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)

of the past months

If you really think about it, it was a betrayal.

It was a betrayal because I was not really told beforehand. In effect, everything happened while I was being fed something else, I was being lulled in a false sense of security and utter bullshit.

Strangely, I’m still happy.

My ability to adjust is astounding.

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

The past months have been the most surreal I’ve been in.

It’s scary, in a way. How I seem to accept that these things are nothing but normal is definitely not normal. I don’t want to see or feel things that aren’t mine, and my head seems screwed on wrong. I feel like I’m swirling in a cloud of black, and everything is suffocating but oddly fragrant. Like you don’t wanna smell it anymore, but you just can’t help yourself.

To tell the truth, it’s tiring. Very very tiring. I’ve always known I’m different, but not this different. I thought that in time, everything would be rationalized, but sadly everything I say is being accepted as the truth. I need someone to contradict me.

It doesn’t mean that I’m not scared to be proven wrong. At this moment, I am very very scared that I might be wrong. And being wrong in this case is utterly disastrous. If I am wrong, I will be ruining not only me, but people around me as well. If I am wrong, I’ll be headed towards a major splatter that not even the Jann days could compare to. If I’m wrong, I’m gonna have to uproot myself from a place I don’t really want to leave.

Times like these, I need my person of light.

*********

But then, the person of light cannot save me as well.

There are just somethings that you either get over, or you crumble and die. And wonders, I still exist. My ability to bounce back from shit may be astounding, but it doesn’t mean that it didn’t forever change me. It doesn’t mean I do not harbor some kind of bitterness, no matter how small, deep within me. I just choose to ignore it.

Sometimes it grows too big, too strong that it has a mind of its own. It develops a will of its own. Those times, I run, because I do not want to irrevocably upset the status quo. But black sheep will inevitably do that, and accepting the inevitable may be the only way to survive in this case.

No, I am not ok. But I will be. I’m slowly climbing back on to that high plateau I was thrown from, and the effort consumes me. Nevertheless, I will get there, to that same plateau, even higher perhaps. I will get better, because the alternative is just too sad, too desolate, to accept.

And in the process, I will have to let go of things, people, that are not good for me. For my emotional survival. I have to let go of that rope that connects us, and learn to find my own way through the rocks. This is where I will test my strength, my mettle, my world-famous ability to comprehend and forgive. I will not forget though. I have it tattooed on my skin.

I will get better, because I have to understand that I love me more than anything else. No matter how wonderful my friends are, and no matter how much they love me, in the end, everybody is disposable. I must learn to cope without anybody, without anything, but myself.

Thus is the destiny of she who stands alone.

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

The interpretation of our reality through patterns not our own,

serves only to make us ever more unknown, ever less free, ever more solitary.
-Gabriel Garcia Marquez

of ends

Several years ago, a friend read my Tarot cards. She said that I will have a friend who could be “zeh one” if we could work things out. But, she told me that we won’t, and added that the same situation would happen again with another friend. And then, after all that, my Tarot revealed that I would close my heart.

I think I just heard the slam of that heart’s door.

defining denice.

I, for one, am totally screwed.

Here we go again.

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

I hate bullsh*t.

There are a few things I hate, but most of all, I hate bullsh*t. I truly despise people having to be fake with me. Even when I don’t fully understand, I try to listen anyway. So I don’t see the point. I tell people that when they talk to me, I don’t judge. Ok, maybe I do, a bit in my head, but that’s personal bias and everybody has them, and I truly try to understand better. So it’s insulting for me that I put that much effort into understanding it, and you’re still hiding from me.

I do bullsh*t for a living. Give me a fookin break.

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

Right now, I need to be able to define me.

It’s scary how you could lose your whole identity when someone unconsciously rocks your world. I’m still not sure if it’s a good rock, like \m/… or a bad rock, like a very terrible terrible earthquake.

I’ve lost my footing. I was a whole person a month ago. Now, I am not really broken or split. I’m more like the soul is off from the body. Like somehow, I was misplaced. I thought I was full, but then I was shaken and a lot more of my granules settled at the bottom, so now I’m lacking again.

I really don’t like this feeling. I’d use a stronger word, but hate is all I could think of right now. I guess it’s another of those few things. But having lost control of how I feel and how much I’d care is totally annoying. Frustrating. My emotions are my decisions, how come they’re not cooperating when I decide “No”?

To think I’ve been down this road before. I know what will happen. I’m not sure I want to experience that thrill ride again. I don’t want to be stupid again, not when I know better.

So today, I’ll try to define me. To be as honest with myself as much as possible, so that I won’t have to bullsh*t myself either. I need to know what parts of me are me, and what are extensions.

1. I have a habit of infusing myself with people I like. Parts and pieces of me, habits, characteristics, they are basically a mash of people I admire and I made a collage out of it in my personality. “You define yourself with people you are with.” I’d have to rummage to see which ones aren’t mine.

