To the one that got away

 i was going through my old personal emails when i stumbled upon a reply i gave my good friend about an article that talked about the one that got away. i wasn't able to save that article (unfortunately) so i won't be able to share it here. anyways, i will just post my reply to that forwarded message. and here it is:

actually, in what i believe in, there is no such person as "someone who got away"…

 

maybe someone who was never meant for you but not necessarily someone who got away…thinking that way is like putting yourself into a situation of regret…like what the article said, that person's the GREATEST WHAT IF of your life…and what ifs are merely regrets…i don't believe in regrets…i know it (regret) exists but there's no point in dwelling in one. it's just gonna make the present situation unstable…always thinking there's someone out there who's supposed to be with you right now but somehow fate twisted things and you're stuck with another person instead of that person will make your present situation not right. the fact that you've let that person go is proof enough that things won't really work for the two of you…deep inside you know that fact…there's just one "makulit" part of your heart that tells you otherwise…and that "makulit" part could be shrugged of…you would have fought for that person if you believe he was right for you…if you think the two of you could withstand everything…but heck you did not…that's why you let that person drift…

 

what i'm trying to say is, once you've let a person go…let him go…do not restrain him from your thoughts…let him be where he is now…and let yourself be where you are now…thinking of the other person will also "bother" him in a way that only the cosmic entities know…let the person be at peace and you too will be at peace with yourself…

 

i could be wrong in all of this but hey, this is my opinion…hehehehe@!

i guess i still believe that once a person is out, he is out, and he should remain out unless you want to complicate the whole situation you are in right now. of course, allowing yourself to engage in relationships (any kind of relationship for that matter) without the totality of being over a person from the past is a big mistake. how could you commit to the present when your mind is lingering in the past? let go. that's the only way to escape being imprisoned by that someone who got away. and to that someone who got away, may he (or she) be in the best condition this world can offer him (or her). and let's just leave it to that point and move on to where we could find the "best" that this world has to offer us. i think it's fair enough.

and i think i've said enough.

Fairy Tales for Adults

I have been taught in Humanities II that, originally, Fairy tales were meant for adult reading pleasures. Hmmm…that got me to thinking that those tales may have had words not suitable for very young audiences!! And for the longest time since that class, I have had searched for copies of those fairy tales. However, I came up with the "politically correct" versions of some of the best-loved fairy tales of our childhood. I have a fascination for the Politically Correct Cinderella. Here goes…

 

Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, lived a noble gentleman and his (without denoting any real possession) dear daughter. She was very beautiful – her breasts were centrally located and she was cosmetically gifted.

He loved her very much, and he was worried that she was lonely, as her mother was metabolically challenged, and dwelled 6 feet underground. So the gentleman conjoined in a purely egalitarian partnership with a lady who had (without denoting any real possession) two daughters of her own, figuring that they’d be kind and sweet to his own lovely offspring.

Instead, they made her do all the domestic labour, and made her wear the clothes a financially disadvantaged person (or perdaughter) would. Both girls were aesthetically different and had a more challenging odour than would be normal, as well as having their own unique, rather liberal, moral codes, allowing them to bully and taunt the poor girl and make her do all the chores. The poor child would spend her days in the cellar, peeling potatoes, sat in a hunch in the corner by the chimney, and for this reason the sisters nicknamed her ‘Cinderella’.

One day, it was announced that one of the most financially advantaged people in the town, the King’s son, was going to throw a big ball. The sisters were asked to go, and they were so excited they ran around for days, laughing hersterically. They bought themselves fancy dresses that were so stuffed with jewels they stood up by themselves, and spent days and days talking about all the people of important social status that they planned to meet.

The great day arrived, and Cinderella found herself in the cellar by herself. “I wish I could go to the ball,” she said to herself. “I bet I could pull that prince – I’m far prettier than those two unconventional-looking, loved-by-spots, 300-pound dinosaurs. I’m far more preferable to men.” The two sisters departed, and Cinderella stayed at home and moaned to the silence.

It was not long until there was a big puff of blue smoke and a rather festively-formed, full-figured, gravitationally-powerful woman appeared. It was her fairy godmother. Cinderella recognised her at once.

“I really want…”Cinderella started.

“To go to the ball,” finished the godmother. Cinderella nodded. “Despite how much I support your freedom to be emotional, since I’m considering your own success here I would ask you politely to cease crying, lest it hinder you. Now go to the garden and get me a pumpkin.”

Cinderella could not imagine how a pumpkin could help her to get to the ball – unfortunately she was rather intellectually impaired and did not yet appreciate that the fat woman who had appeared out of thin air was magic. Nonetheless, she took herself to the garden and took the biggest pumpkin she could carry back to the fairy godmother, who tapped it with her wand, turning it into a golden coach lined with white satin.

The godmother tapped Cinderella on the head and turned her shabby clothes into a stunning white silk dress. Cinderella was concerned for the fate of the silkworms, but considered how the dress was made – using magic – and decided to forget about it. She looked at herself in the full length mirror, and remarked on her slippers, which were made of glass.

“Now go and get me 6 mice from the luxury mouse-trap with fitted mouse-furniture and a mouse television with specific mouse programming in the kitchen, and a big juicy rat.”

With a touch of the wand, each mouse turned into a horse, and the rat turned into a coach driver. Cinderella grew more concerned.

“Fairy godmother,” Cinderella said, “I am concerned for the wellbeing of these horses and this coach driver. One day they were vermin – not that vermin are lesser life forms, of course, and the next thing you know they’re horses and people, and I don’t plan to pay or feed any of them. Considering they’re working for nothing, exactly where should my morals lie in using them?”

