Biglang nag-ring ang cellphone sa ilalim ng unan. Sino naman kaya ang tatawag sa akin sa ganitong oras ng gabi? Kunot-noo kong kinapa sa ilalim ng unan ang nagvi-vibrate na telepono, at nasilaw pagbabasa ng caller id.

Jasmine.

Jasmine, Jasmine, paulit-ulit sa isipan ko. Siya na ang huli kong aasahan na tatawag sa teleponong `to. Alam na ba niyang nandito ako?

“Pikoy…” umiiyak ang boses sa kabilang linya. Nang narinig ko ang pagsinghot niya ng sipon at putol-putol na boses, bigla kong nakalimutan ang nangyayari sa paligid ko.

“Jasmine? Umiiyak ka? Bakit, ano nangyari?”

“Pikoy…wala na kami ni Gerald.”

Halos mabitawan ko ang cellphone. “Ano? Bakit? Teka — nasa’n ka ba ngayon?”

“D-dito samin, kila Marsha, pero wala sila. Pwede ba tayong m-magkita ngayon, nasaan ka ba?”

Inalala ko sa isipan ang address nitong bulok na apartment, pero mas mahaba nanamang istorya kung si Jasmine ang magtatanong. “Pupuntahan na lang kita, Jasmine. Hintayin mo `ko.”

Halos magkalampagan ang mga dingding sa aking pagkilos. Pagkalabas, kumuha agad ako ng taxi at binulalas ang address nin Marsha. Mga kinse minutos lang siguro ang tatakbuhin ng taxi na ito. Habang nakasakay, hindi ko maiwasang alalahanin si Jasmine. Matagal na kaming hindi nagkikita, may isang taon na rin, simula nang naging sila ni Gerald. Akala ko dati, may balak na silang magpakasal. Nakakagulat ang balita.

Malabo na sa ala-ala ko ang kalye ng bahay nina Marsha. Bukod sa mga buwan na rin simula nang huli akong makatuntong sa bahay, tuwing gabi lang naman ako bumibisita sa bahay nila.

Tuwing nakapaligo na si Jasmine at matutulog na, dagdag ng isipan ko. Napangisi ako saglit pero iwinaksi ko rin. Matagal na iyon, at masyadong magulo ang mga buhay-buhay namin ngayon para balikan pa ang mga masasayang araw. May problema ngayon si Jasmine, at may problema ako.

Tumigil ang taxi sa tapat ng gate. Inabutan ko ng 150 ang driver. Nabasa ako ng ulan pagtakbo sa gate. Walang ilaw sa labas ng bahay, pero naaninag ko si Jasmine, nakaupo sa gilid ng pinto, umiiyak, yakap ang mapuputing binti na nagliliwanag sa dilim.

“Jasmine,”

Kung hindi lang dahil sa ulan, dahan-dahan ko siyang lalapitan. Pero napatakbo ako papunta sa tabi niya, alang-alang sa ulan.

“Jasmine, Mababasa tayo ng ulan dito sa labas,”

“Pikoy, huhu…” ikinawit niya ang mga braso sa aking leeg at isinubsob ang mukha sa aking dibdib. Ang mga hikbi na kanina’y sa telepono lang naririnig, direkta na ngayon sa aking pandinig.

“Shh, tahan na, okay lang `yan.” Habang yakap si Jasmine, nalilito ako sa dapat pakiramdaman — simpatya ba o ang halimuyak ng mabango niyang buhok? Ang bahagyang paninibago dulot ng haba panahon ng nagkalayo? Pinunasan ko ang mga pisngi ni Jasmine, ngunit itinakip niya ang mga palad sa mga namamagang mata.

“Pasensya na kung naabala kita, Pikoy, kelangan ko lang talaga ng…” nagbadya nanaman ang hagulgol.

Ginagap ko ang malalambot niyang palapulsuhan. “Relax ka muna, okay? Pag-usapan natin `yan sa harap ng kape.”

Halos walang nagbago kay Jasmine, maliban sa haba ng buhok. Makinis pa rin ang balat, kulang pa rin sa tangkad, maputla pa rin ang mukha. Lampas balikat na ngayon ang manipis at tuwid niyang buhok. Dati, kahit anong saway kong tigilan na ang pagpapatabas ng buhok sa parlor, `di paawat si Jasmine. Pero dahil “gusto” raw ni Gerald ang mahabang buhok, hinayaan na lang niya ngayon.

