Showing posts with label feebility. Show all posts

All For A Life Well Written

Posted in feebility, mundaneity, patheticism

Am I truly a writer?

For years man had always found ways to recognize and immortalize history as it unfolded. From the dawn of human kind to the modern age of computers, from the prehistoric cave drawings and ancient sea scrolls to the Internet, man has always - albeit sometimes unreliably - been capable of keeping records of his works, his discoveries, his triumphs and defeats, and even the tiniest and seemingly most insignificant details of his life.

Evolution, as it really happened.

But writing isn't just about keeping records or documenting history. While it is true that writing is an efficient way of preserving facts and the chronology of events in history, writing also happens to be one of the most enduring arts that encompasses the originality and profoundness of man's imagination. It fosters creativity and allows one to reach into the deepest recesses of his thoughts, allowing him to translate ideas and turn them into words, prose, poem or lyric, which he can then share them with an interested audience.

I looked back at some of the topics that I had written about in the Stories from the Simian Crease, and while there are a few publish-worthy material which I am proud to say are of my own imagination and creativity, I noticed that many of the posts in this humble blog centered on me and the hum drums of everyday living, being me. It made me wonder about whether I had been maintaining a blog that was actually worth publishing or is this just an online public diary that barely requires any intellect for anybody to understand. And so I pondered deeply upon that thought, and my keyboard fell silent as I stared at the steady blinking of the mouse pointer on my screen. Should I even dare continue this whimsical yet overly dramatic attempt at literary greatness, or should I just admit defeat and accept mediocrity?

Someone once told me that the greatest novel any author could ever write is the story about his life. Unfinished for most of the author's existence, his life story consists of a series of events that reaches as far back as all his childhood memories will let him, and continues up to the present. No two individuals ever waltz through the exact same sequence of events in their individual lives, and it is this individuality of experiences that assures us that our life's novel will be unique, with all the makings of an epic best-seller to boot. If it is a crime to put the seemingly mundane and worldly routines of yours truly into writing, in an effort to create my own saga - my greatest story ever told - then I say strap them old cuffs onto my wrists and lock me away for good, because I intend to continue living and writing for as long as time and inspiration allow.

I only hope that by the time the twilight of my existence looms near I shall have already written the last few chapters of my life's novel. At that time I will face those people who have helped me finish writing the story of my life, along with those whom I have helped write theirs, and ask them with all humility...

Was I truly a writer?

3 comments »

The Mirror (Early Draft)

Posted in feebility

This is an excerpt from a series of experimental novels that I've been working on. It's barely a rough draft, but I'm thinking of including parts of it in the book that I'm trying to write. Tiny steps people, tiny steps.

The old antique mirror propped up along the wooden southern wall of my room has been in our family for as long as anyone can remember. Worn down, dull and tired, it has stood witness to much of our family's history.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The young boy stood in front of the mirror, with his mother struggling to flatten his wild boy hair. "Mommy!" yelled the boy in utter annoyance. "I will not have that tone in this house young man. You better be in your best behavior when the guests arrive, your grandfather has very important friends you know. You don't want to embarrass the Congressman." she replied, just as she managed to hold the last bit of hair down with pomade. In his miniscule barong tagalog, the young boy now looks like the spitting image of his father, without the thick-framed, dark-rimmed glasses.

It was like any other night in 1975. Martial law forestalled any resurgence of democracy, and the incumbent leader was at the dawn of what history deemed as the last few years of his regime. Despite the political turmoil enveloping Manila during those times, a family manages to celebrate a happy occasion.

I know it's not much but it's a start. Ideas have to come from somewhere, right?

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Taking the First Few Steps

Posted in familia, feebility

Inspiration is taking over me like an overly extended orgasm. I am a writer not by profession, but by choice.

- Anonymous

I am living a great fantasy. These past few days, I have been constantly overpowered by an immense feeling of inspiration and nostalgia. Recent events in Philippine history have spurred on in me a seemingly insatiable desire to take part in history's unfolding. I have decided that I want to write a book that will immortalize the life of a great man, my grandfather, Marciano Lim.

I was barely a year old when Papa died. According to the stories that Mom and Dad told me when I was little, Papa was a war hero, whose exploits had led to him being elected into a position in the House of Representatives, serving as a Congressman in the 2^nd District of Samar from 1953 to 1957. I intend to gather as much information as I can about Papa's legacy, even travel to Samar if I have to, in the hope of finding any historical reference documenting the period in which Papa held office.

