So I was just reading around other people’s blogs, and read this specific entry about not being happy anymore. I don’t mean to give unsolicited advice, but somehow, in my idealistically childish way, I believe that when you commit to a relationship, you don’t only stay for the good times. You don’t love just to be happy.
Love, and loving truly entails suffering and sacrifice. And if anyone can’t bear the thought of that, then maybe that person just isn’t really made for love at all.
Then again, it’s probably just me.
Had early lunch at Yellow Cab before watching X-Men: First Class. :D My love affair with cheese has never been so strengthened. ♥
For a self-confessed animé fan, I’d have to admit that it took me so long to attend my very first convention. And yes, this is it, my first venture into the crazy world of animé conventions. I do hope it turns into a habit soon enough, as the wandering around is all worth it.
Anyway, my cousins and I attended ToyCon’s second day, with my sister Dindin, dressed as Amane Misa, my cousin Camille dressed as Hatsune Miku, and my other cousins Mark and Jaime dressed both as Uchiha Sasuke (but in their older and younger versions, respectively). Camille was almost an instant hit with the con-goers, with her tall and slender frame. I watched in awe and fascination as people lined up one by one to ask for a photo with her. Now I finally understood what made cosplayers so intoxicated with their craft. Their love for the character they portray is one thing, but the feeling of seeing other people appreciate the result of their hardwork is another. And perhaps, that is the most rewarding.
Another thing I just realized about conventions is that, yes, it actually is really tiring. I had always imagined that given the not-so-expansive nature of these venues, walking around wouldn’t be too much of a problem. But then again, it’s no joke to walk around in the same place for hours, with virtually no seats you could occupy, only stopping every now and then to pose, take photos, and chat with fellow con-goers. Makes me admire those who attend these cons in their high-heeled boots, pumps, or any other similar torture-inducing footwear. Such endurance.
Speaking of endurance, I have long been enduring my aching back, shaky legs, and stiff fingers for a while now. Hmmm, I guess this is the part where I retire and resign myself to slumber. Hoho. :D
A belief I hold dear to my heart. :)
Pissed off. Based from recent personal experience.
So as I was bloghopping, I chanced upon this article by Tim Rogers. Who he is, I don’t know, but there’s something about what he wrote on Japan that piqued my interest.
I love Japan. Well, not entirely, but I love their idols in wimpy boybands, even when they can’t hit a tune, or act to save their lives. I love how their music seems to be brimming with positivity, with songs about blue skies, friendship, and finding love. I love how their skyscrapers and cityscapes look like on postcards, how Tokyo seems to glitter at night. I would love to see cherry blossoms fall in spring.
And I think, maybe that’s it. Maybe I do love something because I haven’t been there, or I haven’t been there long enough to experience everything, good or bad, it has to offer. Maybe that’s why I hate the local mainstream, seeing telenovelas on primetime drama, or crappy, recycled-for-the-nth time-scripts on locally-produced, low-budget romance/comedy films. Maybe that’s why the idea of seeing independent and underground-produced material seems much more appealing. Because it’s not on the regular menu. It’s not something we’re used to.
I do think it goes the same way with visiting new places. Somehow, there’s this magical feeling of standing on newly-discovered land. Simply put, being a tourist. A tourist’s point-of-view is very limited, restricted only to the things he/she wants to see. Tourists only see the pretty things, the postcard-scenes, and wherever the tourguide leads them to. Maybe this is why when people start living in the world of their dreams, reality hits them like a ton of bricks, that maybe Fantasyland isn’t such a fantasy after all. Like everywhere else, there would be rude people, a suffocating amount of cigarette smoke, a missing item on your-much-needed grocery haul at the nearby convenience store, and maybe the very thing you like about that place would be the very thing you hate, in just a few months’ time.
And it’s not so hard to picture, actually. I think of people living and working in the US, and everyday life doesn’t seem to be too much like Disneyland, either.
Just received my books yesterday during the enrollment. There are still two missing from the set, but carrying all of them yesterday = TORTURE. My fingers started turning red after just a few minutes.
Somehow though, I felt a sense of euphoria, staring at my Form 5. This was the result of hardwork, months and months of trying to catch up with my regular blockmates, and surviving grueling final exams and sleepless nights during the summer. This was it.
This was what I wished for. What I worked for. What I prayed for.
Finally. I’m back.
