The curiosity is over. I ate it and was disappointed. Expecting it to have the texture similar to radishes – I was told that by someone who loves radishes and had eaten the fruit – I was glad that it didn’t. Distinctly flavorless as a whole, the soft black seeds give it a fun, crunchy feel in your mouth. In fact, if there was an easy way to extract the seeds, that is what I would eat instead. The white pulp around it has a somewhat gelatinous feel, at least when it’s ripe, such as this piece that I ate. As a tropical fruit, however, it has not a biting taste or sweetness that would make it unforgettable to the senses. It may, however, be a perfect diet fruit: I felt full after a couple of slices.
As beautiful as it was on the outside, and even an interesting view once undressed, I have decided this obsession is over.
I’ve been struggling these past several weeks about this blog site and what exactly it is supposed to represent and what it should represent. It’s like trying to define and place inside a tidy little box all that is you, your personality, your likes and dislikes, and everything you want to express at any given moment. Impossible for me – I am undefinable, and I don’t like to be restricted in anything.
I have been told my writings in recent months have been “dark.” This, on the surface may seem harmless as a statement, but I took it to heart, thinking I didn’t want to depress everyone or anyone who happened to read my blog (a previous one). Therefore I told myself to try and cut down, tone down, erase altogether, all the writings that were indeed dark or had a dark shade of gray. I found that, by doing so, I didn’t want to write anything at all, that something inside me wasn’t allowed to express itself, and it turned inward and became my own depression.
Then, the other day, I happened to watch a movie, Anonymous, an alternate story about Shakespeare, Queen Elizabeth, and a nobleman who wrote the works under Shakespeare’s name. It was a rather dark, thought-provoking, and awesomely shocking version of a piece of history. Writing was this nobleman’s life, his passion, the core of his existence, and yet he had to hide it because it was considered beneath his station to be a writer.
Never having considered myself a real writer, I nevertheless had an epiphany: I had let someone else’s opinion of my writings stop me from doing something that was a part of me, of something that was essential to existence, an outlet for creativity I have struggled to maintain my entire life. I realized that when someone is disturbed by what they read (journalist articles excluded) it reflects on that person’s perception and his own way of dealing with the topic written. I no longer want be judged for what I write. I will write whatever, however, and whenever I feel a need to – or maybe not write anything at all because I don’t want to, not because I am afraid to for fear of people’s opinions of me as a person.
It is the death of creativity to fear others’ opinions of your work.
I first saw this first print from the bottom of the stairs inside a dark old house in the Philippines. It was the perfect placement: as you walked closer to it the illusion changed.
Okay so I’ve never really been into the dating scene. I’ve gone from one boyfriend to the next ever since I was born. Now that I’m available to do so I find it horrendous. Maybe it’s my age, maybe it’s inexperience. I don’t like the pretense , all the falsities, all the endless chit chat to find out who you are, what you are, and if you are worth another date.
I can assess within one minute if you are 1)worth just a one time booty call 2)worth a regular booty call 3)boyfriend or husband material 4)good as a platonic friend 5)a platonic friend that I eventually want to match up with another friend or 6)someone I’d rather send to the jungles of Africa. Therefore the entire hours long date night is unnecessary unless you fall into categories #1-3.
The problem is that it’s rare to find someone who sees it that way, too, and thus uses a more direct approach. However, when that rarity occurs the likely scenario is #1 and #2. If #3 ever happens to me in this lifetime, somewhere in the world pigs are flying.
I went into a small Asian grocery store simply to see what they had as I have never been to that particular one before. It was distinctively Vietnamese as I could tell by the owners. While in line waiting to pay for the baby bok choy and Chinese broccoli (gai lan), my usual vegetables of choice, I saw these gorgeous pieces of fruit piled up everywhere. I had only seen them in movies, and there they were beckoning me with their bright pinkish red skin looking almost like artichokes. Not having eaten one before, I wondered if they needed to be steamed like artichokes and eaten the same way. I never thought about what may be inside such beautiful structures.
Apparently you peel from the center out, and what you get is freckled meat inside. I have yet to taste it as I didn’t buy one at the time, thinking it may not be an ideal situation to try out new fruit unless you are with company, especially if you are prone to allergic reactions. This looks really exciting, though, and it has infinite possibilities in use – I’ll have to look up recipes. Not only is it beautiful, its name is absolutely worthy of my obsession. Oh, dragon fruit, welcome to my world.
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Sometimes you never know how much your pets mean to you until something happens when everything else in the world stops and the moment is frozen with just you and your pet.
Such a moment happened the other morning as I half awoke to the sounds of two pomeranians – the females – roughhousing. I was too tired to get myself fully awake and separate the two so I let them duke it out until I could fully assess their injuries, which is usually not serious if any at all. A little hair pulling and scratching here and there and they are good to go afterwards.
