No one likes you? Here's mutiny, a camel toe, and some BS.

Before anything else, I'd like to thank all my friends who read my entry yesterday and told me I write well. Quite a number of those who read my sappy shit actually sent me messages saying stuff along the lines of "story of my life" and "I feel you". In a way, it's comforting to realize that a lot of the people around me are either going through the same thing, or have already reached that not-so-lonely-and-dark clearing I've set out for since last August 2010. Never ceases to amaze me how even the happiest, most bright-eyed people turn out to be similar products of heartbreak. I've come to realize that loneliness and being alone are two completely different things. Loneliness is subjective. As cliché and as 90s-pop-ballad as it may sound, loneliness can creep up on anyone in the most crowded places. Doesn't even matter if your friends are there with you. Sure, you have companions, but is it the company you actually need or long for at the moment? It also doesn't matter if you're actually enjoying yourself. Loneliness is kind of like that itchy tag you forgot to cut out of your shirt. You'll survive the night, but you won't be able to ignore it completely. As for being alone, I don't think anyone can ever truly be alone. So many people are in the same boat with you, it's just that no one cares to look, talk and listen. Well, unless you're really rude, and scarily ugly, I think you'd be riding solo in that boat. Or maybe you did have people there with you, it's just that… you're impossible to put up with and you're not even easy on the eye, and were thrown overboard to appease the sharks. THEN AGAIN, even in your masticated state, you can still take comfort in the fact that someone, somewhere is also being eaten by a shark. Still not alone, see?

Anyway, yesterday was a good day. It was just right. Nothing really significant happened, but I enjoyed having time to myself. Like, to do stuff I wanna do. It was just smooth sailing all the way. Today, however, is a different story. I think it more or less started when my bed manipulated me into sleeping for 5 more minutes, and then waking me after 55 more. When I finally get to school, I see this chubby girl who obviously thinks leggings are the same thing as pants. Or maybe she knows they aren't, and the jokes on me, and she just thoroughly enjoys publicly displaying her clearly defined panty lines and camel toe. I know it's not something I should be getting upset about, but I'm genuinely bothered about how much this isn't bothering her. Oh god, someone needs to tell her. Isn't it a saying that only true friends tell you the truth? Should I try being a true friend then?

So, I leave school for a supposed meeting with some modeling agency. Note that that's what they keep telling me they are. I get there and BAM! it's nothing but networking bullshit. "Earn 10 million in a year!" my fine ass. That's an hour and a half of my life I'm not getting back, man. I could've spent that time on the treadmill or in my comfy, manipulative bed. Geez, if Facebook found out I wasted my time with something else, I'd be dead.

Aaaand one of my writing fears has finally come true. I've written a blog entry recounting the day's insignificant events. I rarely, if not never, do this. What can I say? I'm delaying studying, and writing about "feelings" just seemed like the only excuse my conscience would buy. Although since I think I've officially run out of possible rants and willpower, I think I shall retire for the night. Back to my one true love - the manipulative bed. I'm taking my notes with me, but I've already accepted that I will fall asleep 30 minutes in. I wish all of you better luck with battling your own demons. I keep having long, fun talks with mine, so... there. You know what not to do. Don't be me.

Maybe you two broke up coz you didn't have enough sparkly dresses.

Hello! Got a girlfriend? Boyfriend? I don't. Not anymore, anyway. Don't worry, this isn't a post about bitterness or ache. All that's pretty much faded, and I'm pretty much jaded. Nor is it a "Strangers, Again" mock-up. I actually don't know what this post is ultimately gonna be since I usually just let myself spaz out on the keyboard whenever I feel like writing. But I think anyone who's ever had a crush, longed to have someone to love and have someone love them in return, anyone who's currently dating and is taking it slow, or anyone who's finished licking their wounds from a breakup can relate to this post. Basically, if you have, at any point in your life, looked at someone (or at least stared into space and imagined an ideal someone) and felt the need to stifle a one-sided smile or swallow a brick to kill the butterflies mating against your stomach walls, then you more or less have the ability to - how shall I put it? - catch my drift.

I've been single for nearly 8 months now, and even though it's been a rough ride to get to where I stand today, I think I can now look at myself in the mirror every morning and tell from the arc of my eyebrows, the look in my eyes, the upturned corners of my lips, and from the way my shoulders pull themselves back that I'm a lot more okay today than I was the day/week/month/year before. Being in a 7-year relationship during your most formative years does have its effects. It sort of felt like being married at 14. Sure, you can give me crap about how true and lasting love should always feel like new love, with all its fleeting, blush-worthy, going-the-extra-mile moments. But the truth is, a long-term relationship is comprised mostly of days that aren't as sparkly as Valentine's Day, his/her birthday, the anniversary, or Christmas.

