STORY: Roses and Shadows (PART 2)

It was late in the morning when Mari woke up. The ray of the sun seeped through her window altering the atmosphere inside her room. Instinctively, she stretched out her arms and released a satisfying yawn. She opened her eyes and squint, the sun was up and the light brightened her small bedroom. When her eyes adjusted, she turned to her side and reached for her cellular phone to check for the time.

It was 9AM, she overslept.

Mari placed the phone back to the side table and went back to bed. She thought about what happened last night; the man on top of the roof, the long stem red rose left on her window and the eerie feeling of being watched. The thought of it sent shiver through her spine and for the first time in three years living alone, she was afraid. That couldn’t be a stalker, she considered. She was not convinced that her simplicity was capable of attracting strangers to look at her twice, let alone stalk her. Immediately, she pushed the thought aside and stood up.

She made her bed before she left the room.

On her kitchen table, the red rose lay at the center. Mari leaned back on the sink with a glass of water in hand watching keenly over the strange flower. She was thinking about the man on the roof again. She was trying to get rid of the thought but she couldn’t deny her curiosity. She was terrified but part of her wanted to know the man. The feeling of excitement engulfed her giving her chills. She emptied the glass of water and placed it on the sink. She stared at the rose once again, thinking how red it was – it was nearly dark like it was dipped in a pool of blood.

How odd that she considered blood for comparison. But it was the color of the flower disconcerted her, it wasn’t an ordinary rose. Mari walked closer and picked the rose from the table. She was holding the long stem and brought it closer to her so she could see it clearly. It was beautiful, the red color was unfading and the stem was strong and unwithered. She closed her eyes and let the petals brushed her cheek, caressing her skin. As if it was picked from the garden a minute ago, the smell of fresh morning flooded her nostril, calming her. The smoothness of petals made her smile. It was disarming.

She was pulled back by a knocking on the door. Startled as she was, Mari put the flower back on the table and took a deep breath to calm down. When she settled, the knocking hit the third times. She walked to the door and opened it. It was the caretaker of the building Mr. Romero. The man was probably in his late fifties with a curly short hair, a smiley face and who always fond of wearing overalls. He was a nice guy and for some reason, he reminded her of her late father. There was kindness in Mr. Romero that touched her so dearly.

“Good morning Mr. Romero!” She greeted.

“Good morning my sweet! I got the letters from the mail today and the bills too. I come to give yours. I’m sorry if I interrupted something.” Mr. Romero said smiling.

“You didn’t! I just woke up actually” She said. Her eyes shifted to the bundles of letters in Mr. Romero’s hands.

“Oh! Here are your bills and you got here a letter too.” He handed the letters to her with the bills in it.

“Thank you!”

“Well, have a nice day Mari. You know the drill with this… ” Referring to the bundles he was carrying.

“You too Mr. Romero” She said giving him a warm smile before closing the door.

She walked back to the kitchen and placed all sealed envelops on the table beside the flower. She scanned the bills one by one, credit card, postpaid, water, internet, others were just spams. Then the last one caught her attention. It wasn’t actually a bill but a black rectangular unstamped envelop with her name scribbled at the back.   

Mari stared at her name written in cursive writing. Obviously it was beautifully done by hand and not by some silly word processor. In haste she opened the letter to see what’s inside. There was a small parchment and with eyes wide and heart pumping hard, she read what was written.

An invitation for a ball.

Her eyes darted to the bottom of the invites, she almost stop breathing when she saw a small logo engrave of a rose on the lower right.

Her attention fell back to the table, where the red rose lay perfectly still.

To be continue...

STORY: Roses and Shadows

Days passed in a blur, like distant scenery from a moving train. Sometimes a day beseeched excitement and fun but most of the time… it’s meaningless.   Everything that Mari did was work and work. Often times she came home in the morning feeling exhausted and spent. All she had to do was change her clothes and hit the sack and sleep. Mari Amascual was a call center representative. She worked an eight hours graveyard shift at Sphinx Inc., a BPO company in Manila.

“Are you coming?” Bridge asked one Saturday morning. The entire week was a hell, calls were flowing like water in a stream – it never stop. For five days the entire 27^th floor of the 1900 Building was a battle field. Inbound calls all over America were coming in with different requests and concerns regarding their accounts. This was what it’s like to be working as a call center agent – you just have to learn how to multitask to address the customer efficiently. Mari was one of the best agents out there but of course just like everyone else, she couldn’t wait for the week to end.

