A Quote by Charice Pempengco

I'm able to express myself better now. I have come to accept the real me. I have come to love the real me. I now celebrate the real me. — © Charice Pempengco
I'm able to express myself better now. I have come to accept the real me. I have come to love the real me. I now celebrate the real me.
I have come to accept the real me. I have come to love the real me. I now celebrate the real me.
I like to write about real people, real crimes. But what has increasingly come to interest me, and also appear to me as a challenge, is the idea of doing strange things with what is real. Take what is real and make it more or less real.
After looking at Salomaybe, I don't know who the hell the real me is. I think it's closest now to the real me because for one thing, I'm used to this.
I am now in a place where I have to be truer to myself first before anyone else. If you're not real, how can you expect others to be real with you? The older you get; you aim to have an understanding of who you are as a person. But, I can honestly say, I am a better me than I've ever been in younger years.
I ain't acting when I'm on stage. That's why all the little love bugs who'll come and see me at Lovebox love me. They know it's the real me.
I'm a real dude from a real place and I never express myself through social sites. I don't feed into it, man. That's not real life.
Okay, you can stay at home and Spotify, or YouTube, or you can get off your ass and come listen to what real musicians making real music sound like. And, hey, it doesn't have to be me, but if I'm in town, then yeah, you should definitely check me out.
The real question is, can you love the real me? Not the perfect person you want me to be, not that image you had of me, but who I really am.
But the point is, now, at this moment, or any moment, we're only cross-sections of our real selves. What we really are is the whole stretch of ourselves, all our time, and when we come to the end of this life, all those selves, all our time, will be us - the real you, the real me. And then perhaps we'll find ourselves in another time, which is only another kind of dream.
My life is good because I am not passive about it. I invest in what is real. Like real people, to do real things, for the real me.
Climbing, as my grandmother said, it's a pretty frivolous thing. She always wondered when I was going to get a real job. But climbing is a real job for me now, and I enjoy it. It's a gift that I'm able to do it, share adventure and motivation with people.
I am a hopeless romantic. A silly, ridiculous, foolish romantic. I live in a fantasy land. I need to get real. And now, for the first time, I want to get real. I want a real relationship with a real man in the real world–-with all the real problems, faults, and whatever comes with it.
Now that's a concept that's always fascinated me: the real world. Only a very specific subset of people use the term, have you noticed? To me, it seems self-evident that everyone lives in the real world - we all breathe real oxygen, eat real food, the earth under our feet feels equally solid to all of us. But clearly these people have a far more tightly circumscribed definition of reality, one that I find deeply mysterious, and an almost pathologically intense need to bring others into line with that definition.
This is how you can tell a real photographer: mostly, a real photographer does not say 'I wish I had my camera on me right now'. Instead a real photographer pulls out her camera and takes the photograph.
What I thought was unreal now, for me, seems in some ways to be more real than what I think to be real, which seems now to be unreal
I'm a real person. I have real feelings. I have real thoughts. It's a quality people like about me. They can reach out and touch me. I wouldn't give it up for anything.
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