Reality kicking me painfully in my fictitious balls.

While I’m getting older, I keep hearing either the ‘E’ word, the ‘W’ word or the ‘P’ word. Engagements. Weddings. and Pregnancy. In a time where sex wasn’t all that taboo (but protection seems to lack still), and i am slowly reaching into my late twenties. I get to hear that alot. From my already 25 year old sister, to my persistent aunties, a certain ex, and a whole bunch of people who are in the social networking groups.

Obviously, I am not getting any younger, no matter how many school girl uniforms I wear. No matter how young I look, and no matter how many Chick lit I read.

Soon enough, I will be thrown into the bandwagon of marriage-ables. Girls who are in line of the marrying age. In the Chinese setting, it’s either you get married before 30 or you just be an old maid for life.

Sure, if you’re in the 1950s.

I didn’t want to get married. I never used to. The thought was just insane. Even when I was in a relationship, the thought of marriage makes me want to run for the hills. Babies makes my skin crawl and me in a white gown with all the hypocrite shit going around the church and the reception.

It just wasn’t my thing. But the eternal bond(age) of (suffer)rings. The thought of living together with a chauvinistic male specimen was beyond me (e.g. my dad), who seems to know the following chores: messing around,  ordering around, and playing around” Which doesn’t really count as chores. I do not mind being the whole breadwinner shit, but like I said before, this isn’t the 1950s.

When I was young I went through the whole idealistic crap of finding the perfect love. Why don’t I ever listen each time love finds its way painfully up my @$$? Let me share to you my recent status message in Yahoo! Messenger.

Idealism is next to Idiocy. Wake up and smell the f*cking coffee.

That is what you call a nice hefty kick of reality in the balls. Nothing is perfect in the world. You just get the best and hone it for all it’s worth.

I do not really know how I got around in writing about this, but I feel sick and tears just fell from my face, I just want to kick and scream and throw things. Suddenly a shift of emotion came in hurriedly, like a cold gust of wind.

Making everything so empty. And so cruel.

The once light-hearted wondering of when will I be next was suddenly shattered into a gut-wrenching pain of just screwing the whole thing altogether.

the proposal ♥

If you’re updated in the Neil Gaiman world, you would probably know about this and this. If you aren’t then you should go check it out.

I have never seen myself in that sort of position. You know, the kind of things that only happens in the movies, books, tv, and basically all else that is purely fictional (unless it was relatively disastrous events then yes, I have seen myself in movies, books, tv, and whatnots). So, it was fun and so touching seeing the magic come alive once in a while. To see that unimaginable things really do happen to people if really put in all their efforts to go get it. In fact, the whole world seems to conspire them to have the craziest and coolest shit. And it wasn’t hitting the fan. ^_^v

Wow, I wonder when will I be that lucky :P

note to self:

* I keep falling into the green void. Must stop.

* so, you’ve just been a hot topic in a recent conversation (conversations if you count the repeat rate of the story revolving around the table), nothing seems better than a bunch of people all together talking about crap and didn’t bother to swing and ask you further details to clarify the shit, the more juicier, the better so why clear things up? and ruin the fun of things? NEVER.

* So, you never really seem to get noticed. Why must you hone in territories of others when obviously you’re not god-fucking wanted? In fact, someone who actually pretends to be something gets more beautiful attention than you have so whats the FUCKING point in keep FUCKING trying?!

…

ganiyanan pala ha,
PUTANGINA NIYO LAHAT.

two sides.

Life will always rely on a side a and b (think overnight stay and lack thereof briefs). Surprising as it seems, nobody really likes looking at both sides, especially if they have already seen the comfort zone.

I want to talk about the two sides of a particular touchy topic that is very one-sided throughout the years. You can read on to know what I am talking about. And you can save all your violent reactions later in the comments section.

~

It’s always hard to let go of someone you love, especially if you really and truly care for that person. Sometimes, you’d think that the world has ended and you don’t give a flying f anymore about life, wishing we just die and move on in the ashes.

How we all wish it was that simple, that each time life gets so hard, we just want to lay an eternal rest.

I guess the only friend we really have in this predicament is time. During a period in which I like to call The Gray Haze, waking up and sleeping was the hardest, getting out of bed was as bad as trying to lift 40 muscled men out of the way to haul ass in the shower. I am willing to bet that 5 years of my life has been shimmied away from the massive amounts of caffeine and nicotine that have rushed in my system, and tilted my already insane mind into a craptastic breakdown of fallen tears and giddy laughter.

