The Subtle Threats Of Living

It was pissing rain by the time we went out of the Mall of Asia just an hour or so ago. I had this anxiety and resentment reposing in my chest so I dragged us out to the angry downpour of water outside. My black pointed flats got flooded within five seconds, my grey schoolgirl skirt clung to my knees in ten. I don't know why I had to do this. I felt mad, not angry mad—crazy mad. Must be the PMS. Pre-menstrual syndrome, that is.

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A General Review of Life. Mine, Specifically.

What I want more than anything else in the world is nothing. Sure I want tons of stuff seeing as I am probably the most materialistic person I know; thing is, I have no burning desire to acquire anything beyond everything at all. I just cavort through life in a seemingly pointless manner.

I say, where are the days when romance was the The Thing? When it was all or nothing? When things like love and hate, good and evil, beauty and truth were defined in absolutes? It’s just probably, no, definitely me, but an inordinate number of things in life in general strike me as bland and ascetic. To my mind, the level of artificiality in the 21st century has risen to dizzying, depressing, and suicidal heights. Fuck it. Sure this is the Age of Raging Hormones, of Capitalism, of Rock n’ Roll, of Homosexuality, and a bunch of other seemingly romantic notions. But it all seems to me superficial, manufactured, and shallow. I think deep down, something is dying within the human race. Something important (imagine Gandalf or Aslan saying this, I swear you won’t snigger).

 
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The Rains Are Back

Lately, afternoon showers are all the rage. They would start promptly by four to six, shortly before, or shortly after, sunset. They would turn the pavement into glistening canvasses lit up by twinkling headlights, blurred and glassy. Sometimes the temperature would remain muggy and the clinging heat of the day would rise up like miasma from the asphalt. This sucks. Sometimes too the air would turn cold and the dampness would creep through jackets, umbrellas, and uncovered heads. This is often not the case though. This sucks too.

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Serendipity

"You know, I'm a political science student but I don't like reading non-fiction much," I said the other day as me and Marco stood in an aisle in Booksale. We were surrounded by second-hand books and we felt at home in the musty scent. More importantly, we felt at home with each other.

"What, I love reading non-fiction," he remarked blandly. He majored in Political Science and I found out quite early that he likes classical and contemporary political philosophy bullshit. Stuff I meant to read since forever but always bored me even though i knew they were interesting.  I rolled my eyes and they rested on a random book. "Hey, here's Tocqueville. Political non-fiction bullshit." I touched the book for emphasis. Tocqueville is another one of them boring old farts.

He didn't bite the bait. "Hey, you know what you should read?" he asked.

 
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Innarnet Crap

The past summers I read books until my eyesight became the blurry, sorry mess it is now. I'd wake up in the morning and grab a book from a pile freshly bought from Booksale, eat lunch with it and say goodbye to it in the afternoon for another literary affair. My mom would go after my ass in a bad way when I refuse to leave the bed to do chores because I'm too busy reading, too busy living in another universe with castles and pink aliens and other romantic things like death. Ah. Those were the days.

When I got really tangled up in the innarnets, my attention span became too short for anything as time-consuming as a novel. I'd spend my time in front of the computer for hours on end trolling The Man Blog forums and chatting with my online friends. And blogging. So my diet of books was replaced by innarnet crap. And hooey what do you know, all those chat sessions and forum and blog posts actually did something reading can only partially do: I began writing better. And getting a, hang on, a sense of humor! Just smile along please. Yay.

So. I'm going to do a little whoring here and talk about blogs that do not make me feel bad about giving up books for the interwubs. They're intellectually stimulating reads; I appreciate good writing when I come across it.

 
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The Date Post

So I've been dating this guy right and I'm pretty much in love with him. It's pretty cool and stuff really because I haven't been in love for some time now; it's a great tingly feeling even though it's not the first time. Anyway we're both camwhores so we have a lot of pictures of ourselves doing stuff. Clean stuff if you have to know. Boring stuff even but that's only to you. We seem to enjoy the smallest, stupid things like when we smile at each other and proceed wolfing down sushi we couldn't finish anyway. That one's a funney, sushi is supposed to be in line with my diet but this sushi from this restaurant is gargantuan. So bye diet. Rice. Ugh.

