Here, there and everywhere! ^o^>"

Name Game *~*~*~*~*~* Birthdate: July 30, 2008 Originally, we wanted to name him (yes, a 'him, not an 'it'.. ^__^) Rain because it was raining when we went on our first ride. But we dismissed the idea. We didn't want him to be associated with the Taiwanese actor plus the shampoo.. xD The next name I suggested was Shiro. But Arvin declined the name before I could even explain the etymology. He said he saw a lot of black motorbikes with the name 'Shiro' on them. So I asked: "Should we name him Kuro instead?".. -_-; In Japanese: Shiro = white, Kuro = black Aside from colors and weather, we had lots of ideas for our bike's name. We thought of rockstars' names such as Axel (Rose) or Scott (Stapp). Name him after seasons like Winter or Summer (but I told him that Ady wants to name her future baby Summer so it's definitely a no-no). Winter was OK, since he's white, but I wanted it to be more original so I suggested Snow or Yuki. But we really think our bike's a 'he' so Snow and Yuki are out because they sound feminine (at least to us). After wrestling over the names, Arvin finally said: "I want it to be a name that has 'first' in it.." and I said "OK.." I couldn't be happier. Haha, fate's scheme.. xD Meet Shinichi, our first born.. <3 Shinichi = beloved first born Noda Megumi won. Ne, {my.chiaki}? {my.chiaki} - Arvin's name on my phone. Chiaki Shinichi - Chiaki senpai's name.. .. But my brother thought it was from Detective Conan's Kudo Shinichi. Oh well, Oguri Shun played Shinichi-kun, so I'm still happy.. ^___^ Also meet Megumi, my helmet.. ^O^/"/ *-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-* I miss these guys.. T___T Hope to see you soon! :)

Banzai randomness!! x D

SPOILERS ALERT! Play this first: (Then i realized They Kissed Again, the Taiwanese version, really copied everything. Almost word per word.. -__-;) -o-o-o-o-o-o-o- Manga updates: Nodame Cantabile left me hanging.. Doushite Shinichi-kun, doushite?! T__T Koukou Debut made me smile.. ^__^ I'm not done with the following: Bleach Vampire Knight Claymore Must finish! -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o On a happier note, I think it'll be my first time of buying something from Ebay.ph.. I wanted Banana Yoshimoto's Kitchen badly that I was ready to dash into the nearest Power Books right after I confirmed this cut-off's pay.. (Teehee.. :D) Good thing Marnellie, my bibo Ebay Agent, showed me her Ebay account and voila, there it was. The hot pink-u book.. :D Yeah, I know, it's no longer spanking brand new. There wouldn't be that "newly opened book" scent that I love but hey, when I saw the picture of the book I imagined it screaming to me: "Kyaaaaaaaaaa, tasukete, tasukete!" So there.. I'm buying it.. For p200.00 when the brandnew one would cost me p459.00.. :D Arigatou, Marnellie.. ^___^ Next: Murakami and Gaiman's books.. ahahaha.. xD There she is! :) jarethshop's photo of Kitchen I'm still waiting for the bidding to finish.. ^__^ -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Tagged.. ^__^

