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it takes millions........

Star Love

Her own betrayal was delivered. Tiny Igloos made of stars protected her visions, thoughts and dreams. She only let nightmares build sand castles as neighbours to the igloos once in a while... Once, accidentally, a fire started, too immerse and thick to destroy, but soon he arrived able to see what she saw as well. All night crawlers, nightmares, fires and scorn left weeping as it was defeated through a double crossed vision. Something that should never be toyed with. And the igloos grew taller, hiding more and protecting her light. He at her side speaking in rhymes soon becoming a rhythm, she giggled silently because she knew, she always knew. The puzzle was not and could not be complete. The things that distracted her also lured her in. The bitter faces, the unspoken ones, her denial of rest. Tip toeing through life. Somewhere along the way she caught herself in mirror image but slightly unknowingly she became more and more pure over time. Not just in her thoughts, on every pore, inch, foot, silver skin glowing. She was a symbol of all the true beauties, of all the fallen stars, planted here where your feet tread so lightly...and she can hear you. Patterns of love woven love in triangles thick like mercury and dripping an eternal light. He brings me stardust on early mornings dialing up the measures...Voices of dream speak on the other line "you are mine" they call out. Mysterious son of claws by your side, absolute beauty & psychic love. Trails of ritual and every day things. Cold becoming your body, withdrawn like the night. Afraid to touch you. Whispers of tomorrow. Slashes of your dreams before you. "Its ok honey, you can still take it out on me" as he kisses her wrist and hasn't said a word. His eyes tell all just as everyone's do. And old story book of an ashamed past. Glowing moon beams wanting to create. Only her garden grows stronger and someday will embody his dreams too. Her dream, merged to one beautiful element. For she forgot to give long ago, why not just forget. Maybe somehow she already had. And sorry meant it was ok.

A New Beginning

The sun was starting to sink below the smoke plagued, purple haze of the city’s skyline. Silhouetted black rooftops let their chimneys throw thick smoke into the smog-filled sky.
‘Goodbye London,’ Tom whispered, as he let his left hand drop to the grey leather suitcase propped up against his thigh. The sentimental frown plastered on his face told the story of a man who was leaving home, perhaps for the last time. Sentimentality was starting to eat away at his brain. As he stared out over the dusk urban jungle he realised how much he loved this town. The archives in his scrapbook mind seemed to be jumping off the shelves as he was hit with one happy memory after another.
For the hundredth time today Tom questioned his sanity. ‘What are you doing?’ the nagging (almost patronising) voice at the inner depths of his jumbled mind asked. The voice had started to sound eerily like his mothers. He checked his watch. She was late. Maybe she had decided not to come.
He was giving it all up. Giving up all of them; friends, family, colleagues. What would they say? How would they react? Was he just going to leave on a whim, no goodbyes, no opportunity for anyone to tell him he was crazy? If he listened they might just make him change his mind.
Leaving everything behind, for her, could he do that? His mind had turned around and walked back home already, but his heart had kept him here: standing alone on the old Oxford Road ready to leave everything, for her. He looked out over the fading skyline he loved. He hadn’t sat here and stared over this view enough. He cursed himself for leaving it all behind. It felt like the end of his adolescence, like leaving home for the last time.
He imagined his mother finding the note he had penned, cursing his selfishness as she read it. He pictured her blubbing as she paced relentlessly around her shoebox kitchen wondering what on Earth he thought he was doing. This was ridiculous!
Tom checked his watch again. She was ten minutes late. Maybe she had changed her mind. Like the disappearing red sun dominating the dusk sky Tom felt like he was sinking; thoughts were spinning around his aching brain at a hundred miles an hour.
It might be all for nothing anyway, this trudge down memory lane: she had changed her mind, she wasn’t coming.
‘Hazel,’ he whispered, ‘please don’t let me down, this is hard enough already.’
Car after car crawled by; the fumes of the rush hour traffic gave the air a musky taste which lingered at the back of his throat. A lump was starting to form there as he remembered the times he and the boys had painted this damn town red from top to toe. Was that all behind him now, was he really about to draw a line under those times? The hairs on the backs of his broad neck rose to attention and a chill ran the length of his spine as he pictured each one of their faces. He loved them, they weren’t the kind of friends you just left behind for any girl. But she was special.
His mind then turned to Hazel. She was possibly the best friend any man could have. He thought of the ways she had made him laugh; no matter what angst he was cradling in his paranoid mind she could always evoke a cheeky grin. She was the only girl he had ever met who always knew what to say. But, more often than not, she didn’t need to say anything, for her eloquent smile was enough to cure all his shallow anxieties and make him smile.
He checked his watch for the third time and saw that she was now twelve minutes late. He closed his eyes. Had she ever let him down before? No, never. Had she changed her mind? Tom started to believe that maybe all this worry had been for nothing. Maybe tomorrow morning his normal life would continue on its cyclic path and this adventure would turn out to be nothing more than a pipe dream. He prayed that tonight his new life would begin. In three hours time he hoped to be flying away from this life at thirty thousand feet and into another world.
Suddenly, from behind him, screeching across the black tarmac, lights sporadically flashing in exuberance, a white Sedan sped into view. ‘Hazel,’ he squealed. She was here. Tom let out a sigh of relief, but simultaneously his heart started pounding like a jackhammer as his adventure had been thrown back into life. The white Sedan had brought with it a nostalgic tidal wave that drowned him as he turned and said a quiet ‘farewell’ to the streets he had grown up in.
The car door flew open as hazel bounded round to greet him. Her bedraggled hair cascaded over her slight shoulders and down her lightly tanned back in thick brunette waves. She had always been special to him; they had always had a special bond that went deeper than just friendship. She hugged him tightly, her breasts squeezing the breath from his tight chest as she clung on, as if for dear life.
‘I thought you’d changed your mind,’ he croaked.
‘Of course not,’ she smiled, ‘I was stuck in the damn traffic. You really think I would let you down?’
‘You never have,’ Tom winked.
Hazel looked deeply into his tired blue eyes. She knew this had been hard for him. ‘You know what they’ll say?’
‘Yeah,’ he muttered. He had thought of little else.
She squeezed his hand and gave him that smile, the one that told him this was the right thing to do.
He loved her and he needed to be with her. Every muscle in his body yearned to be alone with her under the lazy Spanish sun. His body now ached to feel her soft skin skate across it. Her beautiful body never failed to entice him and her soft caring nature invigorated him. She was the most perfect girl he had ever met. He would travel to the end of the Earth for her.
Hazel grabbed his bustling suitcase and tossed it nonchalantly into the back seat. ‘We had better get going if we are to catch that flight, Slugger’ she teased.
‘Yeah, sure,’ sighed Tom as he climbed into the passenger seat.
‘You sure this is the right thing to do?’ Hazel asked.
Tom closed his eyes and imagined Marietta waiting for him on the other side; her beautiful, deep brown eyes making him dance inside. He thought of her soft voice and warm smile. ‘Yes’ he whispered, ‘It really is.’
‘I’ll miss you’ she whispered.
He smiled. ‘I’ll miss you too.’

