You took your things and walked away.
How does one feel secure of a companion’s word when in a minute of fury, he just walks out of your sight? Often, he walks out on you when you need him most.
Suddenly, ultimately, I am alone again. And maybe, this is how I should always be.
I’ve been dead quiet for a month here. For that whole month, it felt like death was with me. Today, I rise from my coffin slumber and bring about all the bitterness I contained for a month.
There are bestfriends, casual friends, close friends, and many other types of non-romantic, non-blood-related relationships. But for me, or even for some, there are only two types of friends, those who stay long enough to be your friends, they’re called true friends; and those who are just friendly when they’re with you and are otherwise when they’re with their other friends. A lot of backstabbing happens. I wouldn’t say I was backstabbed, or I did something like that to anyone. I just feel like I am being seen as the villain, or traitor, or outcast. And I feel really bad. Indeed, I have strayed from my norm. I have made decisions. I know that these decisions have consequences. And if it goes against me, I’ll fight for it, stand by it. It was my choice anyway, NOT YOURS. So, leave me be. Let me be.
Humans are social animals. With this comes the fact that people love to label other people. I don’t really like what you people think about me. And I won’t say I don’t care because I do. I’ve almost lost all the strength in me just to tell you people the truth. Some of you might have believed me. Others just pretended to do. You can not close an issue just like that and punctuate it with your ever fave line “it doesn’t matter anymore so why bother”. To me, it does. And it will matter forever until it rests in the shadows beneath my eyes.
For the finale, I’d just want to be emo.
“Nobody cares about me. Nobody really understands me. I just wanna die. My life is useless anyway. But then, I wanna feel the pain, too, the rush of blood on my wrists, the stinging feeling on my skin, the pain on my leg. Can I share it with you, please?” (go fuck your rotting corrupt government)
You don’t know how much I hate your existence. You eat me up, slowly, without pity. I would like to fight back and crush you but I can’t. You have placed yourself out of reach. You’re no longer tangible. You have become a distant persona, someone or something that exists. Yet you fill me with doubts about to what extent you are or can be. Are you really there? Or are you just a part of my imagination? Whichever you are, you have me at my knees.
Indeed. But your victory is not yours just as loss is not mine. I haven’t given up, mind you. You can make me bleed for all I care. I’m not afraid of losing all the blood in my veins. I know I may not be able to stand up against you, but I can stay fighting even if you trod at me every time you look at me with flickering eyes. I have just given you eyes. Pretty soon, I’ll create your human equivalent. And you will cease to be a part of my subconscious. By then, you can destroy me. Feel free. I’m not afraid.
There’s no fear. But maybe, the strength to fight back will have gone. And you can eat my happiness and my soul and my existence. By then, you can claim your most-sought victory. And I’ll wallow at my loss. For eternity.
*neil gaiman
Isa ka pa. Sa dinami-dami ng problema ko, sumabay ka pa. Tae naman o. Ano ako, superhero? Naman naman.
Ang hirap pala, hay. Ano ba ‘tong pinasok ko?
Yet again, another pain in the chest. Farewells at the start of the semester, little problems I don’t want to share, unwanted changes, hard to accept facts, etc. A twist of the neck and everything’s over.
Sorry’s, when used too often, become irritatingly pointless especially when it is said for the same reason it was said the first time.
But, I’ll let you say your sorry’s as often as you like. Afterall, a sorry doesn’t mean it won’t ever happen again. Sorry just means sorry for the sake of not starting an argument, or ending an argument that’s just about to begin, or just letting the heat pass and settle to not talking about it ever again, but not exactly for not doing it a second time, or maybe a third. And so on.
There’s just one thing I want to remind you of.
I’m not very forgiving.
Your ribs suddenly suffocate your effin’ lungs and all the air you try to breathe just go up to your brain and all your neurons simply effin’ die like little idiots who don’t know what to do with their useless pitiful little lives.
It’s a pathetic world and everything inside it is slowly eaten away by rot and rust and anything else that causes decay. And you, pathetic little loser, is slowly turning into a pitiful piece of abomination. And you don’t even have the slightest idea.