Found this on my desktop, i forgot who I got it from though.. :D -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- The Rules: 1. Each blogger starts with ten random facts/habits about themselves. 2. Bloggers that are tagged need to write on their own blog about their ten things and post these rules. 3. At the end of your blog, you need to choose ten people to get tagged and list their names. 4. Don't forget to leave them a comment telling they're tagged, and to read your blog. 1. My hair is unkempt, most of the time. When I introduce myself, I sometimes say, "Look for the girl with the messy hair, that's me." 2. I love Japanese culture. I'd love to dress like a Geisha, meet a samurai, meet an actual ninja, watch the sakura, wear a yukata and a kimono, go to a festival, see the fireworks, ride bulle trains, etc etc. The list can go on and on. 3. Of course, when you love Japanese culture, chances that you're an anime lover and you're learning Nihongo are bigger than life. I'm guilty. 4. I love hats and caps. Boys' cap, baseball cap, bonnets, fisherman's hat, driver's hat. My collection is still growing. 5. I know how to touch-up photos in Adobe Photoshop. I also do and exhange wallpapers and lay-outs with my friends. One of my frustrations is to learn how to airbrush and do vectors in Illustrator. I'm drooling for a pen tablet! 6. My greatest frustration is my career. I never wanted to be stuck as a call center agent. Don't get me wrong, it has grown into me, taking calls that is, and I am very grateful of the financial stability it brings. But if given a chance, I'd really really love to write scripts and produce/ direct an Indie film with my friends. 7. Green tea has gotten into me. My favorie scent is Green Tea from Bench which I've been using way back college, my favorite drink is Hazelnut Green Tea Frappuccino (i have Mari to give credits for this though :D), my room smells like Green Tea from Glade (though it's messy ALL THE TIME). 8. You'll never see a piece of paper that is considered mine (so that leaves books and notes i borrowed safe!) that doesn't have a doodle of a flower or a four-leaf clover. When my mind wonders off somewhere, my hand seems to automatically draw them. 9. I admire people with beautiful hands more than people with beautiful eyes, hair, nose, lips, etc.. I honestly don't know why. 10. If I do baby-talking with you, don't be upset. That only means I find you really really comfortable to be with and I think of you as a friend. Otherwise, it's just the normal talk. Tagging: Arvin, Ady, Jen, Nellie, Wywy, Mari, Ria, Rai, Enil, Nathan

むらかみ (Murakami, in hiragana..)