It is such a wonderful feeling to receive support from the family. While a few of our relatives have already expressed their approval, for which I am truly grateful, I also wish to get the nod from our family's patriarchs and matriarchs - Papa's surviving sons and daughters, who happen to be my aunt's and uncle's.

I don't think I've ever been more motivated about anything like this before. I'm sure there's likely to be a psychologist's definition for what I have been feeling lately, but I could honestly care less. I do not aim to garner awards and recognition for literary excellence. All I want for now is to one day see college students doing a report on the life and times of Congressman Marciano Lim, using my book as reference. I know this arduous task will be slow and lengthy, but I think it will be worth all the effort.

Here's to hoping that I'm not setting myself (and my family) up for another disappointment.

1 comments »

The Life and Lies of Severus Snape

Posted in feebility, mundaneity

If you're a Harry Potter junkie like me, you'll get this post. If you're not, then you won't. And if you're a devoted Twilight fan, screw you. Your kind is not welcome here.

Just kidding. Well, maybe.

Today is Harry Potter's fictional birthday. The fact that Harry Potter himself is a fictional character has not stopped fans of author JK Rowling's celebrated protagonist from throwing him birthday parties. He never shows up at any of the parties though, and if he does he would either be hunched underneath his cloak, or disguised as the mailman or a neighbor's cousin with the help of polyjuice potion.

But I'm not here to talk about Potter or Rowling. Months before the final two installments of the Harry Potter film series come out, I was reading up on book 7 and I remembered how I felt about one of the the series' most popular yet most morally ambiguous antagonists - Severus Snape.

In the early parts of the series Professor Snape had always been a vile and malicious character, taking every opportunity to make life difficult for Harry and the Gryffindors in general. I hated Snape for a good part of books 1 to 6. In book 7, however, it was revealed that the mysterious doe patronus, which had guided Ron and Harry to the location of Godric Gryffindor's sword, was none other than Snape's. As interesting as this back story is, nothing compared to how Rowling made the stunning revelation in her book:

Hands down, this part of the book turned me from being one of Snape's biggest detractors into one of his most avid fans. You see, Lily Potter's patronus was also a doe, and apparently Snape's patronus is his way of remembering her. Incidentally, Severus Snape was the only Death Eater that was even capable of producing a patronus. His undying affection for Lily Potter had gone far beyond good and evil, and had transcended the boundaries of life and death. It just goes to show that even in the darkest of souls, love and kindness can exist.

Man that was cheesy. Blech.

Page screenshot courtesy of Ron, author of Time. Truth. Hearts. Okay so I grabbed it off his Facebook page, happy!?

5 comments »

A Darker Shade of Grey

Posted in feebility, infuriatum

I feel so ashamed of myself.

Last night, while the the rain playfully showered on everyone on the street, a woman got mugged a few yards from where I was standing. Hunched over, clutching an umbrella in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other, I stood frozen in the rain as the woman screamed for help.

I wanted to run towards her to help but I didn't. I just stood there, like a complete idiot.

The woman was sprawled on the street, pushed to the pavement by the devil himself. He looked no older than 17. From where I stood, it looked like he held the woman up at knife point, and took whatever it was that he took. But at that distance, I could not be certain if there actually was a weapon involved, although her screams of terror instinctively told me that he had to have had something life-threatening in his hands. My feet turned heavy as lead and I could not move a step.

Everything happened so fast. I watched as the perpetrator ran towards a particularly shady part of the neighborhood, which had a notorious reputation for being hideout to some of society's most heinous. The thought that the devil was my neighbor was enough reason for me to think of not getting involved. But I still feel sick to the stomach.

When it was all over, the woman stood up and walked past me, hobbling a little. As she passed she looked at me, and all my eyes could say to hers was "I'm sorry." Words deserted me at that very moment and all I had inside me was darkness.

I did nothing, and right now I am struggling to understand the difference between right and wrong. My morality is severely in question, and it turns out that I am my worst critic.

6 comments »

The Confidence Pill

Posted in feebility

Are you part of the minority who shimmies along the sidelines because they're too shy to mingle with hip crowd? Do you often find yourself groping for words because you didn't know exactly what to say to her? Well stammer no more fellas, help is here.

From the manufacturers of the highly successful Composure Potion comes the next product in the line of medicinal miracles that are sure to change men's lives the world over.

