Thoughts of a Violinist Giraffe

Entering into Manila after how many months of not being there, I felt a lot of old things resurface: feelings I've had for particular events, particular situations, and particular people. I also realized how much I hate when people touch my things without my permission. If it isn't yours, why are you using it like it is? Please, for both our sakes, stop touching my stuff. Life'll go smoother for the both of us if you do. Moving on: When I walked along the "University Avenue", I remembered the days I'd walk to class from my dorm: carrying my heavy bag, keeping the glaring sun from hitting my eyes, with my thoughts on the future and my heart on a girl. Complicated times... In some restaurants, like Yellow Cab or Teriyaki Boy, I remembered events and hangouts with some of the greatest friends I've ever made in my lifetime - a sort of family, if you will. They kept me strong, just like my real family and my US friends. What made them different was the fa...

Since Halloween is coming up fairly soon, I figured this old little piece would do some good. Hope you all enjoy! DIIIIIiiiiinnnnng DOOooonnng... Jacob's eyes snap open, jerking awake as the bell echoes throughout the room. It is less a room and more a hallway, with seats lining two walls opposite each other. The walls are a typical hospital-white, with clear lighting emanating from the ceiling. A slightly flickering light can be seen at the far end of the "hall". People murmur quietly, trying their best not to break the silence, even though the distorted noise of the bell does it well enough. Some even venture so far as to give a slight giggle. Maybe they were sharing a joke? A wiry man, weary and weather-worn, or so he appeared, clutches a piece of scrap paper as he steps through a door situated under a digital counter. Jacob gives a wary look at the digital counter. It says   65 . The bell rang every time the number changed. Every time, the bell would emit a sou...

Speak to me as though I am ignorant of the names and faces of the people whose blood flows in me significantly. As though your words are sufficient to tell me what, you believe, I am missing out on - on the history of a people that you say has nothing to do with me. Preach to me as though I know no gods - or their sons - who once set foot on this forsaken earth through what appears to me to be a holy birth, for the sake of every murderous, thieving, conniving bastard on this planet. Glare at me as I stand incredulous, shaking my head as I hear the poison spill out of your mouth like a faucet left open and flooding the house. Do all these things to me and act as though I know nothing other than my own ignorance – that you are entitled to enlighten me to a greater understanding… But I know that you know nothing. You tell me to put myself in your shoes. In your shoes! As if that would change the impression that has been stamped onto my mind – of the blind leading the blind. Thank you for ...