“Pikoy, anong sinabi mong paalam sa inyo? Buti pinayagan ka.”

Heto na. “Ah, wala ako ngayon samin.”

“Bakit? Sa’n ka ngayon?”

Nag-layas, nanunuluyan sa iskwater na apartment. “Day-off muna ako sa pagiging ‘Piccolo’. Ako na muna si Pikoy,” ngumiti ako ng maluwang sa kaniya. “Saka na natin pag-usapan. Ikaw muna magkwento.” humigop ako ng kape at tumitig sa mga bilog na mata niya, nagseseryoso.

“Well,” tiningnan ni Jasmine ang nangangalahating baso ng kape sa kandungan, bumuntong-hininga, “wala na kami.”

“Bakit naman?” pinilit kong magpaka-Boy Abunda, kahit sumisigaw sa kaibuturan ko si Vice Ganda.

Ngumiti siya nang malungkot sa akin, umiling, “He found another one.”

Napahigpit ang hawak ko sa tasa. Ito ang mga tipo ng sagot na hindi na pwedeng i-follow up, out of courtesy. Madaling intindihin kung bakit nagpapalit ng babae ang lalake. Dalawang dahilan lang `yan. Kulang ang babae, o wala lang talagang modo ang lalake para rumespeto. Malamang sa malamang, hindi naman si Gerald ang iniiyakan ni Jasmine, kundi ang dahilan kung bakit ito nang-iwan. Sa lahat ng relasyon ni Jasmine, ngayon lang siya kinaliwa.

Kung nasa harap ko lang ang Gerald na iyon, nakatikim na siya.

“Ikaw naman ang mag-kwento kung bakit wala ka sa inyo…Daddy mo ba?”

Napabuntong-hininga ako. Si Jasmine nga lang pala ang napagsasabihan ko ng mga problema tungkol doon. “Siya lang naman ang nagiging problema ko, `di ba?”

“Hindi mo pa rin ba balak manahin ang business niyo?”

“Wala, wala pa rin.”

Dinaanan kami ng katahimikan. Malamang, napagtanto ni Jasmine na wala pa ring nagbabago sa sitwasyon, lalo na sa side ko. Walang idinulot ang paglayo niya sa akin.

“I think we need to grow up now, Pikoy. And suddenly, here’s the perfect guy for me, offering that chance. Ano sa tingin mo?”

“Subukan mo naman, Pikoy.”

“Subukang ano?”

“Ang magseryoso sa buhay mo.”

“Hindi ako sumasaya sa pagseseryoso, alam mo `yan.”

“Sinubukan mo na ba?”

“Hindi ko na kelangang subukan.”

“Bakit?”

“Nasubukan mo na, eh. Ano namang nangyari?”

Gumuhit ang linya ng pagka-insulto sa mga kilay ni Jasmine. Itinikom niya ang mga labi, tumungo at nilingon ang sahig. Itinaas niya ang mga binti sa sofa at niyakap ang mga iyon.

Nakabibinging katahimikan. Bihirang hindi sasagot si Jasmine. At kung walang salita, tiyak na kilos ang hinihintay niya. Nakaramdam ako ng hudyat sa pagkabog ng aking dibdib.

Lumipat ako sa kaniyang tabi. Bahala na, kung sa’n to pupunta. Naramdaman ko namang iyon rin ang hinihintay niya, dahil hindi siya umusog ng pagkakaupo nang lumapit ako. Bagkus, hinayaan lang niyang maisiksik ko ang aking binti sa gilid ng kaniyang makinis na hita.

“Masakit.”

Parang kahit ako ay nakaramdam ng bahagyang sakit. Sa mga mata ni Jasmine, kitang-kita na mahal niya ang lalaki, at higit iyon sa anumang konsiderasyon na ibinigay niya sa akin. May kaunting pait sa akin ang katotohanan. Namuo ang mga butil ng luha sa gilid ng kaniyang mata. Hinaplos ko ang kaliwang pisngi niya, sasaluhin ang kung anumang luha na nagbabadyang pumasada. Tahimik din niyang pinagmasdan ang aking mga mata, sinasalamin ang sarili niya, malamang, hanggang sa kusa nang nagbalik sa aking ala-ala ang kayraming beses na kami’y nagsama, nagtalik. Madalas kong hinahaplos nang ganito ang pisngi niya, bago ang mga braso, bago ang buo niyang katawan.

