oh, what do you call that again? Oh yes. Angst.

“Why do the best things in life sometimes come at the wrong time, when the only options are grab it now, or never have it again?”

So says a text message from my guy bestfriend. As much as I do not really like texted quotes (I have a very limited inbox in my crappy crappy phone), I found that I cannot delete this message. I agreed with it. Truly, the best things come by when you know that the wise thing to do is to just say no, and risk it to be gone forever.

But  isn’t that exactly the point? Temptation is no good unless it’s something you really really desire. To be able to say no to it is what builds your character; to be able to make that hard decision is what makes you great.  To not succumb to what is easy and frivolous is truly a very difficult predicament. But that is exactly the point. You will not build muscle unless you are given resistance.

*****

The past week had not been particularly hellish, but it was a huge struggle. For some reason, I cannot drum up enough energy to work properly, which in turn, screwed up my sense of urgency. I found my patience to be lower, and my appetite swung from being ravenous one minute, and everything-tastes-like-cardboard the next.

So. Classic sign of an impending painful period. Check.

Now that I am not so emotional though, I found that there were some points I am grateful for in retrospective.

It was Tuesday night that the previously dormant parent-daughter shouting match had been risen and wrecked havoc on all of Asia. Well, this dot of Marikina anyway. And the point of the argument: eating while working on their PC.
It was petty, but as parent-daughter shouting matches go, it escalated to topics I am not even sure what the point was. Overall though, daughter came out as the worst specimen in the world.

In restrospect though, it was good. I admit I have been slacking off, with everything. I had been depressed for a year now, which is probably the longest I’ve gone denying it.  Or not doing anything about it. My favorite therapy had always been bitching, but since there is no one to bitch to, I feel like everything is trapped inside, while trickles of the worst venom seep out and spread over everyone I talk to. Having my parents scream at me for something as inane as snacks next to the PC was partly refreshing, and partly a huge kicking in the balls (theoretically). I didn’t say it wasn’t annoying and stupid, but it did wake me up. You cannot build muscle when you’re slacking off.

Yes, I am grateful for troubles. I may bitch on and on about it, I may say that I don’t want it anymore, I may try to run away especially when I do not know what to do.

But being forced to face reality is what makes you strong. Feeling that weakness and helplessness and fighting it is what makes you great.

The battle is only truly won when you can appreciate what it took to get to the top.

******

I see my contemporaries now, and I know they’re living easy lives. I am living a fairly easy life. We have nothing to fight for. They say fight for democracy but we are so far beyond the reach of actually feeling it that we most of the time do not understand what we say. We don’t feel it, so we do not truly care.

To be honest, I do not truly care. I should, it is my duty. But my life is easy, and my troubles are limited to petty parental shouting matches, trivial work inconveniences, and irrelevant overthinking of a non-existent love life. My caring is limited to slacktivism, as some people now call it. It is frustrating, to have nothing to actually fight for.

I am living a shallow life, a life that is mostly make-believe because I cannot feel anything.

the post that was for last last Friday.

Someone said that celebrating Independence Day in the middle of the Con-Ass controversy is irrelevant already. I disagree. In truth, Independence Day should be even more celebrated. No matter what farce people say the 1898 Independence was, it was still the first moment in time we as Filipinos have declared that we deserve democracy. We stood up for ourselves that long long time ago. It should be celebrated.

I find it funny that it was Independence Day, but most people are either lamenting or rejoicing the Lakers’ win. Maybe it’s a hypocritical thing to say, as we as Filipinos can’t really help but root for basketball, but it’s amusing for me to watch people argue the Lakers vs. Orlando match. Uh, we’re neither from Florida nor LA. We are spectators, we don’t count in their “we”. We as Filipinos get affected by basketball, sure. But don’t count yourself as part of “them”. “They” don’t even consider you as part of “them”.

***********

Just because you feel an attraction doesn’t mean that you should act on it. There is still the very big consideration on whether it would work out. There is still that big consideration of whether you would actually stay together through thick and thin.

As much as I like this person right now to the point of distraction/madness/stupidity, I must restrain myself. We clearly do not have a future together. We are too alike and too different at the same time, in all the wrong ways. I should not even be thinking about this, much more write about it. But given the fact that I do not have a best friend anymore to use as a sounding board, I don’t think I have much choice but to write it down to ensure my sanity.

