My Mondo Beyondo List for 2005

My friend Vee showed me this site and I likey so much that I decided to write my own. It is way better than New Year resolutions. This is a list of improbable things you want to happen to your life, and because they may never happen, there is no pressure of fulfilling them in the coming year. My Mondo Beyondo list. Thanks to Andrea for daring everyone to make this list.

I want …

• to get out of the country … and enjoy a continental tour
  
• to meet the man that brings with him African drumbeats and a sense of wonder
  
• a new car … and oh, learn to drive
  
• see the leaves of autumn and be able to touch it
  
• to be debt free for the rest of my life
  
• to be a serious writer
  
• a massage (like right now would be nice!) and some serious pampering
  
• to cook like Nigella
  
• to affect change in the world… for the better
  
• to use the word “forever” and mean it over and over and over again
  
• to dance and sing more with utmost abandon
  
• to finish college and more
  
• to be comfortable in a swimsuit again
  
• to take a picture of every good thing that happens to me, friends and family
  
• to draw and not be afraid to show it
  
• to run and not get tired
  
• to love going to work again
  
• to never have to have beauty standard issues
  
• to simplify my life and be content with it
  
• HAVE WORLD PEACE AND END WORLD HUNGER!
  

End of SITC

His name is John. And I mourn the end of the series. Now, what to do on a Tuesday night? No more Sex In The City. Boo-hoo-hoo.

My 3rd high school friendship got married today to a six feet tall, blonde, blue-eyed, Dutchman. They’ll be living happily ever after in the kingdom of Spain. A wedding and two cups of coffee later, with my two last remaining single high school friendships, I started getting sentimental. Started to feel like Miranda with Carrie preparing to leave for Paris. Sad but happy for her.

Three out of six. As Vee said, we have reached the equilibrium. So to preserve the peace, we need not marry. We 3 remaining singletons have thoughts of eloping … just to break tradition. Or since we all have fears of sacrificing our independence, why complicate life with marriage? But then again, we are somewhere between staying in love and getting over an obsession. So in the end, we all might want to be bound to a wedding ring too … in the distant future. In Boracay perhaps. In a red dress … Naaahhhh!

My Birthday Today

I turn 34 today. And I'm too drunk to care. - GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!!

The paranoia begins

My writer friend once explained to me, matter-of-factly, that “forever” was a word used to romanticize time. What it really means is that forever lasts only until the love lasts. There is no infinity there. So forever really means whenever.

He does have a point. It would be unrealistic to believe that love does last forever. But me, being the ultimate naïve romantic, insists it does. With a LOT OF WORK, of course. I mean, we still find extinct old married couples strolling around the park with fingers entwined, right? For love to last, the couple has to be willing to work on it with blood, sweat and tears. Then they make important decisions, pray over it, if possible.

But when do couples decide that they had HAD enough? Wasn’t that a Sex in the City episode? When you hear Sarah Geronimo sing “And if forever's not enough for me to love yooouuuuuu” – STOP HER! Forever ends when one of you has had enough.

Anyway, I’m miserable because I didn’t even have that choice. My boat just sunk. And I have no way to salvage it. It is just over. And although the stubborn, romantic side of me hangs on for dear life, the practical, sensible side of me pries my fingers open and urges me to let go. Sink Girl Sink! Then the paranoia begins.

My beauty-standard issues starts to re-surface. And the confidence that I’ve managed to build up after every heart-break struggles to keep itself afloat. Did he really love me? Was I not good enough? Too fat? Too short? Too Catholic? Too independent? Too clingy? Can’t cook? What was it? … Paranoia.

Was the love real? Was there really an “us” or did I just imagine it? Bf#2 once told me when I caught him with somebody else, that he did love me and meant it … at THAT TIME. Whaaaaa?! Does that mean that he didn’t mean it other times? Which times? … Paranoia.

But why? If I DID know what it was that made him a lot more distant than he already was – would I have been willing to change? Or to compromise? Hmmmmm … (think hard).