Ngunit matagal na panahon na iyon, galing pa sa isang nakaraang pinagdesisyunan naming iwan. Subalit sa sandaling ito, parang nalulunod ako pabalik sa nakaraan, pabalik sa init na aming pinagsamahan.

Dahan-dahan, lumapit ang mga labi ko sa mga labi ni Jasmine. Hindi siya gumagalaw, naghihintay lamang ng susunod kong gagawin. Bilang panimula, pinaghinang ko nang magaang ang aming mga labi, animo’y hinahalikan ko ang isang rosas. Maya-maya, naramdaman kong iniawang ni Jasmine ang mga labi, nagbibigay daan para magtagpo ang aming dila.

Sa una, mangingilala muna sa isa’t-isa. May halo pa ng hiwaga, na susundan ng pangungulila. Maaalala ko kung gaano kahabang panahon na ba ang lumipas simula nang inangkin ang dila ko ang buong bibig niya, ang matamis niyang dila, ang mga labi niya ngayong buo ang pagpapaubaya sa akin.

At hindi na napigilan ni Jasmine ang init na namumuo sa kaniyang katawan, sa aming mga katawan. Napasinghap siya at inabot ang laylayan ng suot kong polo shirt, saka itinaas iyon. Dumantay ang maliit na daliri niya sa nag-iinit kong balat. Pagkahagis niyon sa sahig, siya naman ang naghubad ng sleeveless shirt. Yumakap siya sa akin at humalik, hinila palapit ang aking katawan upang magbigay daan sa paghihinang ng mainit kong balat sa makinis niyang balat.

Naglakbay ang malalambot na palad ni Jasmine sa aking likuran, habang ang mga daliri ko nama’y naglalaro sa kaniyang dibdib. Sa pagitan ng mga daliri ko, iniipit ko ang naninigas niyang mga utong, dahilan upang mapasinghap siya at lalong idiin ang katawan sa akin. Unti-unti namang gumapang ang aking halik patungo sa kaniyang leeg, sa dibdib, hanggang sa dila ko naman ang nagpaungol sa kaniya.

“Shit, Pikoy, ahh,”

Habang ang isang palad ko ay nasa kabilang dibdib niya, ang isa ay nilalakbay ang kaniyang bewang at balakang. Ninanamnam ko ang lambot ng kaniyang balat. Habang hinahaplos ko iyon, panay ang paggalaw ng balakang ni Jasmine, hindi na mahintay ang pagdaop ng mga palad ko sa –

Bahagya akong nagitla nang siya na mismo ang nag-abot sa isa sa mga palad ko, at ipinasok iyon sa loob ng kaniyang natitirang saplot. Lumabas ang malakas na ungol sa kaniyang bibig, nang natagpuan ko ang perlas niya. Kinuhit ng mga daliri ko ang namamasa niyang lagusan. Nang ipinasok ko ang isang daliri, lalo siyang napaigtad mula sa pagkakaluhod sa sofa, at halos dakutin na ang mga kalamnan sa balikat ko.

Naglabas-masok ang isa kong daliri sa lagusan niya, pabilis nang pabilis habang ang mga labi ko’y nasa korona ng kaniyang dibdiba. Malalim at mabilis na ang paghinga ni Jasmine. Sa kalagitnaan ng pagpapaligaya ko sa kaniya, itinulak niya ako at ihiniga sa sofa, habang walang anu-ano’y binuksan ang zipper ng aking pantalon, hinila iyon at hinubad, saka niya inilabas ang aking cheberlu.

Hindi na ako binigyan ni Jasmine ng panahon para ihanda ang sarili — agad niyang dinilaan iyon at isinubo, samantalang napatirik ang mga mata ko sa ulunan ng sofa. Putangina, napakainit sa loob ng bibig ni Jasmine. Napakainit at napakasikip. Pabilis nang pabilis niyang inilabas masok ang laman ko, habang gamit ang dalawang kamay. Madalas niyang gawin sa akin ito ngunit nakababaliw pa rin sa bawat sandali. Napakapit ako sa sandalan ng sofa, ipinikit nang marahan ang mga mata at umungol nang malakas.

