We bought a townhouse just near where we live right now and according to my parents, we’re moving next week. I’ll tell you this for free…I am NOT looking forward to that. I mean, sure. I want to get out of this place soon. It’s old and has mice and roaches and mites. It’s also cramped. And I’m looking forward to sharing a room with just my sister, as opposed to our set up now where all 3 of us (my brother, sister and myself) share one tiny room. Also looking forward to our own bathroom (separate from my dad). And a lot of things.

What I’m not so enthused about is the actual process of moving. It’s so tiring. I sound like a brat, but it really is. My whole life, I’ve only ever moved once before. And that was to a unit 10 steps away from our old unit in one same apartment. And it practically knocked me out! I remember saying that I will never move again. I will live there forever. When I have my own family, I will make them live in that same apartment unit. But really, now I’m thankful that we are moving. A bit anxious, and not looking forward to the labor…but still thankful.

Anyway, tonight after work I went with my mom and brother to check the house. It’s a townhouse that we had tweaked and customized a little bit. Here are some pictures of the messy but promising place.

1st floor

Room I'll share with my sister. Yay for bookshelves!

Still part of our room. Love that vanity mirror.

Click here for more pictures (opens in new window). The house isn’t very big, but I’m happy with it. Can’t wait to get our stuff in that small cramped room.

Please, miss…give me back my heart. And my being a straight girl, while you’re at it.

This has got to be, by far, her best photo shoot EVER. And, oh…those shades? FIERCE!

Photos nabbed from KSTEWARTFAN.

I never really thought about death. I mean, not really thought about it. I thought of dying, yes. But not the thing that follows that. The permanent state of being dead. I suppose I did indirectly. At the back of my mind. Subconsciously. Before my maternal grandpa died, I was so afraid of ghosts. Not that I’m not anymore. I still am, of course. I’m a big scaredy-cat. But after his death, I felt more…protected. I would get scared and think, ‘eh!…Lolo Tempul’s got my back‘, as if he was in some other dimension, karate-chopping ghosts on their necks. Somehow that thought comforted me, and I could sleep with the lights off.

But if I think of death directly, I can’t say exactly how I picture it. Because I do believe in Heaven, and many times my prayers would end with ‘take care of lolo, God.’ So yes, I picture him up there with the Big Guy I pray to. But I also picture him down here, hovering near us, haunting his room, watching all of us and chuckling at our antics the way he used to when he was still alive. And really, both scenarios warm my heart.

I suppose you’re wondering what brought this on. Oftentimes I write about passing…of pain, of wanting to escape. That is what I think of dying. But after reading Her Fearful Symmetry by Audrey Niffenegger, I’ve started thinking of the afterlife. Will I linger? Where? Will I haunt anyone? Or will I simply still exist without actually existing? Stuck in another room with one-sided mirrors for walls, always so close but never quite there. Will I long to be alive again? To be with the people I love? To touch again? To be warm again? Or will I simply relish the freedom that I felt eluded me during my living years?

if this is a manip or an actual photo. The artist said it’s an actual photo. I have no way of knowing because I suck. Either way…wow!

Click here to go to the artist’s DeviantArt page.

Sometimes I feel too lazy to compose entries, and that’s where these random posts come from. I have thoughts in my head, but no will to construct them into individual posts. Anyway….

I went to Marié Digby’s concert last Saturday. Goodness, she’s really pretty. It was a short set, and she played more songs from her 2nd album (which I don’t have), but I still enjoyed it. Her last two songs were Umbrella and Say It Again, which were obviously the crowd favorites. Also, she managed to flash the entire room. She was wearing a really short and tight mini skirt…then she sat on a stool. Poor girl. Still, it was entertaining and she was really gorgeous.

I watched G.I. Joe: Rise of Cobra. Again, I have nothing to compare this to, not having seen the cartoons or comics (were there comics?!) as a child, but for an action flick, it was pretty good. It was entertaining enough, lots of things blowing up, people kicking each other, Channing Tatum (and Marlon Wayans) shirtless and a couple of hot girls (Sienna Miller and Rachel Nichols). I sound like a guy on that last one.

Is this movie for real?! Check out the cast list. Looks like an American version of Love Actually, which I loved.

Alright, that’s it for now. Later!

Cos I actually like him better bald, eyebrowless and sickly.

I couldn’t find a decent pic of him as Taylor Ambrose (in My Sister’s Keeper). I suppose you have to watch the movie to fully appreciate him. I didn’t even recognize him. I mean, I’ve always thought he (Thomas Dekker) was good looking, but kind of in the gay-ish Zac Efron side. But he was definitely not like that as Taylor.

