Blind

and groping in the dark, trying to figure out how this whole thing works...

maybe if i procrastinate procrastinating, there'd actually be entries in this page...

Me

I absolutely love and hate Nicholas Sparks' "Nights in Rodanthe"; it's much sadder than "A Walk to Remember." I can't remember a time when I've cried that much over something I've seen or read since "Titanic" and "The Whale Rider." Funny thing about me - the upheavals in my life are not enough to trigger my tear ducts to cry me a river, but it only takes an, “I love you, mom” in Freaky Friday, or Viggo Mortensen freeing Hidalgo, to bring a lump in my throat. Go figure.

I don't dance, period. Not even when I’m alone in front of the mirror. On certain occasions, there's a prerequisite amount of alcohol that should be in my system, flowing through my veins before I get on the dance floor. Like shopping, dancing requires too much of an effort. Swaying side by side to the beat of some rap or hip-hop music (with words so undecipherable, meaning totally beyond an educated mind's comprehension, the list could go on...) is as much a chore to me as going to the mall and hopping from store to store trying to succeed on a quest to find the perfect pants (that fit so tightly you can actually guess what coin is placed on the pocket and goes so low that bending would reveal another set of cleavage).  *sighs and shudders* at the thought that the world might just come to a butt cleavage-baring epoch. 

I draw, and I love my 6B pencil and tortillion stump, but my work is not for people to see. I am tremendously grateful to God for my ability to create art, but it’s a hobby that depends on my mood and not something I want to do for the rest of my life…

I sing but not where people can hear me.

Though I can put together a string of words to make sharp and biting sentences, my cynical and sarcastic remarks and writings are not meant to permanently disable some people's toes. I may be accountable for blasting some people (one person, actually) with my pen and paper (in this case, keyboard and monitor) but they're really just my thoughts, magnified by the fact that everyone can see them.

I write a lot but majority of my writings are not meant to be read by others. If it's something about you, I will find a way to let you know.

I play the guitar only for myself.

I Am Woman

I can't be an intellectual snob when I am illiterate compared to the geniuses of our time.  But I do tend to discriminate against the stupid.  Sorry.  It's just that I'd rather read a book over and over and over again and then some more until the pages fall out than watch "Dude, Where's My Car?"  And I’d rather asphyxiate than converse with a person whose greatest achievement in life is discovering that the letter M is the letter W upside down.  An exaggeration, I know, but with the rampant misuse of your/you're, their/they're, and our/are, it's not that over the top.

I am just extremely aware that what's in between a woman's ears is so much more essential than what's in between her legs, and what can be seen outside.

• A woman's worth is not equivalent to the size of her bra, or the  price of her clothes.
• Her beauty should not be measured by what the weighing scale tells her when she steps on it.
• Her knowledge goes beyond her ability to remember the number and names of the men she slept with
• And her whole being is not reflected on how she responds to tasteless pick-up lines.

Men should remember that.


And more importantly, women should.  

I Want To Be a Supermodel...Not

I am not pencil-thin. I'm on the pudgy side, but at this point in time, I have better things to think about than how to wear a two-piece bikini without having people raise their eyebrows. One could be inventing the cure for AIDS, or the solution to world hunger with the amount of time some people worry about what shade of nail polish to wear to match the straps of their sandals.

I am cognitive to the fact that I probably need to go on the total gym that we bought so we could live a healthy and flab-free life, but lacks the self-discipline to do so. Big Macs, fries and the biggest cup of Coke I can find for dinner and a big bag of Cheetos and Hershey Nuggets for midnight snack are not what a nutritionist would suggest. Coffee is not the 4th basic food group, Coca-Cola is just not the 5th, and alcohol and cigarettes does not constitute the 6th.

But people, I just don’t care (for now, at least).

My body defies the unrealistic standards of fashion magazines and television that promotes low self-esteem, and is the root of all eating disorders.  Though I might be someday forced to do a bit of exercise to save my heart or whatever essential organ I might have damaged with all the junk, alcohol, caffeine and smoke I’ve taken in, I refuse to succumb to the superficiality in the way society is breeding its youth now.

