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Welcome to my blog! The SiLENT NiGHT is just a blog of literary pieces I've been working on as a requirement-slash-project for my 21st lit subject. We were assigned to create literary pieces following the theme  “21st century literature". I found the project an exciting way to express creativity through words and an opportunity to exercise my linguistic learnings.

Here’s a background of the challenges I faced in constructing this blog:

I was surprised to know that there were 12 (twelve!) genres we need to accomplish and must be independent of one another. “Independent?”, you may ask. Well, it all started with this…

When I was about to begin writing my pieces for these genres, I thought that you can use the poem for the poem entry as the poem for the hyperpoetry entry. (P.S. I learned that hyperpoetry is just poems on the WWWeb featuring links) Furthermore, I thought that the theme was whatever we chose to write about (making me excited to produce my pieces. Disclaimer: I procrastinated though). BUT, we were informed that it won't be (about our chosen theme) and that we shan’t (use the same piece for multiple entries). First time(?) ever(?) procrastination produced wonderful(?) setbacks. No regrets here…hehe

Additionally, we were assigned to find an app/site where we can post this genres in a blog but one that allows our blog to be hidden from the public eye of the internet people ;)

(it is only for a while though, since maybe you internet people can access and read it now _duh_ )
P.S. I’m not a professional so sorry if this was a mess :D

Our teacher instructed us to try WeBlogIt initially but when I took the time (tsk tsk tsk procrastination detected) to google it, I didn’t find the app or site that our teacher described. So for the time being, I didn’t do the pieces yet (you can’t blame me, it was a valid reason hehe :3 )

“WAS” because after a week or two, I started writing my poems, tanagas, and riddles (Check it out it’s a good one :/ ) and this is where I encountered a problem: Storytelling is easy. Story-making is hard, (especially if it isn’t about love stories and sagas :/ ) I find it a bit difficult to write stories, especially fictional and nonfictional ones. So for the time being (about 2 weeks or 14 days or 376 hours), I stopped there and “sought for the inspiration” :P

Well I did sleep...and eat...and live life so... maybe I got about 2-3 hours each day to think and write. But still…376 hours? Procrastination detected :3

But I think not. Of course, this project is not the only assignments I have. It was my responsibility to write/edit/revise the draft for our Capstone project and draw sketches of our prototype (But that is another story… :P ) So yeah, I had the time. (that was ironic in case you missed it)

See, I just realized that, yeah - writing a research paper was ‘easier’ than making up stories. P.S. Well it’s MY blog so I have the right (right?) to express myself in it, right?

So here I am, Sunday, in the 9th of December 2018 A.D. (the deadline is on the 13th btw) 5:36 past noon. Just made (and about to finish) this blog (Wow! I said a lot). I started maybe blabla minutes past 4; and here I am - just finished a blog. Let me repeat my point:

Here are the following 11 literary genres (blog is not included because this itself is a blog) in the 21st century:

Poetry - deliberate and specific arrangement of words to form a creative and rhythmic pattern

Hyperpoetry - poem with links; traditional poems uploaded online

Riddle - has an inobvious answer that may be metaphorical or ‘pun - ny’

Tanaga - a poem with 4 lines of 7 syllables each

Mobile Phone Textula - a poem or type of tanaga sent through text messaging; hence text - tula (Filipino word for poem)

Flash fiction - the example in this blog is a type of flash fiction known as 280-character story, which has…uhmm… 280 text characters (count using https://www.lettercount.com It really has 280 characters!)

Speculative Fiction - the umbrella term that encompasses/mixes a bit of         sci-fi/horror/history/fantasy

Drama - a story with a dramatic theme; showcases extreme feelings

Chicklit - literature about the point of view of women on women issues, told in a humorous way

Short story - longer than a flash fiction but shorter than novels (also has less characters and settings than a novel)

Creative Nonfiction - true stories told in a creative way

*Currently (7:09 PM) 7 down, 5 more to go!

So i hope you guys enjoy :) All Glory to God alone!

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This Century's LIT (A Poem on 21st Century Literature)

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This Century's LIT (A Poem on 21st Century Literature)

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Decades have passed since Shakespeare's sonnets,

And the 15th to 19th century poets.

Technology has pushed the limits in between

Literacy and creativity now mingling in:

Textulas, tanagas, dribble, drabble, dramas;

In a flash–fictions now shorter, poetry now hyper

Nonfiction now creative, some fictions now speculative

And yeah, a lit lit. called a chicklit, now a real thing!

This new age gave a new rise to new forms of art

So without further ado, let us start...

Welcome to the 21st Century, this century's Lit(erature)

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I have six words: dribble, drabble, sudden 280 characters.

What am I?

Ans: Flash Fiction

(well, flash fictions may be classified as a sudden fiction, dribble, or drabble, or have 280 characters. You don't know that? Well...

now you do.

BOOM knowledge :)) #Themoreyouknow #education #learning #LITriddles

here's a pun one:

What do good people and pencils have in common?

Ans: They always do the right thing. (right thing=writing)

OK OK that was
mehhhh................. but you get the point :P #LITriddlesxzzzz

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21 Hundred years A.D. (A Tanaga about the Existence of Literature even until now, the 21st Century)

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21 Hundred years A.D. (A Tanaga about the Existence of Literature even until now, the 21st Century)

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Since men learned to read and write,

Literature spread worldwide.

Thousands of years have passed on;

But still, literature thrives.

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"How are you today?" (A Mobile Phone Textula about Textulas pt. I)

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"How are you today?" (A Mobile Phone Textula about Textulas pt. I)

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A diona is a poem with 3 lines of 7 syllables each.