My heart skipped a beat when I heard a familiar whining cry from one of them. It was the cry of pain, a cry I had only heard when each of my other two dogs had died, a cry as if something was pulling their soul out of their tiny little bodies. I thought it was the older one, who is about 13 years old and having breathing problems. When I turned on the lights and saw that it was the baby – actually almost two years old – I died a little inside already. She lay on her side motionless, her eyes slowly shutting, and the male dog, who is about 10 years old, was hovering over her, sniffing her.
I picked her up and screamed, “Don’t leave me!” as if I had the power to keep a living being alive simply by saying those words. I checked her over to see if she was bleeding or had any obvious injuries – there were none, and I massaged her all over in case it was a muscular freak out thing. She turned her head to me with wide eyes, a questioning look as if to say, “What the hell are you doing?” I set her down to make her walk and she looked fine.
I couldn’t leave her that morning right away as I suddenly felt guilty her shots weren’t updated and she hadn’t been examined for over a year. I took her to the vet, and she seemed even more attached to me physically as I drove; she was probably as scared as I was from the whole incident.
The vet guessed that her slipping knee cap had something to do with her falling over that morning. Pomeranians have a tendency for knee problems but she is the first one of the six I’ve had that had that problem. He recommended glucosamine (cartilage) supplements to strengthen her knees and to keep an eye on it for it may need surgery in the future. After establishing that ongoing issue, the vet gave her annual shots while saying she was such a well-behaved dog.
Well behaved. Ha! Did I mention she was the instigator of that rough play with the other dog almost twice her size? She barks and tries to run after dogs ten times her size when we’re out walking. A feisty soul lives in that petite little 5-pound frame of hers. Why does that sound familiar?
Sam Childers (Gerard Butler) just got out of prison and straight away he’s back into doing the same things he’s always done: drugging, boozing, and committing violent acts. This time, however, his wife has found religion and suddenly he finds inner turmoil. When he reaches a crisis, it is only then that he asks for help and he turns his life around.
Directed by Marc Forster (Monster’s Ball, Quantum of Solace), Machine Gun Preacher chronicles the true life of Sam Childers, a rehabilitated preacher turned savior for the orphaned children of East Africa. With a span of at least 30 years condensed into a little over 2-hour movie, screenwriter Jason Keller (of the untitled Snow White for 2012) managed to maintain a linear timeline even with the constant trips between the Sudan and Pennsylvania.
The story unravels in dual themes. While in Pennsylvania, Childers struggles to maintain his family life with his wife (Michelle Monaghan), daughter, and childhood friend (Michael Shannon) who is still plagued by drug addiction. He manages to create a business and build a church to support his family and his project of building the orphanage in the Sudan. In the Sudan, however, the more he goes the deeper he becomes involved in the fight for freedom and protection of the children of the region, the children orphaned or who have been tortured and abducted to serve as soldiers. It eventually overtakes him and he becomes estranged from his family.
While the film is a bit choppy in terms of scene flow, and you are never quite sure if there is rhyme and reason to all the chaos, the stabilizing and powerful force in the film is Gerard Butler. His passion and drive as Sam Childers bring out the empathy for the plight of the children and bring home the reality of their struggle. He expertly conveys the inner conflict brought on by having to witness the horrors of a war torn region and then coming home to a civilized society. When events become critical, you can feel his desperation and hopelessness, and then the renewal of faith.
Filmed in Africa, you feel the authenticity in the scenery and the people involved. There is enough gun battle and horrific scenes to portray the anguish without overpowering the story. The drawback to the film, however, is that it never manages to reach that climactic peak that the story builds up to, as if there is a final and ultimate resolution. Therein lies the paradox because in reality, the story continues and there is yet to be finality. The struggles of these children still exist and the political barriers that keep them from receiving help still stand.
Even if the film, as an attempt to show the world of this crisis in East Africa, disappoints by standard comparison, it should be taken almost as a documentary but mostly as an informational source to help these children and spread the word. If that isn’t enough reason, then the raw and genuine performance of Gerard Butler is worth the viewing.
The curiosity is over. I ate it and was disappointed. Expecting it to have the texture similar to radishes – I was told that by someone who loves radishes and had eaten the fruit – I was glad that it didn’t. Distinctly flavorless as a whole, the soft black seeds give it a fun, crunchy feel in your mouth. In fact, if there was an easy way to extract the seeds, that is what I would eat instead. The white pulp around it has a somewhat gelatinous feel, at least when it’s ripe, such as this piece that I ate. As a tropical fruit, however, it has not a biting taste or sweetness that would make it unforgettable to the senses. It may, however, be a perfect diet fruit: I felt full after a couple of slices.
Violetmystique 