It is very difficult, not having a best friend. I’m so used to talking about these things that bother me, of being able to trust that one person in the entire world who can tell what I really feel, who can tell me all the things I didn’t want to hear but had to. I miss my best friend, but through some unknown reason, she’s done with me. And while people I know will tell me to talk it out with her, I can’t because she doesn’t want to speak to me. If it is an ever again kind of thing, I don’t know; but I do know that it hurt and I should just console myself by pretending not to care. I should just go on living my life, which by the way is rockin’ right now. No matter what a bitch work is, I am still pretty much fulfilled and happy. Except when I remember that part.

Funny, I lost two friends this year already. I must be doing something awful, and I must not be that great friend I always thought I was.

(well, we talked, but not enough. See, outwardly we seem OK, but that’s exactly the thing. We never ‘talk’ anymore. And there is no room for it too. But hey. My expertise is in my supposed moving on.)

***************

“There is no such thing as ready,” she says. “There’s just willing.” – Toni, Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist

It hit me with a dull thud that ensured the onslaught of a rather long shock. I am almost 25. I live with my parents, and I do not have a penny to my name. I work my ass off for a company that is probably exploiting me, but I am too scared to actually figure out if they are. I love what I do, but everyday makes me feel like a huge fraud. I am an awful driver, and my love life is limited to imagined situations that I conjure up in order to fall asleep at night.

I am such a loser.

I don’t think I will ever be ready for adulthood. The thing is, if there will be any time in the future that I shall be willing, this would have been it.

What I wouldn’t give to be an actual responsible adult capable of handling herself? I still have to build my true self-esteem, and stop relying on the confidence that I fake. I want to be able to say exactly what I want, and be sure that it is what I wanted.

the paradox of knowing.

When I was a third year high school student and still didn’t have the wisdom to not be emo, I heard that my highschool crush liked that girl who liked him back.

It all seems blurry, but I remember walking out of the canteen, into the quad, and bitterly telling Bianca, “I wish I didn’t know.”

Bianca looked at me then and said, her voice laced with contempt reserved for stupid people, “Isn’t it better that you knew it now than later on when they’re already together?”

+++++++

I’m still carrying with me that unknown sense of giddiness from last Friday. It has mostly evaporated, but a considerable part is still there, making it a lot easier to smile even when technically, by the imaginary points I use to measure abstract concepts, everything is fucked up.

Funny, that unknown reason why I’m smiling is actually a part of that fucked up everything.

But still, my mind refuses to process a lot of things now. I let myself enjoy this feeling, because even if I didn’t learn anything else from the past years, that at least I learned. I should not overthink these feelings. I should enjoy it, because they are truly ephemeral.

Part of me has that iron-grip on reality though. It does not want to let me go and enjoy things fully, without a thought of consequence. It is there, reminding me of the reality that no matter how I feel, it has been programmed into me to process these things, if only in the initializing stage of overthinking.

But to tell the truth, I am very grateful that I know it now. Ignorance is bliss, but ignorance and I have never truly gotten along. Ignorance is fickle, because at one point or the other, reality bitchslaps you from nowhere and ignorance betrays you.

Now I understand that though it kind of slightly hurts to know that there will never ever be anything between us, I know enough now to keep myself from actually loving you the way I loved before. I know that even though everything from now on is marred by the thought that you will never ever like me that way again, for some reason I don’t even need to hear, I have treasured this feeling now. Just now, and I am ready when it fades away, just like all other feelings.

*************

There was post before this, but it was in the other computer. It was about Independence Day, and the Lakers game, I think. Something. There was also mention about losing friends, about not knowing, but not needing to.

************

As much as I’m not one for shameless plugging, I’d have to share that I am giddy with excitement at the thought that Inday Espina-Varona of the Philippine Graphic quoted me. ME.

Imagine my expletive-peppered-suprise-induced yell at Relly when he told me.

As Mia said, it’s writer’s ego. It’s probably nothing to the rest of the world, probably even nothing to Ma’am Espina-Varona. But for someone who had dreaded OJT because she didn’t think she was cut out to be a journ practitioner, for someone who was so scared to graduate because 4 years didn’t seem enough, for someone who continually feels like a fraud even now that she has answered the call, it is very much appreciated. I am very much humbled. Thank you ma’am. It was an inspiration.

high school goggles

I think I have the High School goggles on.