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"Sorry X send" (A Mobile Phone Textula about Textulas pt. II)

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"Sorry X send" (A Mobile Phone Textula about Textulas pt. II)

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BLEEP! You have a message.

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Do it for the grades (A 280-character story about writing 21st Lit.)

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Do it for the grades (A 280-character story about writing 21st Lit.)

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"You still up?" she remarked. "It's two in the morning - what are you still working on?!"
"Sorry Ma, I was just about to finish my Lit project."
"Well, get some sleep first, the bus arrives at 5."
"But I still have to do Cap...you know what, never mind. I'll do it all at school."

*Disclaimer: NOT based on a true story :)

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Teach me Love (A Chicklit about Literature in Daily Life)

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Teach me Love (A Chicklit about Literature in Daily Life)

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“Hmmm...another day, still got nothing to say, huh Karen? Ugh…what’s wrong with you Karen, this was supposed to be eassyy….guhhh.” Karen grumbled to herself as she rolls off form her bed, untangling herself from her blanket.

It was 6 AM. Her bed, still with pillows like leaves in autumn. Her face, still covered with the remainder of yesterday's makeup. She got up and fixed her bed in a flash. It was easy. But that notebook on her bedside desk was putting up quite a fight.

"It was supposed to be easy, ughh..." She murmured to herself. Indeed, it was supposed to be easy, Karen thought. “How could something so childish be so difficult? How could something so childish be so diificuwoaaahhh....ah! " finishing with a yawn. “AH! Good morning Karen!” exclaimed Karen as she reached for the sky and stretched.

Karen, a journalist, was assigned to write an editorial about love. “Child’s play”, she remarked. "Why do people even think about ‘falling in love’ when it’s just a series of chemical receptors exciting nerve impulses?” she thought.

"Oooohhh… I think I’ll just pass on this one…Well, I'll just tell John when I arrive at work.” She takes her pen and draws a strike-through on her

Note to self: Editorial about love

and rewrites:

Tell John you quit.

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The train was crowded. People standing here and there. Either cold or silent or looking at their phones. A pretty day, I guess.

Karen got off the bus and hurriedly strolled along the bridge. “Maybe a cappuccino first for inspiration."

She ordered a frappe and set it on the part of the table lit with sunlight.

“Mmm…sooo good….LOVE ITTT!”

“Oh! That’s it! Maybe that’s what love is---a good sip of a lukewarm frappe.” she thought to herself

Note to self:
O love o love what art thou
thy sweet smelling aroma attracts
even the coldest of hearts.

“Oooh, that’s a nice intro, ya think?”

“An intro for what?” a man behind her asked.

“Did I just say that out loud? Oops, did I do it again? Oops, better stop before this turns into a paradox. Probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. And that t… Umm excuse me, I gotta go...” said Karen, turning to the man and then picking up her stuff and going away in a hurry.
“Umm, excuse me Ms. But you forgot th…”

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“Wallet? Check. Comb? Check. Pads? Of course. Money? Why do you  think you go to work everyday, Karen?” she  mumbled to herself, feeling as if she has missed something. Karen arrives at her workplace.

It was on the third floor, third cubicle, first desk on the right. It was dark oak with the color of chestnut.

"Home sweet home," she remarked, "I wonder where John is."

John E. Aoli, a middle aged semi-bald man wearing red spectacles. Clearly a model...

“JOOHHN!” she called out loud.
“What on earth was that?” John said, startled by the noise. “Well, well,  well, why did I even  wonder---if it's not Ms. Megaphone! Good morning Karen! Now look at what you did to my pants!" John said angrily.

Coffee stained the carpet. Good thing it’s nearly the same color. As for John’s pants…

"John, John!" called Karen.

“What is it?”  John mumbled as he was fumblingly wiping off the stain with his handkerchief.

“It’s about the editor…

“Hold on a minute I need to get changed. Would you do me a favor by handing over that tissue box?”

"Sure," said Karen as she handed him 3 pieces.

"Karen…THE BOX!"

"NO way Jose! Save mother earth!" replied Karen as she made a hashtag  sign with her fingers.

"Well next time, let her call her husband to pay for her credit card! Psshhh." replied John as he hurriedly snatched the box from Karen's hand. “Besides, if I used more tissue, would the world have ended at once?" said John as he pulled two sheets out.

"Good point."

"Or, will not using more tissue end global warming? “ John added as he suddenly put one sheet back in the box.

"Again, a better point.” replied Karen.

“Oh, you know what? That'll make a really  nice article don't ya think?. ‘Is Earth a single lady? Nope that sounds too chic. How 'bout 'Save money by not caring about earth'? Nope, too many netizens. What to do, what to do…” said John as he hurried back to his desk and began to type.

"Oof...got it. 'PUT TREES ON MARS SO YOU WONT HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT EARTH'. HAHAHA I'm the best." John remarked.

"You the man!" Karen jokingly replied. "Wait… so about the editorial..."

"Can't talk right now I'm busy..."

"But its just one qu.."

"Hush, hush I'm working..."

"Well, aren't you going to change first?"

John continued typing as if he didn’t hear a thing.

“Hey! John? John! There are free donuts outside!”

Again, wet-pants John didn’t care about his wet pants.
"Oh well, the editorial can't be that hard, can it?"

Karen writes a:

Note to self: Editorial on love

as she draws a strike-through on her previous note:

Tell John you quit

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T’was 6:30 pm--the time when lovebirds come out from their crags and migrate towards the nearest restaurant. You will know. They flock in the outer square with their romantic chatter clogging the atmosphere.