For example: When I have to get dressed for an ordinary day, I look through my closet for something comfortable, easy to pair pants and shoes with, and something that doesn't beg for attention. I can't always reach in there for my sparkly dress and hooker heels. I can't fix my hair so it falls perfectly everyday too. But I do still try to leave the house looking as presentable as possible. My supposed minimal effort, of course, comes with a side of hope that it's enough for the world outside my house, and maybe if I'm feeling off, that siding comes with a side of IDGAF and an expectation that most people don't pay attention to detail anyway. If it turns out to be a great day, then that's, well, great. But, if it doesn't and I come home with a tack stuck to my shoe, I'll just be thankful I survived.

That's pretty much how a long term relationship is. I'm gonna leave it up to you to analyze the analogy for yourself. I think you're old/smart enough to do that on your own. But just for clarity's sake, whether it's day 657 or day 1586 in your long-term relationship, if there's no real occasion, it's just not practical nor possible to always be giving each other gifts and flowers, going on splurge dates, having tantric wedding-night sex, and to always be verging on worshipping the ground he/she walks on or the underwear he/she's worn. In a "ripened" relationship, you and your partner will start to to walk on the same plane, or comfortable plateau. There's no more incessant need to impress and no more over-thinking your words and actions. When you end up fighting, you weren't really looking forward to it, but if you're gonna compare spilling red sauce on an ordinary shirt against spilling some on an expensive dress, in a way, you kind of just take it sans flipping out coz it's an ordinary day in an otherwise extraordinary relationship.

But, of course, like most things, some relationships end. Either you didn't have enough sparkly dresses, or your day-to-day choice of clothing just didn't cut it. When you're back to being single and/or dating, you have enough time to rinse the broken pieces of your heart under cold water, put it back together again, and when you're ready, give it to the highest bidder who thinks a crack here and there only makes your heart more of a rare find. 'Til then, we (or at least I) have 3 phases:

1. Ambivalence. More common in the first few months after a breakup. You want him/her back, but at the same time you're furious, insulted, and just downright indignant that you actually don't want anything to do with your ex. But then again, you miss being someone's special someone that you can't help but want to cave into the convenience of getting back together again with that person you know so much and who knows you better than you know yourself. You go around telling people you're fine, when it actually physically hurts sometimes. You go out more, try to distract yourself. Maybe you'll get a bit drunker than usual one night or a few nights and grapple with intimacy withdrawal symptoms. You will feel bad if you give into that need by letting that girl in the tiny skirt blow you in your car, or by letting that good-looking bad boy across the bar buy you a drink and shove his tongue down your throat. Whether its down the road of late nights, promiscuity and alcoholism, or the less fun route: wallowing in tears, self-pity and weight-gain - you will spiral down one way or the other. I had a taste of both. Believe me, neither spiral will get you anywhere. Which is why, friends and family are there to help you climb out. You won't be a pretty sight once you do, but you can take all the time you need to dust yourself off for the next phase.
2. Distance. What can you say? The first phase was hard on you. You're probably even still ashamed of all the bad decisions you made under the influence of the deadly combination of alcohol and loneliness. You also might have yourself convinced there's just no one good enough out there. You're dating left and right, sure, but you keep everyone at a safe distance. You don't reveal too much about yourself, and you keep your "getting to know you" questions superficial. You don't feel comfortable with anything with even a hint of romanticism. You're probably getting your healthy dose of wild, meaningless sex from a good friend, but with dates, you're a little skittish about even the most civil forms of physical contact. You build your castle walls, put rabid crocs (Damn right, they're rabid.) in your moat, and have paranoid midgets man your catapults. Distancing, hiding and burning a few bridges here and there are what it's all about for you right now. Can't blame you. Only an idiot who just burnt his finger on a kettle would touch it again five seconds later. This is the perfect time to meet new people, focus on family and friends, and give the glue you used to put the pieces of your heart back together ample time to dry. Let the glue dry first. You don't wanna end up in a spiral again.
3. Butterflies. Whether or not someone managed to slip past the previous phase's defenses, you're already thinking about those awesome firsts. Doesn't matter if you've already found someone, or you're still in search of someone who'd make those butterflies in your stomach have another orgy. You're already daydreaming. A first date with someone you've always thought was the bees knees and whom you've been dying to ask out for the longest time. That breath-taking rush of holding hands for the first time and you're panicking over either pulling away or risking going into cardiac arrest by going with it. Introducing him/her to your friends and watching them all get along, like you just knew they would. And, oh my god, THE FIRST KISS. Hell, you can make out with a hundred strangers in the previous phases, but the first kiss with someone who didn't fade away like the rest, is something you'd always wish you could put in a tiny, secret box so you could look at it and feel it any time you wanted. You don't even care how long it'll last. My first kiss EVER lasted about half a second, but like all first kisses with someone who matters, the kiss lingers on your lips for a few days after in the form of a smile that annoyingly ambushes you while you're in public. (I have to admit, I miss having a real first kiss. It's been more than 7 years, for crying out loud! Somebody get here and pull my heart strings violently already!) The only hard part about this phase is patience. Fantasizing can get anyone excited about anything, but you should never force it. That perfect date and perfect kiss good night will come only to those who wait… while looking cute and happy. What? You're gonna wait forever if you're glum, ugly and fat.