It was madness. A circus.

It took a while, but the pain slowly went away. It used to be a gut-opening, inside-slicing, God-why-don’t-you-kill-me now pain, but there’s gonna be one morning you wake up and it won’t feel as bad as it was in the X Years Y Months and Z Days that has passed.

I have dropped into that shit hole a few times. One of them was close to me slitting my wrists and screaming “BLOODY MURDER!”. Running around the city screaming “P!*#@&$@()!@ niyo lahat!” or “P0t4 ako!” Whichever works. Whichever felt right at the moment.

Now I look back on all that and laugh. All the devious lame-brained schemes, the equally lame plotting that I never did, and all the mixed-up, pent-up emotions that I have felt.

I know what had happened before, you don’t forget it, you just accept that it’s there and you just let it live inside you, but how you let it live, be in fear, anger, sadness or acceptance will evolve once you have had a deeper understanding of the situation.

This is my Side A, I was the victim.

Let’s flip over the tape to Side B, I was the victimizer.

Yes, I broke up with someone. A few years ago, there was a time where I had to have a choice, options were laid out before me, and I know there’s no such thing as having your cake and eating it too.

Nobody takes as much hard shit as the victimizer.

First, we go to the victim himself (obviously, it’s a guy, if it was herself then there would have to be some side story revelation that I really am gay). The hysterics, the explanations and the pleadings. The manic almost crazy tendencies. I remember the day we sat on the benches at the university having one of the many “talks”. Asking me back, asking me all those questions that I really cannot answer, and it made me guilty. Guilty of making a decision that obviously had to have some complications, but I had to be strong. I had to go through and live up to what I have done, and never look back in regret. But only regret with all the what-ifs.

The most recent one was the hardest one, we were friends for years and I admit to being an ass. I told him everything, honestly, I didn’t had to go through any pretense, nor I think cheating was the answer and just letting up when all the shit hit the fan. I told him point-blank. And god that hurts. But I’d rather have one clean swipe of the knife than a slow jagged painful one. I couldn’t help but think if I was making a mistake or I wasn’t, but I knew that I would be lying to myself and lying to everybody and I will be living a lie.

That I cannot take anymore.

During this time, I was probably in all the grapevines that was twitching and pulsating in waves throughout wired places. I was messaged by curious friends who was trying to dig the issue from me. They had to use my sickness as an excuse to open a conversation. (why, thank God I’m sick), when they could’ve asked me directly without bullshit, without all the crap.

I was judged harshly by people who only seem to know one side. The only side people like to read. I was being pushed into the you’re-making-a-huge-mistake corner, and I need to see some sort of “light”, it was as if I was on some delusional dream and I need to “wake up”. I believe they still cling on to some idealistic pleasure of being meant to be means forever and ever, and I ruined that for them, and they want me to go fix things up and they want me to plead guilty and say I’m sorry for being a stupid piece of shit and go patch things up pronto.

It also seems that they want to make me pay, only because I was honest, only because I didn’t want to lie to save myself or to save my face in front of my friends…

The only thing I’m sorry for is hurting him. I am not accountable to anybody else. If you want to hear an apology from me for you, go line up, I’ll get back to you, or maybe not.

Being in side B makes you know who your real friends are. And I love them even more, with my life. I am thankful for them seeing both sides first before poking me with inquisitions and all the hoopla. They were listening, and that is the only thing I want them to do. Is to just listen.

~

Going through those sides were a roller coaster experience. Where one side is like going up slowly, and painfully, like waiting for an inevitable doom only to be racing down through all the spins. And the other is going through all the loops, sharp edges and dangerous turns, like awaiting for death.

Both praying for the fucking ride to be over.

There is no ideals in this story. No bull. Just the cold and brutal reality.

The world spins madly on…

There are times words fail me. And in those times I am in my most vulnerable or lethargic state.

I just got back from the farewell + birthday treat of my groupmates. Which was a surprise since we were supposed to be treating them.

The little gesture touched me. Deeply.

My days in cebu are numbered. and I am trying to fit in everything that I can. Today’s release day, a get together dinner with friends, and maybe a little something more.

Despite the stress, the mind ache, there is a dull, almost repetitive pain in my chest. Nothing in the physical, but an emotional turmoil that I know would eat me alive in the coming days when I reach home.

I want to try and stop time, even for a single moment, just to gather all my thoughts and collect them and nurture them in the dying corners of my mind.

But to my horror and dismay, I do not have such a power. And while I weep and while each day I die a little more, the world spins madly on.