“Thanks but… rain check?” replied Mari. Bridge gave her a disappointed look but she didn’t insist and dropped the subject right away. The team was going for a drink after a long week of hard work and Bridge was their team leader.

“Okay” Bridge said and turned around and left.

Mari shifts ended at 6AM but since its weekend, she lingered at the office for awhile to make sure that there’s no pending work left unattended. Her team left the office thirty minutes ago while others were wrapping up for their weekly huddle. The noise around her was beginning to mellow and the next time she peeked from her station – the floor was deserted.

She emptied her pending bucket, turned the computer off and left. It was already 8AM and the Sun was already blazing the horizon outside. The moment she stepped out of the building, the warmth of the summer breeze caught her face. She winced and fished her Ray ban Shades in her bag. She thought about having a breakfast before going home and images of Choco chips pancake and bacon popped in her head and made her giggle. Immediately, she hailed a cab and told the driver to take her to Katipunan Avenue. Pancake House opens early and Mari wanted to have that Choco chips she’d been dreaming the whole week. The cab dropped her off in front of the restaurant; she paid the driver and went out.

During weekends, the restaurant was packed with families lived around the Katipunan area. When Mari entered Pancake House, most of the tables were already occupied but a waiter led her to a vacant table on the second floor near the glass window. It was perfect she thought, having the view of the Avenue and the Ateneo Campus on the other side of the road. If only she has someone to sit with her and share the view, but there was no one - she was alone. It was that time that she actually felt the loneliness in her life. It wasn’t a choice that she was single, maybe because she believed in the more traditional way of courtship that she shooed most of the guys who asked her out.

An elderly couple came out of a black car outside. Mari looked at them hopeful. She believed in destiny and that someone out there, a man who is gentle and kind, gazing at the same star at night looking for her. She sighed and turned her attention to the Menu in front of her. A few minutes later, a waitress approached to get her order.

The meal was delicious. The pancake melted in her mouth as she closed her eyes enjoying every minute of it. The bacon was almost heaven and she feasted on it and washed it down with lemon iced tea. When Mari walked out of the restaurant she was happy. Ironically, her loneliness was gone for awhile and it was because of a good meal. She smiled and walked her way home.

It was almost midnight when she heard a scratching on the ceiling. Her eyes blinked trying to focus in the darkness but her ears were listening attentively. When the noise didn’t come back, she disregarded it. It could have been a strayed cat or a huge rat. Mari rolled to the other side of the bed and reached for her cellular phone to check the time. She squint her eyes as the light from the phone blinked. It was 11:30PM and all of a sudden she felt so lame for sleeping the entire day. She was exhausted, she thought. She wanted to stay up but her body could only take much stress. She thought about what she did before hitting the bed at 2PM. It’s not that she forfeited her Saturday off completely. She took her unwashed clothes to the laundry house before cleaning her studio type pad. She released a tired groan and sat up. The room was dark but the moon was full that shed a fainted glow in her window. A shadow caught her eyes outside and she crept out from the bed and went closer to the window holding her breath. As she looked closer, she saw a silhouette of a man standing motionless on the roof of the neighbor’s house. Immediately, she hid herself behind the curtain and covered her mouth with her hands to stop herself from screaming. Her pad was located on the second floor of the building and she woke up each day seeing the same view of residential roofs around her. When she looked back again to see the shadow on the roof, there was no one in there. She putted a hand on her chest as if catching her own heart from jumping.

Was that a phantom? She asked herself.

For awhile she didn’t move. The silence stretched and she couldn’t take it any longer. She could have just imagined it as if the night was playing trick on her. She inhaled deeply and released it and crossed the room to turn on the light. The florescent light flooded the entire room washing away the shadows and the grim brought by the darkness. She closed her eyes and massaged her temple while her breathing was going back to normal. She went to the mini kitchen to drink a glass of water.

She was beginning to feel normal again. It must be nothing, she convinced herself.

Then a whooshing sound caught her that made her turned around in haste. She placed the glass on the table and went back to the window to check. There was nothing there and feeling of someone watching her made the hair on her nape stood. Someone caught her eyes that made her heart stopped.

What was that? She thought. Her mouth agape in horror from what she saw.

On the window was a rose red as blood.

To be continue...

