It’s That Time of the Year

February 11th, 2006 by galileogirl

Yep, February. That month. School’s almost winding up and finals are soon in coming.

Why do we not write when we’re happy? I’m writing now, does that mean I’m unhappy? No. Unhappy’s not the word. Just…melancholy, at least for the time being.

I don’t know everything. Nor will I ever know it all. I am not the first nor will I be the last. I am not indispensable. I’m not a constant. But I can be guarded. I can be hard. I can choose to change the lock on the door. The next time, fall like the first time? Maybe, but likely never again.

I’m not as flippant as I seem.

Cosmic Profile part 2

February 2nd, 2006 by galileogirl

The SAGITTARIUS Woman

"Then it doesn’t matter which way you walk," said the Cat.

"-So long as I get somewhere,"

Alice added as an explanation.

"Oh, you’re sure to do that," said the Cat,

"if you only -walk long enough."

She’s not always going to say the kind of things you want to hear. Most of the time, she’ll curl your sideburns with her remarkable, flat statements and her embarrassing ques­tions. But now and then she’ll say something so special and splendid it will make you feel like singing.

You may need a sample. Scene: Coffee shop. You’ve just gotten up the courage to tell her you love her, but before you can say it, she looks at you with wide-open, guileless blue eyes-or forthright, steady brown ones- and asks you curiously, "How do you feel about being so short? Does it make you neurotic or anything?" While you’re gulping, trying manfully to recover, she’ll add, "You shouldn’t care about it. Lots of men were short. Like Napoleon. And Fiorello LaGuardia." That’s almost adding insult to injury, but before you get a chance to walk out, thinking no woman ever deserved such ungallant treatment more, shell muse dreamily, "I hate men who look like bean poles. You’re perfect. I noticed when we were walking over here tonight-we measure just right together."

Sit back down. You’re staying. For a long time. A friendly, frank Sagittarius girl has just wound herself around your heart with her own, peculiar brand of charm. She’ll always be a little outspoken, because she sees the world exactly as it is, even while she’s wearing those ridiculous, rose-tinted glasses. That, you must admit, is quite a talent. It’s not everyone who can apply clear, reasonable logic to every situation, and retain the happy faculty of believing things will get better or else deciding to accept them^or what they are.

Sagittarius females are regular Pollyannas. It will cut when she tells you she wishes you would make more money, but then she’ll add, "Of course, too much money can make people selfish. Maybe it’s lucky that you’re poor." Admittedly, it’s sort of a left-handed optimism, but you’ll get used to it. This girt will never lie to you. Some­times, you may wish she would. Show curiosity about how she spends the nights you’re not with her, and you’ll get a detailed, perfectly honest report of the letters she writes to that handsome intern she met last summer on her vacation and how many dates she turns down on the phone. She may even relate her troubles with insomnia, brought on when she lies awake at night wondering if maybe what she feels for you is friendship instead of love. You’ll feel like yelling at her, "For Pete’s sake, lie a little once in a while, can’t you? A man has his pride." Don’t yell too loud. You’ll offend her, and she’s not exactly noncombustible herself. Sagittarius girls have been known to fly into some pretty fiery rages.

She will probably live alone. Sagittarius girls are very • independent, and both sexes have a strange aloofness to family ties. Maybe it’s because they travel so much, they don’t get home often enough to get to know their families well. Even if they only travel to the movies and girl friends’ houses, they’re restlessly on the go. I don’t want to frighten you, but I once knew a Sagittarius woman so unaware of the nuances of family relationships that she invited her rejected beau to come along on her honeymoon with her new husband. The poor thing looked so lonesome. He said he’d pay his own way. Why are you looking at her like that? Did she do something wrong?

There’s one thing you’ll have to learn right away, or the relationship will never get off the ground. When you want her to do something, ask her. Don’t tell her. The cave man technique went out with Tarzan and Jane, as far as she’s concerned. She enjoys being protected, but she doesn’t want to be ordered around. Not even her mother gets away with that. Who are you, that you should top her mother? She may have an Aries mother, and if a Mars woman can’t boss her around, no male on earth is going to do it. However, there’s a queer twist to her nature. Although she dislikes being bossed, especially in public, when she’s testing you for firmness, be firm. Jupiter women can’t stand weak, wishy-washy men. If she gets too high-spirited and her clever tongue gets too sarcastic, or she threatens some action that really incenses you, give her a light touch of the Tarzan treatment. Just enough to keep her in line. Like "You do that and I’ll break your neck." She may react with surprising meekness if she thinks you’re serious. A Sagittarius female has no in-tendon of giving up her individuality for any male, but she kind of likes to know you think of her as a girl.

j   She may confuse you, but that’s nothing to what she does | to herself. Many a Sagittarius girl mistakes friendship for | love and love for friendship. If you’re one of those old-| fashioned men who prefer evasiveness and timidity in your i women, you’d better look for another Bingo partner. This young lady has bright, frank ways with men, and she’s not going to play any silly games of "Guess how I feell" or "Guess what I think!" How she feels and what she thinks are identical with how she acts and what she says. Her outspoken bluntness naturally causes misunderstand­ings, and a good share of fiery battles, let alone hurt feel­ings, but it doesn’t crush her spirit. Jupiter pride comes to the surface and rescues her in a crisis, allowing her to pass off her heartache as the biggest joke of the season. Inside, she may be weeping, but she’ll employ such clever wit in answering the questions of friends about the break that they’ll decide the whole affair was a harmless flirtation on her part. Little will they guess how she soaks her pillow every night, wondering what she could possibly have said that fractured everything. It might have been when she told him not to stop by her apartment the time he called from the lobby around midnight-because she was "busy talking with a man who had a few problems." Actually, the man was her brother-in-law, but with the peculiar Sagit­tarius twist of leaving out the core of the story, she neg­lected to mention that. Why should she have to explain herself? (All Sagittarians show a raging, righteous anger when their integrity is doubted.) Or it could have been when he asked her if she minded him bringing his little sister along to the movies and she blurted out, "Gosh, I hope that doesn’t mean she’s going to be hanging around all the time when we’re married." She may have sincerely liked the young girl, but the natural Sagittarian fear of being suffocated by in-laws brought on her thoughtless and forthright statement. Now she misses his sister as much as the man, but it’s too late to explain what she meant. Besides, no one would understand.

