The Imaginary Best Friend
This shall be yet another post where I believe my dear blog is alive.
Dear Wingardium aka Wings aka DOWAC,Happy birthday!
Three years: that’s how long you’ve been keeping up with my pathetic life through written pathetic words and phrases which you gladly and genuinely accept and publish. Without hesitation. I’m so glad I made and have you. You are one of the things which I don’t regret making and/or deciding upon. We’ve been working harmoniously together to the point that I consider you a human being already, not just a Blogger-powered online journal. You’re real and living in my heart, my soul, my mind and my entire life. I know it’s a bit barf-emitting, but honestly, if you are really alive and all that, I’d make you my second best friend and hug and visit bookstores with you. And you know, just by the last sentence prior to this, that I’m an anti-social human being without a lot of friends who can understand me. I’m so wretched that I even believe you’d be a
better teenager than me.
But let’s not be so
hypocrite here. I have always been honest with you, so right now I want to be as honest as possible: I almost
forgot about your birthday.
Again. Last year this unfortunate thing happened because of my masochistic anticipation for the last installment of the
Harry Potter movies,
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2. (I miss
HP, still. It’s so different not having to go to the cinemas around this month to see it.) This year, though, I can’t make
HP my excuse, but I’m
not making any excuses, believe me. I almost forgot about this remarkable day because I’m so…
busy. Really. I haven’t been this busy since… well, since high school. And when I say “I’m busy”, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have time to fangirl or sleep or have me-time anymore. I’m busy in a sense that my mind is working all day and my body half of the day, and thinking anything outside what I usually think is not allowable anymore. My mind works like this: wake up, bitch > cook > bath and stuff > school > home > cook again > homework > club responsibilities > think of Mom, Sam Concepcion and/or GEMV > try to sleep. I’m trying to juggle everything since I’m the current person in-charge of the house. Don’t ask me for details; there are creeps around.
I was thinking of what I would blog this week when I remembered that it’s your freakin’ blog anniversary. And I was like, “Holy cow, how come I forgot about it?!” I need some free time, Wings. I didn’t think that there was mind and body limitation before, but right now I wish there was any Constitutional Bill that would
obliged people to have mind and body rest and all that shit. But I guess there are worse cases than mine (which isn’t really bad, to begin with). But, again, I can always say that writing and reading relax me and make my life better – which is yet another reason why I love you.
Anyway, for the last couple of posts we have here, I’ve been sharing to you my accomplishments and lucks and oh-I-love-my-life. I was serious when I said that I think 2012 is my year. For one thing, you’re still so much alive and active. Your number of followers have now ascended to two digits. Although your tagboard is infested with spammers who believe they can compel us to visit their sites (God knows they’re lairs of viruses) with their “Nice posts, keep it up, sweetie” and by naming themselves “Miley Cyrus” (I don’t know a lot about Miley but enough to know that she
doesn’t have bad grammar), we both know that our real, existing, totally-not-Miley-Cyrus friends read us.
Also, I noticed, every year the posts we have here are becoming more mature, community-oriented, God-centered, emotion-conscious and smart. Even though from time to time I post senseless and stupid things, there are
morals behind them. When I back-read some of those posts, either I have the tendency to barf or doubt the fact that I was the one who wrote it. Sometimes I can’t help but feel good about my writing and bloat my head a little for being such a bad ass blogger. I know that you, Wings, aren’t a famous blog (yet) with the thousand followers and million hits, but I trust that beneath all the petty entries we have here, there is something to
learn from them, and that they aren’t always senseless and stupid. (This is a self-induced morale booster; we need it, trust me.)
I know I shouldn’t be talking about myself right now because my birthday was eight days ago, but I will since you love me anyway. I’m good. I’ve been having a lot of headaches these past few days, but I’m still a Trying Hard Bad Ass. All I can think of when I look in the mirror is
zits zits zits, but I’m still a Trying Hard Optimist and Bright Side Looker. I’m always trying to allot time for my reading amidst my heavy schedule because my Goal: 100 Reads is still ongoing (current read:
The Virgin Suicides – yep, the Kirsten Dunst-starrer). I’m still confused about my true feelings for GEMV (I got around to calling him GEMV instead of FCC), but I’m the Forever Confused One Side Lover, so what the hell. But albeit all the in-between shits in the crappy life of mine, I’m still happy. Give me food and I’ll be happy – and totally bloated. Remove the craters and I’ll be a superhero.
I hope you’re also happy, Wings. Oh, right. You’re happiness depends on
my happiness. I’ll always try to be happy for you. I love you that much, okay? I know you’re real, and you’re just around the corner, invisibly urging me to write and give you an acceptable blog-life. You’re awesome, please remember that. See you next year – next week, really.
Love till we drop,
CF S. OrdasGeez, I feel like talking to myself… oh, maybe I am.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
The Imaginary Best Friend
This shall be yet another post where I believe my dear blog is alive.