And he would probably say, “It wasn’t you at all, honey”. The relationship just was not possible. It was just too complicated. And I would probably agree 1234% because it was all that.

Love last forever. Indeed! It surpasses age, distance, time, language, race and religion. Bullshit! Love only lasts whenever. And it has its limits.

I’m bitter. And I know it. And I need to be. It's for self-preservation. This doesn't mean I will stop saying forever. In fact, I think I should say it more often, just to prove a point. The point being ... ahmmm? ... What is the point? ... Maybe just this: when you say forever, commit to it like your life depends on it. Then maybe no one will take relationships, or more importantly, marriage, for granted. And divorce wouldn't be an option or a consideration.

(Sigh) (Ehem) This too shall pass.

Death by ... old age

I wonder why I’m so fascinated with death. I try not to fear it because it is inevitable to all living things. But I do hope I will not have a painful one – something quick would be nice. That’s why I prefer death by gunshot than death by drowning. I don’t want to have time to think it over and suffer like Nick Joaquin’s Currito Lopez.

Anyway, a few years ago, a friend once claimed that the “good ones” always die first. JFK and Princess Diana comes to mind. Good - not meaning exceptional or successful. But Good - meaning good in heart and mind, don’t have too many enemies or have lived a life of sacrifice that death would have been the greatest reward to their hellish existence. I guess that’s the theory that inspired the expression: “Ang bait bait mo. Sana kunin ka na lang ni Lord.” (You are so good, I wish God will take you.”)

Which brings me to this assumption that I might self-destruct at age 38. It’s really more of fear … of old age. It’s easy to talk about death now maybe because I haven’t seen my grandchildren, much more my kids … and come to think of it … I haven’t even met the man I’m going to grow old with, or hold hands with while walking in some tree- decorated park. If I had, I might change my mind. You see, I haven’t met anyone who faced old age gracefully. My dad is 74 but he’s not old. Old would be those who need constant care. Those who need someone to bathe them or clean up their poop. Is this being disrespectful? But it is reality, isn’t it? If we are lucky, we will all come to that age. But I’d rather be spared from such humiliation. I don’t really want to die at age 38. I do want to see my kids and grandkids. I want to be able to argue with my husband and make-up with passionate meaningful sex – lol (I sometimes amaze myself at what I reveal here, tsk tsk tsk.) I want to be able to see the world, experience the colors of autumn and marvel at the wisdom of God by counting the white hairs on my head. I want to die knowing I’ve experienced those things – and on the age where I know I’ve been significant. I guess, in the end, if I’m lucky, I hope God takes me when I’m ready. And when I know he could say, “that'll do, pig, that'll do.”

By the Iloilo River I Sat Down and Spaced Out

Now that the holidays is fast approaching, the need to share it with someone has intensified. Especially with the singles, the divorced, the separated and the alone. And loneliness hangs in the air just like the fog in the early dawn. That's why families suddenly become important in the bussle of Christmas shopping. In the cold temperature, we all seek warmth but where to find it? how to find it?

I'm no different. I find myself staring at the river more often than I'm supposed to. This is my own version of Paulo Coelho's book, I guess. But you see, I'm not suppose to feel lonely. My ex-slash-friend tries to visit me as much as he can and each time, I have to clarify that we are just FRIENDS - in bold, italicized, neon letters flashing. But he keeps treating me like a queen and the switch goes off and I become unresponsive ... sigh ... I feel sorry for him but there's nothing there. I told him that I'm in a place where I can't be reached. Not by him. Not by anyone. A thousand miles away as Vanessa Carlton sings it. At least for now.

Like any other Maria, I look for a significant Juan. And I long for the drums of Africa. I can hear them at a distance, faint but clear, north today, south tomorrow, comforting but unforgiving. I find myself amidst friends, family and princes... one interesting, the other surreal. But none can connect. I AM in a place that can't be reached. My heart's not here. Even God who listens to my every unspoken whim sits calmly and lets me be. "Be still and know I'm God", he says. Yeah sure, easy for him to say, He's GOD.