Impasses like this are impossible for her to fathom, for all her logical mental processes, and often lead the Jupiter girl into a never-never land of romance, not knowing where the fire might flame up, or why, and afraid of being burned when it does. Then she’ll play it too cool and be unable to take anyone seriously, least of all herself. She’ll flirt openly, but without any intention of making it a lasting or a forever thing, and gain the reputation of a cold heartless female. A fire sign is never cold or heartless, but then there are a lot of astrologically ignorant men out there who don’t know that. If such a state of affairs should happen to lead to spinsterhood, she certainly won’t be a dry and bitter old maid. She’ll still clown with life and have a barrel of fun. She’ll have a dozen interests to replace a man-and enjoy every one of them.

Of course, you’re not interested in a Sagittarian spinster. You plan to make one your wife someday. (At least, I hope you have honorable intentions. This poor girl has enough problems without you setting out to seduce her.) Let’s stop dwelling on promiscuity, and think about mar­riage. Like the male Sagittarian, she’s a little skittish about wedlock. You’ll need to use some bright, colorful pieces of tinsel as bait to get her pinned down (to accepting your proposal, that is). She’s breezy and unconventional in her relationships with men. Since she considers herself your equal, she may copy your mannerisms, as well as wear your sweater. If she also likes sports and camping, as lots of Sagittarian females do, you may have trouble dis­tinguishing her from the boys. But she’s not the same. For one thing, your sweater looks different on her. Not that Jupiter women are offensively masculine by nature. They can be the softest, most feminine women you ever squeezed. It’s just that she pals around with so many men you get used to seeing her in the crowd-everywhere but in the . steam room and the gym. Since she’s so scrupulously hon­est and aboveboard, she may be a little careless of her reputation and contemptuous of the hypocrisy demanded by society. If you question her about it, she’ll be plain-spoken. She’ll probably t«U you that waltzing in at mid­night doesn’t indicate promiscuity any more than coming home at a more conventional hour indicates innocence. She knows her morals are above reproach, and that’s all that matters. Naturally she’s dead wrong. What other people think matters very much to a female reputation. But try to understand her attitude. Don’t think she’s fast and loose just because she laughs at a few jokes, usually with­out the slightest idea of what they’re all about (the sub­tlety of the double-entendre often escapes Sagittarius). So- she stays up to watch the sunrise from the George Wash­ington Bridge (or from the top of a silo, if you live in the country)-that doesn’t mean she’s the wildest girl in town.

The truth is, she’s a trusting child at heart. Her outlook is so naive it makes her vulnerable to wolves, con artists and phonies (though oddly enough, not in other areas, just in romance). Forget about how cleverly she argues and how startlingly logical she can be. All that has nothing to do with her heart. Her mind isn’t under discussion. It’s bright and intelligent, and well able to take care of itself in any emergency. But her heart is defenseless. It falls down and gets bruised quite often.

That’s another thing. She’s slightly clumsy. At times when the Sagittarius girl strides down the street like a thoroughbred horse, you’ll think she’s the most graceful woman you’ve ever watched-until she stumbles on a crack in the sidewalk, awkwardly grabs the awning over the fruit stand to catch her balance and upsets two crates of oranges. The owner may swear a little, but hell soon shrug his shoulders, tell her to skip it, and hand her some grapes. The sunny Sagittarian disposition can melt the hardest hearts. Now and then, this girl will remind you of a clumsy puppy dog, wagging its friendly tail, and walking all over your feet. But then friendly puppy dogs do get lots of people to love them and feed them. Of course, dogs are a little cheaper to feed. The typical Jupiter girl has a large appetite. She likes good food and wine, nice clothes, and when she travels, she likes to go first class. Sagittarians are extravagant by nature (unless the Moon is in Capricorn or there’s a Virgo ascendant). Money for the sake of money doesn’t interest them, and it takes quite a bit of training to teach most of them the meaning of a dollar bill. Check her ascendant carefully before you loan her your credit card.

The Sagittarian girl you’re involved with may be in show business, because lots of them are drawn by the lure of the footlights. If so, start out on the right foot by expecting her to put her career first, until she tires of it. The sweet sound of applause and the thrill of the encore will ring in her ears with more conviction than all the ro­mantic phrases you can conjure up. Never force her to choose between pleasing you and the excitement of pleasing whole gobs of people at once with her sunshine personality. After a while she’ll grow disgusted with the hypocrisy and artificial glitter she finds all around her in the world of show business, and she’ll come running home to try do­mesticity with someone who is real. You. Someone who believes honesty is beautiful and deception is ugly. You again. Leaving a career won’t remove the wings from her heels forever. They were fastened there at birth. The travel bug will always be nearby to give her a case of wandering fever. Vacation with her when you can; otherwise let her go off to ride the carousel herself, and trust her. She loves you, not the clowns and organ grinders she likes to pass the time with.

Because of her casual attitude toward romance and her shyness of marriage, you may think she’s lacking in senti­ment. You are so mistaken. She’ll cry rivers at sad movies and read poetry with wet eyes. She’s probably saved every note you ever wrote her, scraps of the flowers you bought her in the rain, and the tickets from the hockey game where she met you.

As for her talent as a homemaker, be brave. And be patient. Sagittarius girls are acutely bored by the confine­ment of dusting and mopping. No sooner does she make a bed than it gets unmade. Gosh, you’d think the darned thing would stay neat for a few days anyway, it was such a drag tucking in those sheets at the corners. She’ll hate it all with a purple passion. When she has a home of her own, however, she’ll probably swallow her distaste. She’ll prefer that you get her a maid if you can possibly afford one. If not, she’ll doggedly keep it shining Her mother will never believe it. That sloppy child waxing the coffee table? Impossible. Pride and the eternal Sagittarius logic does it. She needs to be surrounded with beauty and cleanliness to be true to herself. The message reaches her that, if she doesn’t wipe up the linoleum, no one else will. If she was forced by circumstances to do a lot of chores in childhood, she may rebel at first, but she’ll eventually reason it out, and settle down to sweeping the comers with a minimum of resentment.