To be honest, I can't tell if I'm in the second stage or in the third. Somewhere in transition, I guess. I can't tear my walls down yet. My paranoid, midget catapult men won't have anywhere to go! So, there. Call it a pathetic excuse for a reflection on being recently single, but trust me, there is wisdom in what I've poured out. Hope I made at least some sense.

This allergy's being an itch

If my memory serves me right, I've been clawing at my skin for the past 16 hours. Now my skin is warm and splotchy red. I don't know, maybe I've finally found a real allergy? See, ever since, I've always believed I was bionic for not having any allergies. I'm not sickly either. Like, I've never been one of those people who treat a hospital like it's a hotel. Sounds ridiculous, I know, but such people exist and I'd like to think it's all deeply rooted in some fetish for unflattering lighting, inadequate cable TV, and the frustration of realizing real-life nurses don't give sex as part of therapy. So much for their porno dreams. So much for my bionic ones as well.

See last night, during my cousin's baptismal reception, I ate a shit load of dessert by Bizu. And when I say "shit load", I'd like to specify that it was an elephant's shit load. I actually reached the point where I actually couldn't look at the dessert in front of me. Like when a guy and a girl have too much sex in a span of a few hours. Looking, much less, physical contact would warrant a certain degree of aversion. Like that hair-raising, itchy feeling you get when you realize there's a bug on you. One bug, and yet you flail around and swat at yourself like you're in the middle of a locust plague.

The redness and the itching started sometime before I pushed my dessert plate away in disgust. I have a few theories.

1. Palms are itchy. I'M GETTING PAPER. It's an old saying, isn't it? Itchy palms means money's on its way. YES PLEASE. I need money. My dad halving my weekly allowance has been driving me up the wall. So is this his attempt at controlling my leisure, hmm? Well, well, well! I'll have you know, father, that it's… effective. Congratulations, you and your wallet successfully have me by the neck. Go fist-bump each other now.

2. Too much sugar makes me itch. I don't know how high my blood sugar levels rocketed last night, but itching is usually a diabetic's problem. So… this isn't really a theory then. It's more of me pondering possibilities. No, I'm not diabetic. Not in danger of being one either. I'll have you know I eat healthy.

3. I'm meant to die by my own hand. LITERALLY. Dear manicurist whom I thought was a total mediocre newb, I applaud you and the sturdy work you did on my fingernails. Despite hours and hours of scratching, they still look as good as new. Then again it's not like I'm scratching tree bark, but I'm pretty sure I'm capable of scratching myself to the bone.

So here I am, sleep-deprived with red scratch marks all over, verging on asking my mom to bind me in a strait jacket. I need to get back to reviewing for my boards. D-day's in 60 days and 16 hours, by the way. As soon as this post is up for you little devils to read, I'm gonna be shoveling Bioethics into my brain. I bet nowhere in any ethical code does binge dessert-eating justify incessant itching. Lord have mercy. :(

Trapped in a can of worms.

As I'm writing this post, half of my brain is dead to the world. It's 9:02AM, and I'm in school for no good reason. NO GOOD REASON. People go to school for school stuff, duh. But I find it funny how… no, I don't find this funny. Scratch that. I find it annoying how I'm practically TRAPPED in this god-forsaken gazebo because of the following:

1. I can't stay at home. See, I went out last night and I've had only about 3 hours of sleep, and my mother is hassling me with her whole "If you miss review class tomorrow (which is today), you're grounded for the whole summer" bit. I'd really, REALLY like to peruse the Bill of Rights for something… ANYTHING that says I have the fundamental right to bury myself in my bed for a few more hours and give my cellphone the finger once the alarm goes off at 6 A-fucking-M. So, I'm screwed either way. If I stay home, I'm grounded. If I go to class, I'm either gonna fall asleep 5 minutes in, or wage an epic battle against it (while looking retarded in my seat) and then fall asleep anyway 10 minutes in.

2. Friends with cars who can save me are still asleep. I think they actually have the copy of the updated Bill of Rights which has a whole section on additional hours of sleep and said hours' protection against MATERNAL BLACKMAIL. I'd wake them the fuck up but I'm not the kind of person who steps on other people's rights just to get what I want. Okay, maybe I am… but if I'm gonna have someone pick me up all the way from here, I should at least not make them cranky, or at least buy them overpriced coffee at a Starbucks. Apparently, I'm also the kind of person who doesn't have any money, hence I am forced (virtually DESTINED) to wait in this god-forsaken gazebo and spend a considerable amount of time marveling at how uncomfortable this stone bench is.

3. The nearest Starbucks might still be closed. Although, even if it were open, I don't think I'm ready to head over there just yet. So help me god, I will fall asleep and they'd probably think I'm a homeless person… who just happens to have a decent sense of style.

So, there. 3 reasons why I'm practically TRAPPED in this predicament. And, right now, out of boredom I thesaurus-ed the word 'predicament'. I'm trapped in a can of worms, guys. Either I find someplace to sleep unquestioned, someone takes me away from here, or I get over my lack of sleep and positivism and pretend to be one of those rich kids who become extra productive in coffee shops.