The Confidence Pill combines the herbal benefits of sassinogen, taken from the roots of the Poise plant, with the andromorphic capabilities of Genie Ginseng. Taken once daily, The Confidence Pill eliminates areas of insecurities, such as those those embarrassing facial warts or that bent-out-of-whack scoliosis back. The Confidence Pill even provides better self-appreciation by expediting weight loss, and is even reported to have positive effects on pituitary functions, encouraging growth spurts when necessary.

Regular use of The Confidence Pill also improves mental capacity, unblocking mental blocks and completely eliminating awkward dead air. Frequent users of The Confidence Pill have experienced a sudden expansion of their vocabulary, and have gained the ability to speak more eloquently. Aside from correcting posture, The Confidence Pill also encourages regular eye contact, making it the perfect pre-interview formula.

Other side effects include improved athleticism and coordination, as well as loss of tone-deafness. Also try The Confidence Pill Plus which re-grows amputated limbs and restores vision, speech and hearing, as well as The Confidence Pill for Women, which removes post-natal insecurities and increases breast size while reducing dress size.

The Confidence Pill is made and distributed by Wishful Thinking Pharmaceuticals.

Need a picker-upper?

2 comments »

A Class Like No Other

Posted in feebility, mundaneity

If you ask me, I think last night's reunion was a rousing success.

Despite the low turnout, those who did make it to the reunion had a wonderful time seeing old friends and making new ones. The Ramon Magsaysay High School Class of 1996 held a special reunion event at the Aquasphere in Malate, and I got to see some of the old familiar faces that I used to see everyday at school. So much has changed in the last decade or so, but it was nice to see that the friendships that were forged nearly 15 years ago still stand strong even to this day.

Kudos to the organizers of the event, headed by Marc Mendoza, for putting together a very successful get-together.

I will be the first to admit that I never knew some of the attendees, owing to the fact that I was only a transfer student back in our junior year. But those last two years that I spent at Ramon Magsaysay High School were undoubtedly the best years I've spent in high school.

At last night's reunion, there were plenty of food and drinks. Souvenir shirts were also given out to those who came. The organizers rented out the pool table and the swimming pool, although only a few decided to actually bring swim gear. I didn't, but I sure wished I did when I saw the guys cooling off in the pool. This heat is just terrible. But I digress.

As far as names go, here is my feeble attempt at remembering them. Just from the top of my head, some of the attendees included: Mercy Flores, Jocelyn Jordan, Alan Reveche, John Madrigal, Felix Awayang, Niño Aguinaldo, Jun Quintero, Mary Grace Camarines, Cherry Asia, Edward Teraña, Raymond delos Santos, Normita Pangan, Elaisa Aguilar, John Henry Lim, and Michael Liguit. Sorry, I'm terrible with faces and much worse at remembering names. The old noodle's not as reliable as it used to be.

I sincerely had a great time last night, and here's hoping for another successful reunion in the near future. Cheers!

RMHS Class of '96. Well, at least some of them.

7 comments »

The Rivers of the Subconscious

Posted in feebility

Summer ends at dawn

Water trickles down the Earth

Rivers formed from thought

The rivers run deep

Gushing with undercurrents

Carving thought canyons

Water cuts through soil

Washing thoughts and emotions

Confusion sets in

Rocks turn to rubble

Imagination runs wild

New rivers are born

The mind embraces

Rivers open out to sea

To slumber is bliss

0 comments »

The Other War

Posted in feebility

The silence was deceptively deafening. As the soldiers of all three warring armies stared out into the battlefield, they felt the tension weighing down on them like guilt.

“Remember our battle plan. Let the Paperians begin their assault on the Sciss. Hold your positions!” bellowed the Rockthum commander Drega. He was atop a standard Rockthum military-issued H.O.G., which was a mechanized mutant wild boar with plasma fangs capable of ripping flesh from bone. Only the commander of the Rockthum Army was capable of controlling this mechanical monstrosity; all the other soldiers fought on foot.

They have been fighting a war that has been going on for as long as any of them could remember. No clear victor has been determined in the war’s ten thousand year history.

“This is for Yasora”, spoke the Paperian battalion commander Hu. Yasora was the battalion’s previous commander, who was recently killed in battle by a Sciss warrior. She had led the Paperian battalion through thousands of battles, but old age caught up with her and her defenses weakened. Paperians usually shed their immensely strong hides for the last time after their fourth shedding, by which time they would have lived an average of 150 years. Hu was on a mission of vengeance against the Sciss, despite the fact that no Paperian has ever successfully killed a Sciss.