"Maybe that’s the cause of global warming. Is it?" Karen asked herself and hurriedly Googled "the exothermic release of  body heat when in love ”.

“Thermographic Love…the scientists behind this new research belong to the Research Centre for the Mind, Brain and Behaviour Centro de Investgación blablabla CIMCYC…and have dubbed this as the world’s first love’s thermal map...”

“…the scientists declared that when a person was shown an image of their romantic partner, their body temperature increased by 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit…...

Hey Siri, convert 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit to Celsius…"

"OK. I found something in the web for convert 3.6 degrees Fahrenheit to siliceous…"

"Ohh for crying out loud….guhh”, as Karen grumbled in irritation. “Since when did Celsius become Siliceou…Ohhh”, suddenly realizing the thought. “Now, where was I? Blablabla Fahrenheit blabla…in the cheeks, forehead, hands and chest.”

"Yep, stop blaming oil companies. Blame these lovebirds."  Karen said to herself.

"You’re just jealous you don’t have a boyfriend." a voice behind her spoke.

"Umm...excuse me? I'm a strong, independent woman. I don’t need one.” as Karen turned her head around.

"Doesn’t seem like it. Look at your hair.” The man points at her face. “You need someone to buy you a comb.”

"Shut up and go mind your own business." Karen replied sternly as she finger-combed her hair and tied it.

"You missed one of your bangs."

"That’s called style, duh. "

"Hey, you're that girl who talks to herself, apparently still talking to herself. Love map? Weirdooo." The man replied.

"Shut u..

"Oh, by the way, here’s your notebook."

"My notebook?" Karen then quickly rummaged through her stuff and alas…

“Error 404: Notebook not found” said Karen out loud.

"What? Error 404... HAHHAHA" the man laughed audaciously.

"What's your problem?"

"HAHAHA Error 404... HAHAHAHA you made my day! HAHAHA....
".....The name's Ethan...” as Ethan reached out his hand to shake, still red in laughter.

"But my notebook's name is Bob.."

Ethan stopped silent and raised one eyebrow.

"OH, you're Ethan! Of course... ha hah ha." Karen obviously laughed fakingly.

"You really thought tha…"

"Aha! Uhmm uh...my notebook?" as she reached out her hand and shook the man's hand vigorously and then let go.

"Ew, your grip's weak. Anyways, here’s your notebook."

"Who are you to judge me, huh?" said Karen as she takes her notebook and stuffs it in her bag. “By the way did you open this?

"Well, you could say I read it...."

Karen gasped.

"But I didn't open it! I dropped it and then the wind blew it open, carrying a sweet smelling aroma that attracts the coldest of hearts..."

"Heeey!" replied Karen, forming her fist.

"That’s it--That’s it! I looked no further...." as Ethan pulled himself back to a defensive position.

"....But I did look far enough to know that you need to write an editorial on love; and, by the looks of it, it seems you have nooo idea.”

"I'm fine, I can do it myself..."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"What is love then?" questioned Ethan.

Karen paused for a while and said,

"Who cares? Frappe?”

"Enkh! Strike one!  Question number 2, what will you do when a boy gives you flowers?"

"Then give it back to him..."

"Strikeeee twooooo!" exclaimed Ethan as he raised two fingers.

“Final round---sudden death:  What will you do then when a guy gives you chocolates?"

"Umm...Say thank you?" Karen hesitantly replied.

"Strike three! You’re out!" exclaimed Ethan.

"So what, love is childish..."

"Umm...excuse me, but it's not. Here , you need help and I can teach you. For the right price I ca.."

"Right price? Forget it."

"OK, OK, I'll do it for free for the mean time."

"I don’t need your help." replied Karen.

"Well, you do and you know it." Ethan said back.

"No I don't."

"Yes you do."

"No I don't!" insisted Karen.

"Well then, you're on your own, kid!" said Ethan  in a stern tone, disdained by her choice.

"Kid?"

"Yeah! You can’t handle mature stuff. Love is for adults."

"Well, I'm not a kid so I'm pretty sure I can handle it!" said Karen in return.

"Well you are since you can't even write an editorial about it." argued Ethan.

"Well, what about you? Can you do it? No..... I mean... no one cares if you can..... ummm......ahh......help a bit…"

Ethan grinned and said “Call me!".

"Pssh. I can do it." murmured Karen to herself.

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Days and nights have passed. “Gosh…it’s been two weeks and still none...... Should I.. no… ummm........that guy? Certainly not...........yeah…not."

8 hours of moonlight passed and Karen has fallen asleep on her chair.

"Krang----Krang---Krang!" went her alarm clock.

"Oh---uh....what......uh, I'm up---I'm up." said Karen as she joltedly sat upright. "Uhh, my neck hurts." as she rubs her nape. "My neck hurtzzzzzzzz............zzzzz.............Uhh---u---uhmm.... Maybe just five more minu…"

And she fell asleep again.

Morning came.

"Ugh...what time is it?"

It was half past eight.

"Noooo! I missed the train. Ughhhhh." grumbled Karen. "Walk, Karen, walk......But you’re too tired, just be absent---just this once…yeah...yeah..…just this once."

She drooled over her pillow and was about to fall asleep again but was awakened by the sound of  someone knocking on her window.

It was Billy.

Billy H. Unger. Guy next door.

"G’day sweetiepie, your mail has arrived."

"The mail?" Karen stood up.

"This early?" she said.

She hurriedly run down her porch and got the box.

"Finally, inspiration!" kissing the box as she picked it up.

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Magazines scattered down the floor for the whole afternoon, talking about a thing or another.

"Yuck! This is not love this is a magazine for…..