After several viewings of Monsters Vs. Aliens last month, I now find myself craving and longing to watch the Hannah Montana movie, and 17 Again, both of which may be good movies in themselves but has little value for 24-year-old me. In fact, I’m so proud of wanting to watch these nonsensical flicks, I’m even watching Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist again this Saturday.

Ok, so Nick and Norah isn’t exactly of the same grain as Hannah Montana or Zac Efron in 17 Again. But the point is, it’s not a movie that is for my age. I’m supposed to be a level-headed, responsible adult of above-average IQ. And yet I spoil my brain with these fluff.

Not only that, I have been frying my brain with senseless trashy books too. I have just recently blown a considerable amount of my leisure budget on trashy Mills&Boon and Harlequin romances. Yes, I know some are very good reading, and I cannot deny that my fascination for history started with trashy historical romances with their plucky heroines and incredibly-unreal leading men, but the realization that my bookshelves are peppered with more romance novels than veritable good reading is rather unsettling. And it didn’t help that I bought three more last Wednesday (two of which I’ve already finished).

In How I Met Your Mother, Robin said that she can’t help liking her ex-boyfriend again no matter what a loser he is, because he represented a time in her life when everything was a possibility. Hmm. Maybe. But thinking about it, people don the High School goggles as a defense mechanism. Regression, I think it was called, if I remember my psychology teacher right. Of course, cleaning one’s room to find remnants of long past high school and college life can send one on a rolling trip through memory lane.

****

I keep wondering why I’m hung up on teenage romance, or the thought of romance itself that part of me is blaming it on the “Sandcastles In The Sand” encounter last month. It was so surreal that Monique’s invitation to be my pretend-girlfriend is still a huge win for me, and still makes me grin mischievously. And as much as seeing my highschool crush again after all these years is amusing, it’s not something I would wanna repeat. It’s a bit harrowing and you can’t help it– you will devolve back to the same mousy, self-esteem challenged girl you were in high school.

Hence, the High School goggles.

But really, I think I’m indulging myself on trashy romance novels because it is the ultimate fiction for me. Chuck Palahniuk’s Diary or Crooked Little Vein from that good newbie author whose first name is William– they are not all that unreal for me. I seriously think that I will encounter that kind of surrealism in real life. But the sweep-off-your-feet kind of instant love that romance novels commonly suggests, now that is something that never really happens.

Again, I am sounding bitter. But I’m not, really. It’s just a recognition of something that is too farfetched in my world. People do not see each other across a crowded room and decide to fall in love. I think humans are too scared for that. Intelligent ones, that is. Oh well, love is silly.

*****

Everyone else is off falling in love and acting stupid and goofy and sweet and insane, but not me. Why don’t I want that more? I *want* to want that… am I wired wrong or something?

-Robin Scherbatsky, How I Met Your Mother

landian.

How, in the name of all that is holy, did I ever become keso?

Why did it suddenly become natural to dish out compliments? Why am I suddenly flirting??

Not saying that my flirting is ever effective. It’s just so obviously a come on, and I shudder-slash-laugh-slash-kilig thinking about it.

What the hell?? In a way, I like it.

***********

My Saturdays are usually spent drinking with friends from places that are not usual. In fact, there is barely any thread that connects us, but through some miracle of fate, we’re friends. I may not be as close to them as they are to each other, but being part of that group, being around that bohemian, free-sprited, openly gago aura, is enough for now.

This Saturday tho, Cubao X will be devoid of our presence. Con and the others will troop to the beach, Sidd will be having her gallery opening, and Nii will most probably be trying to avoid Valentine’s Day. As for me, I shall be attending a prom.

Yes, a prom. At 24. It’s just another crazy idea that I am very thankful appeals to my other group of friends. (WTF, I’m suddenly popular?) This group of friends, work friends, is a cartoon realized. We’re a fookin’ sitcom. We’re fuckin’ Dawson’s Creek. Immaturity for the win!

