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.

I know.
The sounds of my
dead laughter