Just wanna share to all of you this one..
thanks…
The Perfect Person
J. M. Whitaker
For as
long as long as I can remember, I have been searching for the perfect girl.
Since I was old enough to begin longing for female companionship, I have been on
the hunt. I guess it started out as just a simple dream or fantasy, not unlike
most of us. The strange thing about it was that it never stayed just a dream or
a fantasy. The more people I dated, the more times I was let down, the more I
hungered for that perfect person, the one that would fill all of my needs and
desires, the one that would never let me down.
I dated girl after girl. Some of them were great while others got me into
some trouble. Some of them made me laugh, but a lot of them made me cry.
Through my journey, I found a lot of joy
and a lot of sorrow, a lot of
happiness and a lot of pain, but neve r the perfect girl. I had dreamed
about
her. Dark hair, darker eyes, a slim figure tinted golden brown from the sun. She
had an accent and could play the cello. She would love to talk, but wouldn’t
expect me to talk too much.
She would always ask me how my day was and would
always have a smile on her face; absolute perfection.
I began to devise
methods in how I would meet the girls I would date. I knew I wanted an
intelligent girl, so I hung out in libraries and museums. I meet this real
crazy girl at a library after school one day. She was smart and sexy and, well?
crazy. I would rather not go into a lot of details about it. Let’s just say she
had some real deep-seated anxieties about our relationship and, consequentially,
our break up.
I knew I wanted an artistic girl, so I went to music stores and
coffee shops, I even tried a couple of classical concerts. I met this
wonderfully cute girl who dressed really dark and loved to write poetry. She was
great, we used to stay up all night long talking about the silliest things, but
she ended up dumping me for some guy who did drugs and rode a motorcycle.
I
got into a car accident with a girl driving a Pontiac Sunfire. She had no
driver’s license or car insurance, but she did have a really great smile and the
prettiest hair. Instead of calling the police, we called in sick and went out to
eat. We dated for a while but eventually came across an irreconcilable
difference in opinions. She didn’t always feel the need to come "straight home"
after work. Okay, to be honest, toward the end of our relationship, she rarely
came home at all.
Then there was the girl from the International House of
Pancakes. She was an exact replica of my personality. I mean if you had met us
both over some Internet chat room, you would swear we were the same person using
multiple screen-names. Sounds sweet, huh? Have you ever considered
marrying
yourself? Have you ever thought about growing old together, just you and
yourself? We both found that the whole idea of finding that "perfect person" was
to find someone different from yourself to fulfill the empty spots within
you.
I searched every where. I left no rock unturned, no leaf moved aside,
but to no avail. After much pain and heartache, I began to believe that the
perfect girl just did not exist. Then one day, I found her.
Her name was
Malia. She was from Hawaii, raised in Italy. She wore silk pajama pants to bed.
She had written a novel. She loved the beach and hated cats, just like me. She
had silky, dark and curly hair that swayed perfectly if the breeze was right.
She had a caramel colored body, etched out of a block of pure perfection, and
her face was that of an angel. From the very first time I saw her, I could not
seem to take my eyes away from hers. She w as like a siren, calling my name,
beckoning me closer to her, even when she was asleep. The attraction was
complete, with no faults, no annoyances. Every time she spoke she mesmerized me
and every time she moved she amazed me. She was… well, perfect. Oh, and did I
mention she played the cello?
We spent all the extra time we had together. We
spent so much time together that we decided to move in together. We were paying
rent on two places, but one of them was doing nothing but
collecting dust. We
would sit on the porch when it rained and hold each other. We would lay on the
beach and soak up a sweet combination of sunrays and pina coladas. Life was
good. No, life was perfect and I knew it just couldn’t possibly get any better
than it was right then and there.
Two years later, Malia left me for a
career-opportunity at a really prominent university in Europe. There were no
harsh words, no angry feelings, not even any sad good -byes. She was so perfect
that if she wanted to leave, I wanted it for her. That is, until she was
gone.
I cried for days, and began to drink for weeks after that. I felt as if
my life was over, that the only reason that I had existed was gone, and every
breath I took from that moment on was a futile attempt to hold on to something I
later found I never had: The Perfect Love.