I’m not saying we’re too immature. It’s just that the dynamics of this group is very cartoonish, which is amusing and heart-warming in a cartoonish and stereotypical kind of way.

And yet, in the real-life sitcoms I’ve been, I’m still the eternally single friend.

****************

So. I am laying all my efforts on this new guy I like, but am not in danger of falling in love with. Why not? Well, I’m just not in love with him. That simple.

Doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t flirt with him. A little—a lot. A little lot. Mehe. Theperfect thing is he remains oblivious, or  he pretends to be oblivious so as to spare my feelings of rejection.

The thing is,  I don’t really care. He’s a happpy crush, someone to brighen up an otherwise rotten day. He’s there to amuse me and to make me feel better about myself. And that I could tease him and be flirty with him means that I don’t care about what he thinks and if he left I wouldn’t be crushed.

I love having crushes that won’t crush you.

***********

Dear Diary, Carlo sat beside me today….

-so says that classic hotdog commercial

the last bit before I go to bed.

To tell the truth, I am fookin depressed. I don’t know what I’m depressed about so don’t ask.

Maybe it is PMS-ing or some weird shit going around the moon phases or something, but yeah. I’m kinda fucked up in places I’m not so sure if they are justifiable. Whatever.

I feel like I’m drunk without the high, carelessly barrelling through things I should be giving a damn about. I do give a damn, to tell the truth, but my reflexes are slow, and I have no focus on my priorities.

It’s shitty. Worse, I think I’m like this merely because of cowardice.

Cowardice, I tell you.

In fifth grade, my mom made me go to this camp thing (which I enjoyed, despite being stuck in the middle of a forest, having to face a friggin athletic obstacle course, with rich spoiled brats), and as part of the said cursed obstacle course, I had to cross a very short felled log over a foot-wide creek. The creek was so narrow, I didn’t really have to go through that bridge; I could just skip over it. But one of the guides said I had to, and being the incredibly passive girl I was — am— I stepped on the effing log. Now, I had just finished Slide For Life and Rapelling and some other nerve-wrecking Rope Bridges, all done with a devil-may-care quickness and desire to impress with my boyishness. And yet, the moment both my feet were on that log, I froze.

I think that was when I first understood the meaning of fear.

It was completely illogical. The worst that could happen was that I would get my feet wet. And yet, for some strange strange reason, I could not move a muscle on that bridge. I scared to fall.

Oh hey look. I just psychoanalyzed myself.

*****************

I have colds again. Really, how are they doing with the cure for the common cold?

*****************

Cowardice has an unlimited shelf life.

-Xander Harris, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1997)

i blame the full moon.

Oh hey, hi.

I haven’t blogged for a while— well, ok, I have, but mostly they were too embarrassingly emo to release to the entire weblogniverse so they’re in private mode. Whatever. Disclaimer: I am not on drugs nor drunk. It’s just a sheer randomness and utter frustration over things that drive my fingers today so bear with me.

***************

I feel like I’m nursing this huge balloon inside my chest (no, it’s not really the reason for my chest’s size either), and I feel like I might burst in the most morbidly cool fashion. Cool in the sense that you will be stunned by my sudden implosion that you might just stand there in awe at how absurdly cool it was, drenched to the bone in my green slime. (I dunno why it has to be green, but that’s the vision I’m getting).

I’m frustrated and oddly secure and my head does not ever stop and I just want to figure out whether it is better to be wise, and logical, and not feel, or be stupid and great and  emo. Honestly, I don’t think I can afford to be either, so I’ll just stay as my usual contradicting self. I’m just not so sure if that self is really worth having around.

I am too snide and arrogant and incredibly hard to live with, and I don’t blame people for not wanting me around. I’m having a month-long episode, and no, it does not concern love. Thank friggin god.

************************

Speaking of, my self-esteem has been raking in points and lifting me from my self-imposed social pariahness. Somebody actually likes me. Ha.

Ok, it may not be the sing-and-dance love thing that everybody seems to be so preoccupied of, but it’s a start. It means that I may not one of the hotter girls, but I could still make a guy look twice. Or thrice. Or one long one.

It means that exercising my feminine wiles is not an exercise in futility.

But being the ever pessimistic, knowing these things, as much as it has provided me with newfound arrogance, has just built me the concept of my ideal boyfriend.