“Shut up and get in the carriage, you selfish brat,” the godmother replied. “Oh, and, if you stay in the palace for one second after midnight, all my magic will vanish and you’ll be cosmetically challenged and in your monetarily inexpensive clothes.”

A few moments later, the coach was rolling down towards the ball with the excited Cinderella inside. She arrived and strode up to the prince, slamming her lips into his and they embraced. For the rest of the night, Cinderella and the prince were constantly in each other’s arms, and the two sisters, who did not recognise their own stepsister, were rather flattered when she spoke some words to them.

The hours flew by so happily that Cinderella did not even notice the time until it the clock began to strike midnight. With a cry of alarm she fled from the room. One of the glass slippers flew from her foot and landed on a crate of beer as she struggled to leave the ball before one second past midnight. The prince hurried after her, but, when he reached the entrance hall, she couldn’t find the beautiful girl – just a cinder-maid in a ragged grey dress.

Cinderella hurried home through the dark streets, overwhelmed with shame.

The next day, there was a great procession of trumpets and drums as a regal possession went through the town, going from place to place, at the head of which sat the king’s son. He held a glass slipper on a red pillow, as a herald announced that any lady in the land who could fit the slipper on her foot and could produce the pair would be to marry the prince, if both parties agreed and if the housework was shared equally. Both sisters tried, but their feet were too spacious to squeeze in. Cinderella begged to try, and, to the scorn of her sisters, the prince agreed.

The slipper slipped easily on, and Cinderella pulled the second glass slipper from her pocket. The prince was overjoyed, and wrapped his arms warmly around the pretty cinder maid.

Cinderella spoke up. “Despite the romantic ending of this story, emotionally I feel a little flat. You have fallen in love with me because the fairy godmother made me look pretty, and I’m not convinced that that is a satisfactory basis for a marriage – you don’t even know me. We have only met on one occasion, and, like in this story, I haven’t even established my true character or personality to you – you have no real idea of how well we’d get along. I know you think you have noble and chivalrous intentions but in the context of this story they just reinforce negative notions about male dominance – you’re a prince, I’m a cinder maid, and I have no real interest in you to be honest – at least, no interest further than a purely financial one. It might be a happy ending because I’ll be royalty, but I want so much more!”

“I know,” the prince replied. “I’m completely loaded. I’ve got big palaces and we wouldn’t even have to see each other really, except when we’re having sex or ‘Deal or No Deal’ is on. I don’t need a woman with personality – just human contact.”

“So there’d be no love in our marriage? You’re really only interested in me because I’m an attractive female? Just a sex object? You Neanderthal!”

“Alas, yes, but trust me, you’ll enjoy it. It’s a massive social step up and you’ll have loads of money. You bloody feminists – Jesus – you’re just as human as I am when it comes down to it. Your life will be fantastic if we get married, and I don’t even care if you go off hunting for other men – so long as we still have sex and watch ‘Deal or No Deal’. I’m really easy to live with. If you marry me right now, you will definitely live happily ever after. It’s your choice though, of course.”

Cinderella told the prince she didn’t want to be objectified by a man, and refused point-blank. She carried on being treated like a source of free labour by her morally challenged step-sisters and died in a home for the mentally impaired.

 

 

There are still other politically correct versions of fairy tales out there. Here are two of the politically correct stories that I have gathered: Politically Correct Little Red Riding Hood and Politically Correct Three Little Pigs.  There's even a book by James Finn Garner about the "Politically Correct Bedtime Stories."

Now, I guess I'll leave you the option to read them out. As I would just like to point out, whether they're politically correct or not, these stories have "somehow" made an event in our lives. And, for some, they may have molded our thoughts on different things, especially our thoughts on morality.

I hope you have enjoyed the other versions of our best-loved stories.

type ko to…

imbue

whack

miner

vogue

nexus

jisms

hunch

…you need them to secure your comments. I am still in the process of finding the entire list of required words  to be typed before your comment is sent.

addendum!!

intro

skunk

anti-SPAM pala sila…hmmm…ang slow ko. weno, eto pa:

robin

smirk

xylon

rhein

who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?

 

…Because when you're scared but you still do it anyway, that's BRAVE…

Coraline (Neil Gaiman)

i fear cockroaches, but they have nothing to do with this entry. i just want you to know that. so in case you see me and you have a cockroach in your pocket, please (please lang, with begging) don't show it to me. you'll kill me. instant! (that's an exageration, yes. but, i fear them so much, i could cry at the sight of them "looking" at me)

anyways, i saw that quote posted on my right. and i said, "hmmm…" he he he…i do that all the time. hmmm at things that get my interest. hmmm…

well, i guess Coraline said the truest! when one is afraid of doing something but takes the risk anyway, then that person shows bravery of the purest form. when as a child we're 100% sure the closet in our bedrooms contains mumus of all sorts  but we sleep in that room anyway, then that's 100% bravery! when entering a new school brings a lot of anxiety in us and we still continue to study there is another bravery. when going through adulthood, we fear a lot of difficulty but still we go through each day with confidence then that's bravery!

it need not be participating in fights that we become brave. what Coraline wants us to know is that facing fear itself makes us brave. and not just making people get the impression of our valor. that accepting the harsh reality and going about it instead of letting it gobble us is what matters.

simply put in a child's perspective, anyone could be brave. anyone could be a captain of his own ship. a master of his own life. oh and many more!