Her cooking? Well-you can never tell. Maybe you’d iust better eat out on weekends. If she manages decent ‘neals through the week, you can’t expect her to keep a per­fect record on Saturdays and Sundays, too. Most Sagit-tarian women aren’t exactly ecstatic in the kitchen (unless there’s a Taurus, Cancer or Capricorn ascendant). But she can whip up a mean, fancy dessert when she’s trying to cheer you out of the blues. Her own moods can be terrors, but they’re rare, and they last so briefly you’ll hardly notice them. When she’s really hurt, her tongue can be bitterly sarcastic. But she’ll forget what she said almost before she’s finished the sentence, and she won’t under­stand why you want to dwell on it. This is not the woman for a brooding, melancholy man. Gloom and pessimism, | can actually make her physically ill.

| Her children will probably adore her. Shell be their | buddy, and have a circus playing with them. Once she’s lover her initial fear of responsibility, she’ll cope with § diapers and daily baths like a crisp, efficient nurse. Almost | everything she does she does well, with grace, when she | finally decides to learn it. Just like the big people, the little | ones will get a good dose of her cheerful optimism and | outspoken remarks. If they survive her blunt truthfulness, | they’ll grow up thinking she’s the greatest big sister a | kid ever had. She’ll read them funny stories with happy | endings, and take them on sudden, impulsive picnics in | the woods to look for the three bears. (She half believes 8 they’re hiding there herself.) Her youngsters will probably be well-dressed, but not fussily so, and bright-mannered. If they pick up a few unconventional tricks from her, like making footprint curtains by spreading monk’s cloth on the floor, stepping barefoot into yellow paint and walking across the material-at least you won’t be raising a houseful of conformists. Her honesty will mark their characters. If they don’t find those three bears after a careful search under all the fir trees, she’ll probably tell them to forget it-it’s a phony. But she will have looked first. The child who wrote the editor of the New York Sun to ask if there was really a Santa Claus just had to have a Sagittarius Sun sign. Moon or ascendant. She probably raised her own children by the frank, yet idealistic answer of "Yes, Vir­ginia . . ." The Jupiter mother may have to watch a tendency to be lax in discipline, except when she’s tired or angry. That’s the wrong time for spankings.

Youll have a lovely hostess. No one entertains as gra­ciously as a Sagittarian woman, not even her Leo sisters, who are no slouches themselves in the social department. There’s a quality about her sunny, outgoing friendliness that makes people feel deeply welcome, from the garbage man to your boss. A Sagittarian breaks the ice instantly at the stiffest affairs, though she may raise a few eyebrows, too.

As long as you let her call her soul her own, and don’t make her feel tied down, your Sagittarius Pollyanna will give you a triple bonus: her loyalty, her trust and her affection. The three are inseparable, because when she gives her love, her friendship trots right along beside it.

The Jupiter woman is an incurable idealist. And here’s a secret perhaps she never told you: She fell in love with you many years ago, when she was a little girl and wished on the new Moon for someone to share her honest heart. There were lots of times when she thought she had found you and was disappointed. But when you finally came along, she knew you right away, because you were a gentle clown with a dream or two of your own who took her hand and showed her the way to the stars. (Sniff.)

Cosmic Profile

February 2nd, 2006 by galileogirl

This is so true it’s a bit scary. I honestly don’t think I blunt! ;-)

How to Recognize SAGITTARIUS

‘I should see the garden far betterIf I could get to the top of that hill:

and here’s at path that leads straight to it- at least; no, it doesn’t do that… But I suppose it will at last. But how curiously it twists!… Well then, I’ll try the other way."

I would say that finding an example of this Sun sign is as easy as rolling off a log, except that it isn’t true. It’s much easier than rolling off a log. Pick any party and look at the center of the liveliest group. See that fellow sitting there happily with his rather large foot stuck in his mouth? He’s a Sagittarian who has just gone out on a verbal limb, but he doesn’t know it yet. When he does, he’ll look slightly be­wildered-and the group around him will be looking dag­gers.

The archer will walk up to you, give you a hearty slap on the back and a wide, friendly grin. Then he’ll greet you with a remark like, "How the heck do you manage to look so young when you’re as old as you are?" Or "Say, that turtleneck sweater sure is flattering. You should wear them all the time. Hides your double chin." After one of these cheery openers, he’ll still be wearing his bright grin, but your own smile may start to droop a little. It will take him a while to figure out just what he said that set you back on your heels, and even longer to understand why. Then he’ll try to explain. Keep your cool. It gets worse.

Golly, didn’t you understand what he meant? He thinks it’s fabulous to look only twenty-five years old when you’re really thirty-eight (which is six years older than you ac­tually are). As for the double chin, lots of people your age have a little flab in the neck region. The only time you can see it is from the side. You know, when you turn your head. Just don’t have any pictures taken in profile.

After he’s carefully explained his verbal goofs and got you feeling all better again, he’ll go on his merry way, whistling a tune from the latest Broadway show. When you cut him dead the next time you meet, he’ll be heartbroken -and puzzled. There’s no use getting angry or embar­rassed. Sagittarius is completely free of malice. He blurts out his shockingly direct speech in total innocence. The fact that he usually adds insult to injury when he tries to fix it also escapes him. Don’t judge him too harshly. He means well. Not that he needs your sympathy-or mine. Under his tactless manner is an extremely clever mind and high standards. His unique combination of wit, intelli­gence and fiery drive usually brings the archer straight to the winner’s circle. What really gets you is that both male and female Sagittarians are oblivious to their own blunt speech. They are truly convinced that they are the most diplomatic souls in the world. They’re always saying, "Why, I wouldn’t hurt anyone’s feelings for anything. I’m very careful about that." And they honestly believe it. In fact, everything they do is done honestly. Pretense and deception in any form appalls them.

Their physical characteristics aren’t hard to learn. Look for a fairly large, well-shaped skull and a high, broad fore­head. The features will be open and cheerful, inviting friendship and the exchange of ideas, and the movements will normally be rapid (though you’ll find a few who move slowly and deliberately). They will often make wide, sweeping gestures, which may be dramatic and vigorous, but possibly not very graceful. Sagittarius can wave his arms to make a point, and upset the ketchup. Hell stride purposefully forward, head high, and trip over the curb­stone. His brief case may snap open at the same time, scattering his papers all over the street.

Jupiter eyes are as bright and alert as a sparrow’s, and they sparkle and twinkle with refreshing humor. The arch­ers are either very tall and athletic looking or shorter than average, with strong, sturdy bodies. The tall ones will re­mind you of thoroughbred horses or spirited colts. In youth especially, many of them have a stray lock of hair which keeps falling over the forehead, like a horse’s mane. They’ll flip it back with a toss of the head or a quick, unconscious movement of the hand-a habit that may last long after a new hairstyle has been adopted in maturity or after bald­ness has set in.

Sagittarians are normally restless. They hate to sit or stand still. The archer is physically conspicuous, if only through his obvious confidence and his disregard for con-      f ventional behavior. He walks as if he’s really go "g some­where. There’s no halting or hesitating. (But remember that a conflicting ascendant can slow down the gait.)

When you first meet him, Sagittarius could be perched on a horse or walking his dog. He loves animals passionate­ly. Sagittarian Frank Sinatra once ordered his driver to stop his car when he saw an injured dog lying in the street. He was on his way to a television rehearsal, but musicians, director and camera crew had to wait until the singer had tenderly carried the dog to a vet, was assured he would be fine in a few days, and had found the dog’s owner.