2. I am only one person. And that is a “what-you-see-is-what-you-get” kind of person. I don’t hide much, because what you see is complicated enough as it is. I’m a huge painting with lots of elements in it, and you’d derive a different interpretation every time you bother to look. I don’t show you a new me. I’ve given you everything, it only differs on how much you notice. I don’t care whether you like me or not, because I don’t want to put in the effort of making you like me. I am not out to convince anybody.

3. When I say something about me that sounds like a put-down, I’m not putting myself down. I love myself. I am very selfish. I just happen to interpret those negative words as something actually positive. When I say that I am not pretty, it doesn’t mean I pity myself. It means I know what I look like, and I love me for it. Don’t insult me with faintly veiled pity. Tell me things only when you mean them.

4. I contradict myself constantly. That is why I need someone to be completely honest with me, for once. Even though it would hurt. I’d rather swallow the bitter pill when I know it’s the bitter pill. I won’t be traumatized into not eating chocolate because you lured me with one with a hidden pill in it.

5. I hate myself when I am in love. Love is an anachronistic concept, and it is not supposed to be part of what I want for me. Sadly, I feel that I am made for that purpose alone, and fulfilling that is a challenge I don’t really want to face. I am not anymore that naive little girl who mocks the mountains. I am fully aware on how the mountains will swallow me.

6. My pride cannot accept the concept of being only second-best. I am not a competitive person, but I am certainly not one to settle for mediocrity. When things are circumstantial, I do not let myself be that person you settle for. I am not a consolation prize.

7. I am someone people constantly ignore. For the record, I am not pitying myself. This is merely the way things are. When I talk, it is rare I dominate the conversation. When I meet someone new, my name is easily forgotten. And I don’t really resent it. I am happy being ignored– that way I don’t have to deal with more bullsh*t. I am very much self-centered, so I don’t really need anybody else to share me with. It bothers me when someone could see me, and I’ll try to drive that person away by showing him/her more of me so he/she would overdose. So far, it has backfired on me.

8. I have no use for masks. I think they are merely decorative, a veiled representation of disguise when you truly want to be noticed.

9. My capability to adjust is astounding. It may take me a while, but I almost always accept the inevitable. It doesn’t mean that I won’t try butting the wall, but when acceptance dawns, I go with the flow and try it another angle. This helps me strategize better. When there’s a traffic jam, find a sidestreet.

10. It bothers me that I may not be as intelligent as I think I am. I am rather shallow, my depth is merely a reflection on how much you know. I have been told I lack tact. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to be babied to the harsh truth and what I do to others, I want to be done to me. I may be again mocking the universe, and I am fully aware on how this could bite me in my non-existent ass, but I’d rather have that pill.

11. They say strength is something other people see in you. Maybe, because I don’t see why you say I’m strong, when I constantly need someone else to be strong for me. I may not need anybody to be whole, but I want a partnership, someone to be there to cover what I’ve missed.

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

I am such a complication. I don’t even know how I got into this mess.

Gosh Bes, I’m so sorry.

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

It pains me that Miley Cyrus sang what defines my world right now. Couldn’t have it been sung by someone less annoying?

I want to be with the one I know.

- 7 things, Miley Cyrus

i confuse myself.

They said there are thousands of kinds of colds, which is why there is no cure for the common cold, because there is no such things as a common cold anyway. So, whatever virus strain of colds this is, I’m happy that it’s just a light tickling sensation in my nose, mostly because being slightly sick today is a product of an uber-strange night reconnaissance.

Not reconnaissance in the strictest sense, but a night stalking still. We were on a quest, K and I. And last night was, though we had different reasons, is a strangely good anecdote. Unlike in literature though, there is no narrator to explain the purpose and meaning. It was merely a literal walk in the rain.

Too literal, really. After being tired of being run over by people despite sitting at the farthest end of the hallway, that strange boy K and this strange girl Denice went out in the fudging rain and walked. No mean feat, but when you take into account that K does not have any (and I mean any at all!) sense of direction, and the rain fogs up my glasses, Makati at night is almost equivalent to a labyrinth. A muddy, wet, labyrinth where all the buildings look the same. Once in a while you’d spot an lonely Jollijeep in the road… and then realize that there are myriad lonely Jollijeeps in the area. We parked the car a stone’s throw away from the building, and yet for a certain trip, we just walked from Rufino to Greenbelt 1. And back. Through another way. To get lost again.

Well, to say that we were actually lost is a bit of an exaggeration. I have a fairly good sense of direction, and hello, we were just in Makati. In reality it was a bit of a mere small-ish challenge. I was relatively dry (I mean, compared to K, because he graciously lent me his jacket), and I was not under the threat of death nor pain. It was merely a genius idea to try and wade through Makati’s streets. Next time, I want to do it in Manila, where there is actual danger in streets you don’t know. Makati is still quite safe. Invigorating as it was, it was a mere moment. Not so much as a grand adventure, but it was note-worthy all the same.

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

I got in! W00t to me.