Two Halves of the Orange

I promised to marry him. Ever since I was a three-year-old princess with the world wrapped around my little finger, Xethro has been beside me, sharing every moment with me. On our tenth Christmas, we were standing in the courtyard behind the castle, staring at the perfect bright globes in our hands: oranges, a rarity only received on birthdays or holidays. Xethro took my hand and laid it on top of his arm. "Pretend that this orange is a ring," he said, placing it into my open palm. He then kneeled down on his left leg, switched to his right, then back to his left. "I think it's your right knee," I offered. He grinned up at me and quickly readjusted. "Princess, do you promise to love and cherish thee until death do us part? I mean, that is, will you marry me?" I remained silent for a moment, thinking. I knew marriage had to do with two people living together. That would mean I could see him everyday! "Yes!" I cried and threw my arms around him. "Not now!" he replied impatiently, then cleared his throat. Xethro carefully removed my arms and ceremoniously peeled the orange, placing half of it in my hands, the other half in his own. Slowly, carefully, he fed the pieces to me one by one, sticky juice running down my chin and onto my dress. We smelled of some tropical island on the other side of the globe for weeks after that. 

*****
Then everything changed. It started with the little angel. I knew my mother's stomach was growing, but I guess I didn't understand that inside was life, something that would breathe the same air I did. I entered the room, smiling happily that morning, the sun filtering through the stained glass windows, when my maid, Alexia, grabbed me by the arm and motioned for me to be quiet. I looked at my mother and father: all smiles, but not at me. I saw little arms and legs poking out of a tiny bed. "Come see the little angel!" Alexia cried. I cautiously peeked over the side of the bed. The first thing I noticed was the blue. Blue lips, blue veins, and above his nose pale, translucent remnants of eyelids closed in sleep, hiding tiny blueberries underneath just waiting to be squashed with one solid push of my pinky. This is what they called an angel! I hadn't seen anything more ugly. I rushed out of the room, the stained glass suddenly not as beautiful as it had been. 
Eventually, Mother thought it wasn't right that I should be with a servant boy while I was of marrying age. "Princesses," she said, "don't keep company with servants. It isn't proper." I hated proper, and I hated being a lady, so I just kept seeing Xethro, except now our meetings were furtive and brief. 
"I have something to announce," my father said one day at the dinner table. "Now, I know we had planned for Julia to be queen," he looked straight at me, his eyes blue marbles. "But, since Alexander has arrived, there has been a change in plans." He didn't need to say any more. The sugared cranberries on my plate, usually my favorite, lost their taste, no longer sweet. My six-year-old brother grinned cheek to cheek, his little dimples diving into his fat face. I could have slapped him. I took my goblet of wine and poured it over his head before anyone could stop me. He grabbed my arm and redirected the liquid. I punched him straight on his nose. Blood poured from it, mingling with the red wine. I cupped my hands and gathered the blood, each drop a stronger taste of my hate. 
It wasn't a surprise when my parents called me to the meeting room the next morning. My brother was there, of course, the all-important heir to the throne. I would've punched him again had he been closer to me. "Julia, by order of Law XVI," my father said, his eyes darting everywhere around the room except to me, "I hereby banish you from the castle for trying to kill the heir to the throne." "Because I am mer-mer-ciful," my brother said. He couldn't even pronounce the word; I wondered if he had any idea what it meant. "You aren't going to be beheaded. I give you this ring as a token of my ch-charity." He placed it in my palm, and a servant rushed me out of the room before I could throw it into his smirking face.
I kept the ring, though. I'm wearing it now as I write, twirling the shiny gold around my finger again and again. It's taken awhile, but I've finally gotten over the hate I had for my brother. I suppose I keep the ring as a sense of security, so that if anyone asks or cares, I can show them that I once was part of the royal family. 
*****
The girl runs barefoot along the dirt path. Her brown hair streams out behind her as the wind whistles through it. She stops at a market stand, shocking the fruit-seller by being able to buy such an expensive fruit: an orange. She continues on her run. Finally, she stops at a clearing. A boy, no, a grown man is waiting there for her. She bends down on the ground, the shiny globe in her hands a replica of the sun. "Will you accept this orange?" The man slowly brings her to her feet, taking her hands in his own. His thumb and index finger wrap around a gold band on her hand. "Do you need this?" he asks. The girl shakes her head. He throws it far, where it lands in a puddle and is stepped on by a passing horse. The man turns his face back to the girl, now a grown woman, and, slowly peeling the orange and breaking it into half, says, "Yes."