       

   

     

  

  

BOOK REVIEWS: Anna Dressed In Blood

Thoughts: The title itself gives me a spooky/ horror vibe. At first I was thinking of Stephen King's novel Carrie but later on as I started reading it and finally meet our in house ghost name Anna, my perception changed to the modern day Bloody Mary. The book in my opinion is a coming of age story of a ghost whisperer with a twist. Instead of helping lost spirits find their peace and crossover, our protagonist name Cas send those rogue bad spirits to the other side with the help of his athame knife he inherited from his dead father.

To say the least, Cas is our 21st Century Ghost Buster. With the help of his new found friends, a queen bee name Carmel and a young witch name Thomas, Cas took his job seriously and only vanquish ghosts that are guilty of harming humans. But then the challenge of his lifetime started when he comes face to face with Anna's ghost. The main reason of hunting Anna is to kill her but the wheel changes when Anna finally show Cas her life story and instead of driving a knife to eliminate her, Cas felt something for Anna that made him look at her in a different perspective.

The bond that they created made Cas took a step back and rethink about his profession. But then what is happening between them is just a tip of the iceberg because something is lurking behind that will going to throw all of them off the wagon.

Ghost love story is weird and creepy but the premise of this book is light and easy to deal with. The writer did a great job making a spooky subject into a fun and entertaining read. A lot of times I found myself laughing in some of the scenes.

Favorite Scene: My favorite moment would be, every time Cas showed up in Anna's door step, in her Victorian haunted house somewhere in an abandon suburb to talk her out so he could kill her. While she was busy throwing him on the wall and sending all her fury to kill him first, Cas couldn't admit that while his ribcage is breaking, he couldn’t get enough of her. So despite of all his bruises and limping, he still keeps on coming.  

Like/Unlike: Of course I like this book and I am currently reading book two.

Favorite Character/s: Thomas and Cas

Xoxo

Thoughts About Writing MY Novel

It was on my late twenties did I realize that I wanted to write my own novel. Of course a lot of THANKS to a good friend of mine who made me see this possibility. You see, I've always been a dreamer and those dreams were just buried on the pages of my favorite books. Maybe that's the reason why I enjoy reading so much, because reading is the only way for me to dream and have that sweet escape. But the great wheel has been turned when I started entertaining the possibility of becoming a novelist and write my own stories. For days I was consumed with the idea of writing and the more I pondered it the more I realized that this is what I really wanted to do with my life.

Writing feels right for me. The sweet escape, the same satisfaction I get from reading - it feels like dreaming a good dream...

When I started writing my own novel I was skeptical about my skills. I don't have a proper training when it comes to this area. I wasn't even a straight A student in English during my School days. I was afraid that what I got in my pocket wasn't enough for me to finish an entire book. But despite of this dilemma, I continued. My gut was telling me to keep going and focused on the goal and that was to keep the narrative moving forward. I kept telling myself that what makes a writer is to write and studying about writing is a waste of time. I will learn how to write by just simply... WRITE. That was the great Anne Rice said.

So these are the few things I've learned on the process... And sure there are lots more as I go on in life.

* The process of writing a novel or a book is a lonely road to take. This is a consequence that I need to undergo to finish my novel. I realized that this is the only way for me to write my book and that I have to give up something in order for me to focus and buy more time. In this case, I made a choice to give up my social life. It isn't hard for me to do it because I am not an outgoing person in the first place. I'm self confessed home-body - I know, that's a lame excuse for an anti-social behavior. But I have to bear in mind that this is essential because I need all the time in the world to finish a book.

* Stop Dreaming and Start Writing. I realized that nothing will happen if I waste my precious time in dreaming about writing a book. I've been doing just that half of my life and this time, it's time to put all of that into writing. I need to stop dreaming somehow and start writing. I need to learn how to become a goal oriented person.

* I learned how to block the time.  More or less 4 to 5 hours a day. I'd like to think that during these times I totally disappeared on the phase of the earth and all I do is write. Everyday I told myself that writing is a life mission and in order for me to be closer to my goal, I MUST block the time to do it. Since I still have my day job and I don't have all the time in the world, I have to make use of that 4 hours or less and be productive. Though this is the part were I found challenging, because it's hard to put myself in a frame of mind with my characters and I have to set the mood for me to plunge myself into my characters world. I have to admit that I need more practice with this area. 