“Jasmine, Jasmine….”

Bago ako labasan, itinigil muna ni Jasmine ang ginagawa para ibaba ang natitirang saplot.

“I need you now, Pikoy. Please….”

Sinalo ko si Jasmine na parang isang bata na dumagan sa akin. Ang dalawang palad ko ay dinaop ang magkabilang dibdib niya, habang ang iginiya ng isang kamay niya ang aking tarugo ko papasok sa kaselanan niya…

“Aaah…”

Dahan-dahan, naipasok ni Jasmine ang kabuuan ko sa kweba niya. Kung gaano kasikip ang bibig ni Jasmine, ganoon din ang hiyas niya, na mas madulas at mas mainit pa.

Ibinaba niya ang mukha sa aking mukha, humalik sa akin at unti-unting gumalaw. Ang mga palad ko naman ay dinama ang kinis ng buong likuran niya, patungo sa kurba ng kaniyang porselanang laman.

Pabilis nang pabilis, naghalo ang aming mga hininga, ang mga pawis na noo. Bumulong si Jasmine sa akin.

“Pikoy…ahhh…ang sarap nito,”

“Sige lang, Jasmine…sige pa…”

“Tama ka nga, Pikoy, ahh…” nagpa-ikot ikot ang balakang ni Jasmine sa ibabaw ko.

“Mas maganda ang ganito…”

Napatingala si Jasmine habang marahang nakapikit ang mga mata, lalong binibilisan ang paggalaw, dinarama ang bawat sensasyong idinudulot ng kahabaan ng aking pagkalalaki. Pinagmasdan ko siya, nang buong paghanga sa luwalhati na nakapinta sa mukha niya.

“Hindi nga tayo…ahh…tatanda…”

Napangiti ako sa sinabi ni Jasmine, hinalikan ko ang leeg niya. “Ako naman sa itaas?”

But today, I spent my morning rolling over the bed, reading web content, solving puzzles, re-watching a movie.

However, I still haven’t finished reading Book I, Canto I of Fairy Queen, and the “resources” for my critical paper. It’s almost four pm but I feel the day is really really ending and I will not be able to follow my pre-writing schedule. This is an unproductive albeit insightful day (i read anecdotes on polyamory and confidence art) but let’s throw down anything that’s to regret.

I must say, my inside life is going pretty well — my mind is clear, I had nine hours of sleep last night, I have a positive appetite, I don’t feel like killing myself, I enjoy my offline games, I don’t have complaints with regard to my hair and my nails.

Downsides: I have a lot of Deutsch to review (and I may not find the time), I have a dreadful critical paper to write, all of my lecture notes are disorganized, I haven’t memorized my play lines, I haven’t listened to Papa Jack in quite a while and I may not find the time tonight, I want to write for the upcoming Palancas, my fourth novelette got rejected (as expected), I can’t describe my relationship with my family apart from the genetic aspect, I think I’m going to be alone forever, I think I’m being desperate enough to actually “want” to graduate, I counted all the money in my wallet and I realized that I am very very poor, I am still dead inside.

Right now, it’s so difficult to stretch my arm and reach for the future. The future is unclear as the sky of a stormy day. Again, I envy people who lead the ideal, average life. They’re in college because they want to find a great job (I’m still laughing at that reason). They want a great job so they can have plenty of money to build a house and marry the love of their lives and raise children, who they’ll one day sent to school so the kiddies will find their job. It’s a circle. The circle of life. Too bad, I don’t intend on living a curved life.

Why am I on college, again? I just want my professor’s writing tips and bits of the awesomeness they shed. More often than not, college is really fun, especially when the professor intends it to be fun. But more often than it’s like that, college is such a time-wasting level, especially when we have to write critical papers and study for exams. Suddenly, the fun is gone, dried along with the test paper ink. And everybody sucks.

I have to admit that I’ve thought about dropping out of college for countless times. For some reason, I feel like I’m just wasting my time. I spent about four hours of my life everyday on the road. How many hours have I wasted in a year? Yet nothing compares to a day spent in school, then coming home full of fresh insights. Nothing compares to the feeling of becoming a better person everyday. I don’t get closer to being a millionaire everyday. But for a wise person, yes maybe. I go to college for moral disposition.