The Reasoning

I think, the way people say that children and teenagers don't know what love really 'is', isn't true. Just silly. Because I've always known what love is, even when I was too young to walk - because I've always loved my family and my friends. Love is that encompassing feeling that is indescribable, a little like what the movies and books say, but more not. It's not constricted to romance, and never has been - it's that special feeling beyond comprehension, because if we understood it, it wouldn't be love. And so, I've always been secure in that: knowing how much I loved my family, and how they loved me back. It kept me happy and well in both dark times and good ones. You know the saying that nobody is perfect till you fall in love with them but have you ever thought about how true that saying is? I mean if you ever really love someone can you hate anything about them? And when you lose someone you love doesn’t your world seem to grow dim. And just because there gone doesn’t mean that you love them less. And when you think of them doesn’t everything become a little brighter? Aren’t they still your reason for light? Because when you've been sitting in a dark room for hundreds of years, and one day, someone draws open the curtains that you didn't know were there, and you feel the sun's light for the first time, caressing your skin, drowning your mind, and burning your soul, you don't need to answer when someone asks those inevitable questions.  Why do you love the sun? And will you ever stop?

The Mistress

Do you remember picking dandelions after they'd gone to seed? Holding the white, fragile, round cloud to your lips, and then blowing hard? The tiny segments come alive, and having been released from their parent, they sail freely into the air. Now airborne they would ride the breeze, being tossed this way and then that way.... At times I have felt as segmented and as free floating as the dandelion seeds. Instead of the winds finicky ways, it would be the fickleness of my competition, the mistress. Whether complex or compromising, heavy or free floating, life can be a paradox. My husband had a teaching contract soon after we wed. At the last minute he changed his mind, saying that the confinement of a classroom wasn't for him. No, he's an outdoor man, an independent person. Earlier I had made the statement that I did not care where we lived, or what we lived in, and that his happiness would insure mine. Little did I know what the future held for us. Shortly thereafter he took a mistress. Everyone knew. Everyone but me. The signs were there, but being young, and confident of his love, I was the last to know. The last one to know? How trite, everyone's heard that one! I did notice that when he came home his eyes seemed haunted, as if he was looking backward into memories that I could not share. Our world suddenly seemed unfamiliar to him, foreign, alien. He would always need time to adjust to me. When enough time passed his eyes would change and I could see he had returned to reality. Only then would I have his full attention. The strange look of unfamiliarity would be gone. Soon though, she would call, and he would leave me. I would get him back, but only when she was through with him. After he was with her I could smell her unique odor. It would be all over him, in his hair and on his clothes. Her smell was special, unique. Unlike the scent that I wear. My scent is a mixture of fern, wild flowers, and earthy fiords. My scent is called, "Diamonds in the Snow". I do not know the name of hers. When I would see the need in his eyes, and I knew that she had called and he would leave, I would pretend not to care. You've heard about this kind of man, the kind that cannot decide between two loves. A heart divided. I will try to describe his other love to you. My competition. It will be difficult, as it's never easy to describe a sunset, or a rose, or moonlight, or even a tree. One can use all the descriptive words in the world and still fall short of describing his mistress. Yes, she is that beautiful. She's flawless. Perfect. A changeling child who always looks different. Her kind has always lured men. She's exciting, but she can also be serene. Her voice is one that you will hear in the pulse in your throat, feel in the blood of your limbs, know and keep in the deepest recesses of your mind. Her voice can sing you to sleep, and lull you into a sense of security, or warn you off when she assumes a tone of ripening anger. She smells like an odd erotic mixture of life, and passion, with a tincture of mystery for extra zest. Her touch can make every fiber in your being keenly alert, soaking into your pores and entering into your very blood. How can I compete? Am I flawless? No. Perfect? No. I could enumerate my faults but I don't want to bore you, lets just say I'm a woman who's a 'country mile' from being perfect. Could I be as exciting as my rival? I could change my appearance. I could cut my hair, or perm it, or dye it, and wear a different outfit every day, but in the end it's still me. My rival will always be more exciting. No, I know that I can not measure up to my rival. I could never measure up. I just go on, taking my share of him. After all, in some ways I have more. I bore his children. I'm the roller coaster ride he decided to take, and that he says he wouldn't want to get off even if he could. But still, it will be just a matter of time before he returns to her again. Leaving me. You're thinking, where's my pride? Where's my dignity? Have I lost them? No. You see, my husbands mistress is the Sea, and she will always have a large part of him. She is in his blood, as the Sea was in the blood of all wanderers and travelers on her mighty, salty, vast, endless, pitiless life force. An ever changing color chameleon, this life building great body of water. She, the Sea, is so powerful she makes her own weather. Is it the moon having power over the Sea and her tides or is it the other way around? There's a great amount of salt in our blood. Is that the connection, the umbilical cord that ties him to her? The Sea is his siren mistress, his other love, his ethereal love. I'm his touch stone, his love for something solid and exclusive. I'm the one he shares the morning paper with, and the cross word puzzles. The one who smells of ferns and far off wild flowers and earthy fiords. He is one of the last cowboys, a sea cowboy, and I am his land locked mermaid. We share him, the Sea and I.

Falling

I reached up to grab the first moist branch. It was slippery but I managed to hoist myself up onto it. The wind was blowing rapidly and the tree was rocking back in forth but I didn't care. I could already feel the exhilaration as I started my dangerous journey. 