Hebrews 11:1 says: "Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see." So in faith, I continue to sit by the river ... alone ... by choice ... yet longing to be with someone.

Note: this is not an advertisement. I'm not that desperate. I hope it doesn't sound like one - lol.

After Before Sunset

Just came back from watching the Before Sunset movie. And this terrible thought plagued me. What if one serious meaningful relationship manages to screw up one's entire life? I hate regrets. But what if nine years from now, I'll discover that I'm scarred for life and realize that this one magical moment has become standard to all my relationships and they end up BLAH! compared to this African-drum-beating one. Hmmmm ... Pitiful to base one's lovelife in just this single imagery.

Still the film was one great screenplay/movie. And I managed to listen to the whole conversation even when there was little change in scenery. That's why they keep walking all the time, to stop the monotony. But this one I had more difficulty concentrating. There were too many angst.

Life is too short to worry about things that might not happen. So why continue to complicate it?

before sunrise and the sunset

I saw the first movie 9 years ago and I loved it. And though it drove me mad, I absolutely loved the ending, loved the simplicity of it all. I'm glad that they're making a sequel and I can't wait to see it. Anyway, below are some thoughts that scriptwriters, Richard Linklater and Kim Krizan wrote in the movie. I've edited them so it won't be soooo long and you have to watch the movie to truly appreciate it. Musings and questions we might like to ask ourselves sometimes to make life more complicated that it already is - hehehe. But still, What would life be without such questions.

Céline: Have you ever heard that as couples get older, they lose their ability to hear each other? Well, supposedly, men lose the ability to hear higher-pitched sounds, and women eventually lose hearing in the low end. I guess they sort of nullify each other, or something.

Jesse: I guess. Nature's way of allowing couples to grow old together without killing each other.

Jesse: Alright, alright. Think of it like this. Jump ahead, ten, twenty years and you're married. Only your marriage doesn't have that same energy that it used to have. You start to blame your husband. You start to think about all those guys you've met in your life, and what might have happened if you'd picked up with one of them, right? (Céline starts laughing a bit) Well, I'm one of those guys. That's me, you know. So think of this as time travel, from then, to now, to find out what you're missing out on. See, what this really could be is a gigantic favor to both you and your future husband, to find out that you're not missing out on anything. I'm just as big a loser as he is, totally unmotivated, totally boring, and you made the right choice, and you're really happy (motions to towards the door).

Céline: I always liked the idea of all those unknown people lost in the world. When I was a little girl, I thought that if none of your family or friends knew you were dead, then it's like not really being dead. People can invent the best and the worst for you.

Céline: Do you know anyone who's in a happy relationship?
Jesse: yeah, sure. I know happy couples. But I think they lie to each other.

Céline: People can lead their life as I lie. My grandmother, she was married to this man, and I always thought she had a very simple, uncomplicated love life. But she just confessed to me that she spent her whole life dreaming about another man she was always in love with. She just accepted her fate. It's so sad. And in the same time, I love the idea that she had all those emotions and feelings I never thought she would have had.

Jesse: I guarantee you, it was better that way. If she'd ever got to know him, you know, I'm sure he would have disappointed her eventually.

Céline: How do you know? You don't know them.

Jesse: Yeah, I know, I know. It's just, people have these romantic projections they put on everything. You know. that's not based on any kind of reality.

Céline: I was in an old church like this with my grandmother a few days ago in Budapest. Even though I reject most of the religious things, I can't help but feeling for all those people that come here lost or in pain, guilt, looking for some kind of answers. It fascinates me how a single place can join so much pain and happiness for so many generations.

Jesse: Well, I went to this Quaker wedding once, and it was fantastic. What they do is the couple comes in and they kneel down in front of the whole congregation, and they just stare at each other, and nobody says a word unless they feel that God moves them to speak, or say something. And then after an hour or so, of just, uh, staring at each other, they're married.

Céline: Well, even if we were a little bit, you know. Why does everyone think conflict is so bad. There's a lot of good things coming out of conflict.