So after college, what’s next? The answer itself pulls me back from continuing college. Ugh.I’m going to be a saleslady, a receptionist, a clerk, a waitress, a graveyard shift call center agent, who in between coffee breaks, plan the next twist of her upcoming story. And then inside my shack/one-room rusty apartment, there hangs my arrogant diploma. And during my favorite days, i’ll raise a middle finger at it. But the bastard continues to smile, saying, “Bleh! I had six years of your life! Hehehe!”

And the pattern gets worse. By then, everybody’s sealed promises on their ring fingers and have practiced signatures with their fiance’s name. But I — fuck, I’m probably still virgin (for humor’s sake) and allergic to idiots. It’s just so difficult to find someone who measures up to my standards, and can play alongside my rules. Although yes, every now and then I dream of a perfect relationship, it just can’t seem real. More about that has been said on my “Kleos” post.

Again, I envy you guys, all the average ones, all the ugly couples around. I guess I’ll just be sipping noodles, writing critical papers, cursing my life for now. Then maybe, just maybe, my son of a gun prince will save me.

I think that’s the total state of inwardness. The state of being one with the Self, the abstract that is only made concrete by one’s physical and mental existence. But then, it’s a state of emptiness — sensory receptors being one with the stimuli, the mind emptied of all personal thoughts. So is the Self then, nothing but an empty set? It depends on how we’ve defined “nothing”.

The state of being alive and existent has depended so much on the connection to the physical world, of perceiving and being perceived. We say that one is dead when the doctor can no longer detect a heartbeat, or the patient (brain dead) can no longer detect the outside world. And for some reason the general population doesn’t like Death, we make ourselves as alive as possible, reaching out to the world. So many fear solitude, or being one with the Self, as if it’s just one level behind Death.

I don’t know why people feel like that.

Why do some people need others to make them feel complete and alive? I wonder what’s it like to have such craving, to have such spiritual weakness. I wonder what’s it like to ever need another one, like needing air and water. I wonder what’s it like to never be content with just myself. I wonder how it’s like to reach outward.

I’m good with establishing connections with acquaintances, don’t get that wrong. At some point, I’ve even considered myself a good candidate for con artist. (my qualifications are confidential. haha.) But I still can’t get ahead of my mentality, that people are furnitures, and the only reason why I connect to most of my connections is because they are “tools” that I need to use. They may satiate my natural need for socialization, they’re a teammate, they’re just…useful furniture.

But there are special cases, of course, albeit rare. On those few cases, I see people as actual persons and not living furnitures. I recognize them as one with a real name, not just some legal label. Respect is another thing, though. Sometimes I pay respect to people but they’re still tools and furniture for me.

How people “earn” my particular views about them? Hmmm. I don’t know, they just happen to be lucky, I guess. I have no particular rubrics for judgment.

Right now I understand how much you want to shoot me right now for being such an arrogant earth cohabitant who believes she’s superior that almost everyone. Well, anal fuck yourself, idiot.

Maybe I just have way too much Pride in my system, the first of all deadly sins, the first cause of the covetous, lustful, greedy, envious, glutton, destructive, con artist. Pride, not needing anything from the world, not needing anyone, wanting but never needing.

Parang sinlansa ng sardinas
Ang pose niya ay kunwari wagas
Tanghali na yang patutsada
Na pang-akit niya lang naman
May pa-picture daig pa ang two eggs at isang talong

koro:

Puno ng galit sa dibdib
Ay, kaysakit na isipin
Sa’yong labi merong sumasabit
Bwisit
Pagka naiisip ko ‘yon
Sana maisipan mo
Dinudurog niyo ang buong puso ko
Balak na ba siyang ikama
Habang tayo?

“i’ve told him that i love him. His very marvelous reply was, Weh?”

“i prefer to love, that’s why i’m here. To love and be hurt.”

“his gaze passes through my soul and even after it was gone, the gaze still continues to pierce me.”

“Now this is the bloody part of the day. My bag fell down the wishing well. My cellphone and notes were inside. So my cellphone malfunctioned for like, half of eternity. But Reji was very concerned about it. He nearly dived the cliff to recover my bag. But we did have someone go down and get it for us, for a hundred pesos. He took my phone and blew the water off, and he said, Yuck yung tubig, pero ‘di bale na, para naman sa’yo.”