The rain started up harder and I could feel the weight of just the few drops. I reached the part of the tree that had only a few branches and it was a challenge. I smiled at the thought of a challenge. I loved challenges. It was the only exciting part of life. Finally, I reached my destination. I looked to the north where the view of Aromas usually took my breath away; the land and hills were covered in light quilts of fog. All I could see was the soft sway of the old palm tree in my neighbors yard and I admired that for a few seconds. 
I looked toward the west, which was the only other view from that angle, and it turned out to be the breathtaking one. Prunedale is full of hills and as I looked out at the hills beyond, they looked beautiful. The lush foresty land was the only thing the sun was shining on. Through the thickets of the fog, the sun emerged and lit up the holy hills. The effect was so amazing that I stared at it for a few minutes before I realized my eyes were burning. This is the only thing to live for, I thought, natural beauty. Giant drops of cold rain fell onto my face and the wind made the tree sway but I held on. I took deep breaths and imagined that my life was perfect. Then, I thought about everything on my mind. I took deep considerations on some things and imagined things on others. I closed my eyes and imagined that I absorbed drops of rain and rays of sunlight. 
"Why are you in a tree?"
I looked down and saw Dylan. He looked curious and thoughtful. He usually looked humorous and lively. I never imagined that he had a sensitive side but when I saw his expression I felt that he might actually be similar to me. That amazed me because no one was like me. I didn't answer him. I just stared at the hills again.
"Why are you hugging the tree?" he asked. It was a stupid question because I was holding the tree but I didn't correct him.
"Maybe I'm scared of heights?" I answered sarcastically.
He laughed. It wasn't an obnoxious laugh but a sweet laugh. "You? Scared? You're not scared of anything. You're perfect."
I groaned. I was definitely not perfect. Everyone thought I was perfect just because that's what I appeared to be. I shook my head. "No one is perfect. Surely not me at least," I explained.
"So, what are you doing?" he asked getting serious again.
"Thinking, realizing, absorbing, changing" I replied.
"About what? Why did you climb the tree in this hard dangerous weather?" he asked curiously.
I breathed deeply. "You must not fight the wind, but you must not let it push you off the branch. You just need to hold on and wait for the breeze to go away." I grabbed a dead stick and started breaking it into pieces. As a new piece formed, I threw it down near Dylan. He just stared as I dropped each twig. "Has anyone ever gotten you mad?" He nodded uncomfortably. I then realized what he was thinking about. I wished I hadn't brought it up. "You cannot fight off that person. You cannot hold a grudge on that person. You cannot hurt that person back." I breathed again and continued. "But you cannot dwell on what that person did. You cannot let that person ruin your life. You cannot let that person hurt you." He nodded. 
"What happens if you can't stop it from pushing you off?" he asked in a low voice.
"Then hopefully a friend is there to catch you" I said staring in his icy blue eyes that looked like two pools of water. "Do you understand?" I asked hopefully. I dropped the last piece of the stick. He took a step forward, reached his hands out and caught the tiny twig. He stared at the twig for a few seconds and then looked up at me.
"Yes," he answered and walked to his house cradling the tiny stick. About a minute after he left, the storm cleared up and the sun shined brightly on my face. My face shined brightly back to the sun.

5 Ways To Deal With A Rude Boyfriend

A woman loves a guy a lot and he too loves her back. Seems like the perfect love story, doesn’t it? But what if he is impolite and rude in nature? Should she dump him? Or should try to change him for the better? Or just accept him for how he is and tolerate the rudeness? 

Things can be pretty tough when you have a boyfriend who has a rude way of saying things, especially if he doesn’t even spare you! 

But as a couple you both have your moments and you feel he isn’t worth letting go. How can you then handle such a boyfriend? 

Confront him 

Firstly, be quick to identify that he is has a knack of being rude to people. Some girls might see it as a cool attitude, and later regret that they got too serious with a guy like him. If he says something offensive to people for no reason at all or something really silly, then it is rude and uncalled for. 

It’s important that you let your boyfriend know that he is being rude and it’s not well received by you. You need to confront him about your feelings. Tell him that he must be patient and give everyone a chance.  Tell him the specific instances when you thought he was rude and how much it bothered you. Encourage him so that he knows that he can do much better than this and will be a much better man if he starts controlling his anger. 

Take help from his friends 

Don’t be embarrassed to take help from other people. If it is his friends, they probably know about his behavior too. Try working things out for him by seeking help from his friends. They probably know him the longest and can help improve his behavior. Perhaps, they can tell him how his relationship with you can go down the drain if he continues his rude attitude. They can also tell you if he has always been like this or it was after some particular incident that he started behaving so rudely. 

Don’t put up with rude behavior 

If you bear with rude behavior each time, it is as much your fault as much it’s his. Don’t tolerate rude behavior because then you will always be at the receiving end of it. Ask him to apologize to somebody you felt he was rude to. You cannot force him to, but surely you can stand up for the right thing. Make sure you put across that you didn’t like the way he behaved at the party or the restaurant, or to your friends.

Counselor help 

It is only good sense to consult a counselor or a psychologist if things get worse. They might find out the real reason of his behavior which maybe something that happened in his childhood or his teenage years. Therapy and counseling sessions might help him vent out and become a better and more positive guy. Support him while he attends the counseling sessions and assure him that it is not a bad thing to consult a professional to improve oneself. 

Let it go

If he starts acting on your advice or starts improving his behavior, its best to support him and encourage him. This will make him recover faster and change for the good. You must stick with him because he is definitely making efforts to change his attitude.

And even after months of trying to get his behavior corrected and seeking help from all possible avenues, if he still continues to mock and be rude to you or other people; it is best that you accept that this negativity and sarcasm is a part of his being and it will never change. 

It is difficult for any human to go through with rude comments, snide remarks, sarcastic looks and public humiliation every now and then. It’s best that you let it go and think that this relationship was never meant to be.

How Can A Woman, Woo The Man?

Many women have their heart set on a man but are unaware how they should approach him or how to attract his attention. Most often, he only becomes a fancy story they narrate when they meet their gal pals. It’s not very difficult to attract a man’s attention, if you are confident and funny. 