Jesse: People always talk about how love is this totally unselfish, giving thing, but if you think about it, you know, there's nothing more selfish.

Céline: You know, I have this awful paranoid thought, that feminism was mostly invented by men, so they could, like, fool around a little more. You know, women, free your minds, free your bodies, sleep with me. We're all happy and free as long as I can fuck as much as I want.

Jesse: I think on some level, women don't mind the idea of destroying a man, you know. Like, I was once walking down the street with my ex-girlfriend, and we just walked by these real four, kind of thuggy looking guys, next to a Camaro, and one of them, sure enough, says, 'Hey baby, nice ass.' So, I'm like, alright, Hey, no big deal, I'm not gonna get uptight about this, right? But she turns around and she says "Fuck you, dickheads", and I'm like, Okay, wait a minute, here, right. They're not gonna come over here and kick her ass, you know what I mean. So who just got pushed to the front line on that one? You see what I'm saying? I mean, women say they hate it if your all territorial and protective, but if it suits them, then they'll tell you you're being all unmanly, or wimpy, or, uh.

Jesse: Every couple's been having this conversation forever.

Céline: Any nobody's come up with anything.

Céline: I always feel this pressure of being a strong and independent icon of womanhood, and without making... making it look my... my whole life is revolving around some guy. But Loving someone, and being loved means so much to me. We always make fun of it and stuff. But isn't everything we do in life a way to be loved a little more?

Céline: He was almost crying saying that. You know, I believe if there's any kind of God, it wouldn't be in any of us. Not you, or me... but just this little space in between. If there's any kind of magic in this world, it must be in the attempt of understanding someone, sharing something (sigh). I know, it's almost impossible to succeed, but... who cares, really? The answer must be in the attempt.

Jesse: I mean, all-- everything is so finite. I mean, but don't you think that that's what makes our time, at specific moments, so important?

Jesse: Why do you think everybody thinks relationships are supposed to last forever?

Céline: I don't think we should sleep together. I mean, I want to, but since we're never gonna see each other again... it'll make me feel bad. I won't know who else you're with. I'll miss you. (she lies down beside him) I know. It's not very adult. Maybe it's a female thing, I can't help it.

Me: I have a firm belief that great, meanigful conversations like these with one's honey is waaaaaay much better than foreplay. lol.

Moving On ... Next!

I just don't understand men. Why is it that when you decide you are ready to let go, they mutter something extremely romantic and you find yourself back in the roller coaster ride ... or maybe it's just me. (Boing!)

I don't like wearing the engagement ring although technically it's no longer an engagement ring but I have to call it that to set it apart from all other rings. It's my One Ring. It fits my stubby finger but it bothers me when I type. If I get fat, the ring will choke my finger till it stops blood circulation and turn my index into a fat blue sausage. Gross. I was not meant to wear a ring. If I get married, I must wear it around my neck, like a dogtag. Hmmmmm ... who will marry me now? :(

Anyway, I'm moving on. Enough of looking for love in all the wrong places, Looking for love in too many places. (Hehehe Must avoid going to Kenny Rogers). There's not much point in getting hung up in a relationship that will not see the light of day. But I've learned a lot from previous relationships (right, Vayls? as if ang dami! lol). And even if the romantic thingy has ended, I've managed to keep the platonic business platonic. So, off went the engagement ring. I get to keep it as a token of his love, Naks! and burn the entire music box (mp3s, IM text conversations and those bloody pictures) on CD for future reference. I have yet to write my novel and I need those. And although I'm striving for sainthood, I do want to get married and have some of those little tiny things they call babies. But if God has a sense of humor - and I'm sure he has lots of those, he might let me stay single. And I'm ready for that too. One thing is clear to me. I CANNOT settle for a guy who just happens to be there. I know what I want now. I'm also aware that I'm not searching for the perfect guy ... but the right one. What is the right guy, you ask? To be frank, I have no idea - hahahaha. But I will know him when I meet him. And if I don't end up marrying him, then that's ok too. I move on because there will be another right guy who will come along. My journey continues and I'm a weary but optimistic traveler.