(....you're a kid...)

as she reminisces about Ethan telling her that.

4 hours pass.

"I cant get anything from this. Welp, there goes my 12 bucks." said Karen as she lay flat on the floor.

(You're a kid)

“Ethan!” she said to herself.

She dialled the number. The line rang. “Thank God it’s not a fake number.” said Karen.

The other line picks up and goes,

“Hello, Welcome to Jollibee may I take your order?”

"Um---yes I would like to order a spaghet… WAIT? ETHAN?

"Excuse me ma'am?" the woman at the other line replied.

"Is this Ethan? Do you know Ethan?" Karen said, confused and startled.

"Ethan? Oh....that guy..…so dreamy...".

"Ew!" Karen muttered to herself. "Why did he give me this number?"

"I don’t know but he had a photo-shoot here yesterday."

"A photo-shoot? Is he a model?"

"Nope, just a photographer. Well, if you want to talk to him, I can give you his digits."

"Yes please, thank you." Karen gratefully replied.

"No prob......so do you still want that spaghet?" asked the woman.

"Yeah..uhmm......I mean no…....oh what the heck, can you pleases add fries with that?”

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“Hello, Ethan speaking, who is this? If this is about the burger ad, I’ll have it done this week. OK byeee!” as he was about to put his phone down.

"No, wait, Ethan, I'm Karen---the girl at Starbucks?"

"Karen? Ohhh, the notebook girl!"

"Yes! NO! Yeah its me.."

"Why’d you call? Oh let me guess---You. Need. Help."

"...And not with my hair..." said Karen.

"Yeah, yeah. Get ready: Friday. 3 pm. Starbucks. Take notes."

Ethan hanged up.

"Hello? Hello?!"

"Psshhh. Take notes? Pshhh." Karen mumbled to herself.

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The time came and Karen got there early. The weather was freezing.

She texted him:

Hey! where you at?

Wdym? Im at home

U silly little boy, u said                                                                                                          youll teach me how to                                                                                                          write the editorial

Oh yeah, lesson one,  get
your facts straight. Really
a date @ 3 pm? You really
think thats gonna happen?

FYI, its not a date.

Well, you have to think that
this and the following
exercises are too.

What exercises?!

You have to learn. You just
need a change in
perspective and uhmm.
Inspiration.

Inspiration? For this                                                                                                             child's play?

Well if its so ez then  why'd
you go chicken and find my
number and call me?

Because I need you for                                                                                                         something.

I need to learn love.

“Very good.” said Ethan as he approached her from behind.

“Hey, stop coming from behind!”

“See,

Love is not a state, neither is it an object.
The only way you'll grasp it, even through just a nook
is by falling into it yourself.
Here, I give myself as a lab rat in this dummy experiment.
Do you want to love me?

“Ugh—yuck. I only love frappe and poems and you’re not even close.”

[Poems huh? I gotcha.]

"Well you can at least try..."
"Not ever. Neverrrrr... Grrr... it's cold...."
Ethan put his outer coat of fur around Karen, to which Karen looked in astonishment.
"Let's go inside, it's freezing out here."
The two went into the cafe.
"What would you like?" asked Ethan.
"Why do you ask?" replied Karen.
"Oh you're such a noob..."
"What does that even mean?"
"We're on our first date and I have to make a good first impression by paying the bill."
"Wait, stop right there. Number one, again, this is NOT a date. Two, you've already made a first impression and it sucks. And three, I don't need your hospitality. I'm here for writing an editorial and if I need something, I'll buy it with my own money." explained Karen. "And here's your jacket, thank you very much!" as she took off the coat.
"Wow, you speak alot! If only you had a say about love! and FYI, this..." pointing to the coat, "...this is called a coat."
"Psssh...moving on...grrrr..." Karen uttered as she shivered.
"Excuse me, waiter? Can I get a hot frappe? Karen asked.
"The hot one ma'am, that would be a cappuccino..."
Ethan covered a quiet laugh. Karen got annoyed.
"Let me show you how it's done." he whispered to Karen.
"Umm.. sorry but 'milady' here would want to have a hot caramel latte and I would like to have a cold macchiato with whipped cream on top."
"Would that be all, sir?"
"Yes, that would be all, thank you."
"Psshh....cold drinks on cold days, you are the weirdo!" Karen remarked.
"Watch and learn..."
After 5 minutes, their drinks arrived.
"Here's your order sir, enjoy!"
"Thank you. But one more thing, may I have a mug and a spoon please?"
"Umm.....OK sir coming right up."
The waiter delivered the spoon. "Thank you." said Ethan. "Now, Karen, watch and learn."
Ethan began to spoon out some of his whipped cream and mix it in Karen's drink. He then proceeded to pour his drink onto the mug and took some of Karen's drink and mixed it with his.
"There you go, faux hot frappe. Or in short, lukewarm frappe."
"Splendid!" said Karen delightfully.
"Now do you love me?"
"What kind of question is that? Absurd!"
"HAHAHAHA!" laughed Ethan. "Aha! Got it!"
"Got what?" said Karen as she sipped some more of the concoction.
"Write it down."
"What?"
"Just get your pen and notebook and write. Questions will only be entertained at the end of the discussion."
"Psshh.."
"Your editorial's title is: 'How to Win a Woman's Heart'."
"What?! That's rubbish!"
"No it's not, it would be great! Thank me later!"
"Hmmph," breathed Karen heavily, "Where do I start?"
"Start with what women love." said Ethan. "Since you're a woman, that would be easy for you. List them down one by one. You have a week to accomplish that." Ethan instructed.
"What are you, a 9th grade teacher? HAHAHA!" remarked Karen.
"Go! Look for them! I'll see you next week at the fountain, at 4 in the morning..."
"4?! Make it 7:00."
"5."
"6:30?" insisted Karen.
"Let's do 6. Deal?" Ethan suggested.
"Deal."
"Deal."

