Mochi US/UK!

Because I am such a Hetalia freak and I adore US/UK more than anything there. XD

4 o'clock

Woot. XD I am so not an artist! But then if you look at my notebooks and test papers they’re full of mochis just like this. XD

The Dream

Another fail poem, written last year for English class. It had to be something Japanese-ish, so all I could think of were sakura petals, hehe.

A flower falls into your mind
Soft and pink, a
Cherry-blossom dream
Of thorny vines and twisted branches
Illogical, untamed
Not bound
By any futile human laws.

Dream up a rose, petals pure and white
Unstained by the blood
Of society’s crimes,
An ant, marching steadily on
In the face of danger
And problems much larger than he.
Dream of the sky, painted blue
Or white or grey or star-covered black
Or its purple despair as the sun turns away.
Capture every moment,
Imprison them in your memories
Replay the scenes
And dream of this:

A flower falls into your mind
Soft and pink,
Cherry-blossom poetry
Of freedom and despair,
Innocence and scars.
All this beauty
So close, within our grasp,
Yet far beyond our reach.

COSPLAY CONTEST WOOT

Yes so during the Pisay Fair ‘10, there’ll be a cosplay contest organised by moi. :3

There is no particular theme for it, so you can go as an anime character, a book character, film character- any sort of character, really!

Sign up sheets will be posted within the week! Please join!

Renaissance

Yeah, sucky poem that I wrote last year when I was uninspired (yeah, it does look like it, doesn’t it?).

Walk, for a little while
In the cemetery of ideas
The graveyard of thoughts
and whispering murmurs of
inspiration.
Walk, see, feel
The shadows of lost thoughts
The cold, bitter grasp
Of the dead that refuse to be put to rest.
See what you once loved so much
What you have forgotten
And left to rot.
Bring back to life your inspiration
Seek again the moments that were lost
Watch your graveyard disappear
And free your thoughts
Free your soul, from
merciless, merciless death.

And for the Filipino translation which I got a relatively high grade for:

Maglakad, kahit kaunting oras lang
Sa sementeryo ng mga ideya
Ang libingan ng isip
At mga bumubulong na aliw-iw ng
Inspirasyon.
Maglakad, tingnan, damdamin
Ang mga anino ng lumang ideya
Ang malamig at mapait na sunggab
Ng mga patay na ayaw pa ring manahimik
Tingnan ang dati mong minahal
Ang iyong nakalimutan
At naiwang nabubulok.
Buhayin muli ang iyong inspirasyon
Hanapin muli ang mga nawalang panahon
Panoorin mong mawala ang iyong libingan
At palayain ang iyong isip
Palayain ang iyong kaluluwa, sa
walang-awang, walang-habag na kamatayan.

And… yeah. That’s it. No idea why the English title is Renaissance, but then again in a fit of giggles I named the Filipino version Campo Santo. XD XD

Lullabye for a Stormy Night

Yeah, the one by Vienna Teng. I got so inspired by her song that I changed my blog to match it.

Lyrics here.
Song here.

It’s such a beautiful song, really, and I can’t believe I never heard it before now! I had to download a US/UK FST to hear it. :3 It’s really a wonderful piece of literature, and well… Even if it weren’t a song, I’d love it so much. It’s so poetic and meaningful and innocent and sweet… Argh. XD It’s just lovely.

Anyway, picture credits for the header- haha. I took the picture. A bunch of Lobelia in Kew Gardens. I have other pretty Lobelia photos but this one suited the whole ‘lullabye’ thing more.

Also, is it “lullabye” or “lullaby”? Both seem right, but I’m not sure.

The Most Inaccurate Personality Test Ever

For me, at least.

And I say again, WHAT?

Protected: A Short Rant

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Some Plugging of Ship. :P

Love!

From http://fan.nocturnal-romance.net/love/

This is a sticky post, so please scroll down to check the others!

Blazhenstvo; Part 1: Aleksandr; Prologue

And I have come up with yet another story. This is part of my Inkwell homework. Featured here are Aleksandr, his brother Mikhail, and his could-be-friend Dmitri. Yay.

It was four in the morning. Aleksandr woke up suddenly, disoriented, but the moment of confusion passed quickly and he found himself feeling unnaturally warm. Turning his head to the side, he smelled the sharpness of alcohol on his still sleeping brother’s breath and wrinkled his nose, carefully pulling away from the tangled mess of their blankets. He brushed his fingers against the newly-formed bruise on Mikhail’s forehead from when he had collapsed on the floor in a dead faint. He never could hold his liquor.

Standing up, Aleksandr took his blanket and silently made his way over to the living room, dropping into the couch with a great sigh and closing his eyes.