I just wish they would stop being romantic and keep it platonic ... but where's the fun in that?

Men! They don't understand the word "no".

Robert Frost

GS4C2130, originally uploaded by ilongga70.

Nature's first green is gold
Her hardest hue to hold
Her early leaf's a flower
But only so an hour
Then leaf subsides to leaf
And Eden sank to grief
So dawn goes down to day
Nothing gold can stay

Eureka!

I found it!

I've been spending all my free time experimenting on editing my blog and learning about add-ons etc. etc. Didn't realize it would be such fun. And the best part is, I can bring in more pictures too, and I plan to add some more courtesy of my writer friend who is nice enough to send me pics. My only disadvantage, I'm a nincompoop (did I spell it right?) when it comes to colors. And I'm really bad at it. But goodness, I've got links, a site meter, a tagboard, a clock and a daily mood viewer (YAY!) . Now, if I can only ask people to leave comments or a message on my Tagboard. At least it wouldn't look so lonely. Sigh.

And work on my program has reached a standstill. I'm sure the professor won't mind if I don't spend as much time with learning Borland C++. Because spicing up this blog is much more fun. I should start writing more too. My novel awaits. Maybe next week ...

What is it with sickos?

My sisters and I were watching Dateline NBC and there was this story about teenagers chatting in the net. They staged a situation where a 14 year old girl chats online, gives out her home address and tells her chatmates that she was home alone. For the next 24 hours, every hour, a different man shows up on the doorsteps of the house, clearly interested of sex with a 14 year old. The reality that a lot of men over 30 to 40 years old would be willing to meet up with a 12 or 14 year old girl who was home alone is astounding. Scary.

Then my sister told me about how she chatted with an American online. She mentioned that she was a single mom and the American started asking questions about her teenage son. My sister was careful not tp give too much information and refused to share pictures of her son. The guy suddenly have the gall to suggest a threesome with my sister and her son. Ackkkkk! SICK!

And there was this 40-something Australian who wanted to have sex with a 15 year old sister of his girlfriend. Now, if you were sane, would you still date this guy?

How many more sickos are out there? I know I've met some.

A Dog's Life

I've been reading this book by Peter Mayle called a Dog's life, and I conclude that the dog - a french one - has a more luxurious life than mine. But I'm happy with what I have and what I can do. Except for bouts of "where am I going?" questions during the early hours of the morning, I think I'm making a fairly decent life or at least trying to.

One night, I had this long and serious debate with myself about being immobilized by my fears. I'm sure I'm destined for greatness - maybe not one that would make the whole world stop and look (although that would be nice too) but one where it will make a dent on something or someone and change people's lives in the process. My fear of failing has seized me and I no longer can get out of the comfort zone. Have I failed miserably that I can no longer get my foot forward? Have I have resorted to sniffing for scraps under the table and pleasing the management? And have I turned myself into my third worst nightmare?

It's a dog's life. And I bark without a bite. I think I'd rather be a pig ... lol.

Used To Be

Been listening to this song over and over again. After remembering 9/11, mourning after the Russian children who died in the school attack, contemplating on the fiscal crisis and receiving three wedding invitations from friends younger than me (totally irrelevant, I know, but this depressed me too!), I sing along with Charlene and Stevie Wonder.

Used To Be

Superman was killed in Dallas
There’s no love left in the palace
Someone took the Beatle’s lead guitar

Have another Chivas Regal
You’re twelve years old and sex is legal
You’re parents don’t know where or who you are

Used to be the hero of the ballgame
Took a time to shake the loser’s hand
Used to be that failure only meant you didn’t try
In a world where people gave a damn

Great big wars in little places
Look at all those frightened faces
But don’t come here, We just don’t have the room

Love thy neighbor’s wife and daughter
Cleanse your life with holy water
We don’t need to pay, We’ve got a few

Used to be a knight in shining armor
Didn’t have to own a shiny car
Dignity and courage were the measure of a man
Not the drugs he needs to hide the scars

Can your teacher read?
Does your preacher pray?
Does your president have soul?
Have you heard a real good ethnic joke today?

