inoperable tumor

"I survived a war did you know that?

I survived a war where they put bodies into mass graves where there was once a playground.

I survived the deaths of family; my parents, my brothers, my sisters. Then I survived the death of my wife and child where they starved to death in a refuge camp.

I survived the lost of my country - of hearing my mother tongue spoken of and knowing what it feels like to have a place to call home.

I survived.

And I will survive the lost of my legs. If I have to, I'll survive it, okay?


But Derek."


"Yes?"


"There's always a way.

When things looks like there's no way, oh, there is a way. To do the impossible, to survive the unsurvivable, there's always a way.

And you...

You and I have this in common - we're inspired. In the face of the impossible, we're inspired.

So If I can offer one piece of advice to the world's foremost neurosurgeon;

today if you become frightened, instead become inspired."

-isaac, grey's anatomy.

ted mosby, architect

The great moments of your life won't necessarily be the things you do, they'll also be the things that happen to you.


Now I'm not saying you can't take action to affect the outcome of your life, you have to take action, and you will. But never forget that on any day, you can step out the front door and your whole life can change forever.

You see the universe has a plan kids, and that plan is always in motion.

A butterfly flaps it wings and it starts to rain. It's a scary thought but it's also kind of wonderful. All these little parts of the machine constantly working, making sure that you end up exactly where you're suppose to be, exactly when you're supposed to be there.

The right place at the right time.

-himym

to friendly hellos and pleasant goodbyes

Thousand Bend. Sunday afternoon.

We rarely do sit together and talk over a cup of coffee. pleasant companies are always welcome.

We spoke a fair bit. Mainly updating each other on our own lives and how amazed we were that the tables had turned on most of us. How those who were were singles back then happen to be the ones that are dating now and those who used to be dating, aren't anymore.

But it wasn't all about sappy lovey-dovey stories and kyoot! moments, there were talks about general ideas and life itself as well. However, our conversation just tasted different compared to our previous meets.

It's just your sense of content that left me pondering.

From someone who had faced so much at one time and finally getting what you deserve - happiness; and some freakin' stability.

I felt rather embarrassed telling you my stories. After hearing myself explaining it to you, the stories itself felt rather minuscule; sounding more idiotic than the complex/dramatic version rolling over in my head exploded to giant proportions than it actually was - a common habit I need to unlearn. hehe

Oh! Not to mention, you've given the best reaction to my story than anyone else I've told, "You did what?!".


well, to another lovely spring day then.

Cheers.

to someone we love,

I don't usually mention names but this post is dedicated to Sam. A., someone who has helped most of us a lot.

We here at Eleven Stripes wish you a speedy recovery and would like you to know that our prayers/support are always here for you.

Get well soon. :)

With love,

stripes

you'll never know til you try, right?

"Describe your ideal woman?"

"Well, I could describe about her 'til who knows when. But the real question is whether or not I'm her ideal man."

fourteen roof plans

I'm trying my goddamn best here.
The least you could do is meet me halfway.

"Or tell me why not, I deserve that at least."

entitled, irrational integrity

Laurent. 2 p.m. -ish.

Not really a fan of vegetarian food, but for you I'll make an exception. They do make great cappuccinos.

Despite it being spring here, the weather still felt like it was winter.

You beckon me over to table outside facing an alley where office workers were lining up to grab their lunches. You sat there with your latte at hand as you stare blankly at your tiny black notebook.

"What are you reading?"

"It's nothing." You answered, as you tucked the book beneath you palm on the table. "It's a memory book; from teenage diary entries to drunken scribbles."

Small talk. Was never really good at it.

We spoke a fair bit. Followed by several laughs and then silence. You opened up your notebook and flipped through several pages as I stare into blank space.

"Here. Write something." You said, as you gave me the opened notebook and a blue pen.

It was an empty page. The page next to it had a familiar hand-writing with an ink mark of only few pens would make. It writes,

" Our scars are not only meant to show our wounds; but how we had recover from them as well."

As I read it, I gave a slight smile and said, "Did she.." You nodded with a big smile by the side.

However, I didn't write anything but I promise you, next time I will. You gave me a disappointed look. I turned the book and pointed at the written page and said,

"I told her that."



written by I.O.

the reason we are not strong

Depicted from 'We the Dreamers chase forever; so at least in that, we'll be together'.

tagged. empty thoughts.

-

We, the youth, are inherently weak.

Given too much, we forget how to fight. We have no reason to. Our spirit is weak, we crack under the littlest of pressures, being too comfortable in our so-called problems. Frivolous things really. We have no focus or focus on unnecessary things. We fail at survival because we have no drive.

We mature in complacency.

A cynic? In every sense of the word.

I am not strong, merely cynical. Resorting to words where actions do not always match. I lose faith in people, waiting for them to walk out on me, time and again, it has stopped being of an importance.

Kept at distance, they feel closer than they actually are. Too close, and they are far again. Shut out for fear of a broken heart. Am I a changed person? Partly so. More closed than I've ever been. I am not strong. I do what I can to survive.


by s h a r o n ♥

contradictions and confusions, to say the least.

12:06 a.m. October 16. technically, Friday.

". . .we're not told for a reason."