Here are some ways he will fall head over heels for you! 

Stay wow

 The first and most essential thing is that a woman should always try to look her best. Not noticing a well dressed and fabulous woman is something a man can never do. Trying out different hair styles and accessorizing with the right sized dresses will make you outshine. Make sure your shoes go with your dress. Always make sure you smell amazing.  It’s important to keep touching up on your make up every now and then, to look and active and fresh always. Most important of all, wear a smile and flash those pearly whites!

 Independent

 Nothing attracts a man more than a lady who is independent and can take care of herself. Nobody likes a person who is dependent on others for small things, or constantly on phone with her friends or needs someone to pick and drop her each day. A lady, who can manage her personal life, professional life, social life and manage to stay fit all at the same time, will never be devoid of charming men swooning over her.

Conversation Czarina

 Any woman no matter how beautiful cannot get anywhere with men if she can’t strike a conversation and hold it for some time. Learn the tricks of striking a conversation and maintaining it. It is not as difficult as it might seem. Men adore upfront and non-fussy women. If you are funny, you have struck gold. Shed the ego and strike a conversation with him. It’s important that you show him what you got, when it comes to wit and words. 

Be enigmatic

 Don’t be a blabbering belle. You might want to tell him all about your life, parents and grandparents the very first time he starts talking to you. But hold your horses there! Don’t get carried away. Going on your own trip will only put him off. It is best to say some and keep some to yourself. If a woman is mysterious and enigmatic, men are easily attracted to her as they love the chase such women. So be calm and give him reasons to chase you, rather than pushing away by spilling it all out quickly. Flirting back occasionally will give him a high and keep you in his mind.

Watch the body language

 You might be dressed to perfection, but it wouldn’t work for you unless your body language is right. Walk with your head held high. Have a firm handshake. Always surround yourself by people. Be attentive and aware of your surroundings. Don’t cross your arms or fold them while talking to him. It can give the vibe that you are holding back things and aren’t being open. It can make a situation uncomfortable and unpleasant.

7 Reasons Why Guys Can Be Commitment Phobic

7 Reasons why guys can be commitment phobic ‘In a relationship’ is a facebook status not flaunted by many men. 

But the girls are always quite happy to say that they are in a committed relationship. Why is ‘commitment’ a sign of danger for most men? Why can’t they be open to being committed and serious with the one woman they like a lot? Are guys losing trust with relationships or are they looking for just something casual? Whatever it may be, it certainly bothers the girls. And can often lead to a break up.

 Let’s look at a few reasons why your boyfriend is not committing:

Maybe it is you who is pressuring him a lot and he is not ready as yet. Your pressure might not really help him commit but surely will push him away. It is best for it to happen naturally. If it has been just a few weeks since you both are dating, it is still early to commit to anything. Some men can even take up to a year to realize that you might be the one.

Parents influence 

It can be that his parents did not have a very good marriage and are separated or divorced. He must have seen them fighting and arguing all his childhood and this has altered his perception about relationships or marriage.  Childhood experiences often shape the thoughts one has in their adult life. It is not really his fault in this case and it is best to give him more time to be open for a commitment. 

 Friend circle 

He must be having friends who have not committed as yet and still enjoy singlehood. Being the first one among your friends to commit can often be scary and overwhelming for men. Guys often make fun of each other and their relationships casually. Also, he might be afraid of the ridicule that his guy friends would poke at him if he opened up about serious love and his girlfriend. 

Afraid of restrictions 

Men don’t like restrictions. And women are often known to impose things. Because of this stereotypical thought about women, men can be afraid that they will have to comply with their girlfriends or wives say, lifelong. This can mean like the end of ‘freedom’ for them, which is a terrifying thought in the male brain.

Not eager to adjust 

Some men need all the space they can get. They don’t like sharing their room, their phones or any such personal thing. They might not like anyone else; but they love their free time and space more than anyone else. He might love his video games and his lazy boy recliner much more than you. Such men don’t like changes and are not eager to adjust for anyone. 

 He’s a player 

This one is the worst case. A guy can often two-time or multiple time women, without committing to any one in particular. If he is not committing anything to you and is also flirting with other women, it is just that he is a player and doesn’t probably believe in ‘the one’. He is seeing you casually, just as he is seeing several other women probably .If you are okay with that, you should carry on. But if not, it is best to dump him as he won’t commit any soon!

Previous bad experience 

He might have had a really bad long term relationship or marriage. A failed relationship can be quite traumatic. This can change his perception about women and how things work in a relationship. Everyone’s ex has a great impact on their mind and more so, if it was she who dumped him. It can also be that he is still not over her yet.

 It is not the time yet 

Maybe it is you who is pressuring him a lot and he is not ready as yet. Your pressure might not really help him commit but surely will push him away. It is best for it to happen naturally. If it has been just a few weeks since you both are dating, it is still early to commit to anything. Some men can even take up to a year to realize that you might be the one.

7 Romantic Ways To Say Good Morning To Your Boyfriend Or Girlfriend

Most of us start the day by wishing our beloved ‘Good morning’. 

We constantly look for novel ideas and innovative ways by which we can wish them in the morning. We can bring a smile to their faces and help them start their day on an auspicious note by sending across morning wishes in creative, interesting ways. 

Here are list of romantic ways to say Good Morning to your Boyfriend or Girlfriend: 

Sending a cute text message 

This is the common practice in this regard. However, most people end up sending boring ‘forward type’ messages such as poems, jokes, quotes copied from various sources. Chances are that your girlfriend/boyfriend has already received the same message from somebody else. 

A tender kiss 

Plant a tender kiss on your partner’s lips and wish him/her a good morning. Physical intimacy is not the most important thing in a relationship but it helps in expressing your feelings and the love that you have for your girlfriend or boyfriend. Just be gentle with the kiss and let him/her soak in the smooth and soft touch of your lips.