Malia was perfect. She was perfect
in each and every single way, but I was not. Our love for each other was a
deeply committed one, but it was far from perfect. I know that now, but if I
could go back in time to tell myself that in an attempt to save myself from all
of that pain and suffering, I fear I would not have listened to myself.
I
slept with many women, sometimes a different girl every week. I drank
excessively and spent all of my money on temporary satisfaction. Anything to
ease the pain. But the pain did not ease, it only grew stronger . It became a
vicious circle of self-inflicted torture that eventually brought me to my knees
and forced me to open my eyes to the real world. But not before it made me a
bitter man.
I was wiser, but to this day, the decisions made left a coldness
in my eyes that made my heart appear as lead to anyone who dared look. I became
a loner, staying home on the weekends, saving my money for a healthy but lonely
retirement, having accepted my fate. I was to be alone for the rest of my
life.
Kathy with a K. Actually, her name is spelled Kathyrn. Quite peculiar,
but I didn’t think so until later. For the longest time, I never even knew her
name. But she was a sight for sore and lonely eyes. I saw her at work. I was her
boss (actually, I was her boss’ boss) and did not want to risk the chance of
even speaking to her. She was just too beautiful, and I had become a beast with
a past too horrible to mention. I would just watch her as she passed my office
every day. She didn’t walk, she frolicked, and I would sneak out for a break
whenever she did just to watch that frolicking. She smiled every time someone
spoke to her, a smile like the early morning sun, and her eyes were so dark that
you couldn’t see her pupils, only the glimmering from the light that made her
eyes look like two bright stars. I was under her spell and I didn’t even know
her name. One day, watching her
outside, I convinced myself to ask around
about her. Find out her name and maybe even find out if she was seeing someone.
Just as I had decided that she spoke to me.
Kathy with a K. She ended up
asking me out, you know. I told her I couldn’t that night because I had to work
late. Actually, I was too scared. I called her and asked her if she wanted to go
to Starbucks after work the next day and she agreed. It turned out to be the
most romantic night of both of our lives. We were both still pr etty new in town
and didn’t really know our way around. I had no idea what I was going to do or
where I was going to take her next so I winged it the whole way. Like I said, it
turned out to be the most romantic night of both of our lives. It was
perfect.
She was not perfect, but neither was I. We both carried a truckload
of emotional baggage and we both had a mountain of flaws. But it was perfect.
She would always forget to plug in her cell phone at night, but I would always
remind her. I couldn’t do laundry worth a flip, but she showed me how. She could
never get to work on time, and she hated to drive, but we both had to be at work
on time so I drove us both there. Whenever she was slacking I was always right
over her shoulder, and when I would lose track of what I was trying to do, she
would help to keep me focused. We complimented each other in every single way.
Neither of us was perfect, but we were perfect for each other.
When you’re
out there looking for that perfect person keep these things in mind. People
change, no matter how hard they try not to. As you grow older you mature, and
with each new level of
maturity come different ideas, different needs and
wants. The person who was perfect for you at twenty could be the person you hate
when you’re thirty-five. You have to find some one who will grow with you,
change with you, laugh with you and cry with you. A person who fills in where
you lack, a person whom you can fill in for when they are lacking. But what
about the perfect person, you ask? They do not exist. Even Malia was not perfect
because the perfect girl in my dreams was supposed to stay with me.
There are
no perfect people, only people who are perfect for each other. " i always
thought that love was something i’d know the minute it appeared. That there
would be drumrolls and bells ringing as love swept me off my feet. No one told
me how quietly love could appear, or how humbly. That someday i’d look up and
there it would be, waiting for me in a pair of familiar eyes… I never expected
i’d find somebody to love in you… i guess i never knew love the way i do
now.
====================================================
"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 is not true love."
ang mga kalaban ko p nman is.. mas matatanda p skin.. 
un lng, talo ako.. :(( some games i watch n lng my other team mates who joined.. like denis, he joined in tumbang preso.. kirt, em and alvin joined the touching ball… and others at moro moro.. before i go home to change for my leccom service that day.. i together with roshel and arianne play jumping rope.. 
good to hear that their alright now and hopefully getting back to their old selves.. 