We do not need to look like we’ve been starved since our birth. And we do not need to dress like our nation’s suffering from fabric shortage.

Or maybe I’m just such a lazy kid who’d rather watch what’s on our free Pay-Per-View programs than do a series of sit-ups.

Just Shoot Me

I am on the verge of desperately needing a catharsis that would deliver me from feeling like the world's greatest failure. Gone are the days when not having a 3-digit figure in your bank account would not leave you feeling like a piece of spat-out gum in the gutter stuck at the bottom of a shoe. Gone are the days when the biggest of your problems was what to wear with that blouse on a Friday night out with the girls.

I remember when I needed only my mommy's or my daddy's hand to cross the streets. Now there's no one to hold my hand and take me across. I am left to fend for myself. I have to rely on just me to look left and right or I might get run over by a truck...or much worse, the cruel twist of fate.

I can get by with a broken clavicle and cracked spinal cord with the aide of wheelchairs or crutches. Sure, i can't play pool as comfortable as I can now but that's okay compared to the psychological damage of having fate play tricks on you. Emotional suffering is something that insurance companies failed to include in their clauses.  


I pride myself for being a strong person whose thoughts about life is not dependent on how well other have done with theirs. Where other people are in their lives has never been a yardstick for me to measure mine with.

But feeling a tinge of inadequacy, I think, is inevitable. Especially now that I'm old enough for people to expect me to pull all sorts of tricks out of my sleeves to have my life actually go somewhere - forward. I've been feeling that my life is standing still. I believe it has been for quite sometime now , and the fact that i can't seem to do anything to nudge it even just a bit forward makes me want to pull out all the hair in my head until I go completely bald.

It's like my life is a glass of water waiting to be filled. And i know that this isn't a fine restaurant where a waiter who expects a large tip would come quickly as soon as he sees my glass half-empty - I'm a pessimist at the moment, so forgive me for the negativity.

It's as if the writer of my life's story has either taken a vacation or is suffering from mental block and can't quite get to the next chapter. I'm therefore stuck in this page, and there are millions of thoughts swimming in my head, like the souls in the Styx River, if you know your Greek mythology. Thinking of my life and what do with it but lacks the muse to actually go on.

I can arouse the eternal optimist in me who's been in somewhat of a hibernation lately, taking a much-needed vacation from being annoyingly chipper all the time saying crap like, "every dark cloud has a silver lining," or "there's always a rainbow after each and every storm," despite the huge fact that my life is painfully stagnant.

That one facet of my life is long overdue for a rude awakening from reality check. She should be saying, "if you can't beat them, join them". Then maybe, just maybe, my cynical and sarcastic self would invite her for a round of drinks while they laugh about how achingly pathetic my supposed to be great life has become.

I can hide beneath beautifully jumbled words and say that, at least, i'm free of those 9 to 5 chains that bind almost everyone in this planet --- a magnificent arrangement of words for the ugly word unemployed. But when i think about how i don't even have the luxury to be a narcissist even in the smallest way possible, my sarcasm beats the crap out of my sun-shiny side, and  I wish that i was also bound by those balls and chains with the rest of the world who recognizes the essence of earning money and the weight of holding down a job. 

I am beginning to feel like i've stepped into a quicksand of negativity and if i don't give myself a kick in the head, i'd get swallowed.

As much as it hurts my stupid pride to go out there again and parade my resume in front of people, who after a gruelling interview, would just say they need someone older with more Canadian experience, i know i should. Never mind the self-humiliation of having people i know i'm so much smarter than reject me. I'm not going to be such a loser and whine about the difference between here and back home.

Sigh.

I long for the days when everything was so much simpler. When wanting something requires only the effortless task of asking the parents for money. When sitting on an easy chair, writing about your ruminations is deemed productive and not just waste of precious time that can be used for something that pays by the hour.

Excuse me. I gotta go give myself a good bitch-slapping. I have to wake up and get out of this dream that writing feeds me, and get a job. My ability to construct coherent sentences devoid of grammatical errors wouldn't pay my American Express and Visa.

