9 Crimes

I kinda made an oath (to twitter) that I wouldn't blog and go back to writing on my journal instead. The journal which by the way my now ex-boyfriend-but-I'm-not-quite-sure-where-we-stand gave me. But it's late and I'm room mate with my stepmom and stepsister who I wouldn't want to bother with me turning on the lights just so I could write down my daily sob story. So there.

I've been in Palawan for almost 3 weeks. 1/4 of the reason I said yes to this whole shenanigan was because I wanted to do my dad a favor. He insisted I come here for work and stay with them (them is not really the right way to call it since we only get to see him once a month). Before I "moved" here, I stayed for a quick vacay and somehow, things went okay. Almost every night, dad and I would get to talking and he would tell me how nice it would be to have me stay with them and that he wanted to spend time with me so I won't have to always lock myself in my room and skip meals back home. So eventually, I said yes. On the other hand, 3/4 of the push was because I wanted to get away from my relationship. At that time, I honestly thought that the wisest thing to do was to just leave and be as geographically far as possible. It was all too much. Unbearable. Of course the thought of missing him loomed over me. But we were seriously fighting like a married couple who's on their way to a bitter, bloody divorce. We said things both of us never imagined speakable by either. We fought and shouted and cried almost on a daily basis. It was a complete bloodshed. I haven't felt that tired and beat up ever. And I know the same goes for him. And so I left.

Up until the last moment I knew that somehow he still didn't want to let loose of the grip. Honestly, I didn't too. But what overcame me was all the things that weighed me down for so long. In every fight we had, regardless of who's hurting who, I would always end up crying. With the last one we had, I shed not a single tear. I was calm. In pain, yes but calm. I was all dried up. Literally.

For 2 weeks I was living in peace. Still no tears shed, walking and talking like nothing happened. Like all is well inside my head. Yes, I think about us. Yes, I go over everything. Yes, I grope through every possible detail there is to grope. And yes, out of nowhere with no forewarning whatsoever, I realized that maybe it's my fault. Only then did the tears finally come.

I texted him (which by the way is still unknown to my best friend 'cause he'll probably flip if he finds out about this). I apologized. I acknowledged all my mistakes, not a single hint of motive to put up yet another fight. I was standing up for everything. Ready to be publicly shamed, for chrissake! I laid myself out, there for his vengeful voltures to feast on. And for the first time ever, I brought no guns. No escape latch in mind. Just there for the taking. I told him all I wanted was to be able to say those things to him. But text message after text message, all I kept feeling was that I missed him terribly. And that it's been so long since I last heard his voice. What I wouldn't give just to hear his voice. So I admitted that I did want to get back together. I let out more acknowledgements for my wrongdoings tagged along with promises that not again shall I do them. I told him that I never had this much clarity 'cause him and I never spent this much time apart so I had no chance to really think things through. I always had him telling me, through harsh ways, my mistakes which I had a hard time accepting. Because honestly, it's hard to take those all in when your defenses are being triggered. For more than a year, I never really got to listen and he just kept going on and on. And so did the fights. 

Not surprising me at all, he said he wasn't sure he would want to get back together. Of course I had that coming. I kept reassuring him that this time it's different, this time I had the clear mind I always needed, this time it's me who's asking for a chance from him. Still, he said he needed some time.

So here we are. Suspended on an unclear state. We still exchange a few texts now and then, but only when he checks up on me if I'm still being bothered by this guy who I won't mention 'cause that's just not relevant anymore. Other than that, nothing. Na-dah. No how are you's. No I miss you's. No when are you coming back's. I'm on the other end of the line, waiting for that next text to come no matter how hopeless that seems to be. That's never a good place to be in especially for someone like me - someone who always does something  and who can't stand just waiting for things to unravel. But who knows. Maybe tomorrow I'll wake up to the sound of his text. Who knows, right?

X Marks The Spot

I look at everyone and how they go about with their lives, the people they surround themselves with, how far they have gotten and how much further they are set to go. And then I look at me. Me and my immersion in self-loathing, self-destructive bubble. Fun. I am so easily, constantly pissed I forgot how it's like to really feel that priceless bliss that makes you wanna hug and kiss everyone you set eyes on. That kind of elation you get when everything seems fine and that there is not a single need to worry. Lately, all I do is that - worry. And wallow. And cry. Fucking big cry baby. I mean yeah, I still go out with my friends and that would always tug my happy strings. But in between those hearty laughters, that whiny, little bitch of a voice at the back of my mind would always take a slight poke, shattering what very little happiness I have successfully garnered. I am a living, walking, breathing piece of bitter, rotten meat. I can feel an actual emptiness inside of me, like a gush of wind is dancing in and out of it. Heaviness and weightlessness all at once. 