You might want to blame your television. It will probably accept its fault without doubt. And you can put all your strength to award retribution.
You know you’re never the kind who weeps on your rock hard square pillow, not on your bed, not on your desk, not on your hankies, not on your arms. You always had everything hard. And you endured all of them silently. And tonight you don’t have to weep because you can’t. Because you don’t have the strength to show that you’re weak. Because you’re not even capable of it. Because you can just let yourself die inside instead of shedding your pathetic squirming tears. Let them dry. Let them dry inside your glands. Do not ever let them see what is out there when they get to roll on your cheeks. Do not let them taste how salty they can get. Do not let them know how the eyes hurt when the air is harsh and strong.
Do not let them live. For they will live only to wish that they’re dead.
Comfortable brown leather couch
Ham and cheese croissant
Tender
Hot chocolate
Warm
A thousand people buzzing around and a hundred things to ponder on. Yet, a sip and a taste is all and the world becomes your own.
One little world of eccentric ideas
Too little it fits the grip of the hand on the fork.
Merry twentieth yesterday, Gid. Pahabol na post na lang talaga ‘to.
I found these three poems on a sheet of paper piled up under my table. Authors are unknown.
I know it might confuse you a while since you often have a slow grip on sensual things. I suppose the term sensual is already fair enough to use. Don’t send me a thank you message, just give me a satisfactory analysis of these:
Luwa
Ako’y may alagang ibon,
Pangala’y payotyot
Pag ito’y nagalit,
Sa butas nasuot
May dalang regalong
Gatas na malapot.
Ang bunying paraiso’y
May buto ng kasoy,
Ako naman yari’y
May kamoteng kahoy,
Di po ba maaring
Kami’y makatuloy,
Sa inyong palayok
Libot ng lamuymuy.
Doon po sa amin,
Bayan ng Sampaloc
May tumubong damo,
Maitim pa sa kugon
Sa tigkabilang pampang,
Sa gitna’y may balon
May naligong pari,
Patay nang umahon.
Labyu, Gid. 
You can blame all those books he made me read. They polluted me with indifference like rotting meat off the fridge. They taught me how to react oddly when a disaster is about to strike. They taught me how to get into a fix, get numb, get weird instead of ending all fucked up like a crybaby you would certainly leave in no time. They taught me how to strike back, how to generate good, sometimes bad tactics to save myself.
You can blame my academic field. It taught me logic, probability, and basic mathematics. 1 is not 0 and 0 is not 256. The probability that this stays longer than usual is one half. Either it stays longer or it stops here. That is probability.
Blame my excellent professors.
I was never a good student nor a diligent one. But I was smart. I picked up the rotten pieces of information that the others did not dare to write on their stupid notebooks. I polished those bits, made them glimmer like jewels waiting for the filthy rich old lady to glance over it, get mesmerized, and finally hand me down the bucks, the good old filthy bucks she probably got from her rotten husband eight feet below the ground.
You can blame yourself, too.
But not me.
Currently reading: Choke by Chuck Palahniuk
Currently listening to: Welcome Home by Coheed and Cambria
Summer’s hot nights and cool mornings always make my head hurt. She plays with you lightly and laughs at you when your world starts to get dizzy and heavy. Dear Summer, you are just like me, playful and always looking for something to make fun of.
I woke up early because of a bad dream. I’ve always had them since I was little. That pretty much reflects how much my subconscious backstabs me. Apart from the bad dream, it was a typical Summer morning: cool air, warm bed, soft sunshine.
It is still early and another session of sleep is very much possible but I opt not to. I do not want to wake up at midday when the sun is already intense and the soft cold becomes a disgusting mix of sweat and scorchy hot air. I am still a little lazy to get up and take a bath so I opened my reliable laptop and decided to make my first entry despite the several drafts I planned to post here weeks ago. There are just those moments when you know it has to be done now or it will have to go unnoticed for the rest of time. So, I made a little message and sent it to him:
“Everyday I see you in the morning, I appreciate you more and more. Clean shirt, smooth jeans, invigorating smell. You are my fresh early morning. It feels wonderful waking up.”
It really does.