Sagittarians with natal afflictions to the birth planets can have, instead, a morbid fear of animals, but it doesn’t happen often. Ordinarily, people born under Jupiter’s in­fluence fear nothing. The typical Sagittarian is attracted to danger-in sports and in his job or his hobby. An element      j of risk excites and challenges the archers. They love speed.      I Fast cars, planes-even roller coasters draw them mag­netically. Daredevil test pilots are often Sagittarians. The average Jupiter person enjoys nothing more than a hair­breadth escape of some kind-either physical or emotional. It exhilarates them. They’ll take a chance on literally any­thing (unless a meeker sign on the ascendant dilutes Jupiter’s daring).

There’s a difference between the legendary bluntness of the archer and the brutal speech of the Scorpio. Scorpio tells the truth, completely conscious of its effect, but still refusing to compromise. Sagittarius is totally unaware of the effect when his direct honesty compels him to speak. Scorpio feels little compunction about the wounds his statements cause. To him, the truth is the truth, and if you can’t bear to hear it, don’t ask. The Jupiter person, on the other hand, is crushed and dismayed at his own lack of discretion when he discovers he’s really cut you. It would be touching if it weren’t so infuriating.

What is on the archer’s mind and heart is almost instant­ly on his lips. He’s as frank and earnest as a six-year-old. You can take that old advice, "If you want the truth, go to a child," and switch it to "If you want the truth, go to a Sagiittarian."

There’s a woman in the publishing business in New York about whom the same thing is said. "If you want the truth, go to Kay-if you can stand it." Kay is not only an authen­tic archer, she also has additional Sagittarius influences in her natal chart. A Jupiter girl plus, you might say. She’s warm and generous, typical of the sign, and she has lots of loyal friends who love her, also typical of the sign. They would have to be loyal, and they would have to love her to survive incidents like the time three years ago when she opened up her big heart and decided to completely outfit her secretary for the winter. The young girl was flat broke, since she had just been through a drizzly financial disaster, and she was touched to tears. Others had sympathized, but until Kay, no one had offered a concrete helping hand. Leave it to Sagittarius. (You can read that several ways.)

One fine fall day, the two of them set forth for Saks Fifth Avenue in a fever of excited female anticipation. The poor secretary was delirious with happiness-until they entered the elevator. Suddenly, the Sagittarian gave her a long, appraising look, and said quite firmly and quite loudly, "We’d better try the Fat Girl’s Department first."

Blind ecstasy was instantly replaced by numb shock. The secretary’s fiance had always told her she was "pleasingly plump." Now, in one flashing painful moment of Sagittarian honesty, she had become a baby blimp. To this very day, the young girl remembers how everyone in the car turned to stare at her curiously, as she wondered if her fiance secretly thought she was grotesque. But good old Kay fixed it. Noticing the girl’s discomfiture, she hastily made a joke to jolly her up. "And if we can’t find anything to fit you there, we can always try the tents in the camping depart­ment." The Sagittarian howled at her own hilarity. So did the people in the elevator.

Just after Kay’s warm, generous excursion with her secretary, she cheered up her boss, the publisher, who had been on doctor’s orders not to drink for a year. One solid year. He had had infectious hepatitis. No liquor. Not one drop. After going for twelve long months without even wetting his lips, he was justifiably proud of his will power. Kay, just freshly back from Europe, paid him a typical Sagittarian compliment. "About your drinking," she began, and he smiled, waiting. "I hear you’ve been trying to stay on the wagon." Trying? After twelve months without a sin­gle drop? Trying? As he recovered his composure, she went on. "Say, you know there’s a party tomorrow night for Joe’s book? I thought I ought to warn you, but I never get to see you alone." Warn him? Warn him about what? The publisher forgot his chagrin under this new threat. She continued: "We were all hoping that, well, this is embarrassing-but we were all hoping that you wouldn’t spoil the party." By now, the publisher was speechless. Not Sagittarius.

"What I mean is, we hope you don’t mess up the evening by being a wet blanket about not drinking-and all that. Joe likes his martinis, and after all, his book is a Literary Guild selection. If you slink around like some fugitive from prohibition and make everybody miserable, just because you have this terrible disease, it will throw a damper on the whole thing. Say, can people catch it from being in the same room with you?"

The publisher somehow managed to stammer that she was safe, then gathered his injured dignity together long enough to remind her that he had hosted parties himself for authors like Edna Ferber and Ernest Hemingway with­out mishap. "I have always been told," he said evenly, be­tween clenched teeth, "that my manners are impeccable." The Sagittarian, blind to her boss’s near apoplexy, heartily agreed with him. "That’s for sure. You’re a fabulous host. No one in the publishing business can figure it out." The publisher had just barely enough breath left to ask. Figure what out? The archer’s answer zinged home. "How is it that you can be such a great host and such a perfectly lousy guest? Your own parties are marvelous, but you al­ways pull such big boo-boos every time you go to some­body else’s whing-ding. It’s really weird."

Then she noticed something else weird. Her boss’s face. It was turning purple. Suddenly contrite, the friendly Sagittarian immediately apologized. "Gee, I hope I didn’t say the wrong thing. It won’t matter how you behave anyway. Joe thinks you’re really swell. He was just telling us all today that he’s glad he decided to come to us even though his old agent had been against it. He can’t under­stand why he’s heard such awful things about you. I told him people were just jealous. Say, you don’t look so hot. Are you sure your doctor knows what he’s doing?" (There are rumors that Kay’s boss went off the wagon that night, permanently.) The Sagittarian? Oh, she’s happily helping new authors get over their nervousness at the same publishing company. Fired? He wouldn’t dare fire her. As I said in the beginning, everybody loves her.

Few people can resent the archer for very long, because he’s so transparently free of harmful intent. You’ll see this lovable, likable, intelligent idealist almost anywhere or any time. You may catch him shooting out his careless arrows from your television screen some Sunday night, leaving his guest stars numb and speechless with astonishment at his frankness. He may be your cab driver some Monday morning, the one who cheerfully explains to you why he hates stingy tippers-or you could find him serving you in a restaurant some Friday evening, earnestly advising you not to order the oysters because they’re a little on the dred side.

