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September 12 2017





Anyway, I think I have a better explanation for the actual meaning of the whole imagine how is touch the sky picture.

So my Facebook friend pointed out that it’s actually a direct translation of the Spanish phrase “Imagina cómo sería tocar el cielo”

Which means “imagine how it would be to touch the sky.” But a literal translation of it would be “imagine how is touch the sky.”

Meaning the picture wasn’t just a meaningless jumbled mess of English, it was just a case of bad translation.

Allegedly, “imagina cómo sería tocar el cielo” is a Hannah Montana lyric so it’s probably why it was written aesthetically on the paper and the paper was held up to the sky.

Alright folks, case closed. You can all stop pretending “imagine the sky, how is the sky, touch the sky” makes that much more sense than:

The end of an era. The discourse is over.

First my immortal now this. 2017 is the year old memes die

Another seal of the apocalypse broken

September 11 2017

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20170808 デジタル SAI



September 09 2017


you know whats wayyyyy easier than writing? scrolling through tumblr for hours and hours and tangentially thinking about your WIPs but not Actually working on them

September 08 2017

Oh my, I’ve been listening to songs from Kristina från Duvemåla again. And good lord, I never realized how much I missed this musical.

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Happy 10th birthday, iCarly

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I don’t want to blog much about this because I like my Tumblr to be free of abject horror mostly but please do not forget about Barbuda and Antigua and keep an eye out for any news of what can be done to help, the people of those islands do not deserve this.

(This is probably the only essay I’ll post here. Nothing major. Just something to vent out. Did this for Philosophy class.)

Essay under the cut.

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My story is nothing special. It is no understatement, nor is it false modesty. It may be unique, and I believe it surely is. Uniqueness is, after all, brought about by all the circumstances and conditions in which we live and are raised. It is distinct: a distinct story, in a distinct time, a distinct place, a distinct set of characters with whom the plot begins and develops, a distinct set of plots and subplots that can either make or break someone, a distinct bunch of small, minute stuff that will end up being footnotes below the main text (if they even become that memorable), and a distinct main character with their own room for thought and personality and change through it all, while remaining themselves.

In my case, the story started in a city surrounded by mountains and sheltered by a bay, with a loving family that looked like it had more than its fair share of problems—but nevertheless continued to go on along the path of love. With those conditions, I had a unique childhood, and in all honesty, I do not know what to think of it. I have few memories of it, probably because I had forced myself to start anew after high school, after I had finally felt a sort of freedom from the ties that had bound me to all these scenes: trudging, running, then trudging to school with my sister at 8:30 AM, thinking in what way I should tell the room, “Sorry, I’m late” (all because the pinch-happy yaya with the ugly glare always took so long in the bathroom), but not before a classmate automatically says the words, mockingly, as I enter the room; solitary lunches placed on the table, neatly on top of that old, pink Aji-no-moto face towel; and quiet, happy bouts of silence, reading the same old encyclopedias and storybooks in the small library at the third floor. Indeed, there were happy times: the small victories in disobedience, and the moments of friendship with classmates—but the mind can lose itself so easily in joy, and so easily it can also forget. The only highlight of every year back then was a month-or-two’s stay in Manila to visit our mother, studying and so far away from home, all to prepare for a career close enough to what she had always dreamt of, while being hopeful that she, too, can work to provide for us. However, that is another entire story to tell.

Thinking about it, I believe that for the most part, I do not have much good to talk about that time of my life. Even if they happened, the happy times and the highlights either end too soon or are at times tainted with moments of which I dread to think, even remember. In a way, those dreadful moments have steeled me. I learned that, among other things, a “broken” family is by no means equivalent to a “broken” childhood, and that problems, times of suffering, will always end sometime or another. It gave me a sense of optimism, which at times bordered on naïveté, but still allowed me to keep looking at the bright side of things. But somewhere, in some part of my mind, bitter feelings remained: a resentment that came to be out of the anxiety and meekness that remained even though the antagonists of the story have ultimately disappeared (almost literally), and a sense of disillusionment that comes with the realization that those antagonists were once my family. And thus, a void began to form.