Dear Wingardium aka Wings aka DOWAC,Happy birthday!
Three years: that’s how long you’ve been keeping up with my pathetic life through written pathetic words and phrases which you gladly and genuinely accept and publish. Without hesitation. I’m so glad I made and have you. You are one of the things which I don’t regret making and/or deciding upon. We’ve been working harmoniously together to the point that I consider you a human being already, not just a Blogger-powered online journal. You’re real and living in my heart, my soul, my mind and my entire life. I know it’s a bit barf-emitting, but honestly, if you are really alive and all that, I’d make you my second best friend and hug and visit bookstores with you. And you know, just by the last sentence prior to this, that I’m an anti-social human being without a lot of friends who can understand me. I’m so wretched that I even believe you’d be a
better teenager than me.
But let’s not be so
hypocrite here. I have always been honest with you, so right now I want to be as honest as possible: I almost
forgot about your birthday.
Again. Last year this unfortunate thing happened because of my masochistic anticipation for the last installment of the
Harry Potter movies,
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2. (I miss
HP, still. It’s so different not having to go to the cinemas around this month to see it.) This year, though, I can’t make
HP my excuse, but I’m
not making any excuses, believe me. I almost forgot about this remarkable day because I’m so…
busy. Really. I haven’t been this busy since… well, since high school. And when I say “I’m busy”, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have time to fangirl or sleep or have me-time anymore. I’m busy in a sense that my mind is working all day and my body half of the day, and thinking anything outside what I usually think is not allowable anymore. My mind works like this: wake up, bitch > cook > bath and stuff > school > home > cook again > homework > club responsibilities > think of Mom, Sam Concepcion and/or GEMV > try to sleep. I’m trying to juggle everything since I’m the current person in-charge of the house. Don’t ask me for details; there are creeps around.
I was thinking of what I would blog this week when I remembered that it’s your freakin’ blog anniversary. And I was like, “Holy cow, how come I forgot about it?!” I need some free time, Wings. I didn’t think that there was mind and body limitation before, but right now I wish there was any Constitutional Bill that would
obliged people to have mind and body rest and all that shit. But I guess there are worse cases than mine (which isn’t really bad, to begin with). But, again, I can always say that writing and reading relax me and make my life better – which is yet another reason why I love you.
Anyway, for the last couple of posts we have here, I’ve been sharing to you my accomplishments and lucks and oh-I-love-my-life. I was serious when I said that I think 2012 is my year. For one thing, you’re still so much alive and active. Your number of followers have now ascended to two digits. Although your tagboard is infested with spammers who believe they can compel us to visit their sites (God knows they’re lairs of viruses) with their “Nice posts, keep it up, sweetie” and by naming themselves “Miley Cyrus” (I don’t know a lot about Miley but enough to know that she
doesn’t have bad grammar), we both know that our real, existing, totally-not-Miley-Cyrus friends read us.
Also, I noticed, every year the posts we have here are becoming more mature, community-oriented, God-centered, emotion-conscious and smart. Even though from time to time I post senseless and stupid things, there are
morals behind them. When I back-read some of those posts, either I have the tendency to barf or doubt the fact that I was the one who wrote it. Sometimes I can’t help but feel good about my writing and bloat my head a little for being such a bad ass blogger. I know that you, Wings, aren’t a famous blog (yet) with the thousand followers and million hits, but I trust that beneath all the petty entries we have here, there is something to
learn from them, and that they aren’t always senseless and stupid. (This is a self-induced morale booster; we need it, trust me.)
I know I shouldn’t be talking about myself right now because my birthday was eight days ago, but I will since you love me anyway. I’m good. I’ve been having a lot of headaches these past few days, but I’m still a Trying Hard Bad Ass. All I can think of when I look in the mirror is
zits zits zits, but I’m still a Trying Hard Optimist and Bright Side Looker. I’m always trying to allot time for my reading amidst my heavy schedule because my Goal: 100 Reads is still ongoing (current read:
The Virgin Suicides – yep, the Kirsten Dunst-starrer). I’m still confused about my true feelings for GEMV (I got around to calling him GEMV instead of FCC), but I’m the Forever Confused One Side Lover, so what the hell. But albeit all the in-between shits in the crappy life of mine, I’m still happy. Give me food and I’ll be happy – and totally bloated. Remove the craters and I’ll be a superhero.
I hope you’re also happy, Wings. Oh, right. You’re happiness depends on
my happiness. I’ll always try to be happy for you. I love you that much, okay? I know you’re real, and you’re just around the corner, invisibly urging me to write and give you an acceptable blog-life. You’re awesome, please remember that. See you next year – next week, really.
Love till we drop,
CF S. OrdasGeez, I feel like talking to myself… oh, maybe I am.
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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