Status messages

Status messages I have written:

Audiology is like sex. What more need I say? We audiology students like it up (5) and down (10), while supine, with vision denied. We stimulate aurally with intensity and frequency. We manage your stiff lesions, and we make deep impressions. We do it deep, we do it slow, and we make sure we plug/fill up the hole.

he moment you stop making a difference, the moment you become stagnant, that is when life becomes monotonous, and you began to slowly waste away. So I say to you, get wasted for the night and stop wasting life starting tomorrow.

A recent study has indicated that obesity is possibly a hereditary disease, that it runs in the family. I would like to further point out that it is very likely that no one runs in that family, hence the obesity.

As I gazed deeply into her ears, I saw light, and I am reminded of just how open-minded a person she is. She was very compliant, with good reflexes. No aural fullness to boast of. She spoke audibly and clearly; not annoying like tinnitus. She responded well to the sound of my voice; there and then I knew I have found the one. She trusts me, she listens intently. What more can I ask? I shall make her world spin.

There are moments in my life in which I wished that I was truly and profoundly stupid. The kind of stupidity that accords me the comfort of not knowing and not caring what the world thinks of me. To be oblivious, to laugh hysterically, to dance jubilantly, to just be. More importantly, I wish people would be stupid with me.

Coming down with a cold, I think it is time I give up. That's right, I have left.

I hate it when people use lyrics on their status messages, it makes me wanna shout. Sick my heels up and shout. Throw my hands up and shout. Throw my head back and shout.

Thanks to facebook, I find myself constantly talking to a wall.

 I wish I was the facial canal because I really need a hiatus.

I recall there was a 9 month period in my life when I seriously thought I was a boy trapped in a woman's body... and then I was born.

CN VII, Risorious, Zygomaticus major, Zygomaticus minor and Orbicularis oculi. These are the things that make me smile.

 I was up all night wondering why I have insomnia when it dawn on me.

Life is a ballet instructor keeping us on our toes

Without tears, there won't be rainbows between people

Dear driver,
Welcome to your vehicle. Please take note that it is not a phone booth, a changing room, or a beauty salon. Furthermore, you are not Clark Kent; and for that matter, neither are we, your fellow travelers on the road. As such, get off your phone, stick with your lousy jeans and morning-after look, and just drive.

The moment you stopped laughing and start taking yourself too seriously, targeting the "minorities" in your own backyard, following your emotions as opposed to your reasoning and claim your god is the only god - the terrorists win.

Let us remember

When You Go Home,

Tell Them Of Us And Say,

For Your Tomorrow,

We Gave Our Today

Driving and life

Warning: objects in review mirror become smaller as you drive further away. In life, things tend to become larger as you approach them, that's just physics and optical illusions. There is no point in making them bigger than what they really are, because in the end, they shrink as you past them by. That being said, good luck to all who have something big coming up

Ever noticed how when you are driving, you tend to miss a lot of the scenery that is flashing by? Life is kind of like that, you may be driven to go somewhere, but don't be so gung-ho on getting "there, that you forget to enjoy the drive. Slow down a bit, and look around you. Heck, stop once in a while to breath in the fact that you are on the open road. Everyone can drive from A to B and back; but it is the one who dares to take a detour, stopped randomly along the way, walk around to sightsee who may have a tale or two to tell.

Remember, nothing gets you back on your feet and walking again faster than a broken down vehicle. While it may seem inconvenient, I have learned not having a vehicle can be most liberating experience. From walking, comes time to contemplate, moments to observe.

If you built it, they will come.

From the producers of “Field of Dreams” come this in-depth documentary on the story behind the invention of the vibrator.  Critics have call it a “show stopper” ,“simply orgasmic”.  Entertainment Weekly gives it “two thumbs up”.  Rottentomatoes.com rates it a 92% certifiable fresh.  Come see for yourself what others are raving to be the “most pleasurable experience of the year.”  

Random

Leaves dawdling in the autumn breeze, streams trickling by, here I find myself once more, alone by the riverside. Oh, how the fiery leaves blaze, a glorious prelude to harsh winter’s bane. But who will remember until the branches are bare as autumn wanes. Once was I young, with many a dream. Old have I become, my radiance but a gleam. Perhaps it must be so, in my absence shall the essence of my presence be made known.

Treading the lonely and forgotten path; passing through unrecognized. Yonder I go, dare I linger? Oh, my life but a fleeting blip, my achievements like sand on stone. I am but a shadow, who shall notice? Yea I have labored, and much have I tried to give, but what is there to give when none sees the merit. Alas, I go, in search for something that I may never gain. My youth I have squandered, but willingly I stride forward, hoping perhaps to meet the one who will understand my troubles and lighten my way.

And here I will be, the lonely wind that blows gently. You shall know that I am here whenever you see the leaves rustle, the water ripple. I will be here, caressing the tips of grass as I pass through, swirling up the dust. Perhaps, then you shall remember me. Don't try to catch hold of me for I appear without a trace and leave without a sign. I am a free spirit, coming and going as I pleased. Like sand, you shall not contain me with your fingers, like water I linger not in one place too long.