Mama took her speed
Daddy ran away
But you mustn’t lose control

Let’s cut a class, I’ve got some grass
The kids are wild, We just can’t tame ‘em
Do we have the right to blame ‘em?

Fed them all our indecisions
We break their minds with television
But what the hell, they’re too young to feel pain

But I believe that love can save tomorrow
I believe that truth can make us free
Someone tried to say it
and we nailed him to a cross
I guess it’s still the way it used to be

We finally meet

I slowly made my way to the hotel, fidgeting my purse, checking my blouse for the nth time. It took me two hours just to decide what to wear. It’s one of those fancy hotels, one that I never can afford of staying in unless I win some kind of lottery.

Reaching the lobby, I saw the sign just outside a hall: THE FORD VINTAGE CAR SHOW. I took hesitant steps and entered a room full of very old cars, classy and expensively restored. I felt very provincial in my surroundings but I kept my head up. "My clothes may look old, but at least my heart has class, and my hair, expensively restored," I silently assured myself.

It was easy to spot him. He was the only white haired gentleman there at that hour. He was examining a red 1947 convertible. I took a deep breath and made my way to him. He spotted me soon enough, gave me a questioning glance and rewarded me with one huge smile. I melted and I floated towards him. Covering the remaining distance between us with a few short strides, he opened his arms and gave me a friendly hug, “Hi honey.” “Hi!”, I muttered and gave him a shy smile, not knowing what to do next.

“At last! We finally meet!"
“Finally.”
“Hungry?”
“No. I’m too nervous to eat.”
“Why!? ”

I shrugged and we laughed it off. He led me out to the lobby where the hotel clerk handed him a black bag. I caught sight of something long and gleaming inside which reminded me of my dad's stilletto hanging in his bedroom wall. I recalled our earlier conversations about serial killers and rapist getting their victims on the net. He led me out of the hotel into a waiting car, making small talk as we moved along. I had no idea where we were going. He just promised to show me London, but I don’t know which place we were to visit first.

Technically, we were still strangers. We have been chatting on the net for years now but this is the first time we actually meet. He looked close enough to the pictures he sent yet still, the questions were: Was everything he said in the net all true? About the family, about his work, about everything he is? Serial killers were good liars, weren’t they? I tried to relax and in my mind I assured myself that I’m ready to die anyway. He was sooo good-looking!

He drove towards the country. If he was going to kill me, I’m sure he will not do it in broad daylight, right? We suddenly turned to a small dirt road and drove into a small airport. I gasped. He was going to show me London in THAT?! My heart skipped. He guided the car towards a small charter plane.

“I didn’t know you can fly.”

“Oh, honey,” he said, “There are still a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Before I could ponder what that meant, he was tucking me in the plane seat and I was getting all excited about it. We took off without hassle ... and we flew. We soared over the country while he carefully pointed out to me the most breath-taking sites. I was enjoying myself, gawking at the fabulous view outside and beside me. After about half an hour of flying, the plane started making coughing sounds, much like a train loosing it’s caboose. Then the engines just stopped. As if someone pulled the plug. I looked at him, worried, while he was calmly pulling levers and turning knobs everywhere. “Honey,” he sighed finally, “We have got to jump.” I glowered at him crazily, panicking at the thought of my impending death. So this is how he kills me?! Don't I get a kiss first? I did tell him I wanted to die with a gun, right? Mommy!!!!

He suddenly jumped out of the cockpit and into the back of the plane which was surprisingly spacious and motioned me to follow him. Before I knew it, he was strapping a parachute behind my back and giving me instructions on what to do and which cord to pull. I looked at him bewildered, eyes exploding. “YOU DON’T EXPECT ME TO DO THIS ON MY OWN, DO YOU?” I snapped at him as the plane glided through clouds. He just grinned at me, patted the pack on my back and pulled a lever to open a door. And then, without much as a good-bye, he pushed me. Out. And I screamed … like Tarzan … only I can’t hear my voice! And I fell … and fell ... and fell ... until I hit the floor ... my head banging on a book that slid off the bed just before I fell asleep. The room was getting it’s first daylight. And I’m back at the hotel.