Anyway, ya’ll should see the film. Major tearjerker. From the moment it started, I was trying to hold back the tears. But maybe that’s cos I read the book first and knew what was coming. They changed a LOT, but if you haven’t read the book, you’ll still like it. At least I think so.

Bring tissues.

PS: OMG THAT’S ELOISE!! She totally did not change, she looks exactly the same. Except bald. LOL

This might not be a first time confession because I already tweeted about it, but I still want to blog about it (and probably annoy Zoe LOL).

Anyway, after coming home from work today, my sister and I had our afternoon snacks (of crackers and blue cheese), then went upstairs, hooked up my iPod to the computer and proceeded to study the steps to Hoedown Throwdown. It took us a while (though we agreed we’d say we only studied it for about 5 minutes), we spent time and sweat, embarrassed ourselves when my mom walked in on us, but we finally did it. True, we probably (surely) don’t look like the dancers we were studying, but whatever, this isn’t our job. Haha We had a lot of fun goofing off and struggling to do it just as fast as Miley and the other dancers.

But most importantly, we EXERCISED. We sure did sweat a lot. And now my left leg hurts. I’m sure I’m going to hate Hannah Montana a little tomorrow. But right now, I’m quite happy. LOL

Tonight, I discovered Jason Mraz’ blog. I’ve been following him on Twitter for a while now (though someone else updates for him), but I only discovered his blog a few hours ago. And boy am I glad I did. After reading through some of his latest entries, I now feel embarrassed with my writing. I’ve always known that he was a great poet, but even his blog entries are effortlessly clever and beautiful.

Take, for example, this passage from his June 29th post:

At the tent poled city of Glastonbury, (population 200,000) I witnessed only a fraction of the humble madness. Should I wake up tomorrow transformed, believing life’s purpose is a Papier-mâché balloon rising on a single candle of love’s light, I will not be surprised.

From this view I can see resonating vividly over tangled and knotty hairs, halos bright enough to sunburn. A merry many dress in a very natural way of being, neither a dusty nor a muddy one per se, but certainly in a style responsive to or inspired by dance, considerate of five plus days of bare moon on flesh, bare foot in boot, and bare back on the hillfronts. Already a memory from this height, the code of dress comes together; a patchwork where the sum of colors are the non-colors of incense. Ash. Smoke. Vibe.

Wow. I must admit, some of that just went over my head. He could be talking about crap, and he’d still make it sound so beautiful and inspiring.

*sigh* I wish he’d come back and do a concert here again (I wasn’t really a fan when he came here before, I’m a late bloomer that way). I’ll cross my fingers.

I watched the MJ memorial and cried my eyes off. There were so many touching moments (Brooke Shields, MJ’s daughter Paris, Al Sharpton, Usher, etc.) and I wanted to share one of them here.

We Had Him

Beloveds, now we know that we know nothing, now that our bright and shining star can slip away from our fingertips like a puff of summer wind.

Without notice, our dear love can escape our doting embrace. Sing our songs among the stars and walk our dances across the face of the moon.

In the instant that Michael is gone, we know nothing. No clocks can tell time. No oceans can rush our tides with the abrupt absence of our treasure.

Though we are many, each of us is achingly alone, piercingly alone.

Only when we confess our confusion can we remember that he was a gift to us and we did have him.

He came to us from the creator, trailing creativity in abundance.

Despite the anguish, his life was sheathed in mother love, family love, and survived and did more than that.

He thrived with passion and compassion, humor and style. We had him whether we know who he was or did not know, he was ours and we were his.

We had him, beautiful, delighting our eyes.

His hat, aslant over his brow, and took a pose on his toes for all of us.

And we laughed and stomped our feet for him.

We were enchanted with his passion because he held nothing. He gave us all he had been given.

Today in Tokyo, beneath the Eiffel Tower, in Ghana’s Black Star Square.

In Johannesburg and Pittsburgh, in Birmingham, Alabama, and Birmingham, England

We are missing Michael.

But we do know we had him, and we are the world.

—
Gives me goosebumps every time. This woman is pure genius!

Today I realized that sometimes, when I take a shower and my fallen hair makes little patterns on the walls, I imagine they’re pictures of people and make up poems in my head. I get most of my inspiration from that. I got The Fallen Star from that. Even the last part where it says

Then she tumbles down finally and is seen no more

…I got that when I washed the hair off the wall and it really looked like she tumbled head first towards the floor. I’m weird, I know.

Expect more Sasha’s Confessions coming soon.