iSkRamboLd th0ugHtS

What does it take to get over an
addiction? Is it motivation? Determination? Perseverance? I definitely don’t
know. I guess it really depends on the person and what methods they would
employ to get it over with.

It is a common knowledge that I am simply hooked on
Ragnarok Online. To what extent, I dare not be exact, but if there was an
opportunity to play the game 25 hours a day, 8 days a week, you’d be pretty
sure I’d be hot on the trail. It is also true that I no longer play the game
due to some personal circumstances. I am writing this now in a hopeless pursuit
to purge myself of my RO addiction. I will, with all disdain, write my heart
out and every hypocritical statement I will pen is with a hopeful note that I
will, not only forget I ever loved Ragnarok Online, but also learn to abhor it
so my longing soul would no longer crave for it.

I pray that I will be supported in my meagre
endeavours, respected that all talks about Ragnarok Online be directed
elsewhere especially in this crucial time when I am teaching this treacherous
heart to reject the game it once loved.

If I had to be blunt, for mercies sake, don’t even
send me messages when any of you guys are playing. It torments my self-control
beyond its human limits. The mere want to play drives me insanely jealous.
Thankfully, always, always, always I get to stop myself by reminding myself
that I have to keep my promise to myself. I would not even want to hear of
wishes that it is unfortunate of me for not being in the game with any of you
and that you would definitely like it if I were playing along with you. Not
once, not anymore. Because after I vowed I’d never play, every happy desire to
play vanished and the constant reminder that one of you is playing at the
moment, especially when I am addressed in a manner that there is an interest
that I should play too, simply irritates me A LOT and it triggers
my combustible temper solely because I am no longer able to play while you can.
Plain envy. [For the record, I have completely uninstalled, deleted and flushed
all traces of Ragnarok Online from my pc, thus it is futile if any of you would
ask me to play]

It is true that since the day I’ve quit playing
Ragnarok Online, all other games seemed too bland to play. Ragnarok Online may
not be the best game there is out there but I can plainly exclaim that I got my heart all over the cursed game,
addicted to it like no other game did. And with the slightest regret and anger
I could muster, I am slowly learning to despise it. Hence my bitter manner
towards people who merrily chat Ragnarok, Ragnarok and more Ragnarok with me.

Microsoft Solitaire and Minesweeper has never been
interesting until I quit Ragnarok.

Damn, am I miserable.

yeah you heard me right!! no panda is gonna take the place of my mummah judy and there is hell NO WAY i will allow that blasted animal to be our nanny!! isn’t it enough that 5 super lovable kids - 1 former geisha, 1 vampire, 2 kittens and 1 super hybrid upgraded mouse - and a coconut tree gets abandoned by mummah judy? worse of all, we get to be left in the ‘caring’ hands of an incapable, cold-heart, sadistic, inconceivable, bastardous and conceited [and what ever look downs there are in this world] panda!! NEVER!! you hear me?!?!?! NEVER!!!!! if i will have to do drastic measures to let my displeasure felt towards that panda, by all mean and without hesitations, I WILL DO SO!!! we dont deserve pandas and pandas dont deserve us!!!

THERE IS NO SPACE FOR PANDAS IN MY HEART.  not temporary, not as mummah’s replacement.

Used
all for the sake of love,

Unfulfilled
and with heavy heart,

Caged
by an un-understanding dominance,

Bent
stripped of pride and freedom.

Anna-chan=^^=
032306

My friends, let me share with you something I call
“The Philosophy of Mud.”

Everything about this is simple: if something isn’t
worth it’s value, then it is only worth slathering it with mud.

Say for example, my mom brought home this horrible
shirt, something too absurd to wear and of alien fitting-something I would
never, never ever wear whether it’d be too lacy, too shaggy, or too loud. So
I’d tell my mom nicely that I’d never wear that shirt `coz it’s not my type.
Period. But she, being my mom and someone who doesn’t agree with my preference
in clothes and how I dress, she would assert the point that I should keep
because I am in desperate need of decent clothing. Again, I’d tell my
mom nicely that there’d be no way I’d be wearing that shirt. And so her
argument takes as new turn as she’s exclaim that the shirt is from the US, it’s
an expensive shirt being an <insert brand name here> shirt. Now this is
where the philosophy kicks in. See, it doesn’t matter if the shirt is Calvin
Klein, Lacoste, Giordano, Linea Italia, Guess, or whatever snotty shop it’s
from. It doesn’t matter if it’s worth 12,000Php, marked down to 7,000Php in a
sale, and it definitely doesn’t matter if some Hollywood celebrity has
something like it. All that is crap. If it simply doesn’t suit your taste, then
it’s worthless! Worthless as mud.