Most archers sincerely try to cheer you up. At least, that’s what they start out to do, but sometimes it falls a little short of the good intention. I once had a Sagittarius manager who tried to boost my morale by telling me how much better my hair looked than it usually did when I hadn’t washed it or rolled it up for more than a week. But he’s still a good friend, so you can see it’s useless to get exasperated. Besides, now and then Sagittarians can come up with a dilly of a statement that sends your spirits really soaring, and makes up for all the rest. They can offer pro­foundly wise counsel, when you’ve had time to analyze their viewpoints. This is a fire sign, so most archers are extroverts, talkative and forward. There are a few who are painfully shy and timid, but even these are full of original ideas-and they’re just as blunt. In fact, the quiet, fey Sagittarians with the reclusive, meek ways can dream the biggest dreams and aim for the highest goals. Introvert or extrovert, the archer is a promoter at heart. The rare one who doesn’t say much could be planning something really spectacular to spring on an unsupecting world. His mind is busy even when his tongue is still, so you have to remember his Sun sign is always there at the bottom of his nature, lest he lull you into not being prepared for his next startling move.

Most of the time the typical Sagittarian is happy and gre­garious, but his temper can fiare like a sky rocket if he’s pushed around by people who abuse his natural friendliness or who get too familiar. Rebellion against authority and stuffy society is also common. Sagittarius will never run away from a fight or call for help. The women can lose their normally pleasant dispositions and let go with a barrage of unexpected plain talk that puts troublemakers right where they belong. The men will use their fists and scorn weapons. A rude, insulting person who has challenged Jupiter’s good nature often find himself sprawled on the sidewalk wondering where that truck came from.

High-spirited Jupiter people can’t stand to be accused of dishonesty. An unjust accusation or a slur against their integrity will make righteous indignation flame high, but after an especially fiery display of temper, the typical Sagittarian will feel remorse and try to make amends. He’ll black your eye and put you in the hospital, but he’ll prob­ably shower you with flowers and sympathy the next day. The archer usually speaks and acts first, and considers the consequences later.

Many Sagittarians seek the stage, and no one is happier giving encore after encore for an excited audience. He’ll sing himself hoarse or dance his shoes off for the sheer exhilaration of performing. Show business is full of archers.

There’s a strong religious streak in Jupiter men and women, especially in their youth. They’re intensely inter­ested in church affairs, but as they grow older they can be­come skeptical of dogma, inclined to question former faiths and search for a perfection of values. It’s a rare Sagittarian who doesn’t have a matched set of luggage. They love to travel, and there’s usually at least one suitcase, well worn from hundreds of trips, that’s kept packed and ready for in­stant use.

You’ll always notice something child-like about the typical naive, brave, optimistic Sagittarian. He refuses to accept the seriousness of life, though some of them manage responsibility with admirable conscientiousness in later years. Still, they’re never truly happy when they’re burdened by it. Jupiter natures rebel against confinement, and too much of it can bring on serious illness. If the Sagittarian can survive that, and the wear and tear of scattering his energies, he’ll live to be as old as Methuselah. Most archers retain their faculties, razor sharp and refined by age, to the end. Senility is almost never a problem.

His sensitive areas are the hips, lungs, liver, arms, hands, shoulders, intestines and feet. The Sagittarian love of sports and the outdoors may bring accidents through reck­less over-activity. Hospitals can rarely keep him bedded down more than a few days. He gives in to sickness reluctantly, and usually recuperates with amazing swiftness. Life seldom defeats these people permanently. They believe that tomorrow will surely be better than yesterday, and to­day is pretty interesting. Moody spells are gone almost be­fore the clouds have a chance to obscure the sunshine.

Every Sagittarian is something of a gambler, unless there’s a cautious, conservative influence in the natal chart. Very few of them can resist throwing a couple of bills on the green felt. The sound of dice rattling in the dealer’s hand attracts some Jupiter men and women like the siren song of Circe. With adverse aspects between the planets at birth, an archer can gamble away a fortune, or throw the rent money on the nose of a favorite horse. Las Vegas attracts Sagittarians like sugar attracts flies. So do the more staid gambles of the stock market and real estate. Fortunately, the majority of them keep the urge to specu­late under control, but even these will risk a few dollars now and then on a fast poker game or a lottery ticket.

Both the timid and the forceful ones will take a chance on love anytime. Sagittarians plunge into romance with reckless abandon, but they often stop short suddenly when marriage is mentioned. They think it over, then go ahead and make a mistake after careful consideration. Although the archer is warm and wonderful in love relationships, he’s a little tricky to catch. Symbolically he’s half horse-half ‘ man, which obviously gives him a head start in any game of chase, if he doesn’t stumble over his own feet.

Among the most unpleasant traits of some Sagittarians are a tendency to violent temper, a love of too much food and drink, which can lead to obesity or alcoholism, mental brilliance stained by burning sarcasm, or extreme eccen­tricity and the inability to keep a secret. But none of these need be permanent flaws. They can be easily rooted out with Sagittarian determination. The average Jupiter man will loan you money without ever making you ashamed to ask or even obligated to repay it (barring a stingy Moon sign). The Jupiter housewife will adopt the home­less orphan or the lost animal, and always make room for one more at her table.

Sagittarians have a tendency to go off on tangents. The archer will take on a great cause with blind devotion and believe that the possibilities outweigh the shortcomings, an attitude that results from his brilliant imagination and progressive thinking. He never fails to present his case with cool, reasonable arguments, sometimes cutting the op­position to ribbons with sharp satire, and yet remaining aloof from the fray, somehow. The fire is always ready to leap forth, however, when anyone unfairly attacks his miracle or his cause of the moment. He’s a formidable foe, because he aims straight when he takes the time to focus on the victim. His arrows then rarely miss their mark. They’re dipped in clever wit and sharp enough to pierce the strongest armor.

Although a few December people are genuinely funny, it’s a curious fact that when most of them tell a joke, the timing is slightly off and they fluff the punch line. The audience-at home or in the theater-will roar at the obvious awkwardness, and the jovial Jupiter soul will think everyone is laughing at his great sense of comedy timing. It can be hilarious.

Male or female, the archer can either behave in such a slap-dash fashion, or pretend to have such unassuming caanners when he chooses, that you may get the impression bis mind isn’t too sharp or that he’s timid. True, there are a few December-born people who occasionally exhibit eccentric reclusive habits, but that just gives them more Opportunity to sharpen their intelligence into genius.

Although Sagittarians have fantastic memories that tell them exactly what they said and where they were on April 14, 1939, and they remember every detail of books and inovies, they can forget where they left their coats. Most of them are constantly losing gloves, car keys, wallets-and some people are unkind enough to say they would lose •their heads if they weren’t fastened on their necks.

A Sagittarian can never successfully tell a lie. No one believes him for a minute. Deceit is unnatural to the archer, and when he tries to dabble in it, the exposure is usually swift and sure. He’s always better off to stick to the truth and let the chips fall where they may. Even his observant, highly aware mind won’t rescue him from the results of an excursion into deception, unless he has Scorpio rising. I know a secretive archer who has such a Pluto ascendant, and therefore manages very well to play a good chess game. This kind of a Jupiter person is an exception, but be pre­pared to meet a few.