Make breakfast 

Make a breakfast consisting of his/her favorite dishes. Put a big smiley with the help of some toppings. Make sure the spread looks good and should come across as presentable. Nothing cheers a person more than having a good meal. As the saying goes, the way to a man’s (or woman as the case maybe) is through his stomach.

 Surprise her with a gift 

Remember you are just wishing her a good morning. So, the gift should, ideally, be simple and yet, something that would make her smile. Get a bunch of freshly plucked flowers or buy a box of her favorite dark chocolate. The gift should remind her of you the entire day.

Give him/her a hug

 Even your boyfriend/girlfriend has had an uneventful night, hug him/her with all your warmth and compassion. Giving a hug would be like assuring your partner that everything is alright and things would improve him in no time. 

A good conversation

 Just wishing your partner a good morning is not enough. The morning wish should be followed by a good conversation. Talk about his/her plan for the day ahead. Talk about the movie that you both watched yesterday. A heart-to-heart should serve as a good energizer before you both start off with the day.

Phone calls 
Phones can never go out of fashion, can they? Back in the day, when one did not have cell phones, one had to call one’s boyfriend/girlfriend on their landlines numbers which were picked up by their parents. Now, everybody has a cell phone and the relevance of phones have gone several notches higher. Call him/her up and follow up your good morning wish with a sweet, heartfelt message.

Never miss an opportunity to make wish your boyfriend/girlfriend and make him/her special.  A beautiful morning wish cheers us up and sets the tone for the day. And, wouldn't you like to be the first person whom your girlfriend/boyfriend talks to at the start of a day?

Can You Solve The Math Exam Question For Students In Singapore That Went Viral?

This creative math problem on a Singapore exam for students aged 15-16 is stumping adults across the world.

This is the question:

To clear up any ambiguity, Cheryl tells Albert the month in which her birthday falls, and she tells Bernard the day's number. In other words, Albert is told either May, June, July or August. Bernard is told either 14, 15, 16, 17, 18 or 19.

The answer is written out below, but see if you can figure it out first!

correct answer and how it works out:

1. Albert doesn't know immediately - this gives us nothing by itself, because there are no single month choices.
2. Albert knows that Bernard doesn't know - this eliminates May and June, because were it either of those, there would have been a chance the date was May 19th or June 18th (which are unique dates), in which case Albert wouldn't have known definitively that Bernard doesn't know.
3.Bernard knows after deducing that May and June have been eliminated - this eliminates July 14 and August 14, because were it either of those dates, he would not have been able to say he knew for sure.
4.This leaves us with July 16, August 15, and August 17. After hearing Bernard knows, Albert also says that he knows - this is only possible if the remaining choice is unambiguous in terms of month. This eliminates the duplicate August dates, leaving us with July 16 as the answer.

He Asked For Some PhotOshop Help, And The Internet Delivered. I Can't Stop Laughing!

This Is What Your Finger Length Reveals About Your Personality

Can your personality be linked to the length of your fingers? The folks over at Higher Perspective say it is, so let's give it a try.

Hold up your left hand with your palm facing out and see which category you fall in - A, B, or C.

Now here is what they say:

(A) The charming but pragmatic one.
(B) The confident, get-it-done type.
(C) The peacenik.

People who have a ring finger longer than the index finger tend to be charming and irresistible to some at least. A's are the ones who can talk themselves out of just about any situation. Additionally, they're aggressive and excellent problem solvers. They tend to be incredibly compassionate and are often scientists, engineers, soldiers, and crossword puzzle masters.

People with shorter ring fingers than index fingers are the self-confident, get-it-done types. They love solitude in which to work and accomplish the things they need to do, but that doesn't necessarily indicate introversion. They're very goal oriented and don't like to be disturbed. They appreciate what they have but often hunger for more.

C's are the peace-loving conflict-avoiding types. People with even ring and index finger length are well organized and want nothing but to get along with everyone. They are faithful in relationships, tender and caring partners, but beware: C's have a fiery core that while suppressed in normal day-to-day activities can be dangerous if unleashed. They might be peaceniks, but please, stay on their good side.

Did they get it right?

