Delectable Dee



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Nothing prepares us from death. When it strikes, all we could do is crumble and ask why. Too many questions left unanswered, too many regrets we wish we could justify. So many words we wish we said and all the same, we wish we hadn't spoken.

Have we all said we love you enough?

Your kindness, they will forever remain with you and the memory you've carved. The legacy of love will never be forgotten nor will your blessed heart be left to oblivion.

Already, the world is much bleaker.

It is a blessed assurance that someday, we will see each other again in the presence and the glory of our God but until we meet again, you shall be greatly missed!

Precious in the sight of the LORD is the death of his saints.
Psalms 116:15


How do you comfort someone who is going through pain you can only dare to imagine? How do you answer questions you yourself have asked for a lifetime? How do you make someone understand a logic braced by faith when logic alone doesn't make sense? How can you shelter a heart that's selflessly dying to save others from pain?

There are times when the mind and the heart goes hand in hand. But when circumstances dives to extreme and the heart drops to the abyss of grief, the mind tries to make sense of what is mad and in attempt to hold reason together, it snaps and you'd be amazed at how fast a human's defense mechanism takes over. Overnight, a new man emerges and you gasp in blatant disbelief on how both extreme personalities could possibly co-exist in one body.

I know he's still in there. Deep down, probably tired and weary, resting along with the questions that deafens and are left unanswered. I believe that with enough patience, prayers and constant love, I will get to see the blessed day he'll come back again.

When words of comfort and promises of understanding and love fall to deaf ears, what do you do? When nothing is good enough and things doesn't make sense, how will you live? When madness reigns, turning friends to enemies, sending paranoia to hunt you down, how do you go back to who you once were?

How do you forget a memory too big a milestone, it killed everything that's good? How do you start being a person after the soul's died? How do you suppose to know love after love's fled away.

What's left is a hallow and tired shell of a tragic yesterday. The broken and dry image of what once was is a bitter reflection of how dreams are when they die. Blind and senseless eyes stare back in mocking desperation. Perhaps, a remembrance of a distant longing of a distant life.


"You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book... or you take a trip... and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might generate into death): absence of pleasure.

That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children.

And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death.

Some never awaken."

- Anais Nin


They are beautiful.

My Love, they are. I can't help but sigh and marvel at them. They are such tragic beauties. Today, proud and ravishing like a peacock and I wish I can preserve them forever like they are. They more than just brightened my day. My heart swells with love and happiness. I feel so pretty and special.

Thank you.


I am surrounded by unbelievers and I have long ago given up trying to explain because the mind will go mad trying to understand what the heart refuses to see.

Because the world will hardly ever understand.

I have wrapped you in utmost care with silken threads of my dreams and have hidden you close by, where only the mystical glimmer of sunsets light your every soul. There, you age with miracles and you bath along the twilight of the dawn. You are constantly washed in fervent desire and fidelity so old and faithful, the wind serenades the trees with its song. Your every step lands a prismatic glow of showers to the throbbing hopes of my iridescent dreams. your breath binds me to you in a glorified bondage, surreal and ethereal.

Because you came along and lit up my monotonous life of dull gray and bleak white, painting sunshine anywhere your sweet caresses would land. Golden hues and blazing bronze, everything in a splash of sheer magnificence.

And because, my Love, the world will never understand, let us and let us love.


I forgot which movie it was that I watched this week but I member well what one character said.

"If it hurts, then it isn't Love."

Of all the many senseless things I've heard in my life, that was the most revolting. Love hurts. Love hurts. People bleed because of Love. People choose to die because of Love. Love, amongst all its other attributes, most certainly hurts. It can't be love if it doesn't hurt.

I simply refuse to believe that the world is overflowing with masochistic people who enjoys the bitter sting of pain just for the kicks out of it.

I know of a girl. She's very lovely and smart. She writes beautiful prose and breathes grace as she dances the world in tiptoes. I imagine her toes are as broken as the pieces that lay on the floor. With her heart as flat, like old soda, pointless, unflattering, and unrelentingly hopeful. I drank her brokenness because although we're both complete strangers, I have found kinship in her pain. But she's stopped writing, for over a year now. I would like to think that she's finally happy. That she no longer needed to bleed to write. That she no longer needed pain to sigh.

