down and out!
by Keysi Tot on Friday, February 25, 2011 at 5:57pm
“What you don’t know won’t hurt you.” -Mai’s Motto in life.
That’s why I’ve been using facebook keysitot-style for a month already. no wall, disabled comments, no news feeds from friends (all, no exceptions), blocked app invites, blocked people i don’t want to get connected with, and rejected friend requests from people I’m not really friends with. Why? that’s just how i roll. Sorry if I sound a bit arrogant.
I just want to have real conversations with old friends i haven’t talked to in ages, ex-classmates, xs, colleagues, ask “how are you?” and all that kamustahan crap and say its been a while, i missed you, and ACTUALLY mean it. gets? Because I’m at this point in my life where I’ve realized that giving a crap about everyone and everything every time is pointless. Especially if you’re not sure if that person genuinely gives a crap like you do. Plus, I’m tired counterattacking all of your bullshits.
So I’m going to start compartmentalizing, not just my facebook, but my life as a human being who doesn’t deserve to be piled up with huge amount of bullshits every day. From those who consider me as a friend only when they’re bored or broke, from egotistical exes who assumes I still have feelings for them, from people who judge me all the time, from mirror hugging btchs and aholes, good time friends who only sees me as a giant beer bong, a shuttle service driver, autoloadmaxx, and finally from people I really do care about. The last one is first on my list.
This isn’t me hating. This is me being ME. A 24 year old something who received an early wakeup call from someone I have ever really loved fully. Someone who I played push-pull game with. Someone I’ve met broken and left fixed. See, I like fixing things, situations, people who think they can’t be fixed, even if it means I’m gonna be the one left broken. Sick right? I know, that’s why It’s time for me to change. I have been perfectly still for the past years while all of you transformed into [insert noun]. Can’t deal with that anymore.
what am i gonna do with thousands of good time friends anyway when i only need a dozen of real ones?
END OF STORY.
Beautiful but empty
Your eyes have seen it all
Watched every part
It gets to see the shining light from above
It gets to smile for every scene that races the heart
It gets to perceive the beauty of both
It doesnt close when you want to
Yet opens when you dont ask to
Your eyes have seen it all
It gets to see the contrary of perfection
Without meaning, without blinking
Your eys have seen it all
It never fails to see wide open
Never gets tired
But you do
And you just wish you were blind
I’m not good at remembering exact dates and all that kind of crap, but i sure remember everything about you and everything with you. I know I must forget you, let go and stop holding on, but sometimes, I forget about forgetting you.
Remember the night when I said that if ever things fall apart between us you shouldn’t worry about me coz I’ll just think of you as my pet dog bubbles who died of starvation? I lied. You asked me how I really felt about you, I said nothing. I lied again. All the times that we were together, all I did was lie, deny, and push you away, because that was the right thing to do. Because, I knew while you were with me, her heart is breaking, and I don’t want to be a part of that. I said three-fourths of me wants you to go back and fix things with her, but the truth is, I want you so bad that pushing you away would be the best thing to do coz I know you’ll be happier with her, which I have proved right. I know you’re happy now, happier than you could ever be with me, and I am genuinely happy for the both of you. No BS.
Am I mad? No. That’s what I’ve been trying to do, be mad at you so that it would be easier for me to move on and forget you, but I can’t. Because I can’t find a freakin reason to hate you, because, everything I hated about you, I learned to love, even your annoying non-stop self-admiration, the fact that you’re an asshole, your vanity, your ADHD-like syndrome, your “I’m so fine everyone wants to shag me” line that you never fail to mention whenever I criticize you, and how you made me wait for twenty five hours.
Would I do it all over again? Hell to the yes. If I were to pick someone who I can watch dvds with while eating cold pizza, play tong-its with till dawn, re-enact UFC moves, listen to wild confessions and laugh at those stupid callers, sing mushy songs with, play hide and seek with (underpants version), argue about anything with, get into petty fights with, pig out with, have fart contest with, and make ertyuifloveghjhggjhg with even when my sister was just a mattress away, I’d choose you every time. Without thinking twice.
Sounds cliché but I have never really loved someone fully, till I met you. And my heart has never been so broken by someone till you left. Imagine how many times I had to pretend I was doing fine without you, imagine how I was able to fill my brain up with dental crap when all i did was think about you, imagine how I still stayed at the place where we did everything even when you weren’t around anymore, with your smell lingering and memories of you flashing in. Imagine how I was able to do all of that without using someone. I did it all by myself.
Not a fucking day goes by that I don’t think about you. I miss you so much. I miss hugging you from behind, stroking your hair till you fall asleep, teasing you, punching you, listening to your sob stories about life, looking at you, and most of all, I miss how you put your left hand on my cheek, right on my waist, every time we kissed. I bet you’ve forgotten all of it but just in case you don’t know, I loved you from the day you made me wait for twenty five hours to this day I am finally doing what you’ve been asking me to do years ago. I remember how cute you looked when you were begging for me to write a poem about you. Good times… And that’s all it’ll ever be.
You’ve been the only thing that’s right, in all I’ve done.
The main cause of FAILURE is the lack of preparation, and the general false notion that the boards is HARD. A Chinese scholar once said, that Fear cause losses in battle. Know thyself and know thy enemy. You are only as brave and as strong, as how you feel about yourself. The boards is just a small pebble on your road to success. – Garret Robles, DMD
“Self-centered, materialistic, annoying whiny little brat!” That was how my mother described me as a daughter ten years ago. We used to argue a lot about everything, anything, everywhere and anywhere. Every argument we had back then usually ends with either door-slamming or a word, just a word- noun, verb, but mostly adjective- that once out of my dirty mouth automatically makes her an instant deaf-mute.