Shimmer and Shine

In a land not so far away, in a time not too long ago, there was a little boy named Abraham. He lived with his mother and father in a place that was not unlike many others. Abraham’s world was full of love. He had friends and relatives that adored him, a cat, a dog, and plenty of toys. Abraham had everything that a little boy could have, but for some reason he felt like something was missing. To him, his life was like a bowl of vanilla ice cream with no syrup. Despite his somewhat bland predicament, he had faith that he would find the excitement that he craved. He knew that one day he would find a land of shimmer and shine that was waiting just for him. 
On Abraham’s eighteenth birthday he decided to begin his quest to fulfill his destiny. “Mother”, he said, “I am going to fulfill my destiny.” Her eyes were heavy as she replied “But you have family and friends that love you very much. Why are you not happy here Abraham?” When he left, his mother cried for three days and three nights.
Abraham felt exhilarated as his plane took flight. “Finally”, he thought, “I am going to fulfill my destiny. I will not let anything stop me. I will never quit.” While looking out the window he wondered how his family would do without him there. “They must understand,” he thought, “I am a man who needs to follow his heart. I am sure that they will be fine.” 
When Abraham put his feet upon soil once again, he felt like an adventurer conquering a new unexplored land. He had never seen a place so exotic. There were lush green fields, beautiful flowers, and picturesque mountains. The island was enclosed by a powerful ocean whose waves crashed upon the shore repeatedly, like a metronome supplied by Mother Nature. “I will be happy now that I am surrounded by all of this beauty”, thought Abraham. He spent the next few weeks seeing all that his new home had to offer. He danced in the green fields, smelled the beautiful flowers and climbed the picturesque mountains. 
Soon Abraham began to feel like something was missing. He thought about how nice it would be to share all of this beauty with someone special. It was not too long before he met Mina. She had golden skin and long flowing black hair that looked like onyx. “Why do you look so sad?” asked Mina. “I am not sad”, replied Abraham, “I am living my destiny.” He thought about how happy he would be now that he had met Mina. They had wonderful times together. She showed him special places on the island that he never knew existed. “You are so lucky to have grown up in such a paradise”, he said. “To me,” she said, “It is just home”. 
As time passed Abraham was faced with many of life’s enduring realities; one of them being the need for money. “We have no money”, cried Abraham. “We have everything that we need”, replied Mina, “we have food, water, and most importantly, we have each other.” While Abraham did love Mina, he knew that there was something more for him. He left to find work and earn his way. Mina cried for two days and two nights.
Abraham realized that there was not much work to be had on the island, so he used what little money he had left to buy a plane ticket to a big city. He searched relentlessly hoping to find a good job with a fair wage. Finally he came across a small bakery with a help wanted sign in the window. Petre, the owner, decided to take a chance on him despite his lack of experience. 'I will be very happy now that I have a job,' thought Abraham. He proved to be a very efficient baker. Petre found that with his new assistant, he could produce many more baked goods than before. Consequently, his business became much more profitable and he rewarded Abraham handsomely. Petre was also very happy because he would now be able send his three daughters to college.
Abraham enjoyed his job and was appreciative of the raise that he had been given, but sometimes his hands would hurt at the end of a long day. At times he wondered if he was deserving of a more glamorous career. He would look at the patrons of the shop and wonder how they could afford to spend money on expensive pastries and exotic coffee’s. One day, while Abraham was kneading dough, a strange man walked into the shop. He was well manicured, handsomely dressed, and could obviously buy this little store if he had wanted. “Why do you work so hard boy?” he asked Abraham. “Because I need to make my fortune”, he replied. The man told Abraham that he could teach him to make his fortune and that his hands would not have to hurt anymore. Later that day Abraham told his boss that he would be leaving. Petre cried for one day and one night. 
As it turned out, the strange man had some rather strange ways of making money. For instance, he would never work on a rainy day or in the same town twice. He would sell watches of gold for prices that were far less than could be found anywhere. He taught Abraham how to sell watches to people who didn’t even want them. Soon thereafter the young fortune seeker became the best salesman that the strange man had ever had. One day, after Abraham had sold watches to three brothers, there was an unexpected rain storm. To the brothers’ amazement, the gold watches were not gold anymore. They beat Abraham and took almost all of his fortune. When Abraham left, the strange man did not cry.
On his bus ride home his thoughts journeyed back over his past adventures. He thought of Mina, Petre, the strange man, and the three brothers. He then thought of his mother, his family and his friends back home. He felt a warmth in his heart that he had not felt since he was a little boy. It was very early in the morning when his bus pulled into its destination and the morning dew still blanketed the town. It shimmered and shined like nothing that Abraham had ever seen. It shimmered and shined just for him.