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Karen then went to different areas in her neighborhood and listed down what she liked.

The following week:
"Here's the list. Frappe, flowers, chocolate, bag, watches..."
"OK, stop right there. Are those what women want or your Christmas wishlist? Take only those that are commonly acclaimed."
Karen rips the upper half of her list.
"OK. Jewellery, hugs, kisses, ... should I go on?"
"Nah, stop right there. See what I'm trying to tell you?"
"Not really."
"Wait, what was it....umm....oh yeah,

TO BE CONTINUED....

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Bring Me Back to You (A Speculative Fiction on the Impact of Past Literature to Current and Future Generations)

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Bring Me Back to You (A Speculative Fiction on the Impact of Past Literature to Current and Future Generations)

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I went inside one of their rectangular concrete domes, with plaster and mostly peat covering the ground. The ground's got a smoothened texture to it, with 'depressions' forming quadrilateral shapes; almost like squares inscribed on the ground. They even got those prehistoric cables (like those in the museum) lying around here--probably now about a million years old. How cute.

"Look, I found another one. My sensors indicate that this circuitry is from

[millenium=2, century=0.1.9. ]

"This right here dates back to 2019, again. Ugh. Boooringgg. Why do we have to collect all of them, considering they're all identical?"

"Shut up and just do your job, ok? The boss paid as a huge sum of credits to dig up pieces of scrap. This right here is easy cryptocoins boy! Easayyy! E-to-Z! Way better than being an accountant!

HAHAHA mah man, don't even remind me of that. Those poor, poor days. Remember when we still drink? Seems like it was just yesterda..umm I mean yestercentury."

"Well yeah, you just had your 32nd reboot. That reminds me, where do you wanna celebrate your after-reboot? And please, PLEASE let it be NOT on Mars again, I'm tired of seeing humpback whales dancing in mid-air."

"Fine, after we get paid we're going to....drum roll please....

[a drum roll sounds]

...THAT new planet they're talking about! With that big pile of credits, we can spend a month there drinking ice-cold liquid nitrogen by the seaside!"

"HAHAHA, it really seems just like yesterda...yestercentury."

"It sure does, Dave."

The two friends high-fived each other.
"Oh, brings water to my optical sensors." Paul replied as his eye-wiper wipes off the liquid.

"C'mon, let's continue rummaging for pure gol..i mean uranium."

"Men, come over here and have a look at this!", Ryan called out to the team.
"Woah, it's smaller than the others. And still in good shape! Look, its screen is still attached. The craftsmanship's probably from the late 2018 to early 2019-esque." said Dave.

"Garbage, but the design is edgy--even without a straight one! Let's bring it back and see how much it would auction. Maybe some old dude would buy it as a relic or something." replied Matt.

"Nah man, the boss needs all the evidence in this sector. Not one should be missed." said Ryan.

"Well, what if that scrap sold for 1.5 quadrillion? pentillion? We would be drinking xenon instead of nitrogen on your reboot-day boy!" Dave told Paul.

"Well, that's not a guarantee. I'd rather go for a sure quadrillion than risk it for something that's worth maybe only a few hundred million at the least. Plus, when the boss finds what he needs, that's an extra 2 quadrillion! 3 quadrillion credits in your face, you credit-mongerers!" joked Paul.

"HAHAHA, yep you're right." replied Dave.

"Oh, I can already imagine the lag of that amount being uploaded to my bank. Oooohhh....3 quadrillion going into your system....Now, that's a load of moneyyy! said Matt.

The crew continued working and put the samples onto drones.

"Let's go boys! That's it for this day. We're heading back." called Ryan out to the crew. "Don't overwork yourself, men! It's half past 9 already; you've already missed half of your life!" he added.

The team then hurriedly proceeded to their respective hubs and then launched.

"Hey, you got some gum?" said Ryan.

"Here, take a pill."

"Oohhh. Radium flavor. How much you got this for?"

"50,000 for a pack."

"Oh, what a steal.... The last time I checked it was 65."

"It's one of those 30%-offs again. Also got me this cool ripoff jetpack for 399."

"Hey, can you please stop with the chit-chat and begin with the 365-day snooze already? We've got only 4 months; make it count boys!" reproved Paul as he tucks himself in his vesicle.

"Yeah, yeah. Do you need the lights on, or nah?" said Matt.

"Keep them on so I won't have to when I'll have to take a mid-year's snack." replied Dave.

"Well, goodnight friends!" said Ryan.

"No one says good night anymore. We're not even sure if it's night already... Hmm...all this overthinking makes me hungry. Yo Matt, pass me a gum."

Matt throws one to Dave.

"Oh for crying out loud, sleep already!"  said Paul.

"Good night!" said Ryan again.

The crew then went in hibernation mode and travelled back to Utopia.

[ Approaching Utopia. Touchdown in T-minus 6 hours  ]

"Wake up men, we're here."

Ryan opened their hibernation vesicles and shocked them with 15 volts.

"Wake up!"

"Awww, bummer Captain, I was just having a dream of me spending 3 quadrillion on an-all plutonium tower on Mars." said Matt as he squintedly looks at Ryan.

"C'mon, we gotta report on duty in 2 months. We just passed by asteroid-DB6312, meaning planet Entherium is 79 miles away. After refuelling there, in about 5 hours, we would be on Utopia. 2 months would have already passed by then." said Ryan as he packs up the samples from Earth in tesseract glass crates.