The Sciss are a barbaric yet highly intelligent race. They believed that they are the living, breathing manifestations of Existence itself, and that the Rockthum and the Paperians were merely anomalies. They never spoke, despite having the ability to do so. Instead, the Sciss communicated telepathically, with the Sciss Mind issuing commands to the Sciss Horde in singularity. The Sciss have never considered the Paperians a threat, but they have yet to gain victory over the Rockthum Army.

The battle commences. Hundreds of Paperians immediately fell against the Sciss Horde, while the Rockthum held their ground. Their seemingly impenetrable defensive alignment is soon broken when a legion of Paperians infiltrated their right flank; the Rockthum Army simply had no chance. The Paperians continued their onslaught as every Rockthum soldier fell. “That’s it men! To victory!” roared Hu, as more Paperian soldiers entered the fray.

The Sciss Mind took this opportunity to mount an attack against the Rockthum. However, Drega spearheaded one final defensive ploy that once again thwarted the Sciss Horde, bravely sacrificing himself and his H.O.G. in the process. As thousands of Rockthum soldiers fell, a thousand more took up arms and desperately continued to fight, despite losing Drega.

The battle seemed to rage on endlessly, until finally the Rockthum Army falls and succumbs to the Paperians, as the Sciss watch silently from a distance.

In the real world, Charlie drew paper and won.

1 comments »

Emily

Posted in familia, feebility

She could hardly keep herself from smiling. Teary-eyed, she took hold of the tiny little angel that was brought into the room by the hospital nurse. He had his father’s eyes. Despite her being bed-ridden and weak from exhaustion, she managed a loving smile as her first-born son yawned his first yawn.

~o~

He came home one day with only one shoe. Bullies at school hid his shoe, and he was forced to take a humiliating walk home, half-barefoot. She felt his pain. She took the remaining shoe off his foot, and the touch of her hand consoled him, gave him comfort. He felt like he would never need to wear shoes again as long as she was by his side.

~o~

It was the unmistakable stench of alcohol. He said he came from school. She found a cigarette lighter in the pocket of his pants while she was washing them. What was happening to him? Silently she wept.

~o~

He had trouble breathing. He called for his wife just as his son got home. He came home after curfew, and despite the pain he was feeling in his chest he scolded the young man. Words were said, and he clutched his chest. He said he just needed the outdoor air. He said he wanted to go to his sister’s house to watch television.

He died in the hospital that day.

~o~

She watched helplessly, crying, as her son hides his face in shame from behind bars. He was caught buying crack from the neighborhood junkie. Lost for words, he handed over the note which he wrote for her in jail, scribbled on the back of a torn cigarette foil. She read every loving word as tears rolled down her cheek. She steadied herself. Watching him rot was killing her.

~o~

He was excited to show her his biggest paycheck ever. When she found out, she was so proud of him. She realized that he was no longer a child. He had gone through so much, and so had she.

The story continues. Mom, you inspire me.

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Traitors And Thieves

Posted in feebility

The light underneath the door told him someone was there. He could hear footsteps just beyond the threshold scurrying across the creaking floorboards.

Who's in there?

The noises stopped. As if contemplating their next move, his unwelcome visitors stood there silent for what seemed like an eternity. Clutching his heart in one hand, and a 9 millimeter in the other, he cautiously crept closer to the door. Hearing nothing, he clicked the lock on the doorknob and pushed the door open quietly. He didn't even have to use his key. Then, just as his eyes consumed the sight of an empty room, he heard the sound of a car engine roaring from the back of the house. Running towards the back door, he got there just in time to see the sedan swerve and careen towards the embankment and speed into the distance. He knew they got what they came for.

=============================================================================

They stopped in the middle of nowhere. They had just broken into a man's house and had stolen what they were paid to steal - an antique Van Gogh. The man they took it from was supposedly a descendant of the world renowned painter.

How much do you reckon it's worth?

Without answering the question, the other thief pulled out his revolver and shot his partner in cold blood. He kicked the car door open and shoved the lifeless mass beside him out onto the pavement. It made a silent thud. He turned the engine over and drove off in the opposite direction.

It's worth a lot more to me than you, Stan.

2 comments »

In The Doldrums of Apathy

Posted in feebility

A man wanted to write a story that would change the world.

But he was too bored to scribble the first word. So bored that the Grim Reaper came while the man was doodling, but left when he couldn't talk the man into dying. Bored to death? No, Death got bored and left.