Gliding Toward a Dream

The ice whispers against my blades. I stroke, faster and faster. I turn and glide as I ready myself for the jump just seconds away. And... I empower myself into the air, climbing up. I snap into position, trying to count my rotations but I'm spinning so fast in the air that I can't. And I land! I land... holding the double flip triumphantly. My coach smiles, beckons me. "Do it again," she says, with the barest hint of a laugh in her voice. I look over at the side of the rink, smiling, where my eight year old sister, Claire, hangs gaping over the wall and my dad holds a videotape in his hands, ushering me to do it again. Coach Hark dismisses me a few minutes later, turning her attention to a small girl trying her crossovers for the first time. I try again and catch my toe on the ice, tripping but I manage to land. I recount everything I did wrong: my pull in was rather fast, I closed in rather slowly, and my hip was open. I scribble them down in my 12 page long double flip tips, and try again. It just occurs to me-I'm going to have soaked pants after this. I change pants, grimacing behind a locked bathroom stall. It feels good to have dry pants. I come out to meet my dad and my sister, who are hugging and dancing and smiling, smiling, smiling. "Your first time! Double flip! We can add that into your program, too!" My program... Oh, I almost forgot. My program for my competition. My mom chooses that moment to come back from Starbucks. Claire rushes up and blurts out everything in five seconds. My mom, looking crestfallen, says, "why do I always miss your jumps?" "I have the video!" My dad says, showing her the jump over and over and over again. I'm overwhelmed. A year... A year of hard work. And today, January 17, is the day. Coach Hark is working on my program today. Time flies by and before I know it, I'm performing my program. One day, I'm doing double flips- the next, I'm rehearsing my program. "It's about time to learn your choreography, Melissa. Let's hear your music again..." We practice and dance for the next half hour until 4:30, then the skaters file off the ice, cramming through the door. My mom drives me home, where my dad is cooking. Not many dads can cook, but my dad can. It smells savory and I can't help but let my mind wander, wandering to books, comics, movies, ice skating. Ice skating. How many times have I thought that word? Said it? It means so much to me. I've been skating for six years, ever since I was five. I wonder and wonder until my hand, moving on it's own, completes its easy work. I replace my homework and go upstairs to find a book to read. I read Rangers Apprentice-9-Halt's Peril until dinner and go downstairs to eat. Tomorrow... another morning, another skate. Turn. And glide. And tap. And cross. And spin.... And then my heart races for the double flip coming up. I gain speed, race for the end of the rink, hear the wind whooshing past... I jump and fail, instead landing hard on the ice. I get up and start skating again- no time to brush off. I dance and spin until the music stops, and a little wearily, I play it again. Coach Hark frowns for the sixteenth time and says impatiently, "Melissa, you just landed your double flip the day before yesterday! If you landed it then, you should be able to land it now. Your hip is opening- see you're like this..." I'm not listening. Well, I am, but only halfheartedly. I'm thinking about why I can't land the double flip anymore and how I can't and maybe next time I can land it. Coach Hark tells me to repeat the jump and I do, falling down hard. Coach Hark frowns for the seventeenth time, and I think maybe I am losing hope. Which is crazy, since I landed it only yesterday, but...still. "Competition day in a month, Melissa," my mother calls. What?! A month is not long, considering all the scrapes and scratches on my program. "Claire! Could you-" whatever my mom was going to ask my sister, was interrupted by the phone ringing and my mom answering it, nodding, saying this, that, blah, blah, blah. After awhile she hops into her car and drives away. I turn back to my drawings and doodle, but my thoughts are elsewhere. Competition. Going against everybody your level..that was pretty hard, considering all the talented people out there. And we were going to Regionals, for goodness sake! I look down at my picture to find little skates and medals decorating it, people skating and skating dresses. I smile and stand up, the paper sliding into my bin where I keep all my drawings. This flip problem was getting serious. The next day I tried one again and ended up bruising my ankle. Can you believe it?! It was slight, though, and I was back on the ice in no time...but to Coach Hark, it was an eternity. "We need to get caught up on your program!" She gasps, and hurries me away. "Yes...no...sure..." I mutter as my mom flips through pictures of ice skating dresses. My mind is not on the dress for the competition, but on the competition. Tomorrow we're going skating and I'm excited. I can fix all the things that are wrong, practice more, and...practice more, I guess. "Melissa!" My mom says sharply. "Is this dress good? If you're a peacock, you need to have a dress with feathers...hmmm... Cutouts may work too..." And within minutes my mind drifts away again. I can't do the jump. Don't ask why. I just-can't. Because what if I bruise my ankle again or hurt myself or reopen a wound? What if I break a leg or an arm or something? Perhaps it's because I'm scared of what will happen. So scared I almost want to fall. And I know that I will fail when I try the jump again because I am convinced I will fail, and so I will. And of course, I do. I'm so jumpy. Two weeks until the most important competition of my life. That double flip was in my grasp and slid right out. My music is up. I start it and dance, hoping as I always do, that this time, this one time, everything would be right. Whenever I have to do the jump, I don't jump. I underotate. I don't try to land. I open up. I avoid it at all costs. I really have given up hope. It seems like everything is about the competition; at school, my teacher asks me to write a two page long journal about it, my mom constantly urges me to do my program off the ice, my dad does the countdown, and Catherine is always assuring me that I will do great. I wish time would hurry up and get this over with. I never thought that this moment would actually happen- the competition is staring me in the face now, and there's no way I can deny it. The competition- tomorrow. In Seattle... I hope, hope, hope that this one time will go right. "Melissa," my mother says, and looks me deep into my eyes, "you will land your double flip tomorrow. Ok? Say yes." "Yes," I mutter, wanting to believe her but knowing I can't. The bright lights are blazing down ferociously and it takes a moment to adjust to them. It all feels like a dream...the crowds roaring their approval, the cameras all trained at me, the announcers booming words, the rink, the light from outside, everything. I strike my beginning pose and hold my breath as I recount as much as I can in a matter of minutes. Double flip, I thought, here I come. Don't disappoint me. The excitement and nerves and everything jumpy hits me the moment I start and I almost stumble with the impact. And then the dream pops like a bubble and I finally realize that I'm competing in the most important competition of my life. It's so...awkward, retracing the steps that I have dug so deep in my memory on a foreign ice. But then that thought vanishes as the double flip looms closer and I consider not doing it at all. But then I chide myself for thinking that as a possibility when the flip is upon me. Believe, I say in my mind. Believe you can. I force myself to concentrate and I turn, jump, rotate, force the landing to come out. Just because I landed the jump before doesn't mean I could land it now. When that thought stole into my mind, I nearly choke and want to come down as I had previously but my leg forces its way out and I land. I land. I land. I feel like crying but of course there's no time. I know I'm safe now, and I can hear an enormous cheer from the bottom left stands. I jump and spin with renewed vigor instead of postponed dread, and I end with a triumphant smile on my face and my arms splayed out in a confident way. I clear the ice and I am engulfed by many arms and legs hugging me, embracing me, congratulating me. I bounce about like a frog who's clearly had too much sugar, but that seems mild compared to my sister. She's jumping here and there, squealing and running about like a wild baby pig. You would've thought that it was her who landed a double flip and completed a perfect program. My parents are more contained, but parents always are contained. Otherwise they would be bad role models. But they couldn't resist from beaming and hugging me, words forgotten. Me neither. This day would be remembered forever, emblazoned like a name plate in my mind. The scores are up and my heart is hammering, though my program is long over. I've draped a jacket over my shaking shoulders and untied my skates. I reach the poster where a rather out-of-breath runner posted it, then ran off again. A crowd has gathered around it and their voices carry clearly across the short distance to my ears. "Look! Ok, Tiffany, you got second...' 'Smile, Grace!' 'Oh look, Melissa Flocker is first... " I can't believe my ears. Is it true? My dad stands to the side, grinning. Probably because he just got a cup of coffee. And I'm first, there, in big letters and clear as day, though it's trying hard to reach me through the thick fog of uncertainty and disbelief. And then it hits me like it hits me when I do my program: I'm first. I've won. And my dad is grinning huger than before. I run into his arms, my wide-open mouth curving up at the corners. It wasn't the coffee, I think. He knew. Wearing my medal, I admire it, turning it in the sunlight. It glints and sparkles like a jewel. I was right to believe, wrong to not believe. It pays well to believe in yourself, I think. The sun shines down in blinding rays, like it agrees with me. I smile for the millionth time and hurry after my family.