World of the creatures who are economically-mature and are not reality-challenged, here i come.

Friends

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, a friend is:

1. a: one attached to another peson by affection or esteem
b: acquaintance
2. a: one that is not hostile
b: one that is of the same nation, party or group
3. a favored companion

i won't drive myself (or you for that matter) trying to define a term that has unlimited meaning. i just want to write about that for now.

i miss my friends back home. they're the ones i grew up with. they're the ones who have seen me play street games and the games of the heart. they're the ones who offered their hands to help me stand back up when i tripped and fell while playing dodgeball...same hands that reached out to me when i was lost and felt like there was nowhere to go.

They are the people who...

• sincerely look out for me - they don't have some kind of a knife concealed in their cute, tiny, glittery purses, ready to stab me in the back the second i turn around.

• genuinely want to spend time with me - not because i pay for a game of pool, or because i was seriously addicted to coffee before and would offer to pay just so someone would go with me...

• mean it when they say i look great shedding off some major pounds - not secretly wish that something catastrophic would happen that will guarantee me seeking solace in food and gaining back the weight i've lost...and more.

• feel really sorry when something bad happens to me - not surreptitiously rejoice over the fact that my life sucks.

• are honest enough to tell me when my outfit doesn't match - not furtively do a dance number knowing that other people are laughing at my total lack of fashion sense.

• are proud of my abstinence - not castigate me and accuse me of being such a liar. just because they can't keep their legs closed doesn't mean i can't, too. i have values - something i believe a lot of people are absolutely oblivious to. there's nothing wrong with being a 20-something person taking care of that one thing she's only supposed to give away after she gets married.

there's a special kind comfort knowing that they're still going to be there for me when i go home even after many years of being away. we keep in touch and it's absolutely amazing how we can talk to each other as if the distance between us is nonexistent. It's so reassuring to know that there are people in my life like that

I've made a promise i do intend to keep even if it kills me: i'm going to keep these people in my life.

Crazy Tangents

I refuse to succumb to lunacy. I refuse to let myself feel that I'm slowly losing my sanity. I refuse to believe that I'm losing grasp of what's real and make-believe.

I refuse to sink in a myriad of babbles. I refuse to mask my innermost thoughts and feelings with vocabulary acrobatics.

I will be real.

I will be true.

I will respect each person's will, each person's right to dislike me. I recognize that how a person sees another is truly subjective.

I refuse to dangle along the hem of desperation's skirt.

Once Upon a Time, a Neanderthal

I'm going to be writing in a very bleak manner. I am not getting into the specifics because I'll get in more trouble.

When times get as tough as this, it's so easy for me to just wallow in my own misery and dwell upon the things that make me feel like crap. It's so easy to shoulder the blame, like Atlas did the globe, and it's easy to accept the fingers that are wrongfully pointed my way, because even if I want to break each and every single one of those fingers, I just don't have the energy to do so.

It's so easy to let the tears roll down. It's so easy to just cry and accept everything on the outside because everything else on the inside is shit.

I am not responsible for the Neanderthal's total lack of manliness. I am not responsible for his attitude. It's not my fault he's so insecure that he felt it necessary to fabricate stories about me and the boyfriend. I understand the possibility of him disliking me because of the way I seem to have put a leash on the boyfriend's neck, but that doesn't justify him inventing stories and telling every living soul we know about it.  His inability to talk man to man about this just proves what a pusillanimous, spineless excuse of a man he really is.

Never mind the fact that he says he "respects" my boyfriend. If he sincerely does, he wouldn't have talked bad about us. That again proves he's not a man. He most likely has half a ball because he couldn't even be civil.  He walks straight, a homo-sapien by description, but is oblivious to the traits that differentiates human beings from beasts - perhaps because he doesn't have any.

I don't need an apology. I want him to say why he lied.  The fact that his and my boyfriend's DNAs match is not reason enough to drag us into whatever game he's playing.  


But i'm not holding my breath. It might be too much to ask from someone like him.