Which, in my opinion, is bad. One should not build an idea of the ideal. That’s stupid. And the more bricks you lay on your ideal, the less probability it is to actually find that and be happy. It’s directly proportional.

I am not building my hopes on “matalino, gwapo, mayaman” and all that bullshit. If it were merely those things, it would be incredibly easy. My bricks are being laid on things incredibly rare, that only a miracle can actually provide them. Or maybe, the miracle is that when I find that person who does not fit, I would not actually care about my standards.

Yep, I hope for that miracle.

***********************

The full moon is messing with my head. I must go to bed now.

warp skip.

I’m fookin’ tired.

This constant rush of irrelevant and unimportant strong feelings exhausts me. I cannot keep up with my almost non-existent sanity with this sad mix of hormones and bipolar-ness. Worse is that with these incredibly confusing feelings make me forget who I have established I was.

It’s back to the drawing board I guess.

*********************

Because DeviantArt is being a fart:

This is something I wrote even before I read Twilight. Mostly, it was inspired by a friend on Chathour, and was meant to be something open to interpretation.

Run.

You told me to run so I did.

I’ve never been one to heed an advice, but there was something in your voice that told me it would be a good idea to, at that moment. There was a certain… danger– urgency– and, was it my imagination– pain, that I could not bear to argue with. So when you told me to run, in an uncharacteristically quiet voice, I did.

I didn’t understand what happened really. We were simply laughing over some nonsensical thing, something so trivial it did not even matter why it should be funny. And then a look. And then a fleeting glance. And then I noticed how the candlelight cast shadows in your eyes, how the flickering lights made your eyes look mirror-like and endless at the same time. How your profile seemed sharper in the dim glow of the votives, there for no other reason than to illuminate that dark basement when the lights went out. How your hands seemed to reach for me, but you just left them on your lap.

And then you told me to run, so I did.

So now I’m here, all out of breath, wondering why I ran. Regretting too, that I didn’t just stay and hold your hand. Then maybe, the things that happened next hadn’t happened. Then maybe, there wouldn’t be this empty feeling inside, as if I lost something very very precious, but it’s just too late.

*******

Honestly, I’m seriously freaked by PoL (no, he doesn’t read my blog haha). He has this habit of weirdly appearing at times that I don’t think I consciously call him, but need him just the same. He’s more of a warning, though, than a guardian angel. Someone in the cosmos is playing a very unfunny joke.

*********

I wish there is a way to actually Warp Skip real life.

I do understand the wisdom behind not being able to, but really, it would save me a lot of humiliation.

See, the thing is, I have a good memory for things needed to be analyzed (as long as they are not math-related), and I have a fairly good bend on my learning curve, but I often forget the lessons I’ve learned when I’m flustered. Yes, I would need to toggle on the Composure stat, but really, that one costs the most for me. And when I’m flustered, I forget who I am supposed to be. Not the part I’m acting, but more of the things I’ve already established as Denice-ness.

Isn’t it just a tad bit too sad when you don’t know yourself anymore? Or worse, when you see yourself and you’re hating you for being…that?

I guess it’s the epitome of being alone when even your own self won’t party with you.

the idea of happiness

*whispers* (I’m in the ‘interesting read’ list of Ian Casocot. I know it’s a little thing, and probably he just didn’t know where to put my blog in his links, but little things make me happy today.^^)

***************************

Christmas is coming, and with that is the New Year. Now, admittedly, I’ve been waiting for the New Year since March so I could talk about really good things that happened to me this year, and that was still March. The second half of the year kind of screwed me over, but fresh out of the catastrophe, I could say that it was still worth the best year of my life.

I’m probably saying this only because I’m on a strange high, but really, for the lack of a more encompassing term, 2008 for me had been the most interesting. It was a year of many firsts, many risks, and huge ton of learning. I’ve managed to feel the entire prism of emotions (Ok, so not entire, but a healthy fraction of it), and I feel like I’ve come back a full circle. Strangely, everything feels like it’s fallen into place. That has never really happened before.

*********************

You can’t leave, you know. You shouldn’t. If I get used to you being gone, I won’t find the need for you. And needing you makes me happy. Needing you makes me remember that I am connected to the world. You are my silver cord.

