One promiscuous act weaves another. Then another.
And before I knew it, I have already spawned an intricate web of problems I’m struggling to wriggle out of.
The most awful thing is, the more I strain to disentangle myself, the more I find myself stuck in a more complicated state.
I’m losing ground, and before I lose myself and someone very dear to me I better make a move to reclaim my life.
*syet, anong gulo ‘to?!*
I found myself stranded in a sea of hates lately.
I hate myself for hating myself for hating persons who hate me for hating them because I find them hateful for hating me just because I hate them.
I hate them because they do not hate things that are hateful to me and they hate things that I do not hate.
I hate persons who mix pink and red. Red is a dominant color. Pink is subtle but quite glitzy. They should not co-exist. I hate persons who think otherwise.
I hate persons who, after knowingly feeding a fifty-peso bill into a Ticket Vending Machine in LRT a) make face b) scratch their heads c) utter ill words d) all of the above after getting popcorny shiny shimmering one-peso coins.
I hate Cueshé because they are hateful just the way they are. I hate persons who do not hate them.
I hate Rosita and the like.
I hate people who hate Gemma Ward.
I hate overly self-absorbed individuals like me.
I hate persons who do not appreciate the aesthetic worth of things. I hate them for making pretty things ugly.
But above all, the most hateful thing I discovered recently is that I love you.
I hate myself for loving you, and keeping my love inside. I hate myself for thinking things. I hate not telling you. I hate myself for hiding me.
I hate myself for hiding all, when you have a right to know.
I wish that I could show you. I hate the wishful thinking that somehow maybe you like me too.
I hate myself for loving you.
P.S.
(and i HATE myself for being dead corny when I’m in love)
I have been living with it for my entire life and I was fine with it until one beautiful incident smacked it hard to my face one day: I am in college, I am seventeen, and hell, hindi ako marunong tumawid.
I do not want to put the blame on my parents for not introducing me the concept of crossing the street and pounding that basic skill into my being when I was still young. It’s just so damn frustrating that while others consider crossing the street as simple as breathing, to me, it’s like splitting an atom. Or something.
It happened last week while I was making my blissful way home. As I trotted across the traffic-jammed, sidewalk-less expanse of a road, I suddenly felt a slight discomfort in my auditory nerves (caused by long high-pitched beeps). It was followed by a peripheral sight overload (everyone was staring tartly at me) and then the realization that I was on the brink of engaging in the process of being hit by a car.
I turned very red as the earth cracked open, swallowed me up, and spewed me on the other side of the street. The embarrassing moment passed by in a blur, and before I knew it, I was already home trying to find the right and lenient way to get rid of the next-day possible humiliation from people who witnessed the commotion. I tried my best to steer away from pricey and gruesome ideas and narrowed down my choices to two.
a) Get a plastic surgeon and make me look like Brandon Boyd.
b) Burn down the entire street and its inhabitants.
But then, I realized that the given choices were both pricey and…well, gruesome. So I opted for c) Smugness plus Apathy.
For now, join me as I dedicate the rest of the week gathering the fragments of my dignity and thanking Mother Civilization for her majestic creations—Footbridges, pedestrian lanes and traffic lights.
Har har. I am so happy today. I just hoarded a bunch of new mp3 files in my computer. Now I can get rid of those old and lethargic music files that I am sooo sick and sooo tired of listening to. Right now I could feel my ears rejoicing. Hehe.
Thanks to Saladboy of course, I am now basking in the glory of 300MB worth of mp3. Right now I’m so absorbed into Our Lady of Sorrow, Cemetery Drive and Welcome to the Black Parade which I have played for the gazillionth time already. *wipes off bloody ears*
God should make more creatures like Saladboy. Oops. Blasphemy. Pure blasphemy.
Hmm…Saladboy’s cool and nice all right, but he can be very, very evil at times. You see, his brain seems a bit disturbed and he has this mild personality disorder which can be slightly disconcerting. Just imagine a world full of escaped psychotic patients if God had erred in making, say 300 more Saladboys all over the globe. Say hello to World War.
Hek hek…just kidding. The thing about him is that, he tends to go a bit overboard in the mischief department. He has a penchant for getting into trouble and neatly messing things up. Like once when we were still in high school, he and Yangot conspired to pull off a prank on me by sending love letters with my name on it to I-don’t-know-who. What happened next was horrible. And embarrassing. And infuriating.
Another memorable experience (I’m sarcastic) was when I got yelled at (plus a series of tirade on how the children of today are so ill-mannered) by my teacher in Filipino when Saladboy and I unintentionally uttered the word ‘Shit’ upon the announcement of a surprise quiz. Our teacher quickly spotted me. Oh yeah, just me.