One Sure Way to Flatten and Tighten Your Abs

Now that the psycho x has decided to devote her life making herself a nuisance in mine, it would be so nice to have my friends here with me. Full enforcement would ensure twice the enjoyment I'd get from finding something terribly wrong about the cavewoman. Given her barbaric way of life and the pathetic things she has showered me with over the course of my relationship, that task would be as easy as concluding Britney Spears is the greatest lip-syncher in the whole wide world.

When I've unearthed enough crap about her, me and my friends would talk over alcohol or coffee, and cigarettes. And somewhere along the lines of defaming her character (be it the thing that resembles a bird's nest on top of her head that she calls hair or that skull that can be used as storage space) and running out of adjectives used to describe a woman we wouldn't want to have anything to do with, sit-ups and crunches would be absolutely unnecessary because laughing at her is enough abdominal exercise to give me a six-pack.

So there.  Now all you have to do is find your own psycho x.


I know this isn't exactly the maturest way to deal with someone like her, but I?  I need a break.  

Case of the (Psycho) X

I am not a veteran of romantic wars but when I say that most of you are fortunate enough to not have to deal with a boyfriend's ex-girlfriend, take my word. If an engagement was announced at a family function, it is truly embarrassing when it is broken off because of a third party. A year and a few months after, don't think that the x is well on her way to recovery, because she is not.   


You would think that after all this time, she has mustered enough dignity to brush herself off and just let the past go. You'd think she would stop pulling cheap tricks out of her sleeves and save herself from further humiliation. You'd think she has an adequate amount of brain cells to come to the realization that she is sinking way, way low. You'd think she has gotten over him.  Well, think again.

The cavewoman is in dire need of a bracing reality check.  She continues to dwell in her stupid state of mind, unaware that what she needs in order to fully recover from the heartache is to rejoin the entire human race back here on earth. She has to open her eyes and see things as they should be seen - that her ex-fiance is not coming back - no flying hearts, no rainbows, no clouded judgments and no jaded perceptions.

She has done a medley of things that illustrate her inability think lucidly.

Fact 1: you don't tell a person to quit trying to contact you when the person hasn't.

Fact 2: there is no fact number two. Fact number alone is enough to render her psychologically incapacitated.

On a lighter note, it's just so funny how she can ask someone to leave her alone when she's the one who keeps sending emails, using her sister's this time because we have blocked all her email addresses. Preposterous, I know, but you have to give her credit for that unwavering fighting spirit, and just throw a laugh her way to let her know that her efforts of snatching even an iota of attention did not end in futility. It might not be the attention she was hoping for but, hey, pity and ignominy are high praises considering what she has done.

There are a few things she could do to cope with the pain of losing someone she intended to marry.

1. If she has a rich relative bank-rolling her, or if the high cost of furniture and china isn't a problem at all, she can throw them all against the wall for a therapeutic release of anger. The sound of plates and glasses shattering against the wall would do wonders for her; it would be cathartic.

2. She can burn all photographs, letters, and gifts.  It might be hard to part with the engagement ring, but it would really do her good if she lets it go once and for all.

3. List down all the things that she abhors about him and have that list photocopied so she can paste them all over her room.   


Scratch number 3 - it might not be a good idea.  Having dealt with her for quite some time now, I'm positive she'd end up listing what made her fall in love with him in the first place. That would just send her back to that abnormal state of mind and she might end up falling in an irreversible catatonia.

I don't want to make her out as a hopelessly dim-witted cavewoman who is scarred for life.  I have an idea why she has resorted to cheap tricks and why she has probably dedicated her life to making us fully aware that we have wronged her.

She has to know that these things are unplanned. Angry words have been spoken and stupid things have been done. Bottom line: the person that mattered most to her has already issued an apology. It might not be enough for her to just let everything go and move on with her life but she has to know that even though she couldn't possibly sink any further, there's still room and time to heal.

Take a deep breath...and release some of the pain and anger as you exhale. Get a life of your own. And leave ours alone.

Errr....

For a person who's very adamant that she has moved on, and that she has slammed the door to the past with numerous suitors waiting for her to re-open it, my boyfriend's xgirlfriend seems pretty determined to make her presence known in one way or another.