To the Sagittarian, life is secretly a circus, and he’s the clown, rolling and tumbling through purple hoops in a sky-blue suit. His face is smeared with the bright, gay colors of greasepaint, and his eyes glitter with curiosity and fun. As the music of the calliope gets louder, he stumbles and falls, then executes a perfect somersault on the back of a prancing pony. On his fingers he wears three turquoise rings; on his toes are bells that ring like the chimes in a distant church spire that disappears into the clouds. The archer happily blows a lustrous tin horn, made of the soft, malleable metal that’s barely affected by moisture. Whether he’s bold or backward, the true nature of this generous idealist is as merry as the Christmas holly berry. Bravely, he pins a large carnation over his big heart, and curves his bow toward the sky. When he aims straight, he shoots higher than man can see-past the stars-to the place where all dreams are really born.

Famous Sagittarius Personalities

Beethoven Arthur Brisbane William Buckley, Jr. Maria Callas Andrew Carnegie Edith Cavell Winston Churchill Noel Coward Sammy Davis Joe DiMaggio Walt Disney Betty Grable Grimaldi

Mark Twain

Julie Harris Pope John XXM John Lindsay Mary Martin David Merrick John Milton Robert Moses John Osbonae Lee Remick Lillian Russell Frank Sinatra David Susskind James Thurber

Books

January 5th, 2006 by galileogirl

I love the smell of books. Nevermind if they’re old or new, dog-eared and dilapidated or hardly touched, to me all books are special. My deep love for reading has been with me since forever. Why do I love them so much? It’s because I was born with questions and books give me answers. Isn’t it fascinating too that the lessons they impart change over time? Well, at least the better books do. Take The Little Prince for one. It meant to me differently at 7 compared to when I was 13 or 21. Or how Lord of the Flies was scary at 10, and later on turned into the vilest version of truth at 19. That Nancy Drew was just plain nosy (and that George and Bess probably have a lesbian affair) and Encyclopedia Brown, apart from being very, very lucky, probably had a mild case of autism.

Also, books are something you work for, something you aim to understand. Not like movies or music, books demand to be earned. If you don’t get the point now then try again in a few years time, when you’ve laughed the requisite cackles and cried the requisite tears until you become the person deserving of the book’s message. Have your heart broken a little, overcome the passing of somebody very important in your life, finish school, be eaten by the dogs of the world, then maybe, just maybe, the lesson found in the (crisp or yellowing) pages (depending on how long you’ve had the book) is at last ripe for your picking.

Books and reading offer me solace from a world that has gotten used to instant gratification and pathological indecision. It takes time to finish a chapter. And the story has progression, from the intro, to the mounting tension, to the climax, the deneoument, and then the resolution. Sometimes I mark the book after finishing a few pages, and months later come back to it. The story is still there, still waiting for my appreciation and opinion. How very enriching.

"Do not judge a book by it’s cover." Literally and metphorically it is true. Opening a book is like opening a gate to an alternate universe for me. And each person I meet is a book. The good ones always teach me something, and the worthwhile ones demand hard work. People like books are earned. Deserved. Luckily my love for reading has taught me to ride the ebb and flow of every adventure that is every person I meet. I’m not perfect in reading persons though. But then neither am I at reading books. Perhaps there is no perfect techinique. The point is to learn. Not every book ends the way you hope it would. Not every person allows you in his life. Some people are novels, staying with you from start to finish, while others short stories, their presence brightens and then dims in one fleeting instant. But all of them, books and people, if they have found a way into your life, can ultimately shape you towards the resolution of your personal story. Let them.

Starts and Stops

January 2nd, 2006 by galileogirl

Happy New Year Everyone!!!

Say goodbye to 2005, that year is now history. *I should be telling myself this since forgetfulness has never been one of my traits. I am an elephant.*

Adios to all the stress, the mega-nega thinking, the "what-if’s" and "how comes". It’s about time we all gave ourselves a fresh start.

I remember loving the start of a new school year — new notebooks, pad paper, folders, text books, pencils and pens. If I’m feeling like a girl scout I throw in 2 highlighters, maybe 5 gel pens, a glue stick and a fancy eraser. I shop around National with "The Final Countdown" playing in my head. It’s the start of the school year! New classmates! New friends! New teachers! New stuff to learn! I vow to be the king of the classroom and do the assignments everday. So I’m a nerd, so what? (I think that’s why I adore nerds — deep down I am one myself; this fact slightly reflected in my choice of boys, eyeglasses are mandatory but that’s another story). I miss that feeling, the feeling of newness and promise, of excitement and being game for whatever may come my way. And my new year’s resolution (here we go) is to relive that newness everyday and rediscover that newness in everything I do this year.

A few quotes to leave you with as we start the new year:

"What is truly yours you shall soon recover." — Cynthia Alexander

"Love is a commitment of the heart that will stand the test of wavering emotions, intellectual rationalizing, circumstantial allure, hormonal infatuation, and even the wounds of your lover. Anything less in not true love." — Paolo Coelho

"Personally, I think if a woman hasn’t met the right man by the time she’s 24, she may be lucky." –Deborah Kerr

Belated Birthday Diaries, Part 2

January 1st, 2006 by galileogirl

First off, sorry for the screwed up font in my past entries. I cannot format the damn things.

Second, thanks for the comments. They have given me much comfort.

Tomorrow is the start of school and I am still in denial. I’d like to think school starts next week (in UP’s case this might ring true…I highly doubt the profs will show up tomorrow BUT the sucky thing is I still have to study for when they do). This is much like my life where I have bouts of escapism and periods of suspended disbelief (read: disillusionment and warped sense of reality). My name is Marie Montecer and I am an escapist. I have always wondered when life will start. You know how it is when you say "when I grow up I’ll be…I want…"? Well, I still say that and it is hard for me to swallow that I am finally in the point of being grown up, that NOW’s the time to realize those dreams.

There is a death that comes with knowledge. In the book of Ecclesiastes (yes, I do read the Bible), there is a passage that says, and I’m paraphrasing, with much wisdom comes much sorrow. Truly, happiness is for the ignorant. It is very difficult now to see the world and people as all shiny, good and true. Oftentimes I catch myself thinking the worst of every situation and of every other person I meet. Nobody is perfect. We all have skeletons in our closet, it’s just a matter of when the whole world finds out. It’ll never turn out as I hoped because let’s face it, I am just another face in the crowd so why should the universe make exceptions for me? The word does not owe me any favors. Yes, I am Marie Montecer and I am a fatalist.