It was five hours later that he was woken again, this time by bright sunlight streaming through the windows and the smell of freshly made breakfast.

“Glad you were considerate enough to sleep on the couch,” Mikhail said, bringing two plates of steaming food to the table. “It’s nice to see you have manners for once.”

“Thank you,” Aleksandr replied simply. “But we used to share often-”

“We were children, Sanya. It was a long time ago.” The normally sweet voice held a note of cruelty, and not for the first time Aleksandr wondered where his kind, polite little brother had gone.

“Misha…”

“Look, it’s Saturday morning, I am very much hung over, and the last thing I really want is to be having a nice heart to heart conversation with you about the past. Just eat, and then go out and do whatever it is you do on weekends.”

He did as he was told.

~

The old bookstore was empty again, save for himself, the owner, and another man. Dmitri Petrov, if Aleksandr recalled correctly. A fellow soldier, imposing and darkly handsome. He didn’t have Aleksandr’s impressive height or build, but Dmitri had a certain grace and confidence that Aleksandr, with his pale, too-sharp features, couldn’t hope to achieve.

“Good morning, gospodin Reznikov,” Dmitri greeted politely.

“Gospodin Petrov.”

“What brings you here?” he asked disinterestedly. Aleksandr took no notice.

“Ah, I am on leave, staying with my brother,” he replied, smiling a little. “He is a student at the university.”

“Good, good. Excellent.” Dmitri’s eyes were scanning the bookshelf behind Aleksandr. “I’m happy for you. I on leave as well; I just arrived today.”

“Any news from the base?”

Dmitri started and stared at Aleksandr. “News? Oh, no, nothing much.” He turned away, running his fingers over a tattered old book. “Have you read this?”

Aleksandr squinted to make out the faded title. The Merchant of Venice. “Shakespeare. Yes, I have. It is beautiful.” His face broke into a wide grin. “You must read it.”

Dmitri hummed, carefully extracting the fragile book from the shelf. He stared at it for a few moments, brushing the dust away, before he spoke.

“There have been rumours, of course.”

The pale man stopped, startled. He had not expected his companion to continue speaking to him. “What rumours?”

Dmitri lowered his voice even further. “There have been talks of a disagreement between Prime Minister Leonov and Britain’s Prime Minister Watson. You know how hot-tempered both of them are- it’s entirely possible that this could escalate into something much worse.”

Aleksandr lost the little colour he had in his cheeks. “You mean… a war?”

“No, not necessarily. But if it does happen, we may not stand a chance. You know America will side with Britain, and possibly everyone else along with them.”

“Russia is strong. It will not be too bad, I think.”

Dmitri stared at Aleksandr, shaking his head in amazement. “You are so innocent, Reznikov. Far too innocent for this line of work.”

Aleksandr simply smiled.

… And there you have it. Two pages worth of utter… worthlessness. I’m planning to rewrite it soon, I’m just fleshing out the plot and the characters, really. The title is (from what I have researched) Russian for bliss. I’ll upload their character sheets sometime soon, I think.

Letter to Papa Doc

Dear Papa Doc,

It’s almost Christmas! I can’t believe I haven’t gotten you something. I thought I didn’t need to, which is sad. Just because this will be my second Christmas without you doesn’t mean that you won’t really be around.

I had a dream about you just a few minutes ago. Well, it technically was a nightmare, but the nightmare part wasn’t about you. It never could be.

In my dream you were alive and with us again. In my dream you started out strong and happy, as usual, but then while we were walking along the street you started to stumble. I caught you before you fell into a canal. You were so light, I swing you right back up with ease. Then you were happy again, but your strength had gone. Physically, you were just a shadow of what you once were, but you were as funny and intelligent as always.

In my dream you showed me a book you had written when I wasn’t even a year old. It was an old handwritten book, and it looked a lot like Dr. Seuss, only better because it was you.

To my dearest granddaughter Isa, I don’t know what to get you this Christmas. You’re so tiny and cute, I think I’ll give you a particle because it’s small like you. . <- There’s your particle. When you’re older I’ll give you a mass, because then you’ll have grown. O <- Now there’s your mass in advance.

It was the strangest thing I’d ever read, but it was one of the most beautiful things I’d ever seen. Your intelligence, love and wacky humour permeated every letter and loop, and for some reason your crazy handwriting was as clear to me as day. In that moment, I understood how much you cared and how you’d never, ever leave me.

This may have happened all in my imagination, but I know that even in reality, not even death can ever bring our family apart. Nothing can. You left us, with express instructions to stick together no matter what. I don’t think you needed to tell us that, to be honest.

You wrote before you died, a line from the Bible. You have fought the good fight, you have finished the race, you have kept the faith.

Well, so have we.

Happy Christmas!

Loving you so very very much,

Isa <3