-

It was late and slowly my mind is starting to drift away, trying to figure out an answer to my own question,

"what the hell happened?"

My head collapsed on top of my folded arms with three words on a constant loop at the back of my mind. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

However, Bleep! (from Google talk) caught my attention.

"Post this instead." You replied. "You're just placing your sanity in a hole."

Always lovely to have your company. "Sorry? What do you mean?" I asked.

"She touched a nerve, didn't she? Succinct?"

The writer of Succinct, a keen reader of twoangles and not to mention a dear acquaintance of mine now, have had several conversations mainly consisting of twoangles itself.

"I bet I can guess what's on your mind now." You continued.

"Oh? Please do." arrogantly, I replied. It's rather hard to emphasis arrogance in instant messaging.

"You're looking for a pattern. Or at least, hoping for one.

Flipping through previous 'chapters', comparing and analyzing. Reading through the plot, in contempt.

And just maybe, there would be a pattern between the two and by the end of it, find the variable - the answer."

Silence. Frantically scratching my head wondering yet amazed by how I could be predicted by just ten minutes of instant messaging materials. But then again, we call you M for a reason - nay, several reasons.

"Go on."

and you did, "But there isn't one.

The similarity are but merely coincidental; perhaps. And you know this. Therefore, your mind wonders into it's own malignancy.

Placing the blame on cruelty of fate, karma. Even self-pity, on how you're unable to choose who you to care for, like or even fall in love."

My wrists jerked backwards and froze. Word to word, it was like you were in my head reading it like a cruel book critic pissed off by the obviousness.

"Not knowing is a burden but it can be a gift.

If God could tell you how your inevitable death will be, would you really wanna know?

I know it's horrible not knowing how one day you're watching Audrey Hepburn movies together and the next day, she won't even look at you to say hello. We're gonna be kept out of the blue a lot whether we like it or not and often we're not told for a reason.

And maybe, the reason is just not worth it."


'Just not worth it'. Four words I've been hearing a lot lately. Mainly with the word "She's" in front mostly.



written by I.O.

between cappuccinos and chai lattes

We sat along a familiar cafe with familiar company.

We even had the same conversation. Maybe just a 'tad' different with the addition of a new innuendo. pretty much the same story, nonetheless.

but you did leave me pondering.

-

Though our stories are completely different, when summarized, it bears a somewhat similar plot.

So here's one tale depicted from the visions of M,

'It was a sunny afternoon.

A little girl walks pass a jewelry store but was halted by something that had caught her eye.

Mesmerized by the beautifully hand-crafted glass pony standing behind the thick window display, glimmering, she stood as close as she could with her hands over her head trying to shield her eyes from the blinding sunlight in hope to see a better glimpse of the glass pony.

For hours, she stood there - gathering her courage to enter the shop.

Finally, as the doors to the store swung open. The little girl ran gaily inside with the sheer excitement of seeing the pony up close. In utter glee, she picked up the pony from the display shelf and skipped around the store not realizing how fragile it is but for one moment, contented.

Only to trip and fall as the glass pony shatters into a million pieces in her arms.

She stood up, stunned, as she stared at blood bleeding from the countless cuts on her arm. However, the wounds were the last of her worries because at the back of her mind, she is reminded of the unpaid value of the glass horse itself.'



written by M.

a rant from the wounded

"Nobody beat me,
nobody tried to steal my baby,
nobody stabbed me.

but I am wounded, Sam."

"Noah?"

"My heart is broken.

And I shouldn't even complain about this because . . . nothing happened. I mean nothing happened to me. Unlike what happened to the Larsons or Violette.

You know sometimes,

I'm almost jealous of them. because everybody can see their injuries. So they have the right to be messed up.

I did the right thing.

. . . and my heart is broken."



-private practice.

your apathy is just ignorance

In life there's a lot of things that define who we are, one of them are these things we call "fine lines" that we often choose to cross or not.

These so-called fine lines are what usually separates us from one identity to another.

Usually the line exists between two opposite criteria (right and wrong). Such as the fine line between friends and enemies, sanity and insanity, love and hatred, or even self-defense and murder. But it's not always opposite, they can also often be closely related. The fine line between best friends and lovers, anger and actual rage, and not to forget the infamous line between harmless flirting and actual cheating.

While the line can be really obvious for most cases and therefore the choice to cross it is usually on the beholder hands, that's not always the case. For some of us, we are either dragged or even pushed across the line.

A man once said,

"it takes two to tango."

Same case here, no one would just cross a line without a reason (purpose).

A sane man does not just turn insane overnight, the turnover could occur over a loss of a loved one or even other traumatic experiences. A young soldiers, once full of life dutifully serving his countries returning beaten down by the tyranny of war.

But in most cases, the decision to cross is often self decided (self-inflicted). For instance, the decision for two friends to be more than friends. And I'm sure there's a lot of you who believe that this cross, "just happens" but in my opinion, that's a load of bullshit.

Or even two close friends. Friendship forged since the days they could barely even pronounce words properly, shattered over misunderstood deceit or secondhand lies. The outcomes are often decided by each other, whether to remain in hatred or to forgive and forget.

You can always choose to cheat on someone.
You can always choose to open up to someone.
You can always choose to forgive someone.

But the main question is . . .do you want to?