So.  Here are some pictures of some our dates and stuff we do together. Not very human interest but hey. It's stuff to blog about.

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After The Fifth Paragraph

 I don't like writing about my mom. In the whole course of my blogging life (spanning two years), I haven't written a single post about her. Sure I've started countless first paragraphs but I had to stop every time—I start crying before I key in the second paragraph. I love her too much that trying to write about her brings too many words to the tips of my fingers, too many emotions that overload my hypothalamus and some stray tears to my eyes.  So I end up not writing anything.

I'll try to change that now.

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With A Turn and A Twist She Gets Her Wish

I am in a horribly good mood today. Maybe it's because I'm horribly happy, who knows. I'd say why, but people don't like reading happy stories because most of the time, they're sad. Sure there are fairy tales that have happily ever after endings, but getting imprisoned in a gingerbread house with sugar windowpanes just to be fattened and then eaten does not make a happy story. Also being kept in a tower with no one but your unshampooed, long-haired self and an ugly hag to visit you once in a while is some sort of nightmare in my book. I guess living with seven nice dwarfs in a cozy cottage is a fun thing, but knowing your stepmother witch is after your snow-white ass can really be nerve-wracking and may result in insomnia. Or worse, weight gain.

 
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The Longing Pause

When people say my name, then pause, something is either terribly wrong, or terribly right. It worries me every time. Er gah whatever I'm really digging for something profound to say after that but these antibiotics I've been taking are really making me uncomfortable in three identifiable ways: (1) they make me really hungry (2) they make me feel like barfing (3) they make me shitty. Right about seven moments ago the latter was in operation. So I grabbed a random book in my library to read and whittle the time away while in the crapseat. Hoozah! It's Cluster by Piers Anthony! Something I bought for 20 pesos when I was in what, elementary?

It's a book I liked but couldn't like, then. Let me explain: it's a nice sci-fi story and all, laser-laser, robot-robot, the whole shebang. It was an entertaining read. The problem with it is that it has too much sex. I mean come on I was in elementary! I was thinking Britney Spears and Westlife (fuck you Backstreet whats-his-face Boys!) and sex was like, ugh. There was this other book I read about the same time where the author was describing a scene where a new breed Caucasian girl was getting raped by some dumb Neanderthal in the bushes. Know what I did? I dug my clothes out of my closet and chucked the book in. Didn't read it till Third Year high school. Traumatized.

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Sickies

Okay, I really intended to update this shit since Saturday because me and Marco, the Site Guy went to Divisoria that day. We have some pictures from his phone cam and I intend to take pictures of the clothes I bought, until I realized just about now that the USB cable for my camera is somewhere in Ortigas. So the Divi Day post will be up tomorrow, hopefully.

So. I've been pisshit sick since Saturday afternoon. It was worse yesterday when I was racked by chills and my temperature shot up. I alternated in bed and in front of the computer (when I feel a little better)  the whole of yesterday. Oh, and my throat feels like hell too. Now you have to know that I rarely ever get sick; the last time I was was last January and it was with influenza. If this keeps up, my mom is bringing me to the doctor later.
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Dialogue

She tried to flip her hair the way emo Peter Parker did, failed, then said "You make me feel special during off moments when i forget that this is too easy and thus given to suspicion."

He gave her a look that was written with 'give me a little credit' all over and calmly asked, "Hasn't it occurred to you that maybe this is too easy because it was just so right? Pieces of two perfectly complimentary forces in this universe finding synergy in each other. Why not bask in the beauty of this symmetry? Why fight it when the inevitability is staring right at you— point blank?"
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Let’s Talk About Menstruation!

I feel I am in a sprightly i-love-the-world mood today. It may be that my monthly period is over and I feel a lot better without a pad stuck in my peepee or it may be that for the first time in more than a week I've actually had real food for breakfast—i don't know. But I feel good today and I'm wearing an off-white sweatshirt, a blue miniskirt and striped sneakers to prove it. I'm okay, the world is kind, I have a bag of Cheetos to my left and I feel oh-so-right. Guh.