Another example. There was this one night that my
parents and I went out to visit my grandmother’s friend and on the way home, we
decided to eat at a dimsum place. It was about 9:45 PM already so there was
only a handful of people enjoying their meals, including a group of people in
their late 50’s-early 60’s who were like half-shouting at each other and
laughing their heads off. The ruckus they created thundered even to the deep
corners of the establishment’s second floor. My parents recognized one from the
group as the my late grandmother’s doctor. The guy, all hell and damnation, was
even the noisiest one in the group. Everything went on `til we were halfway
through our meal and they decided to call it a night. Me being sarcastic,
sighed gratefully that it we can finally enjoy our meal in peace and quiet [Actually,
my comment here was somewhat racist so I had to omit that part or else I might
be flamed for being racist…which I would not want]. My dad said nothing but my
mom reproached me in Tagalog, “Oi, doctor yun!” And me, as sarcastic as I am,
told my mom in my nice sarcastic way, “Mom, it doesn’t matter if he’s a doctor.
Even if he’s from Harvard, or the most expensive doctor on this island, he
surely lacks etiquette and a moment ago he was the biggest asshole in this
place. It’s so tempting to shove mud into his mouth and slather mud all over
him.” And I don’t mean that simple mud that you see in muddles on the street
after the rain, I’m talking about mud from pig’s wallows or from the dirtiest
sewers, mud with such revolting stench that it turns your intestines’ contents
inside out.

Thus I have presented my sarcasm and thoughts of
fruitful ways of utilizing mud, especially when La Niña is coming. Mud will
appropriately be everywhere as is the flourishing culture worthy of mud.

I tried my best I gave my all Sometimes my best wasn't good enough for you Sometimes I let you go Sometimes I hurt you so I know that I can be the meanest person in your world 

So I apologize to you And to anyone else that I hurt too I may not be a perfect soul But I can learn self control So pardon me, pardon me, pardon me my friend 

I never thought That anyone was more important than the plans I made But now I feel the shame There's no one else to blame For all the broken hearts are scattered on the field of war 

So I apologize to you And to anyone else I hurt too I may not be a perfect soul But I can learn self control So pardon me, pardon me, pardon me my friend 

Sometimes I let you go Sometimes I hurt you so I know that I can be the meanest person in the world 

So I apologize to you And to anyone else that I hurt too I may not be a perfect soul But I can learn self control And in my heart I feel it's true So I will be there with you So pardon me, pardon me, pardon me my friend (I'm with you) Pardon me 

Are you listening?
We write a thousand pages, they’re torn and on the floor.
Headlights hammer the windows, we’re locked behind these doors.
And we are never leaving, this place is part of us.
And all these scenes repeating are cold to the touch.

My hands seem to deceive me
When I’m nervous or when I’m healthy.
The scenery’s all drawn.

They hang here from the walls dear,
Painting pictures, bleeding colors,
Blanket the windows.

Sometimes it gets so hard to breathe.
Your eyes can see right through me.

These fights with your arms left beside.
It’s one thing and one more says goodnight.
You’ve got the map come get to me.
These knuckles break before they bleed.

Tear out these veins that own my heart.
This skin that wears your lasting marks.
I’ve built these walls come get to me, come get to me.

Is this your lesson, a slight discretion,
The lines that keep you, the lines that sweep you.
Lock the doors from the inside.

Your face is so contagious, it wears announcements,
It leaves me breathless, I won’t forget this,
I won’t forget.

Sometimes it gets so hard to breathe.
Your eyes can see right through me.

Let the walls have their say.
Have their say.

There’s no conversation, words without remorse.
And this television drowns the only source.
Wake from these dreams of you in my arms.
Go to the staircase where you hold my heart.
This place, these walls mean everything to me.

Lyrics Copyright of Emery