"You know, I still don't get how 5 hours here is 2 months there. I would have already been 30,000 years old. Good thing we just need rebooting, don't ya think?"

"You're young Matt. You're young." Ryan replied.

"Alright men, pack up the samples and help me load them in these crates. And be careful with that diamond Dave!"

"Yeah, yeah. And FYI, we're still not sure if this is even the diamond." talking about the small, earthly device.

It was a rectangular thin sheet of metal and plastic, containing small amounts of gold, silver, palladium, platinum, aluminium, copper, lithium, cobalt, lead, nickel; and even smaller quantities of rare-earth minerals and elements such as zinc, yttrium, lanthanum, terbium, neodymium, gadolinium and praseodymium.

Well, at least that's what my sensors told me.

The crew then placed the cargo on the conveyor to screen them for thorium-232 radioactivity before being brought in. The crew was then quarantined for 7 days.

After this, the crew headed out and went to the headquarters, bringing the samples with them. They were greeted by the CEO of the company, Dr. Fred J. Winston. "How'd the mission go, Captain?" said as he reached out his hand to shake.

"I'm afraid the mission was as the previous ones, sir : successful yet largely unfruitful."

"What do you mean?" asked Dr. Winston.

"Well, all we had collected were of the same types as those in earlier missions on Sector 2 and found nothing special." replied Ryan.

"What do you mean 'nothing special'? Look here boss, Ryan found this thinga-ma-jig in one of the domes, from about the same time period that you   requested--and still in good shape." Dave butted in.

"Well, let me see it." said Dr. Winston.

"It's mostly metal and plastic...and a bit of neodymium. Pretty advanced for its time." said Paul, as he hands out the tesseract glass crate containing the sample to Dr. Winston.

"Thank you. I'll examine it in my office."

"Soooo.... about the pay..UGHKK!

Ryan elbows Matt in the abdomen.

"Hey! I haven't got my exoskeleton upgrade there yet!" responded Matt irritably.

"Oh yes, yes, after I have confirmed this object as the one I seek, the credits will be automatically deposited to your bank." said Dr. Winston.

"Thank you, Sir..I mean.. doctor--Dr. Winston." said Paul.

The crew then headed out.

"Probably should have auctioned it instead." said Matt.

"We'll see...." said Dave.

"Why does he even send men to Earth anyway? That place is a wasteland..." remarked Paul.

"And to come look for outdated technologies." added Dave.

"You know....old grayheaded millennials and their quirky obsession over Earth." replied Ryan.

"Yeah, what did that planet feel like?" asked Matt.

"I don't know, I was born and raised on Mars." said Dave.

"They say the human civilization ended there." said Matt.

"How 'bout you Captain? You're from Earth right? What's your say?" Paul asked.

Green trees and blue skies,
Oceans and seas, filled with life.
Earth is our dear home.

"HAHAHAHA! What was that captain? Your vocabulary and grammar suddenly went bonkers and glitched out!" the crew said mockingly.

"It's a thing back then, where words weren't used to express information alone, but also this thing called creativity."

"What's creativity, Captain?"

"It is when words were sometimes used to mean another word's meaning, and another, and another." forming so-called literature. You know, we would have this things called phones that is like a premature CR-ompetheria, where you have to type things to search for information on the Internet, or send messages, or even order pizza." explained Ryan.

"...which reminds me, that thing...that THING....It couldn't be...."

"What? What couldn't be?" Paul curiously asked.

"That same device we saw. That's a phone."

"Why would Dr. Winston look for an old phone?" they asked among themselves.

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Meanwhile, in Dr. Winstons's office...

"Device restored to Design: [millenium=2, century=0.2.1]. Battery type detected. Voltage requirement adapted from Design: [millenium=2, century=0.2.1].  Initializing battery charge. Battery fully charged. Operating system override. Bootup initialized. Error. Certain programs have been lost and cannot be retrieved...."

Dr. Winston sighed in disappointment.

"...Terrarian transcript detected."

Dr. Winston looked on with surprise.

"Andy, read the transcript please."

"Unknown file type. Only first 100 words can be converted. Proceed?"

"Yes."

"File conversion initialized."

"Conversion completed."
"Language detected: 21st Century English."
"Reading transcript:

Hey Fred! How are you? How's Utopia? I heard that the climate there is nice! I also heard that they're setting up colleges there. Well, it's your choice if you want to continue your studies there or come back here. If you decide to stay there, I'm sorry if I won't be able to come see you graduate, or see you grow. Nevertheless, take care of yourself and your sister. Though perhaps we'll never see each other again, always remember that no matter how distant our world, our time, or our generation may be,

I will always love you! <3

"I miss you,

Dad."

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Just Say the Word: Speak to Me. I'm Listening. (A Drama on the Significance of Expression)

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Just Say the Word: Speak to Me. I'm Listening. (A Drama on the Significance of Expression)

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The following piece is fictional. All relations to real life people, events, situations, and thoughts are purely coincidental. This is in the first person POV.

It was a normal day, again. The sun still went up that morning and went down that evening. People still walked on two feet, birds still flew. I said to myself, "If everything in the world remains the same day after day, what is the use of waking up? Why should I try to see tomorrow? It's pointless."

That thought keeps on creeping in whenever and wherever I am alone. How I wish the stars of the night sky weren't silent.

Hours. Days. Nights. Weeks. Then months. The same noise keeps on coming and coming in a loop until I decided to just end it. Today was a nice day.

Easiest way? Letting gravity do the trick.

The wind was blowing heavily. It was cold. Especially up that bridge.