It has come to a point that the mere getting up in the morning is courage. It takes guts to come to class and sit through a lecture; it takes chuztpah to come to school and face the music, knowing full well that it’s too late to turn things around and that you have already been graded even before you’ve opened you mouth to recite. And all of it…well, almost all of it, is based on impression, which to me is just a euphemism for bias(es). Everyday I am drowned by that little voice inside my head whispering "You can’t do it", by the system, by people who do not deserve an ounce of my respect, by second-handers, by know-it-alls, by know-nothings, by the sheep, by the fighters, and the list goes on and on and on and on.

Life is a dare, and you have to WANT what you want. Nothing about it can be half-baked because I can’t have half a life or a life half lived. In Philo our teacher once said that to love it to gamble; ang pag-ibig ay pagtataya. Well, to live is to gamble and all the ante we have is ourselves. As my roomy Sandy once told me, "kampihan mo ang sarili mo kasi kung hindi, ano pang meron ka?" It is all in the mind. Think Lambert, the sheepish lion. As the Fuzzy said, "We’re lions Smelly. We just forget."

Belated Birthday Diaries, part 1

December 27th, 2005 by galileogirl

From "Chasing Amy" —

Alyssa: Why are we stopping?
Holden: Because I can’t take this.
Alyssa: Can’t take what?
Holden: I love you.
Alyssa: You love me?
Holden: I love you. And not, not in a friendly way, although I think we’re great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I’m sure that’s what you’ll call it. I love you. Very, very simple, very truly. You are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. And I know that you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you would ever consider. But I had to say it. I just, I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can’t, I can’t look into your eyes without feeling that, that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can’t talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. And I know this will probably queer our friendship - no pun intended - but I had to say it, because I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t care. I like who I am because of it. And if bringing this to light means we can’t hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But God, I just, I couldn’t allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And, you know, I’ll accept that. But I know… I know that some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there is a moment of hesitation, then that means you feel something too. All I ask, please, is that you just, you just not dismiss that - and try to dwell in it for just ten seconds. Alyssa, there isn’t another soul on this fucking planet who has ever made me half the person I am when I’m with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it is there between you and me. You can’t deny that. Even if, you know, even if we never talk again after tonight, please know that I’m forever changed because of who you are and what you’ve meant to me, which - while I do appreciate it - I’d never need a painting of birds bought at a diner to remind me of.

_________________________________

Holden: It’s not who you love, it’s how. 

    

     On the Monday of the week of my birthday, a friend, over lunch, asked me how I felt about turning 23. After the initial shock of realizing he was serious, and that it was a topic to be discussed over longganisa and pork chop, I steadily replied that it was mostly, for me, a sad occasion because frankly, I think I stopped growing at 17. Everything I had to learn, I learned by 17. The next day, a blockmate of mine asked how Thursday that week would go for me since it will be my *birthday*. I told him the same thing I told my friend over lunch the day before. It’s a sad occasion because there’s really nothing new for me to do, nothing new for me to learn. My blockmate jerked his head up from the book it was buried in and vehemently uttered, "Of course not. Ano ba! Feeling mo lang yon noh. You are always growing. You deal with some things differently, better, than you did years ago." And with that I turned around and resumed my last-minute reading before the prof entered the classroom.

     As the late great Aaliyah had sung, age ain’t nothing but a number. Being the youngest in the family (a menopause baby at that) and having had my fair share of age discrimination ("You’re too young to know what you are talking about", "You should have been born earlier", etc…) I have always believed this to be true. Just because a person is old(er), does not mean he’s wiser, or has riped into being more…human. The mind and the heart age not like the body, and a few gray hairs are not a passport to success, recognition and even plain, old respect. If it were just a matter of having years added to one’s age, then everything would be much simpler. It’s just that custom and the law have made a presumption that once you turn 18 or 21, then you can be on your own, make tough decisions, drink and have the money to pay for cocktails, support yourself and get a job that doesn’t involve making your bed in the morning and alphabetizing your CD collection. But it is just a presumption. Actual life says otherwise.

     I am now 23. I’m still in school. My dad still gives me weekly allowance and pays for well, everything. I may have a credit card (but it’s an extension — my dad still pays the charges at the end of the month), and ATM card (but pa deposits money to it when I’m running low on the funds, which is about twice a month), my scholar’s tuition (go UP!) is paid for by my dad, the dorm during the school week, book allowance, hair allowance, derma…the list is endless. I tried getting a job but there’s still nothing official about it. I have had 2 relationships (I’m being kind. It’s one when I’m trying to be factual and zero when I need a Prozac refill, but this topic is an entirely different one altogether — my having 2 relationships, not the Prozac — but I’m rambling). I have had the same hairstyle for 3 years now because my hair refuses to grow longer after it reaches a certain length. The long and short of it is that for the most part of the latter part of my existence (the past year) I have become bored, and maybe even *gulp* boring. The grass is greener on the other side and god help me, for me it seems to be TRUE.

     I love movies from the 80’s and early 90’s because of their (predictable) plots. Girl meet guy, one is from the wrong side of the tracks (or lesbian as in Chasing Amy), they fall in love, and the world be damned, they live happily ever after, inpsite of the hostile rich parents or the discouraging poor parents or the criticism of the school posse, or the outrageously mangy prom dress. The protagonists get what they want because they want it bad enough (for the most part they aim for undying love and the kiss that never ends — okay, save for Chasing Amy because the girl IS lesbian after all but the ending does hold a little promise). But the message of the movies is "if you want it, you can have it", and I have not felt like that for the longest time. Could it be that the idealist in me has died?

      

    

On Sex

December 22nd, 2005 by galileogirl

“Did it ever occur to you that it’s the same issue? The men who think that wealth comes from material resources and has no intellectual root or meaning, are the men who think—for the same reason—that sex is a physical capacity which functions independently of one’s mind, choice or code of values. They think that your body creates a desire and makes a choice for you just about in some such way as if iron ore transformed itself into railroad rails of its own volition. Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a man’s sexual choice is the result and the sum of his fundamental convictions. Tell me what a man finds sexually attractive and I will tell you his entire philosophy of life. Show me the woman he sleeps with and I will tell you his valuation of himself. No matter what corruption he’s taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which he cannot perform for any motive but his own enjoyment—just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity!—an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exaltation, only in the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces him to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and to accept his real ego as his standard of value. He will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience—or to fake—a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer—because only the possession of  a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement, not the possession of a brainless slut. He does not seek to…What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing the look on Rearden’s face, a look of intensity much beyond mere interest in an abstract discussion.