"How can you splash thoughts on paper when nothing of consequence ever happens to you?" said the man to himself. He wasn't surprised when nobody replied. After all, he was boring. So he let go of the dried out pen and took a walk outside.

He met a stranger carrying a sack of bloody bones. "Are those... human bones?" the boring man asked the stranger. "Yep. Met him yesterday." And with the sweat dripping from his forehead, the boring man kept on walking.

A woman came up to him and started quoting bible verses to him. "Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife!" preached the woman, while holding her underwear out to him. Again, the boring man kept walking.

As he was heading back home a great war erupted between the Irites and the Dews over who was the better basket-weaving people. The boring man found himself in the middle of a battlefield. Hundreds lay dead as women and children fled for their safety. But as Death still would not approach him, he kept on walking.

The boring man got home at last and decided to write about everything that had happened that day. He dipped his feather quill in ink, spread the pages of his journal open, and began writing. Page after page he scribbled feverishly hoping that he could put in as much detail as he could remember about the people he met and the war that he witnessed. When he was done, he held up his journal against the light of the oil lamp and smiled contentedly.

"Another disturbingly boring piece." he thought to himself. He called it "In The Doldrums of Apathy".

1 comments »

Rantings of a Lunatic

Posted in feebility, mundaneity

What the hell am I supposed to do with you now? Look at yourself, all curled up in the darkness. You're a complete mess. Were you thinking I wouldn't notice? I know you better than anyone else. Even better than you think.

So what, are you just gonna clam up and do nothing? She has something that belongs to you, damn it! Are you just gonna lie down and let her get away with that? Oh, so you gave it to her!? What the fuck were you thinking!? Why the hell did you give her your heart?

You're better than this. No? That's what you always tell yourself, and look at where that mentality brought you. Tell me, has it ever done you any good? Some idiots never learn you know.

Get up. Get rid of the vodka and wash the hell up. You reek. You look like a filthy hobo. Do you think she's just gonna hand it back to you because of pity? You really are pathetic.

Take it back. Go to her and take the damn thing back. Why not? It ain't hers, she doesn't even want it. Can't you see that? You're more of a loser than I thought.

Just look at her. Holding your heart out to you. Teasing you. Tempting you. Waiting for you to try and take it back so she can hurt you even more by pulling her hand back as soon as you try to reach out.

It's time you start getting a life moron. Hey, I said get a life, not take one. Let go of the fucking knife!

What? You look at me with that knife in your hand as if you had the guts to do anything. You were never worth anything, genius. Why do you think everybody keeps laughing at you? You think you're smart? You think they like you? You're nothing! You are obscurity personified.

You're hopeless. Get out of my head.

0 comments »

Vengeance is Not Ours, it's God's - A Declamation Piece

Posted in feebility, mundaneity

I never got to do this back in school, but I have always admired those who did this piece. I dunno, I just find it interesting, and I'm sure some of you would remember this.

Vengeance is Not Ours, it's God's

Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your mercy. I am a child so young, so thin, and so ragged. Why are you staring at me? With my eyes I cannot see but I know that you are all staring at me. Why are you whispering to one another? Why? Do you know my mother? Do you know my father? Did you know me five years ago? Yes, five years of bitterness have passed. I can still remember the vast happiness mother and I shared with each other. We were very happy indeed.

Suddenly, five loud knocks were heard on the door and a deep silence ensued. Did the cruel Nippon’s discover our peaceful home? Mother ran to Father’s side pleading. “Please, Luis, hide in the cellar, there in the cellar where they cannot find you,” I pulled my father’s arm but he did not move. It seemed as though his feet were glued to the floor. The door went “bang” and before us five ugly beasts came barging in. “Are you Captain Luis Santos?” roared the ugliest of them all. “Yes,” said my father. “You are under arrest,” said one of the beasts. They pulled father roughly away from us. Father was not given a chance to bid us goodbye.

We followed them mile after mile. We were hungry and thirsty. We saw a group of Japanese eating. Oh, how our mouths watered seeing the delicious fruits they were eating, Then suddenly, we heard a voice call, “Consuelo…… Oscar…… Consuelo…… Oscar…… Consu... …… Oscar……” we ran towards the direction of the voice, but it was too late. We saw father hanging on a tree…… dead. Oh, it was terrible. He had been badly beaten before he died……and I cried vengeance, vengeance, vengeance! Everything went black. The next thing I knew I was nursing my poor invalid mother.