Earth's burdened with people already. About time I reduce that weight...

"WAIT!" a voice declared.

It was a woman. Silky long hair, innocent blue eyes, puffy red cheeks. She said:

"You may not know me,
I may not know you,
But one thing I’m sure of is

You are important.
You are special.
You are loved.

She led me down that platform, holding my hand with hers.

"Come. Speak to me. I'm listening." she said.

But I ran away without saying a word, fearing that she was just like them. They don't understand me. No one does.

After that encounter however , I couldn't help but think of her. Of her words.

How can you know one's value? Isn't it personally defined?

Who is she that she can tell me that I'm special; when I myself consider me just a worthless mouth to feed?

I didn't know what happened to me. Me, who considers this reality extremely harsh and cruel, somehow said to myself,

this world is not too bad after all.

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Days passed. I couldn't forget her face. Such an angel. An angel of deliverance and salvation.

I had to find her.

Fate works in mysterious ways. I was looking for a way out by trying to go out of this world. Little did I know, the way out was someone who gave just enough care to save my soul from death. Even if she was just a stranger. Even if I was just a stranger to her.

And I found that stranger again.

But this time,

not on a bridge.

She works as a psychiatrist. We became close friends. She gave me her number. We talk. Daily. She messages this funky poems and tanagas. Mostly Bible verses. Other times, we go out and observe the world. She shows the beauty of those things that I formerly despise. She explains that every person's special. She says that sometimes, darkness comes to make you see that you possess your own light. If the sun shines all day, when can we see the moonlight?  There's no comparison then, between the sun and the moon---they shine when it's their time.

One time, we went to a concert. And you know what? People don't always walk on their feet. Sometimes they use their hands.

I found it amusing.

But even more,
with this time I've spent with her,
I found myself engulfed by a strange new feeling;
something beyond amusement.

I didn't know what it was at first, but I knew that

I loved her.

I learned to appreciate. To value. To love. All in the span of 3 months.

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Angels go back to heaven after completing their assignment.

She was a jolly person. Always smiling, always ecstatic. No one knew of her predicament till that day. I didn't even know that such a feat was possible----

to suffer and yet still rejoice.

I learned that she got admitted to a hospital.

Grateful for all her deeds, her words, and her time, I decided to pay her a visit and confess something I really want to get off my chest.

But I was too late.

Just when I recovered from that stage of depression,

She was already on another stage.

Stage 4.

She was there, lying on a bed, covered with a cloth.

There's nothing that I can do.

I didn't even get the chance to say what I felt...

...No...

I didn't take the chance...

I sat beside her bed and wept.

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To those who have ears to hear, listen. Someone is just waiting for one who cares.

To those who have a voice, speak out. Don't wait till it's too late.

Good things come to those who wait. Wait for your time. God has a wonderful plan for your life. If God does not say it's over, then it's not. Why should you?

#SpeaktoHimHeisListening
#JustSayTheWORD

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Remember me, thanks (A Short Story on the Value of Written Literature)

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Remember me, thanks (A Short Story on the Value of Written Literature)

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There was once a little ant that was very forgetful that he forgot where he lived. The little ant wandered and searched for what seemed like a thousand years; but to no avail. (about an hour)

He reached a sandy beach. "Oh boy, Now I'm really lost!" exclaimed the little ant. It was getting dark, so he decided to spend the night in a hole in the sand. The evening passed by, cold and windy.

The little ant was awakened by a pinch on his leg. It was a small, small crab, carrying a shell.

"Good day! I'm Leslie!" exclaimed the crab.

"Hello! I'm...uhhh...B-O..." introduced the little ant. "...what's the last letter again? Uhmm, oh yeah, B!" he mumbled to himself.

"B-O-....?"

"B!" exclaimed the little ant.

"Oh, so you're Bob then." assured the crab.

"Yes.. yes I am, I think." said Bob.

"Why aren't you sure of your own name, HAHAHA!" laughed Leslie.

"Well, I'm a forgetful little fellow, you see. Come to think of it, I feel like I must be on to something really important, but I'm not quite sure what it is now. Oh c'mon Bob, remember, remember!" as the little ant squeezed his head.

"Oh no, don't do that you silly, little boy! HAHAHA!" laughed the crab.

"Oh yes! Now I remember! I remember I was walking on the beach, an-and it became dark, so I slept here." said Bob.

"This hole doesn't seem to be your home, Bob. Are you lost?" asked Leslie.

"Oh yeah! I'm lost! Wow! Thank you for making me remember, uhh, Lizelle, was it?"

"Leslie.." corrected the crab. "Oh, so where are you from then?"

"Ahhh...that's a  toughy....I don't know, I even forgot what my home looks like!"

"Oh you silly little boy, your parents must be so worried because of you! Come, I'll help you find your home." said the crab.

"Why?" asked the little ant, confused and perplexed.

"Well duh, you're a lost little boy at sea!"

"I'm lost? But I asked permission from Papa Smith that I'll just play in the mushrooms..." as the little ant began to cry, not even remembering he was lost.

"Papa Smith, huh? And mushrooms...ahh I think I know the place but that's a looonggg way...How'd you manage to reach here, little boy?"

"I don't know....Who are you?"

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"You were asked to carry the bread back but you forgot? HAHAHA!" laughed Leslie. "I think if you would just write your assignments down, it would be easier to remember them!" adviced the hermit crab.

"But I don't even know what I'm supposed to do....I mean, I don't remember what I'm supposed to do..." argued the little ant.

"Well, write this down..." as the crab taught the ant what the ant must do.
"Stay with dad, carry food, go home before sunset."