               “Go on,” said Rearden tensely.

                “He does not seek to gain his value, he seeks to express it. There is no conflict between the standards of his mind and the desires of his body. But the man who is convinced of his own worthlessness will be drawn to a woman he despises—because she will reflect his own secret self, she will release him from that objective reality in which he is a fraud, she will give him a momentary illusion of his won value and a momentary escape from the moral code that damns him. Observe the ugly mess which most men make of their sex lives—and observe the mess of contradictions which they hold as their moral philosophy. One proceeds from the other. Love is our response to our highest values—and can be nothing else. Let a man corrupt his values and his view of existence, let him profess that love is not self-enjoyment but self-denial, that virtue consists, not of pride, but of pity or pain or weakness or sacrifice, that the noblest of love is born, not of admiration, but of charity, not in response to values, but in response to flaws—and he will have cut himself in two. His body will not obey him, it will not respond, it will make him impotent toward the woman he professes to love and draw him to the lowest type of whore he can find. His body will always follow the ultimate logic of his deepest convictions; if he believes that flaws are values, he has damned existence as evil and only the evil will attract him. He has damned himself and he will feel that depravity is all he is worthy of enjoying. He has equated virtue with pain and he will feel that vice is the only realm of pleasure. Then he will scream that his body has vicious desires of its own which his mind cannot conquer, that sex is sin, that true love is a pure emotion of the spirit. And then he will wonder why love brings him nothing but boredom, and sex—nothing but shame.”

                Rearden said slowly, looking off, not realizing that he was thinking aloud, “At least…I’ve never accepted that other tenet…I’ve never felt guilty about making money.”

                Francisco missed the significance of the first two words; he smiled and said eagerly, “You do see that it’s the same issue? No, you’d never accept any part of their vicious creed. You wouldn’t be able to force it upon yourself. If you tried to damn sex as evil, you’d still find yourself, against your will, acting on the proper moral premise. You’d be attracted to the highest woman you met. You’d always want a heroine. You’d be incapable of self-contempt. You’d be unable to believe that existence is evil and that you’re a helpless creature caught in an impossible universe. You’re the man who’s spent his life shaping matter to the purpose of his mind. You’re the man who would know that just as an idea unexpressed in physical action is contemptible hypocrisy, so is platonic love—and just as physical action unguided by an idea is a fool’s self-fraud, so is sex when cut off from one’s code of values. It’s the same issue, and you would know it. Your inviolate sense of self-esteem would know it. You would be incapable of desire for a woman you despised. Only the man who extols the purity of love devoid of desire, is capable of the depravity of a desire devoid of love. But observe that most people are creatures cut in half who keep swinging desperately to side of to the other. One kind of half is the man who despises money, factories, skyscrapers and his own body. He holds undefined emotions about non-conceivable subjects as the meaning of life and as his claim to virtue. And he cries with despair, because he can feel nothing for the woman he respects, but finds himself in bondage to an irresistible passion for a slut from the gutter. He is the man whom people call an idealist. The other kind of half is the man whom people call practical, the man who despises principles, abstractions, art, philosophy and his own mind. He regards the acquisition of material objects as the only goal of existence—and laughs at the need to consider their purpose or their source. He expects them to give him pleasure—and he wonders why the more he gets, the less he feels. He is the man who spends his time chasing women. Observe the triple fraud which he perpetrates upon himself. He will not acknowledge his need of self-esteem, since he scoffs at such a concept as moral values; yet he feels the profound self-contempt which comes from believing that he is a piece of meat. He will not acknowledge, but he knows that sex is the physical expression of a tribute to personal values. So he tries, by going through the motions of the effect, to acquire that which should have been the cause. He tries to gain a sense of his won value from the women who surrender to him—and he forgets that the women he picks have neither character nor judgment nor standard of value. He tells himself that all he’s after is physical pleasure—but observe that he tires of his women in a week or a night, that he despises professional whores and that he loves to imagine he is seducing virtuous girls who make a great exception for his sake. It is the feeling of achievement that he seeks and never finds. What glory can there be in the conquest of a mindless body? Now that is your woman-chaser. Does that description fit me?”

– Atlas Shrugged, AYN RAND –

What does it all Mean?

October 13th, 2005 by galileogirl

The thing that I cannot help but wonder about is why am I here, what is my purpose in life, how come life is not fair?

Lately there have been episodes of unfaithfulness happening to people around me. There have been cheating, in relationships and the final exams (we have 2 more to go and then it’s the sem break), hurting words easily thrown around without thought or concern for their weight and implication, bodies/selves compromised for a night of fun or forgetting.

To commit to something is a feat. To commit to someone I personally think is dangerous. My decision not to have children is still firm mostly because I know having a family will open the floodgates of non-privacy, of meddling in the guise of sharing, or people you cannot retire or leave, even when you have very good reasons to turn your back on them.

Can one person make a difference? Yes, I still think so. There is chance offered to us everyday, to change or touch another’s life, even in the gentlest possible way. The act may be forgettable but the feeling it gives another for just a moment, in that split second when you displayed how the universe conspired to help her in her time of need, is forever.

I wonder how I will be reaping the effects of the mistakes I have made. Will life be kind? Will I be understood? Will I learn much from them? Will I be judged? Or will my mistakes prove to be useless, worthless mistakes, the "lessons" from which I could have learned in some other less painful way. I have this habit of thinking "why did it happen to him" when something major happens to someone I know. Maybe he tries to be a good person so it’s karma he’s getting now, or maybe she’s an terrible, back-biting bitch that’s why nobody can stand her now, or maybe he was left by his great love and so now life is telling him "move on, move on, there’s still so much ahead of you" or maybe she was kupal to her last boyfriend that’s why she’s in that situation right now. But these are all conjectures I make in my head, at the end of formulating such I am left with only one certainty — Life has a habit of equalizing things. You can’t have it all. Nobody does. And we’re lucky to have most. Not to be gloating or anything, but we rarely appreciate what we have, the grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

So in trudging through life, stay the course, put tapaoho on your head if you have to. Stay the course and the rest will take care of itself. In life’s time, in God’s time. In Atlas Shrugged, the philosopher said that in life there are no inconsistencies, no accidental happening. If something in your mind doesn’t make sense,then change your premise. Life does not prove you wrong. Change your premise.

Today

September 30th, 2005 by galileogirl

Thank God for fresh starts and the erased past. I have a clean slate today. Today can change my life forever. So no hiya-hiya anymore. Go for the gold na toh. Pray for me.

Happy Birthday Larla! I miss you terribly. See you in 6 weeks. Mwah.