Seriously, if you have a friend like Saladboy, I don’t think you’ll ever need an enemy.
I have been getting a lot of tirade lately for having long hair. At first I thought I can stomach everything, but after musing on it for an entire week, I finally gave in.
I am not sure what has gotten into these people but if they really think they would achieve supreme ecstasy at the expense of poor, cylindrical, keratinous filaments growing from my skin, then fine.
My head feels better now that I got rid of prickly extra hair. I also had my patilla trimmed super short. Everyone says I look neat with short hair.
Whatever.
Phew, I gotta update.
Naputulan kami ng phone kaya stagnant ang blog ko for I dunno how many weeks already. I also got sooo busy fixing my life (still a mess) and reviewing for my finals that I did not have time to spill out and publish new posts. I am so happy anyway with my grades this semester. It turns out that I get to be in the dean’s list or something (I hope).
By the way, I made a sort of resolution that I need to fulfill for this semester:
Wish me luck.
If you keep on messing with my stuff,
I would strangle the living shit out of you,
and if you are lucky enough,
I might as well hang you through your uber-gigantic snout.
I shall scoop your eyes out,
slice your tongue off
and make you bleed your guts out
until you realize that it is not very nice
to get your hands on somebody else’s business.
Got that?
Now do your thing bitch, and let me do mine.
[lordphilo16]
When I was younger, the world seemed smaller and everything I needed and everything I ever wanted was right there at hand. I feel sad when I do not get something I want, yet the sadness becomes evanescent after a little screaming and crying.
But as we get older, we realize there’s more to life than toy cars and candies.
And now, it seems the screaming slash crying trick does not work anymore. The sadness lingers through and through and now it gets more and more painful every time you realize you’ve been deprived of something that you almost had before.
Your sane self then tries to calm you to thinking there is a reason for everything. I tried to convince myself that sooner or later somehow I’ll get what’s rightfully for me. But as the days went on, the tiny flame seemed to grow fainter until I realize that it’s time to let go of my dream book and leave it an unfinished material of fallen and forgotten goals.
It turns out that there’s no point in crying over spilled milk.
And maybe, just maybe…I’m better off staying here.
Farewell, tiger.You deserved the big kill.
Adorable and cuddly they may seem, cats and kittens for me are the nastiest, most menacing and most vicious creatures of the domesticated species.
Yes. I abhor felines. I honestly think that ferocity has taken its physical form in these innocent-looking critters.
And no, no hyperbole. This is true. It all started one blustery, Milenyuous day.
Tinginingining…
Meow…meow… That was the faint cry from the poor pussy… I picked the snow-white creature up along with its fragmented soul and held it close to my heart.
Little did I know that I picked up the nastiest beast I could ever lay eyes on.
I was feeling all light-hearted then when suddenly my nostrils flared and I felt my stomach turning upside down.
Whaddafuck! Ang baho!
I frantically searched for the oasis that reeked of uber-gross shit until I saw a mound of green thingie not very far from where I found the snow-white pussy…
I peered closer. Closer. And there it laid, like liquid emeralds, the most revolting animal poop on the face of the planet. Cat poop.
Syet. Sobrang. Baho.
The worst part is, my mom ordered (yes, not asked, but ordered) me to ‘take care’ of the freakin* poop.
*Key to pronunciation [Fuh-reekn]
Oh, how I hate cats and shit that comes out from them.
The rest had been a blur.
The noise from a bunch of debris slamming into my bedroom window woke me up from my peaceful slumber. I checked out the scenario outside, and heck, I swear it was an exact notion of a nightmare.
Debasteyting. Milenyo was just so debasteyting.
I tried calling Saladboy to tell him how the bubong of my kapitbahay is starting to fly away, but alas, nothing but a steady toot-toot on the phone. Just then, the lights started to flicker, went dim, tapos biglang nag-brownout.
Great.
I slithered my way to the phone and tried dialing Saladboy’s number again. Toot-toot. I dialed another number, then another. Toot-toot. Shit.
Id: Keep on dialing.
Ego: BOBO ka? Busy nga diba!
I followed my id and as you would have thought, after dialing gazillions of numbers, I ended up with nothing but a puffed-up index finger, and a bleeding ego.
Deym. Nakidalamhati ang ulan sa ‘king frustration as the wind began to blow like hell. It was all dreamy-ish and suddenly I got an eerie feeling.
I was half-expecting that a ghost or something would show up, you know like in horror flicks when my lil sister came screaming like a maniac, walang tubig!
Miseries. Miseries.
Good thing the maelstrom’s now over.
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