"What was that?" asked the little ant.

"Stay with dad, carry food, go home before sunset." the crab replied back.

"Again please?" asked the little ant once more.

"Stay with dad, carry food, go home before sunset." said the crab, stressing as she went.

"Pardon?" asked the little ant again.

"Ugh... Daaad. Foooood. Home before suuuunseeet." said Leslie as she acted out the commands, which the little ant copied.

"Ahh, OK, thanks, I got it." said the little ant. "Where should I write them on?" asked the little ant.

"Righhht... here, see how easy it is to write on?" as the hermit crab went near the water and drew a line in the soft sand using her feet.

The little ant then tried to write using his foot, sliding and sinking as he went.

"Y'know, it would be easier with a stick." adviced the crab.

"Oh yeah! Great idea!" said Bob, turning as he went.

"Uh...Bob....hel..." the hermit crab called out as the little ant then scurried off to find a decent-sized stick light enough to carry.

"Hey Leslie, this one's got a teeny hook at the tip....just hold it like so..." said the little ant as he held the stick  "....and voila! I can write novels with this, HAHAHA!" as Bob wielded the minuscule strand of a splinter.

The little ant then proceeded to write down what he needed to do everyday, and also reminders to get back home before sundown, murmuring Leslie's commands as he wrote.

"....home before suuuunseeet....hey Leslie, this stick's a real magic! See how clearly it writes!"

Just then, a small wave flooded over, with his writings vanishing into the sea.

"Hey! Now I don't know what I'm supposed to do next. Oh well, Leslie will remind me."
"Leslie, where are you?" echoed the little ant to the distance.
"Leslie? Leslie! Where are youuuu!" shouted the little ant.

Alas, his friend was gone.

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Check out what you have missed:

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Through the Eyes of a Writer: The Need for Creativity (A Creative Nonfiction about Encountering the Writer's Block while writing this Blog)

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Through the Eyes of a Writer: The Need for Creativity (A Creative Nonfiction about Encountering the Writer's Block while writing this Blog)

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Is it just me or does writing stories feel harder than solving arithmetic? (Welp maybe it’s just me) Do you experience trying to think of a piece so original yet the only plot(s) you can think about is/are from the movie(s) you have watched? Or when you’re writing a poem and you find it hard to find words that rhyme? Well, I personally encountered this and boy, it hit at the wrong time.

Now that we're required to write pieces of 21st century genres, [insert blog intro here]. See, at the beginning of this blog, I stated the mountains that I needed to climb to pass this project on time. I said that I am not a 'strong' storyteller since I prefer listening to stories more than making them; and I was used to telling the truth (since I think that fictional story-making is just a legal way of creating fake events and fake things and then pretending they're real). I find it uncomfortable to imagine making up a life/experience of a person who doesn't exist or I haven't learned of/gotten in touch with. I also find it a bit difficult to make up false realities and realms without involving things from the real world. However, that's not always the case.

Maybe it's procrastination or NBA standings, (yep...NBA) but whenever I get inspired and form/construct wonderful plots in my head and then about to transfer it on to paper, the multi-million dollar movie vanishes.

Perhaps deadlines also make me want to crunch up and just go to sleep (to redeem all those hours spent up at night). Meh, I don't like deadlines for assignments that require creativity. I think that activities that require creativity are harder than things that require a repetitive/logical/rational approach. Math has predefined formulas which can be used to solve whatever problem might be thrown at you, while creativity, on the other hand, requires you to find one in 'something that doesn’t need fixing' and then 'solve' it
(or maybe, it's just me. Yep, it's just me).

Math finds pattern in inconsistencies. Creativity looks for inconsistencies and forcibly puts them into patterns.

I like poems since they give you a chance to play with words: vocabulary, pronunciation, syllabication, and what-not to create something interesting and, may I say, soothing. (Thanks, thesaurus) I like poems because you don’t have to care about grammar or sentence structure; just slap rhyming words together and its art (I wish painting was as easy as that HAHA) So, no; poems, tanagas, riddles, textulas, and the like are not the hard thing about this project.

But maybe, creativity is not even about arts. Living life requires thinking outside the box, and if that’s creativity, then we all have it.

Before, I was used to use a multitude of words to relay a message or convey a meaning. But, a time came when that was no longer what skyrockets essay scores in exams. (HAHA) In my 11th grade, I was given 'lower' (than my classmate's) scores in essay writing compared with my friend who just wrote about 4 lines. (I consumed the given space along with extra words and arrows here and there) and that's where I thought, "I better write in a smaller font."

The next test came. Small fonts, filled spaces with cherries on top. Still, the same thing happened.

The thing is, multitude of words do not matter if it all doesn’t direct one into a point where he/she is struck by the message--to a point of self reflection. That is where I learned to and began to fit my ideas in pre-defined spaces using simple and minimalist words. It was nice actually.

But now, we were assigned to write 12 genres [insert blog intro here]. Well, I trained myself to speak concisely, write concisely, and think of words that are simple enough to understand; and now, we have to creatively construct fictional stories containing 500 words at the least. I don’t know, the project came at just the right time.

Now I have to get back on track, and quick, as the deadline looms in and approaches in a few days. I should've made myself more adaptable to requirement and change. Nevertheless, I shall not conform to those things that I have already renounced.

Welcome back, creativity.

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Sorry for the rant. Since I'm not good at story making, I'll just tell the truth then. What better nonfiction to write than your own real life. So yeah, that's that. I'm sorry.

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Trash

They say there's a bird in that van,
that squawked and squeaked like a man.
Looking inside,
I was surprised to find,
a parrot stuck in a trash, can.