“Maybe we’re just really good friends who found themselves kissing at the park, hugging each other at Minesview, holding hands at Session Road, and sticking their heads so close to each other as they ride home. Are we lovers? What are lovers anyway? Do we need to have a contract, a box full of love letters, a mouthful of whispers of i love you or can we just simply go along with our lives and live our affection?”

“I find myself wanting so much. I don’t want the semester to end, I don’t want to pause the euphoria. I’m at the stairsteps where he first put his head on my shoulder. And i’m crying, as i realize that i’ve fallen aloud and so fast.”

“Tapos, sa likod namin, lumitaw yung hinihintay ko mula pagmulat ng mata ko. Si Reji. Si Reji ko. Hahaha”

“Kung alam niya lang ang mga munting pintig sa dibdib ko. Kung papaanong nais gumuhit ng ngiti sa aking mga labi at ihalakhak ang ligaya.”

“At habang nilalakad ko ang daan patungo sa bahay na ito, nasa langit ang aking isipan at tila nilalakad ko ang alapaap.”

“So i walked the cold Session Road alone this time, with tears in my eyes.”

“The reason why this notebook existed, why the first pages had been written on, has finally disappeared. It’s over, before it has begun… And right now I want to pour all of my emotions so I’ll have nothing to feel at all.”

These lines were written from October 5, 2010 to October 31, 2010. I wrote them on a Yeah brown A5 journal, which i bought in remembrance of a promise: if i fall in love again, i’ll write about it in a notebook. And so i did. It was the happiest days of my life, and the memories are still very vivid. So vivid, I had to spend successive weeknights of my life (after we “decided” to part our ways) dreaming about him. Even now, they’re as alive as the warm blood in my veins.

The last time I scanned these entries (last last semester), i had to cut right my arm, out of despair and sadness. The very little scar is still here. You know how much everything will suck once you’ve been through what could be the best? That was what happened to my life, since i dropped my pen and closed the notebook.

Or did I? Did i really give up? Did we really stop loving each other? But why does it hurt? Why does it still hurt?

It’s easy to plaster wounds and apply make up over scars, but when the temporary facade (conscious forgetting, self-hypnosis) peels off, they reveal to be cuts and burns that will never seem to heal.

Yes, I didn’t cut my arm tonight, nor, did i cry a pail of tears. But after this night, after i open my eyes to see tomorrow’s light, spring joyfully on my strides, groan in boredom, laugh heartedly, wear my daydream smiles, watch porn…

I’d still be an empty girl.

hindi ko alam kung maiinis ba ako o matutuwa o maa-amuse o whatever.
i was planning to rock her world, eh. pero mukha ba siyang offended?
in fairness, dalawa yang tanong ko, yang mas maikli pa ang pinili niya.

para less harm? BUWAHAHAHAHA.

*evil*

Anyway. Matagal na rin since huling nagpakwela ako rito sa LM. Parang araw-araw na lang, namamatayan ang blog na ‘to. So dahil 10% na lang ng sakit ko ang nakakapit sakin, at may hang up pa ako kay Marlowe, gawin naman nating less boring ang graphic sa itaas at mag-respond tayo, ala Ralegh.

//TRANSFORM!//
hello, stranger!
Hi, Miss Morales. So para hindi na tayo strangers, ako nga pala si LM, ang masugid na manliligaw ng jowa mo since 2010. Don’t worry, hindi naman tayo magiging friends, so hindi kita maba-backstab, essentially.

uhm.. i don’t know how you’ve come to see my blog or something, but sorry…

Heller, Miss Hiwagang Hiwaga, there are two ways by which I can find your blog, noh. Una, I can google your jowa’s name and then *poof!* lilitaw ang sangkatutak na tumblr links. So among those blog posts (usually #lab at #corny ang tag), hahanapin ko lang naman ang post mo, which is about the Psych101 super-sweet-sugar-cubes-are-jealous moment that you two shared. Easy, ‘di ba? Or second, I can simply go to your jowa’s Facebook profile, click on your name beside his relationship status, and then open your profile to see the link connecting to your Tumblr. Then magic! Pwede na kitang i-harass! Bongga!