“Are you acting out because Papa left us?” A question that my mom felt the need to ask right after I flunked 7 out of 8 subjects six years ago. She’d been wanting to ask that ever since I failed Physics back in high school, but she let it slide I guess, thinking that I might get back on track, and I did, temporarily. Honestly, I wasn’t acting out until she brought that matter up. I failed Physics because I fell in love, and I flunked 7 out of 8 subjects for the same reason. Papa has nothing to do with it, I thought, and again she was right. Everything has something to do with my father’s departure. From my messed-up grades and nicotine addiction, middle-of-the-night sneak outs and my first-ever-attempt-to-get-drunk turned bronchospastic-episode that I almost died, from all that to my awkwardness around men, has everything to do with him and nothing with my Mother, the woman that I hated for almost 8 immature years of my life because of letting the only man I thought I ever loved and loved me, leave. I took eight humongous steps away without ever giving her the chance to tell the whole story. I swear, I’d do anything just to take those eight steps back.
“I can’t save you if you don’t let me”, a line from a song that best described the look on my mother’s eyes when I finally sat down and listened. There were some parts on her story that I wish she never told, parts that I wish I had known from the start, and parts where I wish I was included coz maybe somehow, if I was there, I might have changed the situation just by merely saying she is more than enough for us. I regret not telling her those seven words when I saw her cry right after my dad left. She was devastated, depressed and heartbroken, yet managed to still smile and say that everything is going to be better than before. She had no idea if she can do it alone, but she did it anyway. I hated her, broke all of her rules, screamed at her countless of times, lied, insulted her, but she loved me just the same, and that is the most amazing thing God could ever give his child; A neverchanging love regardless of how bad or good the situation had been, is, and will be. A mother’s love.
Mama, you annoy me a lot, you’re such a drama queen, you’re so uptight, you talk too much, but I love you anyway. You may have hundreds of cons but your pros are undeniably infinite. You are and always will be a perfect mother with or without a partner. I could go on and on typing how wonderful you are till your next birthday, but I know hearing that most said phrase is enough for you. So, I Love You.
Happy 55th Birthday!!
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Testing testing 123.
Posted with WordPress for BlackBerry.
HUMANDA KA SAMIN NI MAYA!
Wala. Naisipan ko lang isaisahin mga napanood kong pelikula nung 2009, although yung iba eh hindi 2009 pinalabas. Isasama ko na rin kase nga 2009 ko sya pinanood eh!! Bakit ba!?
– buset! Nsayang 45 pesos ko!
“He’s Just Not That Into You”
– okey lang. Eye opener sa mga gerlalung assumera!
“Confessions Of A Shopaholic”
– chick flick. Bang kyut ni Isla Fisher
– yung baklog lang ang naalala ko dito
– pukinginang ending leche.
– kelan pa nagging puti si Goku?!! At bakit GOWKOOH ang bigkas putangina.
– okey to. Pinagnasahan ko ng konti si Ryan Reynolds wahah
“Angels & Demons”
“Drag Me To Hell”
– putanginang napakapanget nasayangan nanaman ako ng 30 pesos! Hndi na 45 kasi tinawaran ko eh. Kahit na saying parin isang kahang yosi na lang sana!
– chick flick ulet.
– ok lang. Parang medyo mas trip ko ung una.
– wahahaha okey to!
“G.I. Joe The Rise of Cobra”
– OK lang, matipuno ung bida ampoge!
“Final Destination 4”
– buset. Walang kwenta. Mga putangina nila.
– ok lang panoorin pag trip mo ung biglang mamapa “watdapak?!” sa huli.
– nakatulog ata ako dito
“(500) Days of Summer”
– eto pinaka peyborit ko ang galeng napaka makatotohanan! Medyo may kurot pero ayos.
“All About Steve”
– ok lang.
– BANAMAN!? WALALALONG KWENTA!
– hndi ako natakot pramis. Medyo na bwiset ako sa pagmumuka nung lalake.
– galeng ganda ayos.
“The Ugly Truth”
– natawa ako dito pramis.
– chick flick ulet. Pero maganda naman. Pogi nung bida. At op kors maganda din ung bida.
“ Journey to the End of the Night”
– medyo na syak ako sa umpisa. Nagtotorohan. Pero mukang maganda sya. Di lang naming natapos nasira ung cd wahaha
“The Taking of Pelham 1 2 3“
– okey to.
– okey lang. Di masyado kakatawa. Buti nalang matipuno si Bradley cooper. (**NAKAKATAWA TO PRAMIS, kaya di ako natawa nung unang panood kasi korni ung ksma ko.)
– teeny bopper ba ang tawag sa mga ganitey? Ok lang sya. Medyo kakabuset lang ang pagpapakyut ni Zac Apron. Efron. Khit ano.
– katuwa to. Medyo kaantok lang ng onti.
– ZZZzzzzzzZZZZZZZzzzzzzZZZ mga pukingina nyong bwiset kayo kinilabatutan ako sa palabas nato. I swerrrrrr! At itaga mo sa bato di ko papanoorin ang new moon!
Marami pa kong mga napanood ung iba lang di ko maalala title. Karamihan kasi ng napanood ko ung mga nasa 20 in 1 na dvd wahaha ung tig sisingkwenta pesos. Aktwali sisenta pesos nga yun eh tumatawad lang kami. Ang pinakanagustuhan ko siguro sa lahat eh ung 500 days of summer at ung closer, medyo may kurot kasi ung storya eh. O sya balik sirkulasyon nanaman ako bukas!! Pasukan nanaman buset. At teka bipor dat e to nga pala new year’s resolution ko.
1.Maging masipag – ……….gudlak.
2.Bawasan ang yosi – …………………super gudlak.
3.Mag exercise – eto medyo kayak o ng konti.
4.Ngumiti – …….gudla….k….?
5.Maging matipid, wag ng kumain sa wendy’s, kfc, pizzahut, etc – kaya!
6.Tigilan muna ang pag eeksperimento sa alcohol
7.Maging mas mabait na anak -wahahahahahaha niloloko ko nanaman sarili ko.
8.Bawasan ang pagtataray
9.Maligo 7 days a week – gudlak.
10.Wag shumorkat sa pagligo, mag shampoo araw araw
11.Mag ipon kahit limang piso a day.
12.Wag ng gawing air freshener ang pabango medyo may kamahalan
13.Matulog ng maaga para mabawasan ang tigidig
14.Uminom ng gatas gabi gabi para medyo magkalaman ang hinaharap (sabi nila eh.)
15.Pag bakbak na ang kyutiks, burahin agad.
16.Magsipag sa clinic!
17.Maging mabait sa pasyenteng nag mamaasim.
19.Tigilan na ang pag ngata ng sitsirya.
20.at wag ng malalate sa klase!
Ang dami eh no. Sana naman kahit 10 out of 20 lang eh magawa ko. Gudlak nalang saken.
Salamat sa pagsasayang mo ng oras sa pagbabasa. Dahil dyan, lab na kita!
p.s. natanggap kong regalo ngyn puro doraemon at yosi. magpapahapyaw nako para sa bday ko medyo tayp ko ung malaking lighter. as in LIGHTER talaga. aylayket berimats. iwas nakaw un, malamang di un pag didiskitahan ng mga tirador ng lighter. oo mga tirador ng lighter! oo ikaw yon tae ka! ibalik mo saken yon! ang cheap mo Lcc nalang dinekwat mo pa hampas lupa ka.
“The hardest thing to let go of is the one you don’t own.”
babay prensterblag. helow blagspat.
I don’t know a lot about narcissistic personality disorder, but here’s what I know, IT’S ANNOYING. I understand the fact that it is a disorder and something purely involuntary, but come on, non-stop self admiration?! Pffft.
I have five words for you egotistical piece of cow turd, you are not that special. Just because of the situation you’re in now which is because of me doesn’t mean you’re dakila.
All I ask is gratefulness, a simple thank you that because of me you’re studying, or at least show that you’re really thankful so that my efforts wouldn’t go into waste. It’s not that you have to thank me every day, or be my slave; all I need is to see that you deserve what you’re getting now.
Call me sumbatera, but how can I not sumbat someone who is so kasumbatsumbat! Hahaha ang arte eh no, di ko kasi alam English ng sumbat. We are so disappointed in you, especially the person who works hard just to pay for your education. I know you’ve assimilated a lot of knowledge since you got into college but one thing is for sure, you were asleep when the words gratitude and modesty was being lectured.
And what’s so frustrating about it is that you were never like that before.
Never again will I help someone who doesn’t deserve anything.
and wag kang parang xerox copy ng malabong xerox copy ng original copy. have some originality, will you?
Pulling together every detail of that significant day
Nothing but unhappiness streamed over my frailty
Departure drew closer as I mumble those three words
I have returned into this shapeless world yet again
With an echo murmuring I told you so
I wouldn’t want to be here if not for you
In this room where sane is senseless
Where my screams meant nothing but a scream
Where I am nothing but nothing
As I plead deafeningly for consideration, reassurance and validation,
That I am not going to be locked up permanently
Thoughts of you broke in uninformed like a nocturnal thief
If getting robbed is what it takes to be connected to you once more
I’d cry for endless invasion
It deserves a second chance. An option to be consumed
That 30-minute day-pass I turned down a while ago
It ought to be spent with willingness
And so I am. Freely stepping out of this asymmetry
Just so I can feel again how it feels
It’s been a long while since my feet touched these grasses
As I walk relentlessly close to your sanctuary
Rain began to pour, and so as the thoughts of you
If getting drenched is what it takes to be with you again
I would cry for eternal storm
You will later on forget and recover, you said
But three years was never painless to shake off
With what you’ve left, how can I ever?
With those three unwary words you’ve said
Tell me, Will I ever?
My knees quivered as I mumble those three words
For a second I felt like you were behind me, listening
If MISERY IS what it takes for you to FORGIVE me
I’d cry for never-ending distress
I would die just to have you back again.
Tired of ceaseless repetition, he thought about putting an end to it. But “how” is the question he had to answer, immediately. Any suggestions? A knife could cut his veins open and bleed to death. Hypovolemic shock! Good idea. But that would take long for him to make a quick escape. What about ropes, chains or wires? A bit complicated but cheap. He can hang himself up with it but would leave an ugly mark on his neck or even bulge his eyeballs out. A silent, bloodless, woundless and decent death, he wishes. Something knife and ropes could never grant.
Comatose overdose, he thought, without the first word. Comatose would mean there’s still hope for him to be brought back to life. Overdose. Certainly. He walked towards the medicine cabinet and searched for the solution he had been dying to get hold of. Benadryl, Aspirin, Coumadin, Erythromycin, Ambroxol. NEGATIVE. Those things wont kill him, exceeding the maximum therapeutic dosage would just cause gastrointestinal upsets, blood dyscrasia, possibly a GI hemorrhage in the future or even coma, but still, that doesn’t add up or even measure up to a drug that can end someone’s life in just a snap. Before everything that he had planned turn into a big letdown, he phoned his former roommate who he expects to be there in a jiffy with the paraphernalia. He bought a bunch to be sure.
Thanks junkie, he owes you his death. He sat on the floor of his pad with legs crossed, tied the tourniquet as tight as possible around his upper right arm and tapped his median cubital vein. Come out come out you precious little shit, he muttered. Then 3 large veins appeared. Cephalic, M.cubital, and Basilic. Bingo. He instantly grabbed the syringe with a large bore needle and injected the dissolved junk on to the site. Aspirate first you moron. And He did. A trace of blood. That’s a good sign. He released the tourniquet, and deposited the solution slowly. Five, four, three, two, one… god it felt great. But OD is what he desires, not the hallucinating effect of the drug. He waited for seconds for it to kick in. Vertigo. Vision blurred. Unsteadiness. Suddenly he fell down. This is what he had been waiting for. In his sight, lights started to flicker, his world began to warp. As he lay perfectly on the floor, enjoying every effect the drug could possibly have and offer, illustrations of him began to interfere; moving and living, like a biography of him made into a low budget movie. Every scene were played in a fast forward manner, but appeared as if in slow motion. TIRING. Everything seemed to be repeating. Morning – bed, shower, coffee, car, road, school. Noon – school, car, road, pad, couch, cigarettes. Night – cigarettes, dinner, cigarettes, book, bed. Repeating in a fast forward manner, muted, with poor lighting effects, bad angles, and low-def resolution. That’s why he did what he just did, so as to escape from monotony, normalcy, and unkindness.
End credits. Darkness. Every bad pixel of that film turned into perfection. Black. Am I dead now? He asked. His head ached like bad case of hemorrhoids. Nauseated, confused, and disoriented, everything went back to normal. His hands, shaking. Shit, I need more, he thought, after realizing that he failed on his very first attempt. On his second try, he injected five shots with fentanyl combined – 3 on left arm and 2 on the other. This time, a different outcome occurred. No Vertigo. No blurring of vision. Neither flashbacks nor hallucinations took place. Everything just started to collapse like a building being demolished, disintegrating second by second, his memory started to deteriorate, hands shaking, and face flushing, tingly, and burning. His chest tightened as if a heavy mass had just been tossed above him. His usual breathing was now labored as if something had just foiled his airway. His eyes, pupils both constricted, displayed such satisfaction regardless of the fact that in just one blink, he’d be dead, gone and soon be forgotten. With a vision that was now dim and mottled, he took one last look around the world that he, from the very beginning, assumed to be imaginary, scripted, and copied – from a terrible novel written by an unknown jaded sadistic friendless pompous control freak heroin addict. Finally, he’s now on the edge of his flight, just waiting for it to take off. If the muscles of his lips hadn’t surrendered, he would have smiled. If his legs hadn’t numbed, he probably would have danced. If his respiratory capacity hadn’t lowered, he would have effortlessly respired for the last time. Because what he did made him proud, happy, and calm for the first time. His body now turned purple, eyes shut dead, unmoving, his breathing stopped. Respiratory arrest. Dead.
After waiting for a total of twenty-some minutes; his ride had finally gone up high. Will it crash down? Nobody knows…
NOW THE MONSTER IS AWAKE.
2) A Kiss to Send Us Off
3) Nice To Know You
4) Wish You Were Here
5) Anna Molly
7) Favorite Things
8) The Warmth
10) Oil and Water
12) Talk Show on Mute
13) Sick Sad Little World
– Encore –
17) Aqueous Transmission
Yoko ng ikwento kung ganong katagal nakong fan or wateber, bsta d ako tumigil ng pag kinig sa music nila. Enap na un. Pinaka latest na peborit ko, paper shoes. At rogues. at oil and water. at pendulous threads. Bsta. Ang labo eh no. eniwey. Nung makalawa lang, eh nabankrap ako. Baket? Itanung mo sa piktchur.
Porporten mga kapatid. Tayms two. Isang bwan ko ng pang recess yan! O wel. Minsan lang naman. Buti at mabait ang mudra ko. Hiniram ko muna ung pambayad ng tuition. Kaso d mo naman maaalis sa mga madyunda ung paniniwalang “alagad ng mga demonyo yang mga rak rak myusik na yan!” aynako mga gurang nga naman…
Good thing ung concert eh before our finals. Kaya d ako masyadong na istress kakaisip kung anong ipaprioritize ko. YUN ANG AKALA KO. Pero apter the concert, nakalipas na isang linggong, nak ng teteng! May hang ober pa rin. Hanggang ngayon! Good thing ba yon!
Nung araw ng concert, medyo late na kami dumating, 8 ang start, 6 kami nakadating. LATE NA UN PARA SAKIN!! Kasi dati kami ni susi eh 10 am ndun na kami sa ccp e 8:30pm pa ang start. Eniwey, aun.nung udd palang nag ffront act, eh nag cr muna kami, at TADAN! Gerl ako nung gabing un. Tae tlga. Nung nag start na, grabe. Bakla kung bakla! ang pogi nya pare! Helowww abs! (pik kertesi ng may ari.)
At biglang………. May narandaman ako.
Tangina red alert! At kada sigaw ko eh parang bglang tumutoooot ung tooooot. Talangkang hinog. Bwiset. Pero kiber! Okay lang. kaming dalawa lang naman nakakaalam. Ayako ngang ma miss ang isang Segundo o minuto para lang mag lagay ng sanwits. Bwahaha. Kadiri no? sowat.
Badtrip lang kasi bitin. At ung mga nasa pinakaunahan na mga konyogerls and boys, ewan, parang d ata nila kilala ung banda. No comment. Yoko mag dyads.
At eto pa, may dala nga ko digicam ngaun, (kasi dati eh kamerapown ang uso at ang dala kong selpon e tartitriten, kamusta naman un.) oo me dala ako. Ung pang jologs na digicam 3.5mp. kaso. Wala naman akong desenteng piktyur na nakuha. At ang mga bidyo! Walandyo, ap en down ng up en down, tu da lep tuda rayt! Hndi masyadong gumana ang multi-tasking skills ko. Di ko kinayang pagsabayin ang pag kuwa ng magandang shot at pag wawala. Okay lang. d naman ako nagpunta dun para bidyuhan ung buong concert tulad nung iba na naka tutok mga camera simula umpisa hanggang huli. Sa tingin mo enjoy ba ung ganon? OP KORS NAT.
kahit d ko nakuhaan ng matino ung concert gamit ang digcam ko. Ok lang. malupit naman ang potograpik memory ko!
Everything was clearly captured. nakanaman!
sana naman next time na mag concert ulit, wala ng upuan anak ng tokwang malutong naman! please lang.pero inpernes. maganda ang lighting epeks ha!
Fear. Phobia. Whatever you want to call it. What are your fears? I don’t know mine yet, or should I say, I’m not really sure. All I know is that I am definitely not afraid of heights. I can go innumerable rounds on a gigantic rollercoaster or dare me to bungee jump, without thinking twice; I’d leap with unrestrained thoughts. Water? I’m not a good swimmer, but I can swim, just like a normal kid who had a “forced swimming lessons”. So I’ve got no problems about sinking into the depths of extremities. Fire? Show me how to light a cigarette without it then maybe I’ll try to think of myself being a pyrophobic. How about failure? Rejection? Maybe. But you know what, when you get used to such situations involving the things you thought you’re afraid of, fear would automatically be disregarded. How you feel, see, and perceive things will change. You’re not afraid anymore, but tired and somewhat deadened. Right now, I know I am afraid of something. Maybe growing old alone, or death, or ghosts perhaps. Not sure. Yet I am aware that fear is somewhat wandering around my system, trying to make a deal with my senses, while I sit here struggling to heed every warning that could possibly come along. But hey, whatever. I’ll just let the god of fear do his job. Scare me.
Sometimes, giving up doesn’t always mean you’re a loser or weak or whatever. It’s just that you’re getting tired of playing the same game over and over. Like being laughed at or picked on every single day, like eating greasy French fries five days in a row. Tiring, nauseating, and not to mention, AGGRAVATING. Then you ask yourself, “Why does it always have to be me?” Then you wait for answers, but not a single word comes up.
In case you’re wondering why I’m writing this kind of crap again, it’s easy. What has happened before is happening again, and what has been done before.. Being done again.
AGAIN. Oh how I hated that word!
It’s been a year since we moved back here. Seriously, I never missed the place, just the wonderful people I made friends with. And as I expected, a major change happened. Anyway, everyday was like first day of school for me, probably because I’m always on a solo flight. No one ever liked me, that’s a fact. But you know what; say anything you want behind my back, JUST! Make sure were not friends, or I don’t know you. Anyway, I’ve been whining for like ten years now about people like them, so maybe I’ll whine some more.
Sure, life is a game, if you quit, you lose, the more you get hooked on playing it, the more likely you are to win right? That’s how it goes for some, but not for me. Seriously, I’m tired of playing games; of getting even with people who’ve wronged me, of retaliating, tired of being tired. I depended too much in bad karma, that I lost control of my self. I acted as if I am karma. Stupid right? I know.
Things happen when we least expect it right? My error was, I expected too much. I expected things would now go “my way”. For I thought it was my turn. But no, it wasn’t. I anticipated, presumed and took everything for granted. I can’t say I’m miserable now, or more, yet I can’t lie about my never ending pitfalls.
2 days ago, I kind of fell apart. I lost the only armor I carry on every battle. PATIENCE. Was I drunk? Or stoned? NO. I was just so full of it. Like a bobbled soda bursting out of its can, like a broken cartridge caused by too much pressure. The feeling was excruciating but not paralyzing. With too much anger, I felt as if my heart stopped pumping for a while, maybe I kind of jolted for a second then later on, everything started. Exchange of words, door slamming, every thing an angry man could possibly do. I felt awful after that to tell you the truth. Because in that fight, I know we were both losers. With regret, I began to understand why I jolt before fights. That was a caution. A reminder to keep myself calm and composed, that you can’t put a fire down with another explosion. That day I accepted defeat with learned lesson. If a stone has been thrown at you by someone who undeniably dislikes you, catch it, then let go of it. Never ever throw it back. If you do, one blink could entirely ruin you.
Unfortunately, that certain person I had a fight with, did not grasp what I did. And I kind of felt bad because after what happened, none of those exchange of awful words struck her to ponder. Then I came up with a conclusion, that maybe, that’s her way of showing people how good she is when it comes to arguments, that she had never lost a fight over a bugger-looking loser, that she can never ran out of humiliating things to say about her opponent. I admit she is indeed strong. Although the fight didn’t get physical, I can say that one blow would instantly send me off to my funeral. It was such a letdown for me to know that all she thinks about was winning so she can brag about how great she was the next day. But at the same time, I kind of felt sorry for her too. She must have experienced a lot of criticisms and been picked on too many times, instead of learning from it, she copped out I guess. Now, she’s so strong, no freaking doubt about it. She can pick a fight with anyone she wants. She can blow you off with one foolish remark. Sure, she is strong, but you know what, strength alone isn’t something you should be proud of, for it is noting without wisdom. Something she doesn’t have. The most important weapon, too difficult to obtain, too valuable to sell.
I wrote this not to provoke her or something, I bet she wouldn’t even find out about this, but still I’m hoping, she’d read this, and for once, think.
I just realized something. Whenever I’m all set, life tend to make me wait. And whenever I’m badly prepared, I end up doing things too quickly just for the sake of getting closer to something indefinite. So no matter how ready or how unprepared I am, the ending would just be as terrible as getting disconnected in a nearly completed downloading process.
If beauty never existed, then all would be equal. There would be no comparisons, just fair judgments. If everything was black and white, then there wouldn’t be contrast of colors. Just a slight distinction. If romantic love was just a feeling, nothing to be happy or sad about, just a feeling that makes you do nothing and feel nothing, then there wouldn’t be suicides, psycho stalkers, PDAs, love songs, depressions, break-ups, sex, and the likes. If everything wasn’t all about love, then what would it be about? Who would we be now?
If we could only choose a certain day to spend over and over again- like a lazy Wednesday morning where your mom yells at you and hits you with a pillow for you to get your ass up and do something helpful, like your 13th birthday where you had a nice party at the amusement park and everyone you love was there, like when you went up on stage and got your diploma and your mom was really proud of you, her shirt were all soaked up with tears that you cant forget that precious look on her face- a day that made you really happy, a day wherein every second you’ll never get tired of repeating. If we could only spend that day till eternity, then everything will be just fine, then we wouldn’t be afraid of death, failures, disappointments and all that. Everyday will just be a happy day, no fear of dying, of losing, of loneliness, of failing.
What if our lives were taped and we have the choice to erase the parts we hated, or to repeat a particular scene we loved, wouldn’t that be great? Truth is, we make our own choices, but we only have limited options. It’s either this or that, but you can’t want both.
Sometimes I wonder, if I die, will I ever get to see my mother again? Or will I ever get to watch from above who’s weeping for me or who’s not? Will I ever meet God or Satan? Or will I just linger around sad places where people can’t see or feel me? Fact is, I’m not really afraid of death, whether it’ll be brutal or boring. I’m just afraid of life after it, because I’m not sure if there is. And I’m more afraid of the fact that eventually, the only person I love so much will die, because for me, the scary part about it is being “really” alone, losing the only thing I live for, not knowing what to do without her, not knowing if I can still go on, and I’m afraid that I can never move on if that happens. I will never be ready for that, not 20 or 30 or 80 years from now. And I just hate the fact that I’m thinking about it because I shouldn’t be. Coz it wouldn’t happen. It shouldn’t happen. I won’t let it.
I’m 20 but I still sleep on my mother’s bed. Everynight I lay on her chest and listen to her heartbeat. Her annoying snore is like a dose of a sleeping pill, that everytime I hear, means I’m going to have a wonderful sleep.
I know, cheesy entry, but true. Happy birthday!
Brandon B. is right. High school never ends. Up until now, I’m dealing with bunch of freaking pre-schoolers. Gossips, siraan, plastikan, pasikatan, pagalingan and all that. Maybe some people are really afraid to grow up. Maybe that’s how they find their reassurance. Maybe that’s how they
conceal their flaws. By making other people feel bad about themselves, by assuming that they’re better than anyone else. They just can’t accept the fact that there’s always someone better than them, that’s why they instantly step on to someone they think will outshine more before others find out how stupid, weak, insecure, and rotten they are.
Been there. Done that. End of story.
“Being with you is like struggling to create a line out of a perfect circle. Unbending a curve to make it even, trying to cut a portion to break the union of the unknown. “
Nobody’s perfect, I know, but I can’t always stick to that perspective for me to accept unbearable issues and just forgive and forget. It’s been a month or two since I ditched someone important to me, hoping that she’d change or be smart and sensitive enough to figure out why I did what I did.
I weep for you, breathe for you, and think for you, because I felt like I have to. Like there’s no other choice but for me to do things for you, not because I want to do it for you. For so long I’ve been trapped in your misery. Every time you feel small, I feel obliged to feel the same way. Every time you hurt, I feel I should too, because I thought not being so, means I’m a terrible friend. I felt so many things I wish I didn’t. I felt small, weak, helpless, deprived, pushed, manipulated, used and abused. I felt everything that suddenly I can’t feel anything anymore. Not even regret.
Call me weak but I’m tired and I have to go back to where I used to be, to who I used to be. I don’t want to be your shock absorber anymore. I don’t want to hurt for you or cry for you or think for you. Not anymore. I’ve waited long enough for you to change and fix me. I give up. Waiting for you is like waiting for a bus at the train station, absurd and impossible. So here I am now, watching the torn pieces of my bus ticket I bought two years ago, fly..up..and away.
“Have you ever felt like your heart isn’t beating anymore? “
In this existential despair I stand alone, staring blankly into my own cold threat, “if you do, you’ll regret.” My alter-ego mumbled. But I dared and took a dangerous leap, not considering the price I’ll pay if I fall short. Surprisingly, I landed flawlessly at this pink adorable room painted with unfamiliar but sweet-looking flowers in luminous colors. I lay there naively for a long time not knowing there’s no guarantee that I can stay there forever. That was the first and last time I felt so happy and significant.
I took a lot of leaps after that, or should I say risks? However, different from the first one. I had three shaky landings, crashed a lot of times, countless of bruises, and one hope-explosion. Will I go for another one? I think so but not this time. I’m still recovering from a soul-crash and somewhat fixing myself. And when I’m all geared up and certain, I want to crash into someone for good.
I’ve learned to swim on dry land. It turns out to be more practical than doing it in the water, there is no fear of sinking, for one is already on the bottom, and by the same token, one is drowned beforehand. It also avoids having to be fished out by the light of a lantern or in the dazzling clarity of a beautiful day. Finally, the absence of water keeps one from swelling up.
I won’t deny that swimming on dry land is somewhat agonizing. At first sight, one would be reminded of death throes. Nevertheless, this is different: at the same time one is agonizing, one is quite alive, quite alert, listening to the music entering through the window and watching the worm crawl across the floor.
At first my friends criticized this decision. They fled from my glances and sobbed in the corners. Happily, the crisis is past. Now they know that I am comfortable swimming on dry land. Once in a while I sink my hands into the marble tiles and offer them a tiny fish that I catch in the submarine depths.
– Virgilio Pinera
Empty bottles- c2, Pepsi, 1.5 coke, mineral water- cat shits, roach shits, dead roaches, half-dead roaches, dirty clothes, mismatched socks, crumpled scratch papers, cigarette butts, unwashed coffee mugs, a dusty fan, left-overs, all scattered around my room, my guest-room’s-bathroom-sized room. I’m not a neat freak, obviously. They say your own room embodies your self, it defines you. Bullshit. But true enough.
Dark purple wall, purple curtains, checkered linoleum floor, exposed bed with no pillows, piles of discs mostly incubus, books- college books, fictional, sci-fi, self-help, computer-related, photography/film books, and lots of different kinds of dictionaries- posters, pictures, torn pages from guitar one magazine, a finished cross-stitched portrait of a girl picking up tulip shit, shoelaces-different kinds and colors, glow in the dark stuffs, all glued up in my wall. A 17” tube, black computer, moss green fan, and a garbage can. A mess. Everything is broken; my computer is slower than slow coz it’s fucked up with some Trojan virus shit, my TV isn’t working, my bed smells like cat piss- I don’t even sleep here because of roaches, big ones, flying ones. But I spend every day just sitting here, typing, smoking, thinking, reading, writing, despite the smell, the appearance, everything. Just like loving a druggie. Just like being alone with a mentally ill person. Despite the situation, I still love going back here, spending my time here, alone, without ever having to change or to fix anything.
When I was a kid, during summer vacations, I used to read dictionaries of all kinds before I go to sleep. In alphabetical order. Then one night when I was having a hard time pronouncing the word euthanasia, I went down to talk to my mom about it. “E-yut-han-na-si-a, mercy killing.” I said. Then my mom laughed. “ It’s yu-thaneiy-sha.” Then after knowing the right pronunciation, I found myself repeating the word over and over before I go to sleep forgetting that there are thousands of unfamiliar and hard to pronounce words I still have to read. Euthanasia. Euthanasia. Euthanasia. Mercy killing.
I read every dictionary I can find in our bookshelf. Every dictionary I can buy with my allowance. Because I want to know every meaning of every words-unfamiliar, foreign, profound- I hear and see everyday. So that when I grow up, I wont sound dumb like “what are you talking about? Nihility what?” so that I myself, too, can give meaning to every words I say, or give words to every thought, and feelings, I think and feel. I wanted to be prepared, coz I know in the future I will meet someone as smart as Einstein, or as poesy as Shakespeare, or as deep as Brandon Boyd. But when I started having my period, I forgot everything about it. I only read dictionary once a month, whenever we had unit test in English. I forgot about it because I started to become conscious. I forgot about Einstein, or Shakespeare, or Boyd. I forgot about euthanasia. And started thinking about shallow things like branded clothes, shoes, pop stars, cell phones, crushes, and suchlike. I didn’t want to be smart anymore, I abandoned my dream to become this person who knows every meaning of every words, who gives words to every feeling or thoughts that no one else but him can explain. I forgot about lexicons and lexicographers. All I ever wanted then was to fit in. and I did. At least temporarily.
Friendship. It can make or break you. I thought friendship is just drooling over boys, sharing corny and made-up secrets, sharing dolls and caboodles, watching tear-jerking movies and chick flicks, and laughing like crazy. Fact is, it’s not just that. It’s about giving up your personal life. Your individuality. A risk. Like jumping into a cliff without knowing if that someone you’ve trusted will catch you or just leave you. Like shooting an unloaded gun into your head, even if you know it wouldn’t kill you, yet you’re still terrified to pull the trigger. A sin. A vice. Like partying with criminals. Like getting drunk. Like getting whacked. Like doing drugs. Like murdering someone. Carjacking. Cheating, stealing, getting high, getting stoned, and all the evilness you can think of. And when the party is over, when you ran the fucking out of drugs, beer, someone to kill, everyone you’ve smoked with, gotten drunk with, gotten stoned with, are gone. Friendship is just friendship, just a word full of phoniness. Nothing special. Nothing to die for. Just a word. That means nothing.
I wish I felt nothing. Neither feeling dead or alive makes no sense. It makes no difference. Everyday feels like chemotherapy day for cancer patients. Happy but sad, hesitant but sure, loved but betrayed, alive but dead. They undergo the same operation over and over again just to kill the deadly cell, the cancer cell. Until their hopes began to disappear. Until they become numb to feel the needles, to hear the mourn of their loved ones, to smell the scent of medicines and syrups, to see their hair slowly falling out. Until life meant nothing but cruelty to them.
My cousin died of bone cancer. She was only four then. It took her youth, her joy, her Barbie doll, away. Away. Away. From her. From us. I remembered when I used to stay up all night just to pray for her. Last time I saw her moving, breathing, was 2 days before her death. She was irritated, angry, mad, devastated, crying, because of anticipation, of disappointments, of wanting to get everything over with, of us. We didn’t blame her. Because we understood. I understood. She cried not because she’s afraid to die but because she’s afraid to live and suffer forever.
It’s like being alive but dead. Like being me. Everyday, I wished I were the one who had cancer and died. I wished I had a rheumatic heart disease or HIV or emphysema or tuberculosis, or leukemia. Nobody understood why I chain smoke. They think I smoke packs per day just to relieve stress. I smoke because I want my lungs to suffer, so I can die young. I don’t want death by default. Dying of old age is sad. Depressing. And ordinary.
I never was a fan of suicide. I tried it before, but didn’t work. When I was a kid, after my father left us, I tried cutting myself. In the ass, stomach, abdomen, at the back, anywhere in my body where no one could see. Then it healed. But left no superficial marks. No scars. Yet I can still remember the same spot where I incised. I can still remember the amount of blood that poured down to my legs. It didn’t hurt. It never hurt. But the departure did. It hurt like shit. Like fucking spasms. Like stiff neck, locked jaws, third degree burns, like fucking toothache and turbo headaches. And I thought then that my only cure was to see my father again. So things would be normal like it was before. I now realized I don’t need a cure anymore. For my tumor is now malignant. No certain drugs or painkillers could heal it. Only death could.
I grew unstable, inconsistent with my opinions, which I think are two of the symptoms of substance abuse. I thought, if there were any dopes or coke or angel dusts around, I’d probably would have taken two of more sniffs. Or if there were a pot hidden under my brother’s audio player, I’d probably be a pothead. But it’s the availability that kept me from being one of those fucked up hallucinating dope junkies that I wish I were. The only thing available here is a cigarette, the thing that my mother despises the most. My best friend, my buddy that I can buy anywhere once I run out. Better than a living friend, better than a pet, or than a car. Cigarettes are my best friends. They have lots of names, Virginia slims, Capri, vogue, Marlboro, dj mix, etc. they are always available. They don’t have strict schedules to follow, or a class to attend, or a lover to fuck with. They don’t hurt you but rather satisfy you. But there is a betrayal that will surely come. Maybe not at this moment, but soon.
This is how unstable I’ve become. Jumping from one issue to another then another. From cancer to my father’s departure to substance abuse. Inconsistency. Insecurity. Fucking words I hate the most. That’s why I think I could never be a good writer. I suck at essays. Sometimes I fuck at my grammars, especially those past present future past participle shit. Plus I have a habit of jumping from this topic to that out-of-the-topic topic, when the topic that is supposed to be written is all about this and not that. Poor English. Fucked-up grammar, logic, imagination. If only I spent my junior years at a well-known school with high fucking standards of teaching, I may not be this bad in English as I am now. Regrets. You’ll only realize it when the work is done. Take a finished painting for example, pastel colors, seashore, coconut trees, sunset. No one looked at it except from the painter himself. No one bought it, until he realizes why. “I should have used earth tones than pastel, I should have stroked the brush gently, when I could have in the first place.” As obvious as it could be, the painting was already done. Remorse. I should have believed my mother when she said friends are like kangaroos jumping from one land to another. I shouldn’t have bought his I-love-you-I-will-never-hurt-you bullshit. I should have continued my piano lessons even when my father left. I should have. When I possibly could have in the first place.
There’s no machine to turn back time. No erase icon to click. No delete button to press. No one can ever undo anything. No one ever has. It’s freaking New Year. Big deal. Everyone’s got their own resolutions, own fires to crack, own predictions and et cetera. People are now focused on what might be on the sack for them this year. And I’m left behind again. As usual. Trapped on the might have beens. 2006 was a downer, like a shot of depressing barbiturate. Departures, disappointments, fucked-up decisions, betrayal and all that. As much as I wanted to be optimistic, it seemed like the negatives had shoved off all the positive charged molecules on my system. I’ve been reading a lot of books for the past couple of months, which I think kind of helped me understand why I’m going through all this sick shit. This is nobody’s fault but mine. Self-destruction. Though this wasn’t my choice, I still have to suffer from it. Damage control or suchlike? Fuck that shit. No one can possibly control the impossible, something that isn’t included on the choices. Just as you thought you could change your mind or make a choice to not choose or run away from hurt, it gets you right on your cervical spine straight up into your brain, slowly eating your wits up that you can’t undoubtedly repel.
30 minutes to go before that very big deal everyone had been waiting for; I was going with the flow alright, throwing silly firecrackers and stuff, blowing torotots, watching the sky all sparkly and glittery. The watching part was fun, the noise made me feel safe; it made me appreciate my 4th sense. Hearing. Sometimes, a weird thing reminds me that I’m still alive. Loud, genuine, angry, unpretentious noises. White noises, fire alarms, ringing tones, horns, et cetera. A sound that goes deep down into the drums, penetrating, piercing every single noise through my skin, like a force pushing as I respond to its strength. A reminder that I can still feel.
As I inhale the horrible smell of smoke-, which came from the after burns of the firecrackers that stunk so bad-, I became more aware that I can no longer tolerate the smell of it. The smoke seemed like a concrete wall that collapsed into my body as it pressed my lungs down. Suffocation. I rushed into my room, and closed my windows. Long breaths. Inhale. Exhale. And then Silence.
Silence always makes every bit of my past rush back. I hated it. I hated remembering the past. The past that I burnt. Like a beautiful sonnet without an ending, crippled and ripped into pieces then burnt until its ashes turns into nothing. Invisibility. The power of being able to see but not be seen. I convinced myself that my past is now invisible, erased, forgotten. 10 minutes to go, dates will be different, but things will not be. Everyday will be as ordinary and as painful as yesterday, as the day before yesterday, last two months, last year. Only dates will be different. But my life will not be. Though I want it to be. I want it to be worth living for.
Ten. Nine. Eight. Before the count goes to five, I rushed back to the garage and watched the fireworks display. Five. Four. Three. I watched the beauty of it as it whooshed up into the sky and multiply. I saw colors. Different colors. My favorite was the amethyst, my birthstone. Sometimes, I don’t seem like it, but I’m into metaphysical- like birth signs and astrology, Constellations, stars, orbits and all that.
Two. One. Boom. There goes the ultra super mega fireworks display- the hundred shots of different fireworks. Star of the night, at least here in our place. Then I blew my humongous horn wrapped with purple chicken feathers. I gave my best blow. Hard. Loud. Until I finally run out of breathe.
Now it’s 1:02am. Fireworks are gone. Streetlights are now off. The noise level went down from ten to zero. Just like last year’s new year. Brief and nostalgic. Every thought of the stunning fireworks I’ve watched an hour ago was all replaced by the thoughts of the past. Silence. It made me feel dead again.