One beautiful April morning, on a narrow side street in Tokyo's fashionable Harujuku neighborhood, I walked past the 100% perfect girl. Tell you the truth, she's not that good-looking. She doesn't stand out in any way. Her clothes are nothing special. The back of her hair is still bent out of shape from sleep. She isn't young, either - must be near thirty, not even close to a "girl," properly speaking. But still, I know from fifty yards away: She's the 100% perfect girl for me. The moment I see her, there's a rumbling in my chest, and my mouth is as dry as a desert. Maybe you have your own particular favorite type of girl - one with slim ankles, say, or big eyes, or graceful fingers, or you're drawn for no good reason to girls who take their time with every meal. I have my own preferences, of course. Sometimes in a restaurant I'll catch myself staring at the girl at the next table to mine because I like the shape of her nose. But no one can insist that his 100% perfect girl correspond to some preconceived type. Much as I like noses, I can't recall the shape of hers - or even if she had one. All I can remember for sure is that she was no great beauty. It's weird. "Yesterday on the street I passed the 100% girl," I tell someone. "Yeah?" he says. "Good-looking?" "Not really." "Your favorite type, then?" "I don't know. I can't seem to remember anything about her - the shape of her eyes or the size of her breasts." "Strange." "Yeah. Strange." "So anyhow," he says, already bored, "what did you do? Talk to her? Follow her?" "Nah. Just passed her on the street." She's walking east to west, and I west to east. It's a really nice April morning. Wish I could talk to her. Half an hour would be plenty: just ask her about herself, tell her about myself, and - what I'd really like to do - explain to her the complexities of fate that have led to our passing each other on a side street in Harajuku on a beautiful April morning in 1981. This was something sure to be crammed full of warm secrets, like an antique clock build when peace filled the world. After talking, we'd have lunch somewhere, maybe see a Woody Allen movie, stop by a hotel bar for cocktails. With any kind of luck, we might end up in bed. Potentiality knocks on the door of my heart. Now the distance between us has narrowed to fifteen yards. How can I approach her? What should I say? "Good morning, miss. Do you think you could spare half an hour for a little conversation?" Ridiculous. I'd sound like an insurance salesman. "Pardon me, but would you happen to know if there is an all-night cleaners in the neighborhood?" No, this is just as ridiculous. I'm not carrying any laundry, for one thing. Who's going to buy a line like that? Maybe the simple truth would do. "Good morning. You are the 100% perfect girl for me." No, she wouldn't believe it. Or even if she did, she might not want to talk to me. Sorry, she could say, I might be the 100% perfect girl for you, but you're not the 100% boy for me. It could happen. And if I found myself in that situation, I'd probably go to pieces. I'd never recover from the shock. I'm thirty-two, and that's what growing older is all about. We pass in front of a flower shop. A small, warm air mass touches my skin. The asphalt is damp, and I catch the scent of roses. I can't bring myself to speak to her. She wears a white sweater, and in her right hand she holds a crisp white envelope lacking only a stamp. So: She's written somebody a letter, maybe spent the whole night writing, to judge from the sleepy look in her eyes. The envelope could contain every secret she's ever had. I take a few more strides and turn: She's lost in the crowd. Now, of course, I know exactly what I should have said to her. It would have been a long speech, though, far too long for me to have delivered it properly. The ideas I come up with are never very practical. Oh, well. It would have started "Once upon a time" and ended "A sad story, don't you think?" Once upon a time, there lived a boy and a girl. The boy was eighteen and the girl sixteen. He was not unusually handsome, and she was not especially beautiful. They were just an ordinary lonely boy and an ordinary lonely girl, like all the others. But they believed with their whole hearts that somewhere in the world there lived the 100% perfect boy and the 100% perfect girl for them. Yes, they believed in a miracle. And that miracle actually happened. One day the two came upon each other on the corner of a street. "This is amazing," he said. "I've been looking for you all my life. You may not believe this, but you're the 100% perfect girl for me." "And you," she said to him, "are the 100% perfect boy for me, exactly as I'd pictured you in every detail. It's like a dream." They sat on a park bench, held hands, and told each other their stories hour after hour. They were not lonely anymore. They had found and been found by their 100% perfect other. What a wonderful thing it is to find and be found by your 100% perfect other. It's a miracle, a cosmic miracle. As they sat and talked, however, a tiny, tiny sliver of doubt took root in their hearts: Was it really all right for one's dreams to come true so easily? And so, when there came a momentary lull in their conversation, the boy said to the girl, "Let's test ourselves - just once. If we really are each other's 100% perfect lovers, then sometime, somewhere, we will meet again without fail. And when that happens, and we know that we are the 100% perfect ones, we'll marry then and there. What do you think?" "Yes," she said, "that is exactly what we should do." And so they parted, she to the east, and he to the west. The test they had agreed upon, however, was utterly unnecessary. They should never have undertaken it, because they really and truly were each other's 100% perfect lovers, and it was a miracle that they had ever met. But it was impossible for them to know this, young as they were. The cold, indifferent waves of fate proceeded to toss them unmercifully. One winter, both the boy and the girl came down with the season's terrible inluenza, and after drifting for weeks between life and death they lost all memory of their earlier years. When they awoke, their heads were as empty as the young D. H. Lawrence's piggy bank. They were two bright, determined young people, however, and through their unremitting efforts they were able to acquire once again the knowledge and feeling that qualified them to return as full-fledged members of society. Heaven be praised, they became truly upstanding citizens who knew how to transfer from one subway line to another, who were fully capable of sending a special-delivery letter at the post office. Indeed, they even experienced love again, sometimes as much as 75% or even 85% love. Time passed with shocking swiftness, and soon the boy was thirty-two, the girl thirty. One beautiful April morning, in search of a cup of coffee to start the day, the boy was walking from west to east, while the girl, intending to send a special-delivery letter, was walking from east to west, but along the same narrow street in the Harajuku neighborhood of Tokyo. They passed each other in the very center of the street. The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts. Each felt a rumbling in their chest. And they knew: She is the 100% perfect girl for me. He is the 100% perfect boy for me. But the glow of their memories was far too weak, and their thoughts no longer had the clarity of fouteen years earlier. Without a word, they passed each other, disappearing into the crowd. Forever. A sad story, don't you think? Yes, that's it, that is what I should have said to her. On seeing the 100% perfect girl one beautiful April morning by Haruki Murakami -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- I am deeply in love with Murakami. *sigh* I'm definitely buying my own copy of his books. All of them, if I may say. Next will be Banana Yoshimoto and Neil Gaiman (wow, haha!) .. ^__^ Nyuuuuuuu~!