* I surrounded myself with anything that inspires and motivates me. a.) I listened to a lot of author interviews online. I believed that there is no actual original advice for new writers but big authors have their own ways  to articulately rephrase it differently and rhetorically. So I wrote some of their advice and see what works for me. b.) I am indeed a lover of fantasy fiction but for me to learn more, I need to go out of my nutshell and experience other genres in literature to broaden my demographic. Honestly, I gave up the classic when I was in high school but later as I rediscovered them, I realized that I have the heart for those languid writings of the old world. Those are the writings that will give you a total experience with reading - transcending effect. I remember reading one classic novel that I literally felt like I was hearing music or some sort of a humming in my ear.

c.) I collected EBooks about writings and autobiographies of authors that I love and sometimes you'll find me in a Book-sale bargaining for that one book that I like – Yeah! Shamelessly I am notorious at bargaining books at book sale even if the book is fixed in price.

d.) If I am not writing, I am reading furiously.

Probably that's about it for now. I am not there yet but it's safe to say that even the train is moving slowly, I am sure that I am in the right railway. I already finished TWO novels as of the moment, the one is already at the mercy of my editor and the other one is still the subject of my perusal – I am editing it like c-r-a-z-y. There are friends who supported me in this journey; these are the people who tap me on the shoulder and told me not to give up regardless of the rejections that have been piling on my email. But also you cannot avoid those people who’ll just shrug and roll their eyes when you talk to them about writing. I don’t blame them, besides, they don’t know what I am going through and they have NO idea at all… So I just let them be…

I heard an author said that "You are when you think YOU are!" in which I totally agree because that’s the only way for me to take myself seriously. Everyday I’ve been telling the world that I am a novelist, I do it like a mantra… and no matter how rough the road is, I will took off my shoes and walk barefoot baby step at a time until I get to my destination. It will be hard of course, but my characters will be out there and the world will hear their stories sooner. Let’s carve that in the stone.

Xoxo

STORY: Falling Feathers ( A fallen Angel Story)

I descended from the ladder of the treehouse I had built for myself early that morning. It was nestled high in the tallest oak tree at the heart of this pristine rainforest in the south. Time was of no consequence to me, for I had no concept of how the humans' device, the clock, measured the passing of seconds, minutes, or hours. In the realm where I existed, time drifted as freely as the wind that swept through the trees. It didn't matter—not really. I could glide through time in the blink of an eye, centuries passing as easily as yesterday. Millennia were inconsequential. I could travel back and forth, at will, for as long as I wished. Yet, I had chosen to remain here, in this paradise of solid reality. The idea of existing in just one dimension captivated me, and this decision to stay here, in this beautiful, untamed woodland, was the first true choice of my entire existence. This was my present—this forest, my sanctuary, the perfect representation of the world.

I knew it was early; the forest was still quiet. The birds had yet to hum their tunes, and many of the animals were still in their lairs, sleeping. My feet finally touched the ground, which was covered in dried leaves that had fallen every summer. This tropical land didn't experience a withering season, so the leaves would fall during the summer, when the sun's heat made the trees shed their coat. The earth beneath me was obscured by the blanket of leaves, creating a soft, matted floor that I couldn’t even feel beneath my bare feet.

The forest was shrouded in mist, and the scent of nearby pine trees filled the air like nature's own perfume. It was dim here, for the rays of the sun couldn't fully penetrate the thick canopy of trees that stretched high above. I could hear the soft whistle of the wind as it swirled over the rocks and through the trees. The neighboring hills and mountains were hidden from view, their outlines obscured by the forest's density. Even the peak of the sleeping volcano was nowhere to be seen. With a heightened sense, I knew the villagers of Sugarland were still asleep, except for the few elders who always woke early.

Waking early was inevitable for me. Even if I tried to return to sleep, it was useless. Unlike humans, my body was in perfect harmony with the breaking of dawn. It wasn't just a task I had to perform—it was a privilege, an unbreakable part of my existence. I was built to honor the coming of the light, a ritual we immortals followed without fail.

Whether I wished it or not, I had to acknowledge the rise of the morning sun. Our bodies knew what to do: we would submit to the light’s radiance, for it signified the heavenly fire. It was the only way for us to briefly reconnect with the En Sof, our father—if only for a fleeting moment. This glimpse of home was the only way we knew we still mattered to Him, that He hadn’t forgotten us, despite the mistakes of eons past.

Yes, I was one of the fallen angels, cast out of Heaven’s gates. A terrible mistake, one I regretted deeply. Many of us, the fallen, still resisted the call of the En Sof, refusing to acknowledge the morning light. These were the ones who created the pit—the realm known as Hell. But I was not one of them. I refused to be manipulated by the superior angel who led us astray. For years, I worshipped the morning light patiently, despite my homesickness. I held onto the hope that one day, I would be granted redemption for my defiance—that someday, my prayers of repentance would be heard, and I would be allowed to ascend again.

