Anne is an orphan girl who found for herself a home in Green Gables and in the hearts of the people of Avonlea.  For a girl who has lived most of her young life in an orphanage, she considers Avonlea a paradise and a haven for her unbridled thoughts.  Though thin and frail, she has got a big mouth and a sharp wit that compensated for a childhood characterized by desertion, poverty and the unmet need to identify with a family of her own.  Always kept company by her unfettered imaginations inspired by her charming sentimentality, she manages to survive the difficulties that

I  was in fourth-year high school when I got hold of a copy of Gone with the Wind. I barely knew anything about the book except that there was a series playing on TV with the same title. What I remembered, though, was the infamous line uttered by the dashing Rhett Butler, “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.”

          A Hong Kong expat named Frank Cancelloni related his first impression of Filipinos as “domestic helpers or singers abroad”. He even had a part-time “Filipina maid” who came to his apartment few times a week. 

With the growing agitating report from people who said to have been much offended by my website, so I've decided today, just for today, to be nice and write only about wholesome literature.

I. The Poster

For full article, please click this link to Manila Bulletin. 

Music can make the world a much more bearable place, definitely. We couldn’t live without other people's music and making our own.- Gary Lightbody

 
A fishbone had been stuck somewhere in between my pharynx and epiglottis, so I guess. it has been there for two days now and it’s so awful to imagine swallowing eternally rice balls for a cure. (At least you’ll gain a few pounds for that-Mr. Standard). I couldn’t bear so much of the chewing but for the pain of gulping down because of that little fishbone which surreptitiously entered my system.

If I start to hear rhythmic whistling in my ears as if in a hiatus of moment in Kill Bill where in a split of second the tendering slices of the samurai upon unnamed and unheard antagonists spurts out splashes of the red ink on cam in an endless bloodbath, I also try to find ways to live out an addiction of inexplicable wandering. I try to burden my back with my bulky mailbag and sore the toes of my feet with this striding-along-addiction with a matter of miles in mind to and from points of departure and arrival. (Weird for you, normal for a natural weirdo.)