Hindi ko kasi alam kung pano ite-take yung question mo personally.
Ay, wow, ang cool mo teh, sobrang patawa ka lang. SAAN BA SA TANONG KO ANG MAHIRAP I-PERSONAL CONTEXT? Ay sige, baka mas madali ‘to: bakit ka mahal ng boyfriend mo with respect to the tatlong batayang problema ng Pilipinas? Bakit ka mahal ng boyfriend mo with respect to the social implications of having a jowa? Bakit ka mahal ng boyfriend mo with respect to the Mayan Astrology? Ay sorry naman, di ko na-guess na high-class ang cognition mo, teh! Sarry!

At first, nagagap ko siya bilang sarcasm or insult.
WHOAAA. *insert whoa meme* Sarcasm? Insult? May insulting ba sa “i’m just making you recall the foundations of your rainbow colored, true-love based relationship, teh”? Oh, sorry. Sarcasm? Bakit, one-sided ba ang –

…

:O SORRY…SORRY.

So, hindi muna ako magdidisclose ng info or what para diyan.
Then okay! Di na kita pipilitin coz datz rape. Pero katamad ka naman. PaShowbiz ka teh, showbiz! Matapos mong ikwento ang bonggang day when you met him, complete with all the figures of speech and grammar so perfect talisk ang buong LM, magpapaka-showbiz ka lang at hindi sasagot sa follow up question? Katamad ka talaga, teh, katamad. Lalangawin ang network mo pag ganyan, teh. Hmmpft!

Magandang araw na lang sa iyo!
So ganun na lang? Babay na lang? Wala man lang bang pabaon na kalmot at RAWWWR! diyan? O malupit na mura, teh? Bait mo naman, so kakilig kaaa!

//TRANSFORM!//

Haaay. Ok. So that’s it. But in fairness, hell knows what will happen to me if she answered that properly.

To hell with my waterless water breaks and two cans of soda and a cup of ice coffee.

What i hate the most about being sick is not being able to write another story. I wasn’t able to create new characters over the weekend and a new plotline. But somehow that’s okay. Sleeping all day is the same escape from the reality.

I can’t really define my life right now, I think i’m lost with my own current. I’m still deliberating whether or not I should drop this course, or finish college, or not overdose in aspirin after the 2012 Fail. Stuff like that. I still don’t have a good reason to live on. Every morning still feels strange and void; the more mornings i get up from bed, the less reasons i see for getting up next morning. Every night, i close my eyes just to finally end the day and escape life.

However, things changed quite a bit since i acquired this illness. Not that i became more appreciative of life and happier in general, but i was able to decide what a monster i was. Maybe because i was just ill, or maybe because a switched flicked in my brain and my demons decided to leave me. Or maybe it was a sign of giving up, of surrender, of admitting to my vain attempts and selfish goals…Heck, i was like a kid throwing temper tantrums. Was i that desperate, that forsaken, that thirsty for attention and love? Was i that much of a persistent warrior all-arms for his love?

On some days, i wonder where has this taken me. I even go to the extremes of needing a map and compass just to see where i already am. I’ve tried going away only to see how much i wish to get back. I’ve tried shunning love away only to be drooling for it the next day. I’ve tried to cut my arm and swear i will lose my virginity soon this semester, in rebellion, but where am i now? It still feels like first square, that goddamn first square, except that i’m bruised and torn altogether.

This isn’t just about fighting for the boy and the kiss we had last last year. This is about my whole life in general.

Sometimes i can just stare at the wall and ask myself, “So what’s next?” then like always, the outside world pulls me back, compels me to breathe and move, curse and cry, choose death over survival.

Or maybe, this is just a headache.

come on. given a gun, i wouldn’t say no to not killing myself; what do you think i’d be capable of doing if we’re talking about people i despise? i would shoot, i would kill, i would be imprisoned. but i wouldn’t volunteer for suicide bombing; it’s not as dramatic as a head shot or shooting spree.

the reason? someone had the same hair as mine, and had the same love interest as mine. just imagine le me browsing her pictures while thinking about murder, my eyes reflecting a bloody murder scene, my eyes possessing a darkness as intense as that of a thirsty vampire. imagine le me with an evil eye, about to leave my seat anytime with a gun in my hand, blurred with all sense of morality, like a werewolf attacking his child. i needed to kill: if not a soul, then at least my own anger.