I just hope that you would need me too.

*********************

I was wondering: if I’m happy with a mere idea, should that be enough?

The thing is, even though it is a mere idea, something probably trivial and too friggin ethereal for real-world application, it is something that makes me happy.But yeah, I do realize how dangerous being enamored by that idea could be.

The idea that something could actually call my wall bullshit is both scary and interesting. It’s like a suicidal teen being saved from falling off the building: a confusing mixture of gratitude and rebellion. It triggers a fight-or-flight reaction, and I’m not really sure which course would be wisest.

Or maybe I should just stop whining how happy I should not be and just enjoy it.

**************

What makes us discontented with our condition

is the absurdly exaggerated idea we have of the happiness of others.

-A French Proverb

changing atmosphere.

Yes, I do realize my birthday blog has been 20 days late. And I can’t really blame work, because basically, on top of it all, I still managed to level my BiteFight vampire to Level 6 in less than a month.

This time though, I am not claiming laziness. I guess it was a bit of self-preservation. And hope. It was this inexplicable survival instinct that made me decide to keep some things to myself for once, instead of announcing it to the whole of cyberspace. Nonetheless, whether I wrote about it or not, it was a rather fun birthday. In a nutshell, Mitch and K kidnapped me, and I was counting on their utter lack of direction to not find my house. Apparently, I have a traitor sister who did not only give the directions, but also coerced the Saisaki house band to sing me Engelbert Humperdinck songs during my birthday dinner.

**************

The rain has stopped. Now the silence just feel deafening.

In a good way, if I really think about it. The lack of steady pattering on my rooftop gives me a chance to clearly hear my thoughts, and the cleared air gives me a chance to breathe without suffocating on my own breath.

And the rain didnt stop because I wanted it to stop. No amount of shelter or umbrella or covering could ever keep the rain from falling. But the point is, I didn’t drown, no matter how heavy it fell.

********************

Forgive me, my discriminating self is showing.

Another social network, another weirdness on the internet. Plurk is fast gaining popularity, and with that popularity is the rise in the number of nutrient-deficient people. I seriously do not understand how I get fans on that site, and why they add me in the first place. I am seriously bewildered, and frankly a bit scared, because as much as I do not want to make those status messages private, strangers who are seriously strange are commenting on it. If this were real life, I would have given them the look that would have crushed their egos to little tiny microscopic pieces.

******************

My vanity has taken an uplift lately, partly due to the fact that i can see things more clearly now, thanks to contact lenses; and partly due to the fact that those same contact lenses are colored “cinnamon”. Up to now, I still surprise myself when I glimpse of my reflection, and same as Twilight’s Bella in the 4th book, I just can’t stop looking at myself.

Yep, Twilight. The fever has touched me too, but not as much as it did other people I know. *Cough Louie Cough* Although I am very much one of those people who have to grab her panties at the mere thought of Edward Cullen, I do recognize the fact that– sheesh, don’t kill me for this– it’s not that good of a book. The movie, in all it’s patches, was actually better for me.

For one thing, the Twilight series didn’t really have a moving plot. It was more of a “what if?” kind of scenario. I remember someone once telling me how unfair Stephanie Meyer seems, because she basically just wrote her daydreams, and she’s now a millionaire because of it.

Another gripe is the total lack of consequence in the Twilight universe. Everything about Bella Swann had to fall into place. I mean, come on! For someone who was not supposedly strikingly beautiful, every boy liked her. How much more fantastical could you get?

Still, character-wise, it was one of the more memorable ones I’ve read and watched. The movie’s characters were well-cast, and the books’ development of those characters were pretty much consistent. I just can’t over the icky taste in my mouth when I realized how emo Edward Cullen actually is.

**************

Speaking of Twilight, a girls’ night out after the special screening led me to remember one of the greatest vampire series I’ve ever read. No, not Anne Rice– this would kick Anne Rice’s sorry behind. This, despite being uncelebrated, is the best alt-universe I could think of.

This is NightWorld.

****************

I will tell of that world, but not now, cos I just realized that it’s 1am and I have to try and not be late tomorrow. Trying counts.

***************

Yes… No… To get to the other side… 1.772…

-Robert Pattinson as Edward Cullen, Twilight (2008)