Oh no! Now I have to decide what to wear again.

The writing exercise was to use a 1974 convertible, a stiletto and a parachute in a dream sequence. I’m sure if given time, I could make a more exciting version. But for now, this is what I have. I had fun creating it. If you can create your own version, please let me know.

My Room

• wispy cobwebs floating around the ridges of my window


• a lone forgotten nail stuck in the cement of the corner wall


• pencil scribbles of my youth painting the walls with ugly gray


• strips of orange in a black bedpost crying for new paint


• an unused badminton racket gaining weight as it hangs on the back of the door


• an old skylight filtered with cobwebs and dust


• books slanting to the right, vying for attention and worn-out from boredom


• a formidable cardboard box locked with angry memories


• a gray and white linolieum floor, faded, unpolished, cringing at the cheerfulness of the ceiling light


• a stack of folders filled with unrealized possibilities


• a silent keyboard, empty of music, standing at its side against the wall


• faded photographs of faded faces and smiles that have waned in time


• an antique chest, scratched, beaten, and set aside for being too old


• a glass vase blooming with pens instead of flowers


• a half-empty cup of coffee, cold from neglect

Here I sit as the day darkens ... desolate ... alone ... forgotten.

My office building

On a regular working day, you'd see them trickling in the sunken lobby, trailing towards the time clock like zombies on line. Others would loiter around, losing their way in hunger, looking for victims to buy them a free breakfast because their pockets are empty. There are those who would work the crowd, selling their wares, gathering whatever extra income they can for their salaries are not enough to pay the rent. Still others, dig their way in, for information, for praise, for left-over power, for belongingness, only to find themselves stuck in their own hallowed graves. There are those who trudge in late, harassed and overloaded with luggage that hide their hands and sink their eyes. There are the strong ones, who strut in with a determined flair, focusing on the day's work, only to avoid the worries of home. Then there are the untouchables, who stroll in like royalty and followed by whimpering servants, with their heads held high and a self-hate equal to the floors of this building. And then there's me, observing, but not caring; speaking out, but not participating; here present, but mind elsewhere.

If God led me here, what then is my purpose? And what have I done to make a difference?

I want my usual!

What is it about breaking up that suddenly leave the heartbroken cleaning everything they can get their hands on. I cleaned my room, my office desk, my closet, rearranged my books, my pencil tray, my cds, my thoughts. And I even made a list of things to do. AS IF I’ll do it. I’m cleaning and reorganizing everything I see as if my life depends on it.

It’s true. I’m cleaning and rearranging everything to save my life. Because I now want to get back to my routine. Falling in-love has made a drastic change in my “usual”. In attempt to get back to the “usual”, I prepare everything for my comeback, only to find that everything has changed anyway, no matter how clean and neatly arranged it is.

Love has invaded everything. My computer, my phone, my desk, my room, my work, the music I listen to, the places I go.

Love is selfish. It fulfills itself and leaves the broken-hearted with the the detergent, the cleaning brush, the broom and the dustpan. It can never go back to the “usual”. No matter how much muriatic acid you pour or even if you bring in the whole Clean House dream team. Everything has become infected … by love.

Give me back my 'usual'. Please ...

peanuts

peanuts, originally uploaded by ilongga70.

I'm a prophet too! hahaha. Or should I say a prophetess. I speak profound truths that no one listens to, except my family (because they love me) and my true friends (because they have no choice). And if there is one word that best describes me it will be stubborn. I need a paradigm shift. A whole new outlook on things might do me good.

