Trash

I like things. They don't move around unless you pick them up. They shut up when you tell them to and even when you don't. This means that they don't shout or scream at you, and they can never tell you what to do. They also don't go to work, or much of anywhere, so they will be with you forever and ever until you accidentally spill grape juice on them. Ahh, things. I like things very much.

I have lots of books, lots of clothes, lots of shoes, lots of makeup, lots of stuff. But I don't have a lot of people. You know, there's a new wing at Robinson's Manila (just across the street from my campus) called Midtown. It has a lot of awesome restaurants and even al fresco dining above ground level! How cool is that? There are nice new tables under nifty white umbrellas littered outside. It all looks so neat, I'd love to go there. The College of Arts and Sciences in the University of the Philippines Manila has 1,700 students. But I don't know anyone who I can ask to eat there without a considerable amount of awkwardness. Which translates to: I don't have real, live friends.

What does that say about me? I'm a loser. And a hypocrite. And a lot of other unsavory adjectives which I wouldn't bother mentioning because you probably know them. I'm friendless. Nobody loves me outside of my family and my two dogs named Hector and Bogart. There is this one person, though, but I see this person only once a week that it makes my toothbrush look madly in love with me.

There's something I've always wondered about. Do you have this twirl in the chest whenever you feel really sad? Just one twirl, no more than two seconds. Have you felt it? Like someone's pinching your heart, only it's not a heart attack. Why is it there? Is it some psychological thing or a physical state brought about by unmitigated loneliness? I'd like to know, but I don't know how to Google it. Should the keywords say, "twirl in the chest" or "pain in the chest but not heart attack"? Ahh, the mysteries of life.

Right now, I feel really, really, really horrible. People from the internet are trying to cheer me up, but I don't see people trying to cheer me up. I just see words on the screen. Someone named Marco is telling me that I'm overreacting. But that has no impact, cos it's only a string of words. Someone named Alexander is telling me to tell him what's wrong, but I said I'll just blog about it. At least, by blogging about it, I know someone is actually there comforting me, telling me things will be all right tomorrow morning except for the fact that my eyes look puffier than a brand new pair of socks. That person is myself. I feel myself right here with me.

At the end of the day, it's just me. No Marco, no friends, and in ten years maybe, no dogs. I suppose that's a lonely way to live a life as promising as I presume mine to be, but is there any way? Probably. Ask my things.