So I dunno I feel like talking about menses today. An interesting quote said that a man should not trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die. I must say this is very sensible advice, because vaginas are dangerous things to poke around with. They can suddenly malfunction and before you know it, babies are crawling all over your boxers wanting love and attention. Also vajayjays have a sad affliction: they bleed darkish red blood every month for more or less a week and they cause havoc on relationships, power structures and the world in general.

 
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Stupid Filler You’ll Be Well Off Not To Read

I don't feel like blogging today, or for the past few days. My writing juices just ran out, like that, or maybe I simply got lazy as I am wont to do. Anyway I've been living in some sort of incoherent haze lately and I don't know how I'm getting by at all. I'm sure I'm fine as there are no indications of being unfine (crying for inexplicable reasons during the most unexpected times, texting random people out of utter boredom, calling Ade while drunk on coffee just to whine for half an hour or so), but I dunno why, I dunno what the hell for. I'm just getting by. Passionless. Dumbed down by cynicism and hypocrisy.

So I said I was living in a haze, but how the hell did I realize that? Stupid people living in stupid hazes should not realize they're doing so or they wouldn't be living in a haze at all! Well. I got out of the stupor just some hours ago as I went out to lunch, alone. I was just tralala-ing along F. Ortigas Jr, about to cross the street to a nearby Wendy's to get my supply of lunch leaves. Well to make the short story even shorter I almost got run over by a jeep. See I told you. One of these days I'll die from some horrible vehicular accident and no one, no fucking one, can do anything about it. I wasn't paying attention to where I was going at all. I remember thinking, though, how the sun was weak and for once not as scorching as it usually is. Stupid. What a nice good bye thought. No, seriously. It is.

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The ABC of Questions

A. When you ask a question and you get a ‘yes’ for an answer, and a ‘maybe’ when you ask it again, the real answer is ‘no’. This also goes vice versa. Example: do you like me? Yes. Really now you do? Maybe, I dunno. This is a world of yeses and nos. The grey shades may lie in between, but there is a yes and no, generally. Know how to feel it out; unfortunately this requires a lot of cynicism on your part and a lot of vulnerability on the other person’s.

B. The best way to not answer a question is to ask another question. However, this strategy does not work if the said snotty person knows it’s a strategy. Do it subtly. Shift the conversation to a neutral topic. The best way to do this discretely would be to ask a question regarding something you know is more important to the other person than knowing this important thing about you.

C. Don’t ask a question which you might not want to hear the answer to. Some people are silly enough to destroy their illusions this way. Because you see, some things are better left unsaid and some people do not have the strength to hear them. If you know they’re there in the Other Dimension of Unsaid Slithering Things, and you even unfortunately know what they are, then you know what to do already. Stop being a smartass and stop asking. Being sure is a foolish talent.

A Diet of Leaves and Water

I'm a very self-conscious person and if there's one thing I am very self-conscious about, it is my weight. The gods can hurl the seven plagues at me and the President can declare an absolute dictatorship over this country as long as I don't get fat during the above-mentioned shenanigans. Tears form at the corners of my properly lined and painted eyes whenever I think about it. In fact I'm ruining my make-up job about, oh i dunno, now.

Okay seriously. Half of the reason why I don't want to get fat is all that blah about self-image and self-esteem and society's pressure as mentioned already below. I mean come on bones are in nowadays. Thin women get worshiped like the underfed goddesses that they are. Sure they have fat, but only in all the right places—in the buttocks, in the bosom, in their anorexic imaginations. Even fashion revolves around thin people. Look at the skinny jeans and short shorts that are all the rage nowadays. Can fat people pull them off? They wish! I wish.

 
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Time Is An Illusion

Some months back, me and my former Spouse Equivalent had a memorable conversation. I posted it in my blogger for posterity, I dunno, maybe for some sort of masochistic joy when I read it again when I'm old and wrinkly and lonely. Anyway it reminds me of how everything is temporary, even this love thing, and that I should know how to put things in perspective during, not after, the experience. Here went nothing.

 
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