Reflection on Listening

It was not too long ago that I shadowed an aging Monsignor as he made his daily rounds to visit those who are in need; primarily to be there, to listen as they share their stories with him. Late into the evenings and onto the darkest hour of a new day, I would follow him as he went from home to home, hospital bed to hospital bed; whatever the hour, however inconvenient. Always with a slight incline of his head, a knowing smile on his face, he would sit with fierce intensity and listened attentively as the person across regaled him with anecdotes of the day. Often times, they were hackneyed tales told many times before; yet, the monsignor never seemed to mind. Conversations were never hurried. Time stood still when he sat.

I have often found myself mesmerized by the way he listens. The monsignor plays the role of a transfixed audience with absolute ease. He knows when to nod, and when to nudge. His eyes never wavering, his body language always engaging; the monsignor can coax a dialogue from even the shyest of persons. When there are those who paced the room nervously as they spoke, the monsignor would get up and join them. Hand on the shoulder, heads close together, the two would walk together like old friends sharing a secret. That level of human contact, the connection that can exist between two people through conversation is awe inspiring.

The monsignor can be soothing and encouraging without trying. Perhaps it is the numerous years of sitting in confessionals, but no one is better at taking away the shame, the embarrassment, and the guilt that comes with revealing oneself through conversations. No one is ever vulnerable, or better put, no one ever felt uncomfortable with being vulnerable in the presence of the monsignor. Such was the greatness of his listening skill; he softens all edges, and removes all traces of defensiveness. Simply, through being sincere and creating an ambience of unconditional positive regards, the monsignor allows for conversations to flow. Following him, I have heard tales of humanity that spans the spectrum of human experience otherwise unheard of, unwritten, and would have remained unknown.
What is amazing is his skill to be still. I have known the monsignor to be a gifted orator, and conversationalist. He was a true erudite, well versed in arcane knowledge, up to date with current affairs. There was no shortage of wisdom in his words, and people gravitate towards him when he speaks. Yet, in those moments, when he is sitting across from a person, the monsignor never felt the need to interject. There was no urgency, no need to impress his intelligence upon those present; it was as if he had no personal agenda.

To an untrained ear it might appear at times that the monsignor is allowing others to dominate a conversation. If one is to listen closely, however, the monsignor is actually guiding without being imposing. A well timed comment now and then plants a seed that a person going off on a tangent would use to direct themselves back on track. As a result, people rarely stray far from point when speaking with the monsignor; he always manages to curb them back.

I remember asking him the secret of being a great listener, and his respond was, “Humility”. He said too often we go into a conversation expecting we have something better to offer. We elevate and insert ourselves with the notion that we are active participants who have been blessed with some amazing insight. In reality, a consummate conversationalist should be someone with true humility who would be willing to consider the possibility that God hadn't chosen him for that kind of honor. Listening is like going to a tea party with your own cup. That cup better be empty and ready to be filled, otherwise if you bring your own brew you may as well drink by yourself.

I don’t know what kind of listener I am. I know as a doctoral student, I am inclined to jump in and fix things. Perhaps that is the ego that the monsignor is warning me about. True humility then becomes a product of true confidence that stems from never having the need to be validated oneself through insertion into others’ stories.

When bad things happens

I have learned that often times things won't go the way you want them to. As hard you pray about it, as much as you may hope for it, there will be days when all the lights will be red and the house of cards will crumple down. It is just the way the world works, moments of highs followed by moments of low. Up and down, up and down, and round around. I guess the important thing is when those moments arrive, you just have to take a step back and appreciate the times when things did go well, or were at least normal.

In the end, we just got to have faith and strive for the best we can. We cannot let ourselves be brought down. We will always feel the pull of gravity as long as we walk upon this earth, but that has never stopped us from reaching with out stretch arms to the stars above. Longingly we gazed upon the moon so much so that we actually end up conquering the heights and landed upon its face.

It is in our nature to let the negatives rule the day, we give too much credit to the things that go wrong. Probably because relatively few brag about success as much as those who bitch about failure. Probably because we want to pay more attention to the negatives so that we may alter our courses to avoid it. Probably because we like to see others suffer so as to feel good about ourselves. Or it is even possible that we want to out suffer someone simply because it seems to give us more character... Whatever the reason, as a species we tend to view the negatives as being more important. We overlook when things were actually positive. We take it for granted when things go our way, we think we deserve it; but that is really not the case.

Sometimes you have to earn the good things. Other times, you have got to just understand that even when you do your darnedest, chances are there are powers beyond you that dictates today may just be the day when you will be screwed. Its nothing personal. Instead, it is a chance to put things in perspective. It may even be an opportunity for growth.

I am not saying there is a pony in the horse manure that is flung at you, but it is nice to hope that there may be one. If nothing else, you can at least be glad that there is a horse somewhere that defecated the feces you are in, and chances are someone is very lucky to have that horse as a companion. And you can be grateful that while you may personally loathe the smell, color and feel of the crap you are in, it makes a great fertilizer to grow something you may actually eating eventually.

All I am saying is, shit happens, even to the best of us. When they do, don't let to bring you down. Don't wallow in your sorrow, instead reach up, because who knows, you may just be the seed that needs the nourishment before you can grow and bear fruit.