Standing on the ground, barefoot and clad in a simple white gown of thin, soft fabric, I felt the silence of the forest wrap around me. The giant trees towered over me, their vastness making me feel like I was in the presence of giants. The air was still, save for the soft whispers of the wind and the delicate rustling of leaves. The water from the stream sparkled with a soft sound, but then—silence.

And then it came—the heavenly symphony.

The sound of cherubic voices singing in perfect harmony filled the air. It was a pure, melodic rhythm that consumed me entirely. I could not resist it. My mind was overwhelmed by the music, my reason no longer in control. My body moved on its own, driven by the call of the sacred ritual. I felt the music pulling me, leading me toward the clearing at the base of a hill just outside the misty forest.

The ritual had begun, and the gates to the divine were opening for all of us. I had to reach the top of the hill. My body seemed to glide effortlessly, barely touching the ground with each step. As I ascended, I felt weightless, as though gravity no longer had any hold over me. It was as if I were floating, light as a feather, and with every stride, my heart raced with anticipation.

When I reached the top, I stood on the cliff, gazing at the surrounding landscape—a sea of green pasture beneath a sapphire sky. The sun’s rays bathed me in brilliant light, and I absorbed it like a sponge. The wind howled around me, lifting my hair and the flowing fabric of my gown. My heart swelled with joy, and my eyes closed to savor the moment.

I spread my arms wide, and with a sudden surge, my wings erupted from my back, tearing through the fabric of my dress. They rose higher, glowing with a radiant light, as if they were reflecting the sun’s rays. From afar, I might have looked like a falcon preparing to take flight, but to the human eye, I was just a flickering light on the hill, an enigma beyond comprehension.

My wings were phosphorescent, the very essence of my being. They stretched wide, powerful yet impossibly light, as if they were woven from the fabric of the cosmos itself. I felt small in their presence, yet in their weightlessness, they carried unimaginable strength. They were my connection to Heaven, my link to the divine realm. I was not of this world, for I existed before it, long before the En Sof envisioned creation.

The wind continued to rage around me, but I was numb to its force. In that moment, when all the weight of the world seemed to leave me, when the pull of gravity no longer tethered me to the earth, I took flight. My wings beat in unison with my heart, and with one powerful stroke, I soared higher—higher than I ever thought possible.

As I ascended, the world below disappeared, and I crossed the threshold into the ethereal realm. I could see the heavenly gates in the distance, shimmering like a beacon. My fellow fallen angels emerged from all corners of time, drawn to the boundary, their hearts filled with longing and despair. We could see the gates, but we could not cross. We could only witness the heavenly realm, separated by a divine ring that kept us outcasts forever apart.

This was as close as we could get to redemption, and it was a torment that echoed throughout the cosmos. Yet, in that pain, there was always hope—a promise that one day, we would return home.

All of us, damned and suffering, would find our way back to the light. The promise of the morning light would never fade. There is always hope.

Story By: Ronnan Bangis

BOOK REVIEWS: The Host

I have this book in my eBook-shelf since for-e-v-e-r. I really don't know what took me so long to pick this book and read it. I knew that the movie adaptation will be coming soon but I normally shrugged this off and pass.

Then the first week of February came and I was in a book-sale killing time which I normally call it my ME time during weekends.   I was randomly picking books when a copy of "The Host", came tumbling down and landed on my hand. At first I was skeptical if I should buy it or not since I already got the eBook version of it on my iBook. But still the idea of having the actual book in my hand was too hard to resist. You know, despite of this electronic revolution that we have in this new age, still, nothing can beat reading with a tangible book in your hand. The smell of the paper, the nostalgia, the feeling of flipping the pages, it's just different.

So I ended up purchasing the book in a lower price and went home.

I started reading it. At first, I found it hard to think that this book is actually written by Stephanie Meyer, the author who started the Twilight Mania. Well, I don't really hate that series, I admit that I literally devoured those four books and even watch the movie. But as many readers said - we should not be judging the book by its movie in which I definitely agree. The movie adaptation can be awful, especially when the actor portraying the lead role murder the character that you grow to love but that doesn't mean that the book is equally distasteful.

Now, I don’t normally read post apocalyptic or post-invasion whatever type of genre. The first dystopian world I encountered is that of the Hunger Games and Oh yeah! How can I forget that wonderful book called Warm Bodies? I love that book!