1. The Acquaintance - this is a girl I knew back in college. Our exchange of words ranges from "hi" to "hello," and nothing more.  Then I moved here, and along she came on IRC chatting with me. She was very inquisitive but it seems innocent enough that I didn't deem it prying or intrusive. I was glad to be able to talk to someone and she was there. Little did I know that the xgirlfriend was using her to acquire information from me. How things unraveled...how I knew about their conniving friendship is such a long story that I don't even want to waste time writing about because I cringe at the thought that a fellow female can sink that low. I now have lots of blocked email addresses on my account to keep them from contacting me.

2. The Forwarded Messages - I don't think this would cease to amaze me.  Ever. Aside from being pointless, it was just plain stupid. I started receiving forwarded messages from the acquaintance. Sure, the messages contained absolute lies and disillusionment, and I should probably take it as a compliment that they exerted way too much effort to annoy me, but it still bugged me all the same. How a person can resort to shameful tricks like that is totally beyond my comprehension. It was something I just wasn't exposed to as a child given my upbringing - with class and dignity.

3. That Darn Friendster - She sent a request to be added to my boyfriend's list of friends and I accepted. I mean, it has been over a year. If she isn't over him yet, if their memories together are still vividly inscribed in her heart and mind, it would just blow my brains. I thought it was healthy and that it was nice that she would extend an invite because i took it as an indication that she has somehow moved on. Boy, was i wrong. I shouldn't have deleted the request because she once again found a way to get in touch, telling us to leave her alone.  And I would've loved to see the look on her face when I send her back the invitation she sent because she claimed she didn't. Friends don't just show up on your list, but that's how things go. The email she sent us went unanswered. You don't argue with a crazy person; you just ignore them. You also ignore the messages she asked her sister and her friend to send.

Insecurity --- insecure -in`se`cure ( n s -ky r ) ---

1. not sure or certain; doubtful 2. inadequately guarded or protected; unsafe 3. not firm or fixed; unsteady 4. lacking stability; troubled 5. lacking self-confidence; plagued by anxiety

Because she is in a state that commands pity more than annoyance, I take that word she accused me of being, with hopes that it would make her feel better. I wasn't the one who was left by my ex-fiance.  I am not completely without fault, so I'll let her do what she thinks would make her happy and us suffer.  She can say what she wants.  I know to whom that word applies to.

M-E

a proof that what you see isn't exactly what you get. a contradiction for being simple a bit complex. always walking back and forth at the thin line that differentiates childish and childlike.  


i'd rather stay home with a good book that go to a club - there's more to life than meeting random strangers and being sucked into useless conversations.  but that doesn't mean i'm unfriendly because i truly am.  but just because i'm friendly and always smiling doesn't mean you can walk all over me.  if you got to do it once, don't think you can do it again because the next thing you know, you're paralyzed waist down, getting your nourishment from a tube down your throat.  


kidding.


just try to remember i'm not a pushover. i'm not a monster. i'm sweet and can be such an angel but that does not mean i can't be a witch (with a capital "B".


my acknolwedgment of being a witch doesn't equal to an apology, though. it's hard for me to say sorry due to excessive pride, but please take my version of it even if it's pretending to be an insult.

my insults are too suble to register on tiny brains - that doesn't mean i can't talk talk.  i prefer to listen, though.  but just because i'm a good listener doesn't mean i take advices readily. but, really, i'm not stubborn.  i just have my own take on life.

i'm impulsive - i've gone bungee-jumping but i won't be caught dancing on top of a table drunk. impulsiveness isn't synonymous to lunacy. and just because swearing is as natural to me as breathing, don't think i don't mean it sometimes.

i'm such an easy-go-lucky person, taking one step at a time - but that doesn't mean i'm not thinking about my life in a larger scheme. i've moved to another country but that doesn't mean i 've left my values behind. i'm still conservative but i'd wear a shirt with a plunging neckline because i haven't forgotten to lay a palm on my chest when i lean over to pick something up.

i am an optimist who suffers from bouts of cynicism every once in a while, but i love life.  how can i not?  i have my family, my friends, and, for the first time, i'm truly in love.


life is good.