But that means I will be remembering a day I swore not to remember this year. Hmm. Maybe next year then. At least now, I won’t tear inside everytime I remember what the day held for me years ago. It is a small relief that I cannot even recall how long ago it was. I hope I wont remember that day too. Soon.

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

I repeat myself, don’t I?

Mostly, the stuff you see on this blog is just a repeat of what I was saying some months ago, and I even write the same passages. Have I run out of things to say?

I don’t think so. It’s just that there are lots of things out there to experience, too many things to become and to want and to have and to live out, but I can’t put it all into words. I confine myself in my comfort zone, so I end up repeating myself. In a way, there aren’t many new thing in life, only repeats and rehashes of the same boring story. But, the difference is that you would feel different each and everytime. The beloved childhood story does not seem as phenomenal when you hear it again in your grown up years. What used to be a trivial plot point in a movie now seems to be more poignant and life-altering. And sometimes, a song lyric now means more to you now than ever. But tomorrow, it would just be words.

Which is kind of exactly my point. Mostly these are just words, and we are merely the ones who assign meanings and concepts to it. Mostly, things happen inside of us, and we tend to overthink, and thus, overreact. But in reality, nothing ever really happened.

I think that was me attempting to be simpler. Shallower and more philosophical. I’ve confused myself.

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

I realize that I have contradicted myself lots of times. I must be hanging around K too much.

With you, I am lost. Without you I find myself.

-from the shirt of a manong inside last night’s jeep.

this blog has been victimized by the commitment-phobe.

Contrary to popular belief, this blog is not dead.

So, I’ve been away for months and months. Mostly because I have lots of things to share, but I had no motivation to share them. I am– was– on a self-imposed exile.

Well, not really. People see me all the time, me being my usual nomad self. But in a way, I was not out there, even when I physically was. Somehow, I’m just not into sharing myself, and that in turn, made me into a preachy know-it-all, an insufferable beotch on a friggin high horse.

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

I can’t say if there are lots of changes about me. I can’t tell. Even with new people I know, new surroundings, and new purpose, I don’t seem to feel the change. I wish I did, so at least I would have a measure on whether I progress or not.

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

I’m pretty much sure that, as much as I’ve learned tons from SOTE, he surely fucked me up.

OK, probably that was a bit too graphic, but I meant that somehow, with all the things that I learned from him, he also left a screwdriver in that kinda messed up my mechanism. Hmm… still doesn’t sound as wholesome as I mean it.

So, Denice, explain: In a way, I’m glad that I have had SOTE in my life, because he made me want to grow and not be the snivelling fool I was when I was younger. But that doesn’t mean that I don’t wonder what I would have been if I never met him and experienced that hell.

If I didn’t go through all that shit, I would have been more trusting. I would have been free-er, more open, and definitely more blissfully ignorant. I would definitely learn to love easily.

BUt as it is, I can’t fall in love anymore. Not as easily as the first time anyway.

Before, all it needed was a decision. To tell myself that I probably am in love, and reality would catch up and I would have fallen, just like that. But nowadays, I spend most of my time convincing myself why I shouldn’t fall in love, and reality catches up as well. I don’t. I can’t. Not anymore. Maybe in the future… but not anytime soon.

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

Have I mentioned I have problems with commitment?

I’m pretty sure I did.  The idea of being responsible for another person’s well-being and happiness scares me. I don’t think I’ll ever do a good job at it, as I am both histrionic and insensitive. I have a fucked up sense of independence, and I could be incredibly unyielding. And as much as I use these traits as a defense mechanism, I realize that the moment the walls are scaled and crumbled, I would be completely opposite. I would be needy and clingy and submissive and I would hate myself. No, I am not schizoprenic; I am bipolar.

Oh, and since we are on the topic (even though the segue warrants an asterisk divider), I just wanted to comment on how weird it is to meet yourself from a younger time. It gives you a weird combination of dread, pity, wisdom, and a yearning to kick your younger self in the ass for being so friggin pathetic. And yet, you know that your younger self would have to go through the same journey as you did, and somehow, you just know that you will be proud of that person in the future, if ever he/she achieves the things you could only imagine.

(I just realized we weren’t on that topic, but I just felt like randomly mentioning it.) Anyway, I was ranting about how I dislike commitments.

I know I am a very trusting person. It has been instilled in me to think about the good in everyone, despite their track record. It drives me crazy, because I want to be mean and not care about trivial things such as feelings. BUt since SOTE happened (yes, I consider him a major catastrophe), I feel more imprisoned about being nice. BEcause as much as I hate commitments, I feel like I always get trapped in one.

I’m not talking about romantic relationships. I mean, friendships, work commitments, promises. I really dislike promises! I hate the pressure, how something as flimsy as words hold so much meaning and expectations. Of course I realize the purpose of promises, that’s why I honor them as much as I could. BUt if I had my choice, if I had the balls, I would gladly just say, “F this.”

But I dont. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t hate promises that much if I had the balls to let things go. It frustrates me that things could get to me, because I like myself best when I dont care about anything. Or anyone.

Too bad. I tend to care too much.