*The Pointless Writer*
has a life you're completely uninterested in. But it's okay because I can write. No abbreviations. No shoddy grammar (though I'm not immune to mistakes). Just quality writing on sometimes completely pointless topics.
UnPoints of Note
1. I write when fancy takes. Sometimes, fancy takes many months of leave.
We're such good friends, my Stomach and I
We’re such good friends, my stomach and I. We’re always in sync. We wake up together and are never apart. First thing in the morning, when my alarm rings, my stomach rings a bell too – bawling at me, “I’m hungry!” I never neglect my stomach and she loves me for that. I always make sure she’s had enough.
It’s a mutually beneficial relationship. I feed her consistently, and she tells me what nutrients my body’s lacking. Sometimes, I crave fruits – that’s my stomach hint-hint-hinting that I need vitamins! We communicate extraordinarily well, she and I, we do. Since she lacks a tongue of her own, she uses mine. What a cooperative tongue we share! When she tells me that she’s hungry, all I have to do is close my eyes and imagine eating a few different things. My salivary glands act up and my tongue expresses joy when I’ve imagined the right food that my stomach wants. Ahh, we never argue due to miscommunication.
Of course, no friendship is real without being deepened and developed by conflict. Similarly, my stomach and I have our differences. For instance, I love dairy products like milk and cheese. My stomach… not so much. Sometimes, I consume too much milk and cheese, and she gets upset with me. She growls and groans at times like these to express her extreme displeasure. Oftentimes, my bowels side with her. On the other hand, my stomach loves fibrous vegetables. I hate chewing them. Again, my bowels betray me for her.
But all in all, we’re pretty good friends, my stomach and I. We never fight for long. My stomach is more prone to temper-tantrums than I am, but I am patient with her. On her part, she never fails to tell me what I need to eat. We’re such good friends, my stomach and I.
The Insincerity of Smiling
Smile. Frown. Smile. Look past. Smile. If you smile, does that mean you’re happy to see the person you’ve just made eye contact with? If you frown, well, no more needs to be said. And typically, you’d look past a total stranger.
I’ve always thought that smiling at a person indicated mutual friendship and genuine happiness at seeing him/her, but recently, I’ve discovered this to be a terrible untruth. The more people I know, the more smiles I give away, but it doesn’t necessarily mean I’m happy to see them all.
As a child, I was taught that smiles expressed joy, but this tends towards inaccuracy as we grow older. We smile artificially as a courtesy, in greeting, a forced smile. It irks me that I have to keep smiling at random people throughout the day, just because we were in the same Orientation Group, or because we’re in the same church, or because we’re classmates, or because we just happen to know each other. It isn’t that I dislike smiling at people; I just hate insincere smiles.
I don’t dislike the people I smile at, nor do I particularly like them. Since I feel neutral towards them, almost indifferent, the act of smiling is a wholly artificial one. I have to consciously paste a smile on my face in order to be polite, because that person smiled at me first, whether or not I feel happy, and whether or not we are actually friends. And I feel like a bundle of insincerity. I wouldn’t tell any of them if I felt down, nor would I share my greatest joys.
A real smile is one that you can’t wipe off your face, no matter how hard you try. It hasn’t been manufactured in the Courtesy and Etiquette Factory. It leaps onto your face the moment you see a treasured friend. In my experience, it comes coupled with excitable high-pitched girls’ greetings and some semblance of a hug, or at the very least, a grasping of the other’s hands. It’s as infectious as laughter, and the warmth exuded is unmistakable. It isn’t a necklace you can put around your neck and take off. It reaches up to your eyes, and even when you release your lips from the smile, it lingers on your face.
That’s the kind of smile I like to give; that’s the kind of smile that makes me happy when I’m down; that’s the kind of smile people should share, not that ornament people paste on their faces in greeting.
“Love is a terribly wonderful thing! It’s delicious to feel, yet so torturous not to have…”
“Every time he looks at me, I see love gushing through him. *sighs dreamily* Whenever I look at him, I feel so… it’s indescribable. It’s Love.”
“Technically, love is more a chemical reaction than an emotion. It’s only function is to facilitate reproduction to ensure the survival of the human kind. You might even say it equals to arousal.”
“Love is a disastrous misconception. Everyone thinks it’s so great. It’s a lie. It doesn’t exist. It’s really just plain sexual attraction, oftentimes illogical.”
“Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs,