...the things i do to get attention...

A Fiction of Sorts

2008-12-01T11:52:00.000+08:00

**because the year will not be complete without confronting a pesky heartbreak**

Guess what, I've managed to become impossibly restrained. A self-imposed silence where you are concerned. Sometimes, I'll be itching to sound off my usual non-sense, a non-eventful "hello, how are you, did you know that..." But halt there Jenny! I've lost that right along with a bunch of other things I guess I didn't feel entitled to at anytime during our joint existence, wholesome or otherwise. Har har.

When I take a quiet moment to ponder this whilst adapting a whimsical far-off gaze, it pulls a forcefully forgotten string to quiver a sad whiny note.

So I pound on the delete button, shove the phone away, and leave it at that. Nearing another eve of an anniversary of an uninteresting event (my Deftones song of the day, had to use it didn't I? Lol), I still can't feel guiltless when dropping a simple "Oi!"

On the contrary, the reason's not as simple as the obvious conclusion a regular Joe might derive without batting an eyelash. Or maybe, just maybe, because I'm not sure myself...I might not have looked at you any other way as I have thought. So the mere looking subconsciously reminds me of...well, I guess, you. So it follows that there's no "before" that I can go back to as a point of reference. How dramatic. And it stinks of cheese.

And my friends, you know me and cheese.

Chloe and I were burning our eyebrows away late at night a couple of weeks ago while deconstructing the word "hate", and how this little gem of a word could be one's magic bean --- sprouting endless possibilities, catapulting the self into heights of conjured salvation and well-being. At the end of that conversation, we surmised that fabricated hate can only last you for x number of months.

I surprised myself when I declared that I, Jenny, can never genuinely hate you. Chloe stares at me with awe as if I'm nobility and goodness incarnate. I shiver and let out a long "Pffttt." We can't have that now can we?

So...

When you find it, burn it. Think of it as the fact that I may have lied. I'm sorry.

Skipping, skipping...splat (A Farewell in 7 Paragraphs)

2007-06-30T05:42:00.000+08:00

This blog is shutting down. I've made my peace with the DalaiLama. Here it rests against a very battered, extremely violated brick wall. Panting and sweating, concrete stuck in her fingernails and teeth chipped from the clawing and the, er, biting. Essentially resigned and exhausted after an admirable determination to keep the train chugging when by now, it should have been long dead, buried, and going through a disgusting yet fascinating process of decomposition. Aah, the welcome stench of "Good Bye" or rather, "Good Riddance" that makes the nasal cavities quiver in sentimental delight.

Me and this blog have come a long way --- well not really, like the previous blogs I spawned before, they were all admittedly what you would consider as a waste of internet space. The margin of progress in significant personal aspects remains to be minimal or even nonexistent.

But then again, there never really was a purpose for it. I did not set out to provide an existential analysis of the everyday workings of a particular female psyche in order to find a relevant solution to global warming, international terrorism, and dysmennorhea. No, not at all. Screw that! I am not under any orders to make the world a better place. I just have an egotistical resolution that I deserve a chunk of the world wide web.

*This warm corner is mine. I am my warm corner.* The jovial days of the summer of "My Blog and I" are over, finally reaching its frigid winter. Snuff. Sniff. Ah-Choo.

So there, my little blog, my fox. I'm your little prince leaving you to the wheat fields. And if my addressing an inanimate blog is a hint and reflection of the status and condition of my psychological wellbeing --- then I can only bask in delightful glee of the wonderful mess I am yet again about to create.

Because I don't know how to advertise and whore myself, I'm just typing it down. In case anyone looks, I'm going to be at:

http://ibludgeonthecurmudgeon.blogspot.com

Boo-ger off now, you.

The Fat Lady Has Sung & Is Now Choking on Her Saliva

2007-04-23T19:46:00.000+08:00

Hey There,

Yep, I'm done. It's not that I hate the job and I definitely hope the job doesn't hate me. There doesn't even have to be an explanation. It's just done. You scratch an itch and after a while you break through skin. Yep, definitely bleeding. Sucked dry.

Gawd, I'm exhausted.

Jamie's words of comfort: "I'm not exactly sure what it is but I know I didn't always feel this... sedated. But you know what? It's never too late to get it back."

And maybe it's time to started with the track I chose 9 years ago. I've delayed it long enough.

And maybe who knows, I get to start writing again like I used to.

*sniff* I miss me.

2007-02-12T03:12:00.000+08:00

So there's that void right. And it's impossible not to feel it. And I've sat down with it, weaving my fingers through it, and the fact that I'm grasping air scares me.

I only want everything and everyone to be better. That is all. And even though I know my actions have most definitely sent this ship sailing away, what comforts me is that I know what you are capable of, and that I need not worry about how you are, because you'd be fine, you always manage.

And that's good enough for me.

A Love Song For The Self a.k.a. Jenny Belches Out In the Shower

2007-01-26T11:12:00.000+08:00

She seems dressed in all the rings
Of past fatalities
So fragile yet so devious
She continues to see

Climatic hands that press
Her temples and my chest
Enter the night that she came home
Forever

She's the only one that makes me sad.

She is everything and more
The solemn hypnotic
My Dahlia, bathed in possession
She is home to me

I get nervous, perverse when I see her it's worse
But the stress is astounding
It's now or never she's coming home
Forever

She's the only one that makes me sad

Hard to say what caught my attention
fixed and crazy Aphid Attraction
Carve my name in my face to recognize
Such a pheromone cult to terrorize

I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me

I'm a slave and I am a master
No restraints and unchecked collectors
I exist through my need to self-oblige
She is something in me that I despise

I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me
I won't let this build up inside of me

She isn't real, I can't make her real.

-Vermilion by Slipknot-

Conversations over gum and nicotine

2007-01-22T00:19:00.000+08:00

I have something to tell you.

*chew. suck. blow. chew*

Do you want to hear it?

No. I don't.

Are you sure?

Yep.

Do you know what it's about?

I think so, yeah.

And you really don't want to hear it.

Ignorance is bliss.

And it's folly to be wise?

Absolutely.

Then you're a fool.

Why because I don't care? That makes me a fool?

You're such a liar. You do care.

*chew. suck. blow.*
I don't want to know.

So you're washing your hands clean. Just like that. Not a care for anyone.

Yes. And fuck you if you think I'm insensitive.

...

...

What have you become? Who the fuck are you now?

*suck. suck some more. blowing and blowing and blowing.*
You tell me.

A Big Tsk

2007-01-18T00:33:00.000+08:00

Okay, so Henry's not that great at being a lyricist.

Standards Schmandards.

He's still tsss-hot. And I just called him hot. I've never used hot on a local.

Not that it means something. It's just that I said tsss-hot. A term reserved for scalding tsss-hot coffee.

Crestfallen

2007-01-08T15:10:00.000+08:00

So I was walking down a familiar street. Last time I was here, it was a somber sight of murder committed as an act of both love and betrayal. The murder weapon, a pitch fork, has no trace of blood on it but instead pitched upon a pile of leaves --- and under a lone autumnal tree amidst a park that is bursting with spring, propped atop an exposed root was my old friend.

Hey, I thought I killed you.

It is nice seeing you too m'lady. You have something between your teeth. Oh wait, I remember! You still haven't had that gap fixed? Still afraid of the dentist? What are you? 10?

I blush a little. He did not point reference to the fact that I abandoned him. Killed him even.

I was wondering when you'd bother to come this way again.

I just thought I'd drop by you know. Anywhere became nowhere-s. But here, here is always. The crest has fallen. And it's broken into a million little pieces.

What happened?

He's showing interest, that's good. The last time, the day I killed him, he wouldn't listen.

I got tied in knots. And now I've come undone.

How'd you do that?

I used my teeth.

He smiled. So I smiled.

What are you going to do?

I dunno. I haven't planned that far. I'm just thinking about walking for now.

Do you need company?

I looked around, and the leaves need tending to or else the wind will blow it away and it'll be another big mess, and I didn't want to cause that. Besides, my own mess is waiting for me and that needs tending to.

Nah. You're just gonna cramp my style.

I try to look brave and be cool about it. He knows. He knows.

Suit yourself.

I turn to leave, picking up a stray leaf and stuffing it in my pocket. Mementos. Everything is moving fast and everything is moving slow nowadays, and I want to remember.

Hey!

I stopped but did not turn around.

People mess each other up all the time Jenny. You frail little beings might not mean to, but it happens. And sometimes, things shatter into a million little pieces. Putting it back together is just beyond the grasp of human capability. But then again, something splendidly whole can still be beautiful in its broken state. It lies there on the floor and it glitters and it creates new dimensions, sort of a window to other aspects that would not have been appreciated while it was whole.

I keep quiet. I dwell on the words. Everything is moving fast and everything is moving slow nowadays, and I want to remember.

And I remember that I killed him. And that I am here. And we are talking.

Hey...thanks.

For what? I dole out whimsical nonsense for a living.

He looks uncomfortable, almost awkward. But good awkward. (Awkward is such an awkward word. That's funny.)

For not leaving when I asked you to.

Oh that. You killed me you sadistic little brat.

We laugh.

I'm here because I want to be here. Just as you are here because you want to be here.

See ya later Johnny Boy.

The wind is coming. And the leaves need tending to. And I have my million little pieces before me.

--------

I used "a million little pieces" because the phrase stuck with me after reading James Frey.
I used "crestfallen" because I like that Smashing Pumpkins Song.

Enough. Enough now.

2007-01-07T05:52:00.000+08:00

"...And no of course we can't be friends
Not while I still feel like this
I want to ask where I went wrong
But don't say anything at all...

It killed me to say it. Some primitive voice inside me was screaming "No, you mustn't. You mustn't."

But I did. Because it just must. I find no shame in admitting the truth.

I don't know if it would be fully understood in the future, how painful it was to say it. But maybe I should stop caring. Because caring hurts too.

Meaningless, I said. Pft, that my friend, was absurd. Then again, we choose what we think will strap us back to sanity. Something I have spun away from the moment I started to feel.

When you come at last to that prominent fork on the road and you have decided to go one way, you do not think of what had happened, of what you saw, of what you heard, of the numerous questions that begged for an answer --- you only see that which you are leaving behind, that you are saying goodbye to.

If you read this...I will miss you. If you don't, let's just say it is meaningless.

...So no of course we can't be friends
Not while I still feel like this
I guess I always knew the score
This is where our story ends"

---Garbage "Cup Of Coffee"---

Status Update

2006-12-15T18:29:00.000+08:00

It's nice to know that I'm starting to regain the ability to find the joy in the little things.

Like this morning. You'll know you're getting better when you manage to snigger and clap gleefully after finding out that the current mayor of Mandaluyong is named Benhur.

Not that I have anything against Mayor Benhur nor THE Ben Hur. Nope. None at all. Teehee.

P.S.

Okay that's Congressman Benhur I think.

Oooohhhh, What's that?

2006-12-05T22:35:00.000+08:00

2 of my closest friends are coming home from the world yonder this month. It’s been a really difficult and nauseating year, and I’m just glad that I’ll get to see them after a very long time. These people, they drift in and out of my life, but what’s constant is that when I come undone and find myself somewhere in the middle, lost and confused between what’s real and what’s not, I find comfort in the knowledge that a part of myself is in their safekeeping and that I need not worry of being blown into dust and into nonexistence.

Plus they’d probably bitch slap me once they find out what I’ve been up to. In my defense, it’s not that bad. And I think I’ve made pretty good decisions for myself this year. Pat me on the back and give me a hug!

As far as friends go, it’s been a really disappointing year. Wait. That was mild. It was a bitching year for friends. You kind of think they are, turns out they’re your quasi-friends, or maybe it turns out that they weren’t, never was, and then of course if you’re as psycho as me in analyzing then you’d probably know that rule number one is to take out the rest of the pile and examine each one closely. Hey, it is not easy to take out the growing list of phonebook and list pros and cons beside their names. You get ink stains, callused fingers, and a lot of paper was wasted. Oh yeah, it was emotional too. Pft.

Here’s the trick: Save for a short list, everyone else is just a single-serving friend. Thank you Tyler. I am Jack’s enlightened chakra.

I can’t wait for you guys to come home. It’s a welcome addition to a 4-item list* of things to look forward to.

*list may be subject to change

The Departed wins Best Picture in Feb 2007
OOTP on July 13 2007. Bella! Bella! Bella! Tonks! Tonks! Tonks! (Oggy! Oggy! Oggy! Oink! Oink! Oink!)
Harry Potter Book 7.
More of Faspitch. And Henry. Tee hee.

Emo Talk (Part 1 of Many)

2006-11-26T23:52:00.000+08:00

October 2006

He's kissing me and I'm thinking "I wish he were you". And it felt awful. Perversity was being performed on an innocent thought and emotion. And I wondered if you felt the same thing when it was me you were kissing a long time ago.

I think you did.

2006-11-20T05:00:00.000+08:00

November 20, 2006
04:30

Captain’s Log:

“Space…it’s very very very very very big.” --- Johnny Bravo

Since midnight…
Cigarettes consumed: 8
Glasses of Coke consumed: 3
Number of books read: 2½
Songs played: 98
Songs skipped through: 10
Bathroom breaks: 4
Mosquito bites: 6
Unconscious breaking of the skin: 2
Attempts to sleep: 17

To date…
Surgeries: 1
Breakdowns: 3
Cancer scare: 1
Songs learned on the guitar: 7
Piano pieces played: 4
Panic attacks: 12
Movies raved: 4 (Capote, The Departed, Casino Royale, Karo and the Lord)
Film Festivals attended: 2
Songs stored on MP3 player: 278
Addition to the quest to read the 100 books of all time: 3 (14 total. I suck.)
Debt incurred: Php 24000 estimate
Out-of-the-country trips: 1
Rode an airplane: 4
Was allowed to use the car: 6
Blurted “I love Buster" (from Arrested Development): 22 (estimated)
Book signing attended: 1
Proposed marriage: 1 (to David Sedaris on said book signing)
Proposed marriage to a gay man: 1 (see above)
Contests won: 1 lousy fake coffee cup from Power Books.
Wandered alone around the city at night just to walk: 6
Took said walks because I took the wrong bus ride home: 2
Stalkers (Egads! I know! Me? Ha!): 1
Money stolen from me on the train: Php 500.00
Consecutive days I went out and got piss drunk: 6
Single serving friends: 9
Single serving friends I got tired of: 3
Got high…grades: 3
Walked in the rain: 7
Coffee consumed per day: 3 cups
Attempted to write a decent blog entry: 17
Achieved a decent blog entry: 0
Warded off a church representative: 2 (an Adventist from the hospital during my health mishap, and a Born-again lady who tried persuading me to convert while I was having the car washed)
Laughing fit: 2
Sneezing fit: at least once every 2 days
Bitch fit: 3
Involved in a vehicle apprehended by the MMDA: 2
Frog legs consumed: 3
Chess games won: 5
Poker games won: 4 (I suck.)
Carebears won: 2
Some random bear won: 2

And then of course…
Do I have to say it?: Everyday except one. Every minute except that time the anesthetic knocked me out.
And how many times have you said you’d stop: Thrice a day.
How many times has it worked: I’m getting there.

2006-10-19T11:37:00.000+08:00

Ooooh. I so don't want to be me right now.

And I don't want to be around me either.

Bon Anniversaire.

2006-09-22T11:36:00.001+08:00

I'm glad I'm turning 23.

I know I'm going to do it sooner or later if it doesn't happen naturally.

365 days and counting. This is going to be the best year of my life.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2006-09-20T00:34:00.000+08:00

The old lumpy bed, the 22-year old flattened pillow, the play of lights on the ceiling, Thom Yorke crooning “for a minute there, I lost myself…” tuned down low, the smell of charcoal burning, the taste of rain lingering in the air, and the calming sounds of a tippler’s scandalous tirade outside…c’mon…it’s the perfect setting to immerse yourself with the impending flashbacks.

I think of change. A friend once quoted Neil Gaiman and said “Everything changes, but nothing is truly lost.” That feels like 20 years ago. I find it sad when a two-year old memory returns to you all crusted and rusty, a relic. Moreso when all you can remember are fragments, diluted images, and voices that fade. I want to forget. But I also want to remember.

And so I remember. It reminds me of the Kaufman movie wherein Joel frantically scampers to preserve memories. A memory.

And I found one. Something untarnished, pure, simple, and not overshadowed by complications. Amidst everything, I know it was the only REAL thing I lost.

A chessboard. A futile attempt to save a horse. A triumphant queen. A cowering king. A renegade pawn. A self-sacrificing bishop. And a collapsed tower. Checkmate. 11th in a row versus Zero wins.

Blinking.

No.

Something is lost in change.

You lose a friend.

Blinking.

A cup of coffee. The toilet flushing woosh-woosh. A necklace. A slip. An attempt to be oblivious and ignorant. A stab at faith. At trust. Cowardice. Masochism. Denial. And I’m disemboweled. And then we fade out with hurt.

Blinking.

I don’t want to be right, I just want to know if I’m right --- says Einstein.

Maybe nothing is truly lost indeed. Nothing that truly mattered anyway.

Why Reality Bites

2006-08-23T14:03:00.000+08:00

Because this does not exist:

Troy: See Lainy, this is all we need. A couple of smokes, a cup of coffee, and a little bit of conversation. You and me and five bucks.
Lelaina: You got it!

I really thought I was getting better...

2006-08-14T20:42:00.000+08:00

I guess not.

Going cuckoo in the loo

2006-07-31T17:21:00.000+08:00

How ironic is it that I'm having mental constipation over the fact that I'm supposed to be writing about chronic constipation?

See, this is what I am looking for in a job --- the experience of actually living and breathing it. Immersing myself in...yet to be excreted shit of a brain.

Funny that I get a job that requires me to write...especially when I'm in the middle of an excruciating writer's block.

Look at me. I can only write sentences one at a time. I've lost my power over paragraphs! Okay that's three sentences now. Four. Okay five, is this a paragraph now?

Recipe for a kick-ass weekend in 9 steps.

2006-07-31T03:38:00.000+08:00

1. 4 stuffed animals from that mechanical claw thingy at the arcade. I've never snagged one miserable critter from that machine and wouldn't you know it, we got 4! *does an epileptic victory dance*

2. Seeing David Sedaris and having him sign that funny little exchange on my book. He has the most adorable lisp, and hearing him read out some of his stuff live was really enjoyable. It's nice to have a mental recording of his voice so I can just imagine it while reading. *starts sniggering to Tapeworm*

3. The cup. I won a prize during the book signing. This weekend has "LUCK" written all over it.

4. Razorback live. Manuel Legarda and Tirso Ripoll. I'm not worthy.

5. I saw the ultimate crush again at the arcade having his way with a kiddie game. Ehehehe. I was used to see him wandering around almost every week last year. It stopped right around the second half of last year. I thought he might have left the country. Or died. Since March of this year, he's managed to materialize at least once a month. I'm studying my timeline, and the girl in me wishes that this is a sign. The realist in me says that this is just a representation of the cosmic irony: Look, but do not touch. That's fine. I like looking.

6. Crash by J.G. Ballard. What a trip!

7. Iris. Kate Winslet and I have come along way since that preposterous movie Titanic.

8. Oscar Wilde! Re-reading The Portrait of Dorian Gray.

9. Afternoon tea with Jean-Paul Sartre, and bite size sandwiches over Existentialism.

So all in all, this is the happiest weekend I've had in 4 months! A rather large improvement. Pardon me if it's too protruding. Hahaha. *Whistles to herself as she enjoys a private joke*

Grr.

2006-07-23T09:32:00.000+08:00

Written on:
Sunday
May 28, 2006
11:45 PM

When the mind is befuddled by thoughts of unrelenting violence, the need to inflict tremendous pain via decapitation or shoving your fist right smack through layers of skin, muscle, and bones, and then gripping the other’s spleen until it bursts --- feeling the mesh of flesh, tissue, and blood in the spaces in between your fingers before pulling your hand out, staring at the mess and then licking the blood off of your fingers, smearing it all over your face, the pale skin of your face tainted with black and red, blood lust surging through your veins and you know that YOU WANT MORE --- that is when you realize you’re going up against a very long one sentence-paragraph.

Instead of going for her jugular vein, I restrained myself. Because I already knew for a long time. And I’d like to believe that all this time, I was just not waiting for a reason to indulge in a rampage of uncivilized atrocities, and that in fact I did have a friend somewhere in IT.

I wait until nature subjects me to corrosion and transforms my outermost layer into something more human compared to the animal rawness I’ve morphed into for that 24 hours. An evolution into a higher and sturdier form contra a de-evolution to a lower and crude form.

I give people credit---and apparently more than what half of you deserve, and less to what the other half amounts to. (geek observation: I pulled a Bilbo Baggins right there!) I also developed over the past year a tendency to have faith in the goodness of people, moreso my friends---Boho or not. Wow. Did I get screwed? Or did I get screwed? Looking at the situation now, I would say YES. BOTH WAYS. Boy, is my ass going to be fucking sore.

So now I do the decent thing: sacrifice a lamb to the almighty Hera and heed for retribution through an onslaught of venereal disease. Leave it to the gods and continue shearing the sheep.

***

To the almighty being/beings, because yes, I believe there has got to be some screwed up being out there who gets the kicks out of this crap (I didn’t become an agnostic for nothing, you know),

After 20 years of painstaking monotony (that in hindsight now seems like a breeze and as dense as cotton candy), I’d just like to say good job for the two-year crash course. Toast all around!

Adultery, infidelity, cowardice, failure, death, love, murder, drugs, sex, hatred, leeches, friends, pseudo friends, parasites, credit cards, anemia, debts, cancer, aneurysm, employment, unemployment, abortion (not mine), babies (not mine), moving out, marriage, treachery, the human frailty, the orgasm reached by listening to NIN full blast, and the absurdity of lizard sex.

Did I miss out anything? Is there anything else? Props to you man. I can take it. I’m a fast learner.

Things That Made Me (Insert Emotion Here) Today...Part I

2006-07-13T00:22:00.000+08:00

Flinch with DISGUST:

(To self) Why oh why? Have you no knowledge of controlling your impulses? Chuck it away so that you won't be tempted next time. Tsk tsk. I am starting to pity you, and frankly, you're becoming a joke. Ha. ha. ha. You are quite the clown. (kicks own ass)

GIDDY as a fangirl:

Helena Bonham-Carter! Bellatrix Lestrange!

The Toxicity of Inter-Personal Relationships

2006-07-10T05:00:00.000+08:00

4:00 AM

It is in this ungodly hour that you start hating yourself for not being able to control your brain. Sometimes it takes tactical diversion, meticulous concentration, skirting through the jungle recesses of the madness that is your brain, and sometimes you even manage to do it effortlessly.

But then there are times like these. You swear to god its not you who is doing it but someone else, messing up the image projector in your head, making you see things you don’t want to see, remembering things you know you shouldn’t. It’s a free for all mess hall in there. And it always ends the same way, you on the ground after falling from the 24th floor, twitching reflexively, choking on your bowels. There you are, staring at the sky, watching as a ten-ton vault hurtles downward. There you are, and for lack of any other better reaction, you start giggling at the thought of your impending doom. Thump.

4:15 AM

Questions that need answering. But then again, life is a bunch of rhetorical questions. And I know you are cruel enough to never tell me the truth.

4:18 AM

Before I sleep, in every waking hour, it’s always the same thing. Somebody. Take it from me. Because for fuck’s sake, I’m the only one losing sleep from this. And it’s been how long? What a loser.

4:30 AM

I know everything. And it kind of sucks sometimes when you are able to look me in the eye and pretend the airplane landed with its two wings intact when in fact the whole darn thing blew up midair. And it’s a real letdown that you LIED, you fucking LIAR. Because I knew everything, and I was giving you too much credit.

5:00 AM

Alright fine. There’s comes a point where you have to draw the line. Emotions must be heard.

Carla, I’m hurt by what you did when we were 11-years old (1994). We were playing hide and seek, and you said I was making it easy for you to find me. And that was true, I didn’t want to go hide for a long time because I know you hate doing the seeking part. And frankly, I didn’t give a fuck, I just wanted to be preoccupied during recess, and looking for something does the trick for me. And yes, I didn't like hiding because hiding felt too much like getting lost. You accused me of not being true to the noble game of hide and seek. I didn’t get that. But then you called me incompetent in hiding, and I saw red.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

I showed you didn’t I? I hid under a car. And I heard you shouting from a distance. And I heard you calling for me to come out. I waited for you to find me. You said you would.You promised you would. But what did you do? You quit on me and played tag with the other girls. And that really hurt, you know.

Ten years later and we’re drinking coffee. Not one minute passes by that I don’t think about it. When I see you, I remember how blistering hot, and damp, and dusty it was underneath that car, and how I almost fainted when someone turned the ignition. I see you and I see the smoke starting to suffocate me. I see you and all I remember is that you lied.

Jenny Does Vietnam. PG - 11

2006-07-01T21:38:00.000+08:00

March 26, 2006

Vietnam.

I’m staring out the balcony of my hotel room and very much aware that this is the first time I’m breathing foreign air. It is quite nice that I don’t have to spend a dime to stand exactly where I am right now – 17th Floor, overlooking some river (the name of which I can’t be bothered to lookup right now) that borders the city of Ho Chi Minh. And irony of all ironies, right smack within my view is Citibank Tower, sort of a reminder as to who exactly sent me here.

So here I am. Smoking. I get to socialize with other delegates from all over Asia. The only thing I’ve learned so far is that us Filipinos are the only smokers amongst the group. And we are too loud.

Inhale again. Suck in that Vietnamese air. It kind of smells like home. Apparently smog is as smog gets in any country. But then again there is that hint of something ginger-y or eucalyptus in the air. Which is good. My usually clogged nose is unusually dry. Vietnam smells like my Tai-ma, that very comforting smell of oriental ointment.

There’s a lovely play of lights down below. The city is swarming with motorbikes and scooters. Owning a car is laughable in this country, you’ll never get to where you want to go, not without parting the sea of scooters miraculously. I bet when I go back home and people ask me what it was like, I’ll just say, “Lots of scooters!”

My hotel room is close to bliss. I wish they’d just let me stay here for the rest of the trip. I don’t feel like doing the whole tourist bit.

I’m relieved that I can escape what has turned out to be a torturous life even for just four days. I want to quit my job, that’s one. Number two, I’m starting to feel like an orphan back home. Lastly, I want to know why he is treating me like a pariah. I want to end it. I’ve given him too many chances to hurt me. I’m such a trooper that I take each blow as they come. It shouldn’t be this way. If I didn’t think I was in love with him, I’d probably have killed him already.

March 27, 2006

The Air, Land, Water Extravaganza.

Fuck it. If it takes 4 hours to get to the beach in which you stay not even half the day, forget it. If it’s blistering hot in Manila, then kick it up another notch here. I never did like going to the beach in the summer. I prefer it when it’s windy with a hint of rain. I was looking forward to the whole island getaway thing because they told me I can go parasailing. Curse the day that I ticked the option for fishing as an alternative activity because that is what I ended up doing. The last thing I was expecting to do in Vietnam, in the island of Vin Pearl, was to be stuck in a boat for 3 goddamn hours under the scalding heat, frying my buttocks on the oven that was the boat, and fishing with a string and a 10x size of a spool, the island too far to be seen, the waves bobbing the small boat up and down, left and right.

The never ending pool was fantastic though. I vowed to keep my newly bloody red-dyed hair dry but I couldn’t help it. I was feeling the sun boring holes and perforating my epidermis. I had to seek sanctuary in the crystal blue water and just dove right in to drown the memory of that horrid fishing business. Of course it was comical to see me religiously glancing at the water around me and making sure that my hair is not “leaking” lest I be accused of smearing blood and menstruating all over Vietnam’s largest pool.

March 28, 2006

The Iron Grip of the Local Vendor.

The irony of this whole trip is that I feel harassed the whole time what with all the organizers buzzing left and right to hurry you this way and that way when the entire package suggests utter relaxation of the mind and the senses. The four hour trip yesterday (8 hours back and forth via plane, speedboat, and bus) had me crying uncle so I decided to skip the tour and get me some Vietnam style body massage. Relaxing, yes it was. There were tears. Yes. Tears. My sun-burned back was scrubbed mercilessly by my masseuse with a bristly towel. A dry rough towel to be exact. I was whimpering like a baby.

My pocket money was very minimal since I’m not that much of a shopper. I also made it a point to not spend any of my extra dollars. I had shopped for several people because I thought it proper to bring something back. We were scooted towards the public market which is not unlike our own Divisoria. My poor sunburned arms were put to the test when stall owners left and right started grabbing me…and never let go…pushing and pulling me in between them. It’s like as if a 0.5 second eye contact translates to your being interested in purchasing. I think I snarled and hissed at one of the vendors at some point, but they hissed back, and all I remembered was some idiot telling me that in a foreign place you must always be polite because god knows what can happen to foreign pricks. Polite I was. “Let go of me. You’re hurting my arm. No, I don’t want a traditional nightie. I never said that. Did not. Did not! DID NOT! Let go of me. Please? Thank you. Have a nice day.” This is the exact moment when I felt not only like a foreigner (as I have never been one before), but a helpless lone foreigner (I lost track of my shopping buddies) : the second I walked away, I heard them talking in their foreign tongue and I swear to god it sounded as if they were calling me names. All I can do is just walk on and forget about apparels and skip onto the dry goods section.

I have no ability to haggle, you give me the price and I’ll be too lazy and bashful to argue. Either I buy it or I just walk out. What I found funny in this experience was that I don’t need to haggle because they haggled for me. I’m opening my mouth to say something (most of the time it was a “sure, that sounds reasonable, I’ll have one please.”) and whoala, instant dramatic decrease in the selling price. I show a hint of a frown, all of a sudden it’s 50% off!

But man their currency made me go nuts. I dunno but I think the smallest currency I could get my hands on in Vietnam was 1000 dong. I go bollocks when I have to pay Php 60+ for my beer here in Manila, imagine how indignant I was when I had to pay 400000+ dong for my mango juice. Mathematically, when you convert it the price is just the same, but the excessive zeros were just too much for me. It was kind of fun though to purchase shirts and stuff and hearing myself say “So it’s just 4 million for all three shirts right? That’s okay. You know what, throw in another three shirts.”

***

I just reread my whole entry from Vietnam thus far, and I sound as if I'm on a vacation from hell. Don’t get me wrong, I’m having so much fun. The bubble baths have left me fingers delectably wrinkly. I love it. The evening dinners are superb. The gala night turned out to be okay. I wore a dress. And yes, I sat properly mother. I was given an award. It’s the last night I’m sleeping in my gargantuan bed, and watch Conan O’Brien on a plasma flat screen TV. Frankly, the best thing about this trip is my hotel room. And my favorite thing during the past 3 days is coming home at night to sleep. Whoever said I was boring is way off his knockers.

Ricci, one of my officemates who’s also on the trip , called me just a few seconds ago asking if I wanted to join the group to go out drinking and clubbing since it is our last night. I’m there in the bathroom, snug in my ultra thick bath robe, looking longingly at the tub and all the bubbles. I fake a yawn and say, “I’m beat. You guys go ahead.” Hey, it’s my last night. I’m sorry but I’m not parting with the only thing I’ve grown attached to in Vietnam. Principles, Precious, principles. I think I've contributed enough to their polluted air with all my smoking and whatnot, I'll do the people of Vietnam a favor and not subject them to the embarassment brought upon by the fact that I'm a total lightweight when it comes to drinking. I will not waste their precious beer. Oh well, I just didn't feel like it. Am not what you would call chummy with the colleagues I was with. I don't have the energy to pretend as if I'm having a good time when I know I'd rather watch TV.

In a situation wherein you have a diverse group of people coming from different countries, I find it absolutely hilarious as to how this group of Filipinos managed to isolate and alienate themselves by doing 3 simple things:

1. Smoking excessively in every opportunity (that would mean bus stops, before and after lunch, before swimming, after swimming, etc etc, in any open air space or the establishments that would allow us to do so inside. Fortunately for us, Vietnam, as one of the tour guides proudly exclaimed, is one big smoking area. And yes, that means inside the hotel and even the airport.)

2. Making fun of people from other countries.

3. Blatantly talking about the other folks in their presence under the comfort of our mother tongue.

By the end of these last three days, we are probably the most obnoxious and snobbish group among the lot. We see the other countries table hopping exchanging numbers and the likes, but no one goes to our table. No one wants their picture taken with us. That can’t be good. Maybe because they all can hear the “Tignan mo yung Koreano o, nag peace sign na naman.” or “ Bambi alert, bambi alert. Tangna, ang baho.”

So there I was being amused by their quips when I suddenly blurted out “Does this mean we’re racist?!?!” which they took for a joke, but I was serious. Or maybe the others were also secretly doing it. Who knows? The Chinese could have been muttering “Here come those fucking smoke belchers.”

Dum dum dum... Another One Bites The Dust!

2006-07-01T18:28:00.000+08:00

Lately, I have been known to say "I shall quit (insert vice here) tomorrow" and then only to be seen the following day doing exactly what have been declared as a no-no the day prior. My reason being, "I said I'll quit TODAY. I'm stopping TODAY, but that doesn't mean I can't do it at all TODAY. It simply means I'll stop ANYTIME TODAY."

July 1 is the big day for me. Bye bye cancer sticks. But then again who's to say that I will not be declaring that tomorrow is the day that I start smoking again. Wow. That just made me feel powerful right there.

I just wanted to drop by and announce to no one in particular that I am temporarily re-opening this blog. It wouldn't be nice to start the new blog with materials from prior June of 2006. Let me say that again. It wouldn't be nice to start a fresh perky blog (it's blue. teehee.) with incessant ramblings bordering to whinging of a pre-mature adult. I have high hopes for the new one. The stuff that will be posted here are too, what's the word, blech.

So there. I have stuff that I wrote when I went to Vietnam. Random thought bubbles that plague the unemployed. The eureka moment when you realize that quitting your job will answer all your problems. Yet more breakup issues and the ridiculous way the drama unfolded (I knew it!). The human frailty. The Save The Trees Movement. The Hobbits Are Not Gay Movement. The joy of watching Jamie Beswarick, Richard Taylor, and Dan Hennah. That nugget of turd that just won't get flushed down the toilet. A box. And Anger. Hatred. The difference. And why I'm dead-on with Hatred. Rationalizing. x + y = z. Ain't it grand.

And then we'll kill this blog again. Second time around should be sweeter.

Hail The Living Dead. Moo.

Of Abrupt Endings

2006-04-20T21:06:00.000+08:00

I smite thee PsychWard Patient #670

Because it is no longer worthy
Because it needs to be forgotten
Because it stinks of decay
Because the comfort of anonymity is gone
Because I want to disappear
And disappear is what I'll do

Epitaph:

"I really don't want to talk about it now. So there. So long. And piss off."

April 20, 2006
9:10 PM
Coordinates(3,3)

Questionable Questions (Episode 1)

2005-10-24T20:19:00.000+08:00

Intros.

I introduce this new weekly segment because my blog is in the gutter gasping inhuman sounds and draining of blood. I also mean to provide meaningful answers to thoughtless questions that bug the average joe while taking a dump or lathering their hair with shampoo. Or in my case while sitting in my cubicle tapping my fingers on the desk waiting for the next fucker to call disturbing my moment of ignorance and hindering my relentless pursuance of reaching man's ultimate but hardly recognized goal - static satisfaction. Then again I'm aiming to get endorsements and sponsorship offers from multinational soda companies.

***

QUESTION NUMBER 1

Q : Wouldn't sex be more interesting and exciting if both male and female can get impregnated?

A : Hmm. I'd say yes. Think of the anxiety that is akin to that feeling on your first few christmas eves (of course as you grow older, the novelty wears off) as you await to rip apart the numerous packages with your name on it. Or that feeling when there's one number left on your bingo card that is unmarked and you and that old geezer from next door are staring at each other looking like rabid dogs, both of you in the verge of winning depending on the next ball that is drawn. Or that time when you were sitting outside the health clinic waiting for the nurse to come out to tell you whether you have AIDS or not.

Imagine the thrill after sex.

"Who do you think will it be? You or me?", "I think you will. Your temperature was a bit higher than usual." And then think about the weeks after wherein you both contemplate on the possibilities. One of you can go mental. "Josie, I can't. I can't be the one. The football championship is in 3 months. I've been training hard. The team needs me. I hope to god it's you." You both sit on the breakfast nook sipping coffee, listening intently to your bodies. "Was I supposed to excrete that kind of discharge?", "I'm feeling light-headed every morning. Is this it?", "My man-boobs hurt. Am I preparing to lactate?"

And then you pee together. It's all about team work. You stare at the pregnancy kit that you each have. "Don't peek.", "Hey. Watch it. Look at your own." 2 pairs of eyes grow wide. "Ha! I'm not pregnant! So, are you?" , "Whew. I'm not!" "Yay! We're both safe! Oh wait...look, your's still changing. Oh...Hugh...You're pregnant. It's going to be okay. Hey we're having a baby.!"

So yeah. It'll be hilarious. Why didn't Bob* think of that?

***

*Bob is a borrowed term from Jamie. Jamie is chummy with God so he allows her to call him by his casual sunday name - Bob.

If I Had Septuplets And Named Them According To The Seven Capital Sins

2005-07-05T00:58:00.000+08:00

Pride, I don’t have money for the triple-action absorbing diapers. These will do. Yes you deserve the expensive ones, but mommy is broke. No I’m not asking you to step to the level of the primitives, but you have to make do with the tunic! Oh you’d rather be buck-naked? Fine.

Anger, I just forgot to segregate the peas from the carrots. It’s not as if I burned your eyebrows. No, I’m not making fun of your uni-brow. Of course not honey. Calm down. Put that plate down. NOW! I said put that plate down! Oh you’re going to throw it at me? Really now. Oh, you’re going to stab me with your fork? Gouge my eyes out eh? It’s plastic honey. Put it down.

Gluttony, you’re scaring me. That’s your 33rd milk bottle…for the last 10 minutes. And drop that! That’s for the dog you idio…sweet little thing. No you can’t have Greed’s share. No trust me, he won’t give it to you.

Greed, the crib’s big enough for two babies. Why did you push Sloth to the floor? No you can’t have mommy’s pillow, you’ll suffocate. You don’t care? No you can’t have the throw pillows either. Why? Because Lust has been rolling around with it. It’s eeky and filthy.

I am paying attention to you Envy. Did I say I have six kids? When? No I did not! Yes you can wear the tunic as well. It’s not as pretty as Pride’s? Are you kidding me? They’re all white! Oh it’s smaller now is it? That’s because Pride’s bigger than you. Fair share. What? I don’t get you. You’d be running around with your trousers on your ankles.

What the fuck are you doing Lust? You’re not old enough to do that! Stop playing with your thing! Or if you have to, do it in your room! Stop touching your sister! Stop that or I’ll spank you. What did you say? Alright that’s it, go to the corner and stop doing that or I’ll tie your hands. WHAT?!?! No, I’m not going to breastfeed you. Leave me alone! Aaaahhhhhh!

Sloth, a nap lasts for an hour. Okay, you’re a baby, 3 hours then. That’s enough. You’ve been sleeping for a week. *pokes baby* Are you still alive?

2005-07-05T00:39:00.000+08:00

Out with the OLD. In with the NEW.

In what seems to be like a lifetime gone past, in that moment wherein one is about to fall into deep slumber, I have to get up…unlock the already bolted door (three locks), open the door, shut the door, seal it shut, and then go back to sleep…I had to do this 5 times before I can sleep. Time brings change, and now I don’t bother to check. Instead, this odd behavior is replaced by closing a glass window (third from the left) and then open and close it again thrice, before I can sleep.

I have to sweep the floor in my room every hour by the hour. I don’t have to anymore. I have a maid to do that for me…not up to par with my expectations though. So I have to do it before I sleep. Twice.

When I was living with my grandmother at her apartment, I was always paranoid that “somebody” is watching. I imagined red eyes staring into the apartment. For this reason, windows are always either half-closed (or half-open. Whatever floats your bubble) or shut. I went to such lengths as telling lies like “Tai-ma’s afraid of people. She’s the one who wants the windows closed!” Now…the hell I care. Stare if you want, that’s as far as you’d get.

In my years spent in an educational institution, before typing or writing for that matter, I have to clasp my hands together and squeeze thrice before I start. I find that this requires too much effort so now I just need to run my thumb twice across my fingertips before I launch into what I would like to call as “finger action”.

I have to animate the Microsoft Office Assistant ten times after writing two pages. Now I just find the darn object on my screen really annoying.

For math equations, once I’ve found the solution, I have to do it again four times (three would do, but once more just to be sure!) before it’s perfect enough to be considered as my final answer. I don’t do math anymore.

I made it a point not to study for any exam. I wait until 8 hours prior before I start flipping and loading my brain with the scarce notes that I take down during class. I give myself an hour and a half. Anything more will most definitely cause me to flunk it. I only revisit it 20 minutes (a.k.a. Recess Cramming) before the exam. Furthermore, to ensure that I pass the exam, I have to sing “Smells Like Teen Spirit” or “Lithium” in my head. Any other song returns mediocre results. This, of course, didn’t work with my Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo exams. Oddly enough, it worked with Ibong Mandaragit tests. I don’t do quizzes, exercises, or any exams now. I didn’t think I’d live to see the day wherein I’d muse, “I miss those.” The stagnant brain welcomes any challenge to its capacity to produce fluids.

My bathing habits were not spared. Before I start, I have to lean my forehead onto the cool tiles on the wall parallel to the shower curtain or whatever the entrance is to the shower area for approximately 7 seconds. Anything less will cause me an unpleasant bath and an extreme bad hair day to a higher degree since everyday IS a bad hair day, and anything more than that will cause me to prefer sleeping rather than bathing. Moreover, I have to shower facing the shower curtain. Exception of course should be given to situations wherein I doubt the sanitation of the facility. In those cases I limit myself to the tiny space wherein my feet touched the floor. I shower normally now. I just can't stand to stay long enough inside the bathroom until all the water evaporates from my body.

I have to pee twice in the morning or else everything will go wrong for the rest of the day. Now, I’m too busy dragging my ass to work and NOT be late.

Every time I see bubble air on the wall, I have to peel it off until nothing is left to peel off. In my freshman in year in high school, I was seated in front of the very spacious teacher’s table in a laboratory class (GSR 1!). Needless to say, the paint on that table was half peeled by the end of the school year. The paint on the wall beside my bed is always ruined to the chagrin of my parents who paid for the expensive paintwork. I’m still at it.

I have remote control issues. I hate reverse scanning. It has to move forward. If I miss a channel due to uncontrollable muscle twitches, well, tough luck. I have to go through the entire cycle of channels. That or manually enter the channel, but since most remote controls go bonkers on me for no reason whatsoever (who are you kidding? Back when you were still watching wrestling religiously, 1992-2001, you threw it across the room whenever you’re upset!), the remaining buttons that work are the scan buttons. My remote control works now, so I make the extra effort to remember channel numbers and punch them in.

I used to watch tennis. I prefer watching it alone because I mumble at the start of the game, which would eventually escalate to a running commentary/coach lecture by the end of the game. I don’t watch that much tennis anymore. Besides, Patrick Rafter’s retired. Bjorkman and Kafelnikov, are they still alive? Still, a recent attendance in a racquet sport tournament has evoked this habit of mine during one game. I feel ashamed. I was sitting alone in the bleachers and muttering to myself.

If I take the bus one day, I have to take the bus again the next. Two days in a row. If I take a cab, though, I’m allowed to do it three times in a row. No more, no less. So what I do is take the bus Mondays and Tuesdays, and then revert to cab the remainder of the week. Ergo, I prefer to schedule my extra-curricular activities on the last three working days of the week. Saturdays and Sundays are exceptions. I do not like riding public transportation (Taxi cab rides are not considered as a commuter medium) in the weekends. I didn’t commute before. My world, then, was limited to walking to and fro my limited area of living and private transportation.

I don’t drive with any footwear. I don’t trust myself to drive when I can’t feel contact between my epidermal cells and the pedals. I haven’t driven anything since September of last year. Hmm, I should get my license renewed.

I have to play FreeCell in every instance I use my computer at home. I have to win 6 times in a row…or else I consider myself a failure. Since I’m beat when I get home nowadays, I allow myself the leeway of just playing up to 3 streaks a day. This habit abruptly stopped when my PC conked out on me mid last year. But now that it is resurrected (Hallelujah! A part of me is restored!) I make it a point to do it everyday except Tuesdays and Fridays.

I don’t like the top or the bottom of the pile. I don’t like the middle either. If I have to pick from a stack of something, I have to pick midway between the top and the middle. I don’t care anymore. As the picker, I close my eyes (or squint if it would seem strange to the “pickee”) and then hesitantly grab the first thing I make contact with.

When I eat, I made it a point to try to eat the right way on my first bite (spoon on the right, fork on the left). This annoyed me. I think I did this because one elder person (can’t remember who) shook their head with disapproval at me when I ate with my ambidextrous way. But it’s like asking a fish to eat with their fins. So for the past 10 years, I’ve done away with the spoon.

I’ll eat any of that disgustingly sugar coated flower things on cakes (toothpick as a stem, mind you), except for the blue ones. I don’t eat them at all.

This is embarrassing. When I start reading a book, I had to read it on the toilet. While taking a dump, taking a leak, or just sitting there, doesn’t really matter. I’m mature now. I just have to read it standing on the foot of…something…anything…before I get comfortable and reading it at any comfortable, or compromising, or awkward position I choose.

I always made sure that anything I wrote had a proper conclusion. I wanted it to end with a bang. But lately its more fun to leave things hanging.

What was the point of all these? I needed to make fun of somebody. Nothing like the self to send you into hysteric fits. Weirdo.

"Singularity shows something wrong in the mind." --- Erika Jong

But, I like this one better...

"Losing faith in your own singularity is the start of wisdom, I suppose; also the first announcement of death." --- Peter Conrad

Cab Wars : Revenge of the Bitch

2005-06-27T21:20:00.000+08:00

Sitting quietly with thoughts on “How to Torture a Cab Driver 101” at the backseat of a dingy, on-the-verge-of disintegrating, gasping-for-life mechanism that is considered as public transportation, I couldn’t help but think, “What a way to end a crabby day that has curiously rendered me constantly fluttering in an odd delightful state.”

I’ve been mean the whole day, and quite having fun at it. I was taking jabs at people who don’t necessarily deserve it. I was constantly ignoring people I usually talk to, and I was chatting up folks that were normally a hundred miles from my conversational acquaintances. The only time I wanted to do something nice for my friends at work, I winded up potentially getting my boss into trouble because an email that she sent (Alerting her staff that there might be a PC-Sweep that day. Us lowly employees are not allowed access to the web. But of course, there are ways.) was forwarded by yours truly to some people who coincidentally were having their inboxes checked for spam emails. I am truly sorry, but right now all I can think of is “Way to go dear woman. Way to go.” I am sorry, I really am. And I will do whatever it is within my scheming abilities to worm our way out of it even if it means putting myself right smack in front of the firing line. Record? What record? Mine’s pretty much fucked up already. I don’t give a rat’s ass (But please let me work until I find a new one.) My boss has been really lenient on me, and I couldn’t ask for any other to replace her hence I would stab myself right in the eye if my carelessness screwed up her job. See what I’d do for you if you managed to win my respect? I’d go the extra mile. I’m going to work that one out tomorrow.

So where was I. I’m in a cab. I hate going the long way because 1. I have a TV Show to catch and 2. Cab fare is boring holes into my poor dilapidated wallet. By this time, I was already having a staring contest with the driver through the rearview mirror. I had to let him know I wasn’t happy with him. By the time he made a right turn on my street, I pulled out my wallet, and out of habit I say, “Manong (Filipino term addressed to a preferably aged-male in the service industry otherwise known as Dude), change for 100”.

The idiot turns to me and says “Ano, hihingi-hingi ka ng sukli? Bakit nagbayad ka na ba?”(“What? You’re asking for change? Why, have you paid me yet? I don’t think so.”).

Hohohoho. Way for thin ice mister. Way for thin ice.

I said, “Manong, sinasabi ko lang sayo na magbabayad ako ng isang daan para makapaghanda ka ng sukli.” (“Dude, I was only telling you in advance that I’m paying a hundred bucks so that you can prepare or at least anticipate the change that I am expecting”). And of he goes ranting about how stupid I am to ask for change when I haven’t paid.

“Ano akala mo sakin? Walang barya?” (“What do you think, that I don’t have change?”). To this I snigger half-resentful and half-humored, of course 80% of the time cab drivers say they “don’t have change” leaving you to pay 100 bucks for a 50-buck worth of lousy driving. “Tatawa-tawa ka diyan. Hihingi ka ng sukli di ka pa nagbabayad,” (“Go ahead, laugh. You’re the one who’s asking for change when you haven’t paid yet.”) he said while he hands me a 20-peso bill that looks as if it had been use to wipe someone’s ass.

I got out of the cab, attempted to close the door, changed my mind when I heard that he was still ranting, poked my head back in for one last sniff of that disgusting lemon scented pine tree thingy, and quietly said “Yes jerk, shut up now.” I slammed the door shut, and hurried along lest he decides to run me over.

Trotting along the street (With “Singing in the Rain” playing at the back of my mind.), I thought “Yes J***, you showed him.” When I got home, I went straight to the phone and relayed my little adventure to Jamie (Who I bet was watching MTV the whole night waiting for that ONE commercial with Orlando Bloom who makes the word “tsunami” sound oh so…sensual. He’s not gay goddamnit! Who coincidentally is also the bringer of common sense to my little obsessions and trifles). As always she knocked some sense into me. “J***, you sounded like a spoiled upper-class yuppie. Shame on you. Next time, if you’re going to argue with a cab driver do it in a way that he will understand.”

Yeah. I could have said “Ang bobo niyo manong. P*tang Ina niyo!” (“Dumb nitwit! You son of a bitch!”)

But that’s too mean. I’m not that big of a bitch. I only called him a “jerk”.

*Halo*

*Angel’s choir singing in the background.*

I could have flipped him the bird. Robert, a friend from work, could warrant that this actually works, as it seems this is a universal language that is understood by people of all occupations. But then again, the cab driver tried to run him over. But that’s entirely another story.

the CHEESE stands alone

2005-06-27T21:19:00.000+08:00

The farmer in the dell
The farmer in the dell
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The farmer in the dell

The farmer takes a wife
The farmer takes a wife
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The farmer takes a wife

The wife takes a child
The wife takes a child
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The wife takes a child

The child takes a nurse
The child takes a nurse
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The child takes a nurse

The nurse takes a cow
The nurse takes a cow
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The nurse takes a cow

The cow takes a dog
The cow takes a dog
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The cow takes a dog

The dog takes a cat
The dog takes a cat
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The dog takes a cat

The cat takes a rat
The cat takes a rat
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The cat takes a rat

The rat takes the CHEESE
The rat takes the CHEESE
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The rat takes the CHEESE

The CHEESE stands alone
The CHEESE stands alone
Hi-ho,The derry-o
The CHEESE stands alone

Childhood trauma. I hated this game in pre-school. I wanted to stab the bastard, who picked me as the CHEESE, with an ice pick. I hated it when I get to be the CHEESE. I hate hate hate it. What was the CHEESE supposed to do? What was the purpose of this game? The CHEESE had to stand in the middle of a circle composed of evil toddlers emphasizing “cheeeeeeeeeeezzzzzzzzz”, high-pitched mind you. And you stand there, and you think, “Hmm, what now?” while these kids sing at you with bulging eyes and evil glee at the fact that the CHEESE is standing alone.

You sweat.

And at that last line of the song… “the CHEEEEEZZZZZZ stands alone…”

They scream… “AAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!!”

All hell breaks loose and everyone runs, and for a moment you’re paralyzed. “Mommy, what am I going to do?”

So you run around as well screaming…until the teacher cries “Alright! Alright! Stop that!”

She sits you down and enlighten you patiently, “You have to pick the next farmer.”

So…

The CHEESE gets to decide, eh? And the evil cycle begins all over again.

Somehow I always forget.

I hate being the CHEESE. Because then, everyone wants to be the farmer.

Of 8 Year-Old Girls, Kissing, and The Reproductive System

2005-06-22T12:29:00.000+08:00

I’ve made a discovery as to why life became a tad bit boring after High School…Rosanna Buencamino (Goes by the incongruous sweet name of Rose but was also notoriously known in a more suitable name of Sk8) fled the country shortly after graduating. I haven’t spoken to her for the longest time and the image of her in my brain is still that of the tall, gawky, nerdy, bullying, intimidating, outspoken, loud, four-eyed girl whose eccentricity is so way off the charts that when launched from the ground, it circled the earth and the moon ten times before it finally reached its destination. Ah the days of yore, when Rose would pick on Jeya, swoon over Matt Salerno, write her outrageous poems, strut a little too manly, pluck her eyebrows a little to thinly, and fixate on my budding chest. Rose is a freak train speeding dangerously down the tracks, and to be her friend is to be in the front seat with no harness or safety device to cling on to for dear life except for her word that it’s going to be "freaking fun". Coolness.

I have a very fond memory of Rose wherein she polluted my brain with something that never really bothered me before that incident. I met her when we were in the third grade. Sometimes I still wonder how the hell did I get mixed up with the likes of Rose. I can’t recall how or why I was crazy enough to have even given her an inaudible grunt that was mistaken for a "Hi, I want to be your friend". But I thank the gods in Olympus for inspiring that moment. You have to have at least one crazy friend. She's one of them. And then of course I collected more, more, more!

My earliest memory of her was when we were eight years old. In the school that I went to, we had this box contraption called the “SRA”. Hmm, never really knew what that meant. We had a Reading class and the teacher’s job was to have 40 or so students sit still, read from that box, answer questions, and then read some more…solitary...for an hour. To me, that was one hour to indulge in idleness. I read some. And then I talk. And then I sleep. And then I pretend to read furiously at the last five minutes of the period. Little did I know that they record the stuff that you read, and turns out, my numbers turned out to be very dismal. This resulted in English Remedial Classes that I had to attend after my normal schedule. But I only attended one meeting…because of Rose. Rose somehow convinced me to skip the whole thing altogether and just lounge around in the library to vandalize the underside of our uniforms with colored glue. Well, it WAS better than remedial classes. So it was me and Rose, and the Albino kid who was always in the library.

So there was this one day wherein we talked about the act of kissing. I can’t remember why but I’m pretty sure it was because of that Blue Lagoon movie with Brooke Shields and some obscure actor whose name I never bothered to remember. We were hanging out on the second story of the playhouse that was decked with pillows left and right that were most probably drenched with the sweat and drool of other kids. If you ever studied at SSC, did you even wonder at one point if they, at least twice a year, washed those pillows? All I can remember is the smell of mothballs.

The following conversation is most definitely not verbatim, but pretty close. Keep in mind that Rose is 8 years old albeit imagining her as an innocent child is close to impossible.

Rose : Kissing is not as enjoyable as it seems.
Me : Really. It looks okay. Yuck. But the people on TV seem to like it.
Rose : Are you kidding me? Don’t you watch it closely? Don’t you wonder why the girl cries or moans while kissing?
Me : Not Really. Because they enjoy it?
Rose : *exasperated sigh* You have much to learn Ms. *******, much to learn indeed. Do you really want to know what happens?
Me : *curious, threatened, and scared* Yes?
Rose : When people kiss, this is what the guy does. A part of him enters the girl’s body….

DUN DUN DUN

Me : Eh?
Rose : Yes that’s right.

SILENCE

Rose: He sticks a finger up your ass.

CUE THEME FROM THE TWILIGHT ZONE

Me : *flabbergasted, mouth agape*

Rose : And that’s how babies are conceived.

...

Seriously, I bought that for a year. I was a sucker. Thanks a lot Rose.

EPILOGUE
I advanced to the fourth grade, met the terror that is Ms. Santos, and was introduced to the Reproductive System and how it’s all supposed to happen. And half the time, I’m still thinking, this might just be some big conspiracy that Rose had set up because it still sounded ridiculous.

When You’re Caught Between A Rock & A Hard Place

2005-06-03T15:23:00.000+08:00

A friend’s recent conversation with her ex-boyfriend incited this little rant. I’ve heard this happen to 5 different people on the span of 3 months and I still find it exasperating. Apparently, some members of the male specie are rapidly losing whatever little amount of testicular fortitude that nature has bestowed upon them.

The situation is this:

The guy is tired of the relationship, the circumstances, the arguments, the making up, the monotonous sex, the tiring routine, when push comes to shove --- he’s tired of you. He’s so fed up he wants to smite you off of his little piece of the world and would rather stare at his stamp collection than to enjoy the company that is you. But did he break up with you? Noooo. Instead he let it drag on and on and on until you snapped and decided to ditch him only to find out months later that “He was being a gentleman by letting you save face and break up with him first rather than the other way around.” BULLSHIT. The gall really, because it sounds like he deserves a thank you card and a medal of honor.

Dudes, here is the deal, if you can’t bear another second with your other half or if you have any other reasons to end it, spit it out because by not doing so, you’re prolonging the torture for all the parties involved. Your torture is in the form of subjecting yourself to the loveless relationship which is nothing compared to the affliction that you have brought upon your partner. You keep them in the dark and give them false hope because little do you know they may be doing the little-engine-that-could routine and are trying to salvage what’s left of your relationship. It’s a cowardly thing to do and in the end you are a spineless jerk. In your opinion you are the considerate and thoughtful party, but by technicality, you are the biggest loser. But that’s just me.

Or maybe girls are guilty of this as well. Okay we are. I just think it’s silly to continue on something that you’ve lost the passion for, pointless really. The intent may be sincere --- to not cause pain, sadness, shame, anger, resentment, heartache, acne, migraines, heart palpitations, brain trauma, epileptic shocks, outbursts of violence, nervous ticks, dementia, Bell’s palsy, and so on and so forth --- but there are two things to be considered: a. You will though, in the end. Best not to aggravate it further. And b. There is no such thing as a pleasant breakup. Or if there is, well that’s nice to know. Still, I’d say it’s minimal and rare.

So how is it supposed to end?

Closer.

I’m referring to the movie.

“I don’t love you anymore. Goodbye.”

Who said it had to be complicated? When it’s gone, it’s done.

Heard any sad songs lately?

2005-05-25T18:57:00.000+08:00

I have.

On an acid stained table,
beside a sad worn out musical instrument,
and a book that's been forgetten,
a carefully folded paper read,

Dear World,

I'm taking a long vacation.
Later.

A stuffed backpack laid carefully on the floor
and on a cot nearby, bloodstained sheets was strewn carelessly
a limp arm, a slashed wrist
and you could have sworn she was having the time of her life.

On another cerebral dimension, I'm staring at the water flowing from a pathetic excuse for a fountain, listening in and out on the chatterings of random friends, thinking...

I'm not suicidal. It's just that...

I should start listening to happy songs.

Sigh.

Sister Mary Satan

2005-04-26T13:54:00.000+08:00

“We are hippie chicks, bent on battle against Sister Mary Satan and her army.” --- Terry

Sister Mary Satan was a religion class teacher that I had to endure when I was in my junior year in high school. This woman was hell-bent on destroying everything else that was not so Catholic. My best friend Kylie made her one and only trip to the principal’s office because of this woman’s prodding and paranoia, the reason being that she thought Kylie was practicing witchcraft (which she was by the way, but hey leave her alone). She did the same thing to me by accusing me of gambling during a class retreat, which I was able to successfully refute by technicality. I marched up to the discipline officer’s room with a dictionary in one hand and went out with a smug look on my face. Gambling my ass. Was there money involved? No I don’t think so. I’m innocent I tell you! Innocent!

But Sister Mary Satan had her moments. It’s more of my friend Theresa’s moment now that I look back on it. Eating inside the classroom is parallel to killing one of your young and can get you into a serious tangle with “the law”. Therese didn’t care, and to think she’s going to be a lawyer. She was eating cookies when Sister Mary Satan spotted a piece on top of her desk. Her forever-bulging eyes bulged some more to our amusement and she started ranting.

SMS : Ms. Cruz, you are aware that eating is not allowed I assume?

Theresa : Yep. Pretty much.

SMS : What’s that on your desk? Why do you have a cookie on your desk?

Theresa : (without skipping a beat) I’m using it as paperweight.

SMS : (speechless) Uh, okay. Well…keep it.

Therese : As soon as I’m done. Not to worry.

And so now you can see Sister Mary Satan’s face in the dictionary alongside the words “gullible” and “fool”.

The reason for digging up this memory and putting into words is because I found a stinky decaying paper in my old files that dates back to 1998. It was a print out of an E-mail that I sent only to my friends and for some reason, people started coming up to me saying, “That was funny. I loved it.” For a while I was cold and sweating fearing that the E-mail would reach one of the higher authorities and then they’ll track it down to me, but it didn’t…which sucked. It would have been quite a challenging hole to get out from compared to the fairly easy gambling issue. Besides, I could have used the excitement amidst a fairly boring school year. It probably was a mean thing to do, but it was supposed to be an inside joke. And you’d probably wag your finger at me saying “How dare you, she’s a woman of god!” Well she wasn’t yet at that time. She quit teaching after that school year. By all means, not because of the little poem that I concocted using the famous “Alanis Morissette Lyric Generator” at the now defunct site The Brunching Shuttlecocks., but because she was convinced she would be a good nun.

Take this:

"I Think"
I Think Snakes are really a huge problem
I Think Moles are too much on my mind
I Think Crosses have got a lot to do with why the world sucks
But what can you do?

Like a Red rain, beating down on me
Like an E.E. Cummings line, which won't let go of my brain
Like The Devil's ass, it is in my head
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan

I Think Stringy Hair are gonna drive us all crazy
And Bulging Eyes make me feel like a child
I Think Provincial Accents will eventually be the downfall of civilization
But what can you do? I said what can you do?

Like a Red rain, beating down on me
Like an E.E. Cummings line, which won't let go of my brain
Like The Devil's ass, it is in my head
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan

Like a Red rain, beating down on me
Like The Devil's smile, cruel and cold
Like E.E. Cummings's ass, it is in my head
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan
Blame it on Sister Mary Satan

The next time I saw her she was very nun-ish, habit and all. I remember feeling queasy when I saw her because even though people from 20 feet away would have been blinded by the ultra-whiteness of her new garbs, I was still seeing fire and brimstone raging on behind her. The pristine white cloth turned black. The gentle expression turned to a sneer. Horns tore the cloth of her veil and behind her a long whooshing tail flailed about. She smiled and I saw pus-filled bleeding gums and dark teeth, and I froze as she encircled me with her arms and whispered…

“I hope you haven’t been gambling.”

Alien Gibberish

2005-04-19T12:34:00.000+08:00

If aliens were invading earth and we managed to ward them off and win after some overly theatrical speech about mankind, the human spirit, courage, about how we can overcome differences, and how we are united in fighting for our survival, the right to live, and all that crap…then you’re probably watching a movie. It’s a sci-fi geek’s wildest orgasmic dream come true. If the universe is going to launch one massive playoff between different worlds, I don’t think we’d even qualify as a wildcard. I’d say we’d be a small bump on the road that the big monster trucks have to go through. Say we get to that do-or-die point and some self-appointed righteous hero wannabe decides to step up to the plate…The most you’d get is an angry mob, a blind charge…and then the aliens would come and zap us one by one like a deranged kid amazed with what can be done with a magnifying glass and an ant hill gone berserk.

I say when the aliens come we should just sit our asses down and enjoy whatever time is remaining. Pig out. Get laid. Go on a killing spree. Whathaveyou. Because we’re all going to die. And I say that not in a condescending way but in a pleasant manner-of-fact tone. It’s not like we’re battling an attack of locusts or cockroaches from outer space because even I have to admit that we could probably kick their behinds. We’re going to be against higher intelligence, superior technology, yada yada yada. I don’t think our Tom Cruises and Will Smiths can save humanity then. If they can’t do the job, who can right? *snort*

The Reverse of Being Ü

2005-04-08T17:00:00.000+08:00

It amazes me how one person can make you so sad with just a mere bat of an eyelash. The pang in itself is prolonged, the tremors of it leaving you dumbfounded, unsure and unbelieving that you allow yourself to be subjected to it in the first place and that somebody would have the gall to mete out such atrocious behavior to someone who doesn’t deserve such treatment. These can either be meant coldheartedly or worse without knowledge and intent, but either way there’s one thing you can be certain of --- sadness amalgamated with anger leaves you both weak and frustrated. It leaves you tired of the other, of yourself, of the higher being that finds your circumstance as amusing. If only one or the other can dissolve into thin air and never materialize again if its purpose is only to hurt you, but whom are you kidding? You’d rather disappear yourself because you wouldn’t be able to live with it. It’s difficult to lose a person through death. Much more if you deliberately lose them while they are alive.

In every situation there is an option, a choice. Slim pickings. It is selfish, but I have to say it, self-preservation. Everyone else has the potential to cause you harm, to inflict pain, to bring sadness. So for crying out loud--- Don’t be a martyr! Don’t be a hero! Take care of yourself. Because the sad truth is, as virtuous and sympathetic as you are, it doesn’t mean others will be.

Time ticks on. Or has time stopped?

STATUS CHECK V.4

2005-02-14T01:12:00.000+08:00

Dearly Beloved,

Are you listening? I can't remember a word that you were saying. Are we demneted or am I disturbed? The space that's in-between, insane and insecure.

Oh therapy,

Can you please feel the void? Am I retarded or am I just overjoyed? Nobody's perfect and I stand accused, for lack of a better word, and that's my best excuse.

-Green Day-

Le Garçon

2005-02-08T16:43:00.000+08:00

I'm my own vacuum. I suck out whatever positivity I have in me. Can't you just be satisfied? Can't you just stop being pessimistic all the time. I'll be the death of me. Sheesh!

But that's not what this entry is about.

Something funny happened last night. Me and my sister, finally left alone in our little apartment, decided to have dinner out. The chosen atrocity of a place was a "chicken" house. I was expecting an all too ordinary dinner, nothing out of the norm, but thanks to a pervert of a waiter things became a little bit interesting...but not quite.

This dude was creepy, for lack of a better word. Imagine eating and gnawing on a chicken leg with the waiter on your peripheral view staring with a ridiculous grin. His attempts at making small talk only freaked me out and it seems that my one worded answers weren't enough to send out the message I wanted to put forth, which is "Leave us alone freak!", and instead he was interpreting it as "Go ahead, ask us more questions! Flatter me more!" This guy was rearranging condiments on our table and at the same time trying to make eye contact. Can you say EEEEEEWWWWWW?

*shiver*

My sister was comical.

"Damn it, you shouldn't have ordered the bottomless Iced Tea! Now he's waiting to refill your glass!"

"We shouldn't have dined in. We should have taken out."

"Can you eat more slower? Really, I'm just fine and dandy here. No need to worry."

"No! No! Don't ask for the bill yet. Pretend to talk to me. Wait till he passes by."

That was the most uncomfortable dinner...well besides that one other time which I'm not delving into now...I couldn't even remember how the food tasted.

What a waste.

Status Check V.2

2005-01-31T23:57:00.000+08:00

A mermaid of old, not an apple cheecked pudgy little cupid, but a dark goddess of the watery depths. A celebration of feminine evil in the form of drowning. The fideal sings as she walks through the reeds, calling out to her next lover...leaving you down in the water's cold depths. Eyes unseeing, weeds in your mouth...---Brian Froud

And so it is
Just like you said it would be
Life goes easy on me most of the time
And so it is
The shorter story
No love, no glory
No hero in her sky

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you

And so it is
Just like you said it should be
We'll both forget the breeze most of the time
And so it is
The colder water
The blower's daughter
The pupil in denial

I can't take my eyes off of you
I can't take my eyes off you

Did I say that I loathe you?
Did I say that I want to leave it all behind?

I can't take my mind off of you
I can't take my mind off you
Until I find somebody new

-Damien Rice-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It's not fun anymore...to have sadness engulf you...when before you were sure that you could pull yourself up when it gets too overwhelming...when now you can't move and you drown...when now everything's hazy...when every movement around you is too fast...when your own drags on and every single movement seems to last forever...when you feel left behind...when breathing is too painful to tolerate...when you realize your only savior is helpless...and that savior is yourself...when the only thing you want is to turn your back away and to please not watch yourself suffer...

At one point in you life you will wish or would have wished you were dead. I don't know, I just think it's sad when you don't care to make the effort to Desire death anymore...

When you just simply Welcome death.

I hate you.

Girl Talk? Anybody?

2005-01-30T01:39:00.000+08:00

The thing I like about going out with my high school friends (who I would call the JIMs, named after the tree in school that we hung out under of. James Marshall Puno. We call it JIM) is that I never get bored with the stuff we talk about.

Conversations with normal girls are very tedious. That's why I avoid normal girls in particular. The perky, popular, makeup-festered-faces, overly-vain-feminine type of girls whose conversational skills are limited to fashion, boys, gossip, boys, fashion...are you getting my drift? I don't mind those things but one can only tolerate up to a certain level of the barrage of worthless information (who they're dating or were dating? who's breaking up, the new shoes on display at so-and-so, who's got a crush on who, when is a skirt classy and when is it slutty...blah blah blah blah blah...yakity yakity yak...). But of course you can' t have everything so you adapt and pretend to nod in interest, insert a carefully timed "oohs" and "aahs". Bless them for they notice and they think of you as the "cutest" thing ever and secretly think "what is wrong with her?". Kudos to some of them who are considerate enough to respect the difference and still want to be your friend.

Back to my JIMs. Sitting with us for lunch, or tea, or dinner would be an experience for anybody. Consider this:

1."Hey I was watching a documentary about China. In China, they have Rat Wine," says Pie. To which Terry replies, "Oh yeah. I think I saw that. Don't they make Penis Wine as well?" Fact or fiction? Apparently it is a fact. My fit of laughter combined with choking disabled me from hearing what kind of penis the Penis Wine was made of.

2. Pie, a med student, is ecstatic that they're learning how to do circumcisions. Kylie interjects with a heartwarming tale about a man, his appendix, and his penis. "I heard this story from a doctor. During an appendectomy of a 29 year old male patient, the mother went up to the doctor and said that her son was not yet circumcised and if he could please include the procedure during the operation. And then the night after the operation, the guy got an erection and the stitches on his thingy were ripped open. Question, wouldn't the aftermath pain of circumcision be doubly painful because the thingy is bigger at his age?"
Pie, forever deadpan, said in an even tone : "He won't notice the pain from there (points to her crotch) because the pain from here (points to an approximate location of the apendix) would be too overwhelming...and Kylie...there are no stitches."

3. Kylie was talking about hamsters. She had three. They were the cutest things ever. She said that if the mother gives birth again, she was going to give all five of us (and even FedEx one to SK8 who is in the US) one little critter. Therese, the law student, in her most legal tone announced, "I hate rats. I hate cats. I hate dogs." Sara comments, "Aww, Therese hates animals." To which the Legal Beaver replies "No. I hate everything living. (and in a tone of self-discovery) Hey...I hate life!"

That's just a little taste. I love my friends.

Today wasn't any different. Pie is now taking a subject on OBGyn stuff. She asks us to take note of "important things" for future reference. Apparently, (and girls, ladies, women, and everything else feminine, you take note too) during the first Pre-Natal checkup a doctor is going to be really nosy. And if you know what's best for you, you HAVE TO answer all the questions embarassing or not... take a look:

1. When did you lose your virginity?
2. How often do you have sex? Please indicate the specific frequency.
3. How many times per day?
4. How many partners do you have sex with?
5. What contraceptives do you use?
6. Do you climax?
7. At the average, how long before you reach orgasm?
8. How many times do you climax? How long?
9. What paraphernalia do you employ?

Apparently...all these things are important for future pregnancies. Yes it is true. It's in a legit textbook.

While we're on the topic...we had a lengthy discussion on Cancer.

What is the difference between a woman who has Breast Cancer + Uterine Cancer and a woman who has Breast Cancer + Cervical Cancer?

Did you really think the answer will be medical in nature?

The former gets NO action. The latter gets TOO MUCH action. If you get my meaning...

Brief explanation.

Uterine Cancer is a result of pregnancy not taking place. When a female ovulates, the uterus expects fertilization of the egg. And when that does not happen, sometimes stuff gets complicated (as always in most cases) and tumors are born. Hmm...excuse me for not getting knocked up.

As for Cervical Cancer...do I really need to explain? What part of "TOO MUCH action" do you not understand? Hmm...excuse them for their very potent sex drive.

Come to think of it, either way you're doomed! You can't not do it, and you can't do it. Nature is cruel.

It's also 90% true that I may be prone to Breast Cancer because it is a fact that this type of cancer can be caused by lack of hormonal release (i.e. sexual tension).

Hmm...punish the virgin why don't you.

To Waste Virtual KBs with a Morbid Nonsensical Thought & a Resolution

2005-01-28T13:34:00.000+08:00

I’m at my place of work a.k.a. the 8th Circle of Hell:6th Bolgia .

I stood in front of a paper shredder and was mindlessly pushing one page at a time into the opening. I listened to the raunchy sound that was the result of paper meeting the rolling blades of the shredder.

I think of my hand going through that space.

I can see the blood spurting, the bits of flesh spilling onto the surface…onto the floor.

I hear the sound of my bones being grinded.

And everyone would hate me because I jammed the stupid machine.

Happy! Happy! Joy! Joy!

Déjà Vu

2005-01-18T18:42:00.000+08:00

Five years ago, at the age of sixteen, my world was thrown into upheaval. I was confused about everything and everyone. It was a stupid and awkward stage especially for someone like me who has lived all her life within the walls of an exclusive educational institution run by penguins...alright nuns. When I say confusion, I'm talking about what every perverted male brain fantasizes at some point in his life. By that time, I had went through 10 years studying with nothing but girls, girls, and yes, girls and not once---not ever---did I fall into the trap of lesbianism as is common with other environments such as it was. But for one single school year... that's 305 days, that was the only time in my life that I ever questioned my sexuality. And the only time I ever looked at a girl differently.

It was confusing. Man, I deliberated with myself to mental exhaustion. And that was because of one girl. This weird loner girl who wrote words so intricate and insightful with the obvious passion for the art of writing, who played the guitar while I pounded on my keyboard, who would sit with me in one corner to marvel at Billy Corgan and Kurt Cobain, who would make me laugh my ass off, who put up such a strong challenge in my debate class, who could quote the poems of tortured souls verbatim, who read books as if there was no tomorrow to read them. I've only had few moments in my life wherein I allowed myself to conjure images of what the perfect guy would be, and there it was...everything I had envisioned...only it was a girl. It scared me shitless when I started to really...like...her. This shouldn't be a surprise now --- I immediately shut down on her --- always a constant. Gone was the comfortable feeling, gone was the closeness. She was just a casual friend, a classmate, an acquaintance. It was good enough to convince myself that I never did once liked her as more than just a friend. This drawing back was logical though. This girl made me question my preference. I was a full blooded hetero who was suddenly presented with a very significant conundrum :

"Would I be open to the fact that if there is such a thing as that 'special connection' with one person...would I be open with the idea that I can find it not only with the opposite sex, but with the same sex as well?"

I was clandestinely smitten up to the very end. It was really tough (and I have to say this with a notion of disgust) as well as heartwrenching to act aloof when all I wanted was to delve deeper into that mind that was so reflective of mine. I'm sounding like a narcissist right now, but it is an infallible theory : we are attracted to other people because of that homogenous qualities that you share.

In the end, I gave myself a mental kick on the ass.

Smart and intelligent as she was, Algebra it seems was her Waterloo and she didn't graduate in time that year. During the first day of graduation practice, and the last time I would have seen her for not until 3 years afterwards, I dropped the pretense. In our mutual hate of our school's tendency to condition us into acting in an organized way of what they think is appropriate, we found ourselves sitting in one corner just like we did for what seemed like a hundred days ago...and talked about the usual stuff, the books we've read, the works we've written, the music that rocked, the movies we've seen, the world we hate, the few things we loved.

And as the day deteriorated to hours, to minutes, to mere seconds before we would say goodbye and she would wish me good luck...I coldn't help but think--- I missed out on that...that bond that could have stood the test of time. Granted that I'm certain now I wouldn't have let it get past friendship, but still. It's not everyday that you get to meet a kindred, a being that marched to your own rhythm which you have always thought only you can hear.

I didn't meet anbody that was in any degree comparable to what I saw in her for the next couple of years. And that disturbed me. We are an endengered specie, but surely somehow in some considerable propinquity one of us exists.

Such a waste. And it was my fault. My paranoia. My habit of killing any emotion inside me before it started. My fear of being rejected. My fear of being let down. My inhibitions. Serious loads of shit baggage that I still carry around up to this living breathing day...

Five years after...and I fear it's starting all over again...

and this time the problem of lesbianism is out of the picture...

IT inhabits the appropriate sex.

It's scaring me that I'm starting to back away...that I'm tumbling into the same downward spiral that I found myself in Five years ago. It is my nature. And as evidence that I have learned from the past, I am trying hard to go against it.

When I start to see myself in that bleak position, an open wound, an open target, hit me where it hurts right now and I will no doubt break down...

FUCK, IT'S CRAMPING MY STYLE.

Status Check V.1

2005-01-14T17:10:00.000+08:00

...she said, "I can't take this place I'm leaving it behind..."
...she said, "I can't take this town I'm leaving you tonight..."

BJA

Hole in the Wall, where all secrets are kept...

2005-01-13T18:41:00.000+08:00

Have I mentioned before that I find it very irritating when I'm accused of being cold and uncaring...of being heavily guarded...incapable of feeling...more so when I am actually being the exact opposite.

Are people that emotionally dumb that I have to spell everything out?

Fine. You know what...

F-U-C-K-O-F-F.

Good riddance...

If you can't see it...if you can't feel it...if you even have to question it...doubt it even...then maybe you're not up to par of who I thought you were and what I thought you were capable of.

Not everything has to be said. It is in the understanding of what is unsaid that true connection can be borne out of.

Don't dissapoint me...

2004 Series : Mid - August

2005-01-08T18:00:00.000+08:00

It took me four years to realize that the reason why I hang out with the people I consider my real "friends" was not because we were alike. It was deeper than that. I was drawn to them because they are exactly what I hate about myself. I don't hate them. That's ridiculous. It goes down to this simple realization. These qualities I abhor about myself...from my tendency to be obsessive compulsive, to my bipolar inclinations to be superior sometimes and inferior the next, to my being anti-social, to every oddity and eccentricity in my bones...somehow when I see it in them, I am unexplainably attracted and drawn to them. So why is it that I can't bring myself to like me?

Breaking the Saddle...(for the umpteenth time that is)

2005-01-06T08:56:00.000+08:00

Another year, another blog. Bring on the onslaught of rantings from the complexities of the mind of a madwoman. As always, this will again stand testament to the fact that as I grow older, I become more immature, naive, impractical, and foolish compared to the level I found myself in when I was thirteen. I'm going senile and I'm only twenty-one. What a loser.

Intros.

I'm a refugee from another blogsite. They kicked me out...locked me out of my page...all my previous works, which I poured every possible body liquid onto (drool, spit, whathaveyou), went *poof*...and now I have to start from scratch. (Although...some of it survived. I shall be posting them soon.)

I'm not complaining. It's a good thing actually. There was a temporary period of insanity mid last year, and I've gained some of that sanity back. Took a few slappings and attempted drownings on myself to shake it off, but it's under control. I'm heftily medicated, and I don't do spontaneous beheadings of innocent passer-bys anymore.

We shall see. Oh, yes...we shall see.