High school, and college, brought about welcome change. For the first time, I had become free. Free from the ashamed trudging to school. Free from the solitary lunches. Free from the figure at home who kept breathing down my neck, hand poised to create hell. It was at this time that I had started to experiment. Despite this constant feeling of anxiety, I tried testing out different amounts of confidence, noise, and lack of inhibition, to find that combination that would be just right to have fun, make a friend, and stay friends with them without burning out along the way—or in other cases, something to keep the most number of people at the highest possible level of happiness without draining myself. School gave me so many chances to test those combinations, in the form of hosting small events and joining competitions that somewhere, somehow allowed me to communicate with other people. I stumbled, I tripped, but I managed somewhat, making a few friends out of complete strangers in a variety of moments, in a variety of ways. I still believe I still have not found that right combination, since different people have different sensibilities: the amount of confidence, noise, and lack of inhibition to be presented is something that is always adjusted. But from what I have experienced, I think I have done a decent job at it.

And so, we arrive here today. My story may or may not seem unique at this point, but it is surely something different. But it is not special. This is no understatement, nor it is false modesty, because I believe that for a story to be special, it has to be… fulfilling. Accomplishments, events, memories–these all make for a life of fond remembrance. But in the end if they fail to fill within one’s heart this void that gnaws deep inside their heart and mind, these accomplishments, these significant events, these memories will all be faded pictures in an album that pricks you hard before you can even lay a finger.

I have had my share of memories and achievements, and I am proud to have made them, despite the problems that came sometime or another. But the void comes in at the most terrible time. With the right buttons pushed, the right strings pulled, and the right code typed, I start to show cracks in the dimness. The softness of the mattress and the comfort of the blanket are things for which I am grateful, but I cannot stop sighing, nor can the weight in my chest stop growing. A question burns my eyes and I can only close them to stop them from stinging:

“Why couldn’t I’ve had it normal?”

A question that bugs me to no end. In spite of the life I have now, a far cry from what I have gotten accustomed to when I was younger, it still bothers me. And with that yearning for something… normal, something without the hurt that comes with seeing the ties that bind a family strain and eventually snap, the pain that comes with being raised by an imposing and retributive figure who always wanted things to go their way, and the resentment that comes with the terrible qualities I had come to acquire because of it—it makes an identity. It makes something to recognize when I think of the state of affairs I had gone through, that beyond all the worries pushed aside and the terrors hidden from plain sight, one thing remains:

I am me, and I yearn for something normal.

September 01 2017




Deviantart Prank with friends:

1. Gather your buddies.
2. Pick an unsuspecting 13 year old (preferably with OCs)
3. Send them fanart.
4. Sit back and watch dreams come true

as someone who made shitty ocs when i was 13 (and still does), if someone who was really good at art did fanart of my ocs when i was a kid it would have made my whole damn year. do it

nicest prank

August 26 2017

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How a scene towards the end should have ended.

I needed something silly after playing what I believe to be the worst route today. (as in Bad End Route). I still haven’t played all the routes, but I will never ever let anything happen to Isabella again. The scene with Ashton at the park is one of the few times I actually cried when playing a game. I need to draw something happy now. 

Also @ the anon ask: Working on a Ash/Bella headcanon post right now! 

August 23 2017

I just realized that “notes” are actually short for “notifications”…


August 21 2017

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I just drew this (thanks to the Yangyang mobile Discord chat).


Ashton Frey laughing with Salad


Now, I haven’t been here for a while, but I heard about this interesting bit just now so I’m going to try it.

If this works, I might just end up staying a little longer. Probably.

Hey, whaddya know? It works. Still a bit wonky, though. Heh.

Now, I haven’t been here for a while, but I heard about this interesting bit just now so I’m going to try it.

If this works, I might just end up staying a little longer. Probably.

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Ayano as The Hermit!


i click on something on a sketchy site, it opens a popup? fine

i click on something on a sketchy site it opens a new tab? fine

i click on something on a sketchy site and it opens a new tab that exists for one millisecond before closing itself? …overwhelming sense of unease and dread

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More doodles of The Letter by Yangyang Mobile!
Smol Ash and Tol Zach. <3 And terrible, lazy props!

(( I had a convention to attend last weekend and overtime at work all week, but I am hoping for the chance to join the Discord server this weekend and say helloooo! >^ a w a ^< ))

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I recommend this game to everyone who loves Visual Novels and Horror. It has a great story, so many choices and lovable characters except Rebecca

(I haven’t even gotten to the True Ending yet – so far I was too busy with trying all the different options. I was so shocked by some)

August 07 2017

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Aren’t those handcuffs?

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*needs sleep*
*makes poorly-edited texts posts instead*

August 06 2017

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