I think that this has a lot to do with my life's absence of something to spend all my time and energy on. As of today, I only went out of my room twice. 1. To pee. 2. To get something to drink. If only there is something else to do. If only even one of the thousand interviews I went to called me back. If only I knew what the hell is sooo wrong with me that anyone would pick that person who says 'I will gonna" over me for a job. If only life was fair. If only I was billionaire. Boo fucking hoo. 

"That should be me." That shit always comes out of my wretched mind every time I see yet another status update/picture/tweet about how oh so wonderful his/her life is. I mean, of course that should be me! Of course I should have a wonderful life too! Of course I deserve that too! What, am I too horrible a person to deserve this endless stretch of nothingness? I don't recall killing or betraying anyone, or smashing someone's head with my bare hands. So why the scarcity of good fortune? I never wanted to be a superstar. Okay maybe sometimes I do, not the point. The point is that all I want is for things to be okay. Anything other than sad, or painful or complicated. That simple. Is that really too much to ask for?

Or am I doing this to myself? Is something terribly wrong with me that no amount of happiness can resuscitate me from this hell hole I've dug myself into? That is the question. That is where the equation winds up to. That is the big, fat X I struggle so hard to look for, through and despite the sea of complicated numbers that steer me far from sanity. Is it really me and not life itself? 

I'm so pretty I could die. 

Just kidding, of course I'm kidding. 

Why wouldn't I be?

Yep.

Never mind.

Status: Unemployed, Still

To say that I am bored with my life right now is a complete and utter understatement. I spend my days at my room, in bed, face buried deep on my laptop screen. I mean yeah, who am I to complain that I am not burdened by the hassles of having to get up every single day and work. But goddammit can this be any more less productive? I know I know. I should be working my ass off right now in finding an actual job instead of wallowing in unnecessary streaks of brood. Here I am, complaining on the internet like a whiny little baby, as if this would do me any good. But.. But.. I kind of am clueless. Well actually, I'm a whole lot clueless. I embody the very meaning of clueless. Clueless was made in honor of me. God made the word clueless with my overflowing greatness in his mind. Dammit I love life! 

(a moment to let out a big, fat, heavy sigh)

Okay so where was I. I was talking about how my life is... okay nevermind. 

But setting all dark, fucked up negativities aside, I still like to hope that maybe, by the time I finish writing this, my phone will ring. Like always, with a straight face, I will ever so effortlessly check who it is. I see an unknown number, I frown. Then I answer it with not a single bit of enthusiasm. "Hello?" I yawn. "Yeah this is she." What the hell do you need from me. After a minute or so of boring introductions, I end up jumping up down in joy when he/she tells me that he/she after all, is not just another bored scammer and I actually got the job I was applying for!!! FUCKK YEAAHHHH!!!!! Though still shocked, I shall compose myself, act like the normal human being that I try to be, twirl my hair like a school girl and say "thanks" with unbelievable sweetness. And then I'll hang up, full smile on my face, and I shall dance through the wind like a fucking lunatic. 

Bachelorette

This movie was a complete laugh fest! Imagine three pretty faces (Ehem Kirsten Dunst, Isla Fisher, and Lizzy Caplan) with their pretty hair and pretty dresses and their high heels on snorting coke, smoking pot, having one night stands, saying fuck you like heavily tattooed ex-cons . Now that's my kind of bridesmaids! This movie was also featured in Sundance so you could only imagine that this is some bad ass shit. I'm not even kidding, I was laughing my ass off all through out! 

Gena: What are you doing?!

Regan: I'm matching the thread color to the dress.

Gena: You know what, knowing stuff like that does not 

make you guys cool. It makes you...

Regan: Amazing?

Katie: Gorgeous?

Regan: Incredible?

Katie: God blessed me with perfect tits, 

it's only right that people should know that?

The songs were also pretty dope! This one's my fave! There was this scene where the guy (Clyde) gives a very blunt sex-referenced, but nonetheless sweet speech in front of everyone at the wedding while he confesses his love to her. And then he sings this song to coke-headed Gena who he, by the way, impregnated when they were still in high school. I know, I know, sounds cliche. You really have to watch the movie to see where I am coming from. Haha!

 I'm Gonna (500 Miles) - The Proclaimers

12 Years and Counting

This is a photodump of me and my friends. We go way waaaay back. Imagine being in third grade, with no worries except which socks to wear, or which games to play during school breaks. We were friends then, we still are. And most probably, we will be until like, forevs. Sheeesh!

Rubber Talk

All I'm saying is maybe we push ourselves too hard. Giving self-pep talks every now and then, at times even succeeding. But what we fail to see is the reality that it is no longer a fair and due fight for what we want, but a desperate act for something that is not meant. Or one that no longer is. Seeing the thin line between those two is as tricky as it could get. We were taught to strive for what we want. To stretch the rubber into its maximum malleability. But nobody taught us when exactly to stop. Until it snaps into two maybe? No, that's just sad. It's too hard a lesson to learn when to stop and retreat. I guess ultimately, the question is whether or not one should fight and strive. It all comes down to this: 

Choosing which rubbers to stretch.