If you have read, seen and felt this emotion that binds us all lovers together, then you would know that pain is the shadow of love. To ask for love without pain would be asking to embrace a soulless devotion. A mediocre bliss and a passionless romance.

Pain doesn't defile love for the volume of pain mirrors the magnitude of love. Love cannot be defined without pain. For how can you measure happiness without a string of tears?

Even the Son of God bled and died for Love.


i am confused
emotions clouding reasons

they all try to change me
telling me of the things
i should
should not be

when i act with reason
my best isn't good enough
when i move with emotion
i'm often told
i've made the wrong decision

i've painted myself a picture
of another
i've caged myself
 a standard of me.
strengthened by mistaken acceptance i sought after
i long to see the day that i'll be free

in a double standard society
where everything's read between the lines
it's hard to stand erect
defend your position
when everybody's out to get you
dragging you
out to all direction.

on late
 quiet nights
when the world is spinning dead
my emotion's numb
my body tired,
with hollow aches pounding on my head
i strain to reach deep sleep
but slumber would just not come
feels like i'm fighting a winless battle
and my senses all loose and undone

i'm falling into a bottomless pit
darkness blinding me
i'm dying to see the new dawn
dying to have a real life of my own



I tend to shy away from anything personal while brewing something erm, should we say delectably naughty? But mind you, I have come to love that devious site despite it's being relatively fresh.

It shows my rather fondness in the art of nudity and everything crimson and eyebrow raising glamor. In short, ki-at! hahaha

So from the kick-ass links Ate Kaith posted yesterday, I found myself here and will be stalking her site, soon enough. So, Cheers! :D

Your Personality is Very Rare (INFP)
Your personality type is dreamy, romantic, elegant, and expressive.

Only about 5% of all people have your personality, including 6% of all women and 4% of all men
You are Introverted, Intuitive, Feeling, and Perceiving.

There's been an alarming discovery of some sort made and announced earlier. The risky hint that might give way to the shedding of light to my true identity of being a secret ninja has been posted here. *goes shifty eyed*

What can I do? I've been told I kick arse. Don't believe me? I have this seal to prove my arse kicking worthiness. Bwahahaha.

Kick Ass Blogger Award

With great respect and appreciation to Ate Kaith. Silliman wouldn't be a wonderful part of my life if it weren't for her. To be acknowledge to be in the same wavelength as her is truly stupendous. She's one of the true blue beautiful souls I know and admire and ZOMG *gasps* we kick ass!!

So as my duty to pass on the torch of Arse kickingness and spread the word, I present to you (there's also a possibility that they could be undercover ninjas, too) these 5 arse kickers!

JOHN - because he is a brother in Christ and he really does kick arse!

RAIN - because she's real and she bleeds for those she loves. She can most definitely kick arse!

FRANK - because he's the love of my life and we all know that love kicks arse.

NIKKI - because friends like her are the reason why it's fun to poke llamas. Haha. No, really. She's one of the best! She kicks arse! Literally!

Ate Aileen - because she does. Words are hardly enough.

(I am copy pasting this from Ate kaith's site hahah)

So my chosen, here’s what you’re supposed to do:
* Choose 5 bloggers that you feel are “Kick Ass Bloggers”
* Let ‘em know in your post or via email, twitter or blog comments that they’ve received an award
* Share the love and link back to both the person who awarded you and back to
* Hop on back to the Kick Ass Blogger Club HQ to sign Mr. Linky then pass it on!

This Ninja's got some monkey business left to do so ...yeah. *po0f*


With the moon so low
threatening to drop
I see the ebony cloud drape a mantle
over the freckles of light
and I feel the dewy caress of the wind
on my face that's glaced with tears.
I reach out only to sift frigid air
with fingers grarled from hands
clenched tightly into fists of frustrations and pains.
My arms tremble along with each silent sob I take,
my lungs scathed by ashes from yesterday's afterburn.
Darkness is a comfort.
Light has deserted me, perhaps afraid
stung with the shards of my broken cries.
I've no more tears to shed;
perhaps hope is a vanity now.