I finished half of my glass of tap water. I am doing some minor stalking on Facebook. To the average man, it may not seem all that much, but it hit me just now. At this exact moment, I am completely happy. No ifs, buts, or if-only’s. Perfectly happy.

I realize that tomorrow I will worry about little random things in life again. The next day, I will sulk about all the tiny misgivings I have about life. The day after that, I will feel lonely again.

I realize that. But now, I’m happy. Completely happy. And that’s what matters most, I think.