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about the webmistress

There’s so much more about this smile. You just don’t know. This is the web portal of a fifteen-year-old feline who grew whiskers and paws. As much as she loves dwelling in her solemn, gloomy little own world – she is also thought to be a nonsensical and ill-mannered child who eats anything but food.

Yo. It’s Rachee.

Rachelle Angeli B. Marañon for short. HAHA. I love purple. I accept friends and comments. I laugh, I love, I shop, I cry. I do everything I want; I’m still young, wild and free. I know my boundaries, mistakes and flaws. I spill secrets. I’m bubbly. I’m not aiming for the perfect me but the better me. I do what’s right or maybe wrong, but I still make of it. I laugh at myself if I did something silly. I can control my temper and everything that should be controlled. Everyone knows that life is crazy but wonderful. It can be unfair, but not at all times. I can be your worst enemy or best friend. I am weird, but not that simple. I have realized something that I should have been realizing earlier, still seeking for true friends and for my knight in shining armour. Patiently waiting and I wish they’ll come sooner or later. I don’t believe at love at first sight, nor at times even at true love. Everyone has an individual ability to make a person happy, and I can make you happy, but sometimes I can make you cry. Some people hate me but I don’t mind them because they’re insecure. I take many pictures. I had swollen my pride; my past memories are still treasured. You are welcome in my heart and I swore I won’t forget you. Keep that curve on your face; keep smiling!

Xoxo,
Gossip Girl

♥ Rachee

cyber diary

1/22/2011

Saturday, January 22, 2011

1/22/2011

The storm

Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.

And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.

And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.

Labels: inspirational

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