1. Favorite line from a poem ? I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
2. Who inspires you? A lot of people really. Bits and pieces of inspiration from here and there. And she who paints the roses red. :)
3. Describe your favorite feeling. The feeling that a moment is fleeting and you’re just a blink away from the edge, and right when you know it’s the end… someone just makes it the most perfect ending and then you tell yourself, ‘I regret nothing. Ready to start a new chapter? A better one maybe?’ And you’re just oozing with enthusiasm and inspiration.
4. What for you is the greatest insult? You’re just like everyone else.
5. Who do you want to sing at your wedding? Silly, Inky! You don’t have to ask! :))
6. Your favorite time of day? Sunset… or just before dawn.
7. What is the first book you will buy for your child? The Little Prince
8. Who are you in one song title? Melancholy Astronautic Man :))
9. Favorite Beatle? Paul McCartney :)
10. Favorite childhood movie? Lion King (You should’ve seen me while watching it on 3D! I was crying during the opening!)
11. Who/What was your first love? I’d say food. But books before food, man.
Here are the new set of questions:
How was your day?
If given a time machine that works only twice (the other giving you the opportunity to go back in the present time), would you go back or fast forward?
If you’d go back, would you change anything? If you’ll go see the future, what do you expect to see?
Are you happy?
Summarize your life in five words.
How would you describe a perfect world?
What makes you smile?
If you could change your name, what name would you like to have?
Describe me or your first impression of me.
Geeze Inky, I really dunno what I’m doing but I was smiling the whole time I was answering this. :) So here you go friends:
“She is” or “He ran” it’s really quite simple. The door is wide open.
He liked walking across the sidewalk at a pace, so slow his body would lean towards each step. His feet, angry from their lack of rest, stopped feeling things. They kept on moving, step after step until the eyes would roll across a quite alleyway. The legs would crack out of place and the back would slowly roll across the cold, plastic trash.
“She is” Well, that’s a hard one.
Four floors, only stairs, trash and a girl who didn’t feel pretty: the steps seemed to agree with her. “you’re ugly” said that trash bag, almost in a rhythmic chant, “you’re ugly” she heard. Twenty-six steps for each floor, twenty six times the trash banged “you’re ugly”. “you’re ugly” and a pause, the trash, waiting for the next set of stairs. The front apartment door snickered, while the weather made fun of her freckles. Her cold red and white dress said “you don’t fit” and “I hope you get pneumonia” but she turned the corner, and in her anger, threw the garbage into the dumpster. The garbage didn’t reply with its usual “I hope you die slowly” Instead it hit a tired man.
In her shock, she stood and watched as the green, tattered clothes and hair walked out of the dumpster. It stared. “I’m so sorry!” she said as she started to scrape away at the angry trash. I was still looking at her, with wonder, at how something so pretty could be pushing away dirt from nobody’s shoulders. Her hands were hopeless; she kept on going. It seems that the dress stopped its whining while the cold sat in silence. He barely gave it enough time for the thought to spark. He picked up his feet and ran. A beard and broken mouth started to scream and shout as a young girl had gone on to do something most people would say, couldn’t happen in such a lifeless city. No doubt, she was pretty.
My favourite photograph is the one where I am smiling ear to ear, my face pressed against the cheek of the one I’ve waited for all my life. My skin is sun-kissed and gently wrinkled in corners by the sum of all my laughter. There is a street behind us from a city where no one pronounces our names right, where the food is different and the wine is good and cobblestone alleyways play a romance in between the margins of rustic buildings. A 4x6 portrait of a moment where everything is right. This is my favourite photograph, but it hasn’t been taken… yet.
“Death, how peaceful would you be. Having no tomorrow and having no today. Laying in silence with the green grass swaying above heads. I’m not afraid of the dark, i’m afraid of whats in it.”—(via pandorassea)