Though there are others that I braved myself reading but I am not going to talk about it right now.

Okay back to The Host. I am intrigue with the premise of the story. A worm like alien with a size of a thumb called the Soul, inserted in a human body (The Host) for it to have access of that body and gain total control. That’s how this little alien succeeded its invasion and won the planet Earth. Humans are in the brink of extinction because The Souls are targeting them to make a Host of their bodies. But just like the old stories of Alien Invasion, Humans will not easily give up without a fight. They will always fight back. Technically, that’s the entire story goes…

But what makes this book tick for me is how the characters are woven together. A lot of reviews online claimed that they are undeveloped, they maybe are but as I always said, I am not a critical reader and as long as the novel entertains then that book served its purpose.

I like those main characters of the alien Wanda and the host Melanie. Though the two of them are trapped in Mel’s body, still, you can easily see the difference between the two. Then there is Jared and Ian and Mel’s uncle Jeb and many more – humans that are part of the resisting colony. Now, Wanda is a Soul, an alien, but the longer she stays with the human the more she become attached to them and even fall in love to one of them. She also realized that she is becoming more of them than being the Soul that she is. She understood the human ways of existing. Wanda’s struggle is very enthralling for me. Her inherent goodness and self sacrificing won her a spot in the human colony. She is genuine and I think her principle is more human than alien. When I finished reading the book, I am still longing to know more about the characters. I am happy to learn that Stephanie Meyer decided to continue writing this book in a series. I will definitely wait for the next installment.

    

Yeah, I've seen the movie too... I dragged my partner to the movie house just to watch it. Well, apparently I ended up explaining almost every sequence to him while watching. I have to say, I enjoyed it and the lead actor Saoirse Ronan who I think looks like a young version of Cate Blanchett did a great job portraying Wanda/Mel, so is that hot dude called Max Irons as Jared (drools).

Xoxo

  

Reading the Classic and To Kill A Mocking Bird

I got into reading classic novel a few months back. At first I was skeptical that I won’t be able to grasp the gravity of its context since I was more accustomed with contemporary books.

 I always thought that classic novels held the most profound conversation dealing with literary diversity. It’s eloquence with words was vivid and transcending. Of course I was right with this assumption.

The dialogues that the author used to narrate the story were precised and smoothly written. The way the words were woven fluidly to convey every character’s emotion was more of a melody to a song. It was beautiful.  

Being a person with trifling vocabulary, I realized that reading classic novel was a challenge and a learning ground to push myself out of my comfort zone. I was introduced to a different kind of experience in reading. With my heroic attempt to penetrate the world of the Sherlockian, the Dickens, the Stoker, the Lumas and many more, I brought to me the experiences not only those immortal phrases that I've been mumbling for awhile to know how it sound if I was the one uttering those lines but also those deeper meaning that the heroes such as The Count Of Monte Cristo induced within me. How many times I was left breathless and enthralled, I didn't know. Every classic novel is divine.     

To keep an open mind is a must!

As I flipped the first page of Harper Lee’s classic To Kill a Mocking Bird, I was incensed with astonishment as to how the author described the fictional town of Maycomb. The culture of the town and the era as to when the novel took place were very enthralling. The characters were brilliantly created; their emotional struggles and sentiments were intense and moving. I could almost hear the distinctive southern accent through their dialogues.

In a nutshell, the novel took place in the time when the racial discrimination in America was at its peak. Negro was the word as a description for bigotry for the black community.  It was painfully executed on the pages that I could almost feel the odd intensity of racism that made me cringed or fume with anger. I've never been into a situation where I am racially discriminated and the anger rising inside me puzzled me even more. I was that affected and I didn't know why.

It was just a relief to think that the world changed all through out the years. Though racial discrimination still existed even today, still it wasn't the same as before. I couldn't imagine living in a world where people still breathed with prejudices in their hearts.  

I think racial discrimination; in any form is a disease that could ruin people’s lives.  It couldn't be eliminated easily but it could be prevented in ways of constant education to the young ones about variances, ethnicity and diversity of human beings in all walks of life.  Someone cannot perceive the world the way he/she wants it to be.

I guess I am blessed that I was born in this age. I was blessed that in my time the world’s mind is ready to accept the nature of the twisted, the deviant and the unique.

To Kill a Mocking Bird is one of my favorite novels. My worn out paperback copy is tucked neatly on my shelf along with the great novels I got in there. One day I will pick the book again and read it. But for now, I want to hear about David Copperfield first.