One day, we heard the church bell ringing “ding-dong, ding-dong!” It was a sign for us to find a shelter in our hide-out, but I could not leave my invalid mother, I tried to show her the way to the hide-out.

Suddenly, bombs started falling; airplanes were roaring overhead, canyons were firing from everywhere. Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Mother was hit. Her legs were shattered into pieces. I took her gently in my arms and cried, “I’ll have vengeance, vengeance!” “No, Oscar. Vengeance, it is God’s,” said mother.

But I cried out vengeance. I was like a pent-up volcano. “Vengeance is mine not the Lord’s”. “No, Oscar. Vengeance is not ours, it’s God’s” these were the words from my mother before she died.

Mother was dead and I was blind. Vengeance is not ours? To forgive is divine but vengeance is sweeter.

That was five years ago, five years…… Alms, alms, alms. Spare me a piece of bread. Spare me your mercy. I am a child so young, so thin, and so ragged. Vengeance is not ours, it is God’s... It’s... God’s... It's...

0 comments »

Pancakes

Posted in feebility, subservience

Waking up to the smell of pancakes for breakfast is truly one of the better things one gets to enjoy in life. Luckily, for those of us who work in a call center, those of us who don’t get to wake up for breakfast there’s lunch, dinner and all sorts of edible stuff you can get from the friendly convenient store around the block.

The call center industry has indeed - for lack of a more unique term - boomed to exponential proportions with all those foreign multinational corporations setting up their sites here and there. It had opened up a lot of opportunities for people to explore their potential and become a contributor to society without having to be confined to the limitations of one’s educational attainment.

So how does a typical Juan dela Cruz (he has since changed his name to John once he got signed by one of the top call centers in the Philippines) spend his day? He wakes up at around 7:00 PM (he hit the sack at around 11:00 AM earlier), eats a hasty meal and prepares to go to work. By 7:30 he’s saying goodbye to his wife and kid then he’s off to work. He gets to the office at around 8:40 PM and has just enough time to enjoy 1 stick of cigarette before logging in. He enters the office at 9:01 PM and is late by 1 minute. He gets his first call as soon as he logs in to the phones. Its a sup call. The customer is so irate about the product or service that he purchased, so naturally John tries to calm the customer down while holding back his own unrelenting fury. He checks the time and he can’t believe its just 11:00 PM. To him it felt like he’d been wearing that headset for days.

The hours dragged on.

Finally his day mercifully ends. He logs out of the phone as soon as his last irate customer hung up at around 6:45 AM. He goes down the elevator and walks amongst executives and businessmen, except that he goes the other way. Their day’s just beginning. For John, he’s glad to be going home.

He gets home at around 8:30 AM. His wife made breakfast (pancakes), and his 2-year old son wanted to play. He spends almost the entire morning with his family and finally got to sleep at around 11:15 AM, while trying to block out all the noise outside. The following week his shift schedule was changed and he barely had time to see his family awake before going to work.

Now I know typical does not apply to everyone. Some don’t get to do the things John did in the previous example. If anything, working in a call center has made me realize the value of things that I normally took for granted - sleeping, eating right, and spending time with the family.

Pancake anyone?

0 comments »

Heroes

Posted in feebility, mundaneity, sports TV and current events

Now I’m not here to pen up a classy, smart-ass review of NBC’s newest hit series "Heroes". I’m just here to say that this show absolutely blew my mind! I literally stayed up entire nights watching episode after episode after episode! You just can’t get enough! Not to mention all the hours I’ve spent downloading all 23 episodes!

Like c’mon, an indestructible cheerleader? (Kudos to you Hayden Panettiere). Who comes up with these ideas? Oh yeah right, creator Tim Kring.

And you gotta love Masi Oka, the funny Japanese guy who plays the role of time-travelling hero, Hiro (how original) that has the ability to bend space and time. And who wouldn’t want to be Peter Petrelli (Milo Ventimiglia) who can "absorb" every hero’s ability just by being near them.

What I find most interesting about this show is that you wouldn’t really know who the bad guys really are until the very end. I mean, of course you’ld know who they are but there will be times (thanks to the many twists and turns of the storyline) when even the baddest of ‘em all would show their good sides. The characters will keep you guessing until you’re at the edge of your seat! (That’s why their called "twists" dummy).

Watch out for the in-betweener, Heroes: Origins, that’ll run for about 6 episodes before Season 2 comes around. I wonder what they’ll think of next. Now if I could only say their names right..

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