What I really feel

While my writer friend sleeps and have nightmares about me jumping from six floor window (which is by the way suicide-proof), I am tasked to write an essay of 3500 words of what I really feel. Frankly, I don't even know how long a 3500-word essay is because this bloody thing doesn't count till I finish it; and I have no idea where 1000 miles from here means and that's where I'm suppose to be ... bloody hell ... let me just say anything no matter how long it takes. How does that sound, snoring-sleeping writer friend? :)I wish I could hear him snore!

What I feel? hmmmmmm, let's see. I'm pissed because even if I have control over things, I am self-righteous church-going lass who just can't do anything wrong because of principles I'm sure are right (and they might be right only to me). I am angry and ashamed that I have to start dating again. It's like looking for a needle in a haystack - the search for the not-so-perfect man who makes your heart beat like drums of Africa and makes your mind explode to the large possibilities of how wondrous the world is. I hate the thought of guys asking why I'm still not married at my age ... which is just sooooo predictable nowadays. I'm afraid of REGRET (and this is my greatest fear) and afraid that I might just be taking the safe path instead of venturing to the dangerous unknown, being very provincial instead of exploring. I'm sad that all of this never-ending heaven-sent happiness brought about by just two months of selfishness will all come to an end. I'm in agony of having to face life without feeling safe in those arms and not to be showered with all that love and concern. I fear loneliness, and self-destruction, and eating myself to death because of depression (and gain back all those hard-earned pounds I lost from starving, taebo and just being in-love). I dread not being called "honey" again - I'll miss that most of all. I dread listening to any love song because they would now be like arrows piercing every bit of whatever that's left in me. I'd hate to miss those jokes, and the pranks, and the arguments ... especially the arguments. I hate him for challenging me and I hate the fact that no one else would understand me like he does, and push me to my limits like he does. I hate me for being stupid enough to love him, for choosing what's right, for wanting to be safe instead of happy. And I love him, and love him more, and love him most. (maybe if i keep repeating that I'll get my 3500 words!).

Benjamin Franklin said, "Those things that hurt, instruct." I don't know what I'm suppose to learn from all these. Maybe it will dawn on me soon enough. But now, I just hurt. And it just hurts so bad.

And that's how it feels. Happy now?

Bad vs. good

Ever had the dilemma of having to choose between the bad and the good? It will be an easy choice if the bad is really bad. But what if the bad is really bad but feels so damn good? Then you end up choosing between the good and the damn good which is pretty bad. Because eventually, you will choose the damn good and end up doing what is really bad.

But i'm a good girl, although I have been bad at times but I've been pretty consistent about being good. And although I hate the really bad, i love the damn good. So what do I do? What if I refuse to choose? That is so not me.

I like taking sides, even if it's the wrong side. That way, if I'm wrong, I get to learn something and move on. If I'm right, I can congratulate myself for being right and move on. But what of the bad or the good?

I don't know. It's pretty bad not to choose the damn good.

because life does not stop for anyone

AAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!

In an attempt to forget men (or this just one particular ANNOYING guy)and keep my hands away from Yahoo Messenger, i choose to drown myself in a web of words. It beats jumping off the sixth floor window. Or trying to keep a dry eye inside an office full of men. Or munch myself to death with 'hello' chocolates till I burst my seams. Or fight the urge to kill someone or go home and pretend to be sick - because I am sick, and insane. I've gone mad and there's just no cure for such a state. And it numbs the pain. I wish I was 38 years old and I can just self-destruct as I promised myself at the age of 13 - BOOM! Anything to end this gnawing endless, body-knife turning death.

And I type anything, desperate for comfort, for peace, for meaning, for relief, for anything that will get me out of this reality that seems to be "God-abandoned" ... because life does not stop for anyone.

But I'm not serious, of course. Life has got to have some drama - and a bit of exageration - hahaha. And after the tears ... you see the wonderful sky from the 6th floor window, or appreciate how sexy you look with puffy eyes, or notice that chocolates make you bloat, or the person you want to kill is not even worth your time, and you realize you do like being sick and insane. And you move on ... because God continues to turn night into day and ... because life does not stop for anyone.