i lashed out my anger at him, but probably he didn’t care enough about me to feel my anger, or my desire to just. fucking. catch. his. attention. it’s a constipated attempt. but right now, it would be boring to talk about it, since later on i realized that i’d been picking on the wrong girl. weehee. but still, i’m not taking my words back with regard to how much i hate the thought of them so happy together.

like last time, i asked him, “so what’s up?” he replied, “heaven.hah.” and i could just imagine the two of them, holding hands along burnham park, smiling like two ten-year-olds tripping. but that wasn’t just that. another supposition of mine was that he just came after a mind blowing head, and she swallowed all the way. i wanted to crush every MnM in my hand to the thought of them, fucking and having a good time.

or to what my polluted, dysfunctional mind tells me.

****

i found this out just tonight, after coming across this one:<p

and take note of the date: 31st of October. two days later, it was november 2, and hell knows what happened during the evening of November 2.

it was a moment of reminiscence, a night of snot and swollen eyes. and we made a stupid promise together. i remember that because i marked the thing on my phone calendar. and that was just the beginning of so many moooooooore things. including the epic 20 questions followed by a conversation that lasted up to later than 1 am.

and so many more.

but then stuff happens, promises get fucked, bitches bitch out, and i can no longer keep up my sanity.

ah, if it were not for my sore throat, i’d be perfectly fine. at least i feel like i’m back to normal, at least tonight.

10:24 PM 1/19/2012
my phone, my stupid phone had shut down twice since i tried to write about today. right now, i’m pretty pissed and tired. i mean, after all that trying to come up with figures of speech and description…wasted, thrown away. and all that tranquil feeling i got after just watching Girl, Interrupted, interrupted by my thoughts about Galang. i’d planned on mentioning his name online, but nevermind, my phone shut down. he’s lucky. anyway i don’t want to hate right now, i want to be calm and stop hating. my day went off quite unwell, a very typical thursday complete with the expected hassle and feeling of failure…

fuck. i can’t go on anymore.
[for my date diary
very bad eng21. fairie queene eff.
cl113 the usual blur.
lunch, alone, always.
pe class new dance.
ate junk food.
slept slept, watched girl interrupted
pretty pissed.
i haaaate.]
10:30 PM 1/19/2012

this isn’t the last time i shut my blog or threw a love-hate tantrum with my own space. this happens all the time. this is one of those “laps” that will begin another cycle, cycles i dread going through again and again. i admit i am getting tired of the same roller coaster ride of emotions and plots and mood swings.

i’ve written about “the cycle”, among my many other Borderline posts.

ah, yes. the medical label, the self-diagnosis. weeks ago, i’d been talking about my personality problems, and even mislabeled myself as a schizoid. well, there’s still that schizoid part of me (re: the freecell post) and as far as my research has gone, i can interpret it as a behavior i’ve adapted for a defense mechanism. going back to the borderline thing, changing my tag line into “inside the mind of a borderline” has crossed my mind, for in my opinion, this blog can serve as a fairly good piece of resource material if you want to study borderline personality. try researching about borderline and find my posts dated from my depressive states….

right now, i feel like a cancer patient fully aware of the cancer that’s killing her slowly. i’m not normal and something’s wrong with me. i don’t know how will i seek care and feel caring and loving. if i can just feel some warmth, some affection, from someone who will save me from this emotional wound….again, i’m being borderline.

i don’t know where to go now. but i’m trying to make things easier for me and for the person i love. with respect to the black and white thinking, i cannot stand open doors between us and half-filled jars. and i keep coming back to him, like a borderline should, and no one between us cannot not be hurt. i hurt myself whenever i feel plain apathy from him, even if he says otherwise…it’s just very difficult…but that maybe he’s a male borderline had crossed my mind…idk, i must figure myself out before him, right?

as with my career and future life in general…i don’t know.

this is the most awkward post in this blog so far, writing this feels like making a self-portrait, and i also have to paint every ugly crease on my face, too…

and don’t you fucking judge my writing right now. don’t compare me to ivan’s or levi’s blog. fuck it.

after this post, i’ll go back to the natural me. maybe i’ll write a poem or a story or something close to a semi-polished, expressive writing. maybe i can go back to my voice and my best form.

whatever life brings me, i will take it, i will try my best to enjoy my life, even if my life is in the first essentially unenjoyable.