A Beautiful Mess v2.0

Yeah, I have a previous post with the same title. But my life isn't that big of a mess, at least at the moment. This post is as much about me as it is about everyone else.

Today, I realized--cue drumroll--that we are all messed up. Or maybe I've known it for some time, and it just slipped out of my consciousness. I guess there's nothing like periodic insomnia and unfounded, self-destructive hatred to fuel these kinds of thoughts.

Periodic insomnia is self-explanatory. That's me being unable to sleep until the sun is almost up for a week or two--and after that time frame I go back to falling asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow. For now, I have two more hours before I start yawning. Thank goodness my Spanish class isn't until 11:30.

The self-destructing hatred part is what got me thinking about the messes that we all are. See, I'm mad. At my girlfriend's guy friend. It's not like I'm romantically jealous or what--I can safely say I'm past that part--but I've never hated anyone's guts more than I hate his now. And it makes me look and feel foolish every time I let it get to me. Him being around nags at me like a freaking mosquito in my ear. A freaking mosquito I just can't swat.

The there's another messed-up thing about me, how I care about things I really shouldn't care that much about. I mean, it's not that it harms or affects me, but I just wonder why I follow all these blogs. Maybe I'm nosy. Or maybe I just like to read about what people think. It makes me feel a little more human, I guess. I like to read about different thoughts about life. There is more to this "caring too much" business about certain people, but at least I have concrete reasons for that one.

Then there's the rest of the world. Everybody has a weirdness of his or her own. If I have my vocabulary right, I think that's why they invented the term idiosyncrasies. We react differently, given similar situations. So I don't know. I'm no psychology major, but I guess that's just how it goes.

We're all a mess of some sort. Maybe you're moody, or a control freak. Or depressive, perhaps? Maybe you're a workaholic. Maybe you're lonely because you feel you haven't found love yet. You could be an insomniac. The possibilities of personalities are endless.

But as the title goes, there's a lot of beauty in that for me. I guess I'm basically tolerant of most people--I can live with most of the annoying attitudes of people I like and love, or even people I'm just starting to get to know. I can forgive them their weirdness, maybe because I know how much of a mess I am (and I may just be worse). And besides, variety is good. Different is good, because it's refreshing.

I'd rather have a slightly messed-up world than a predictable, perfect one any day.

How do you like 'em Facebook photo tags?

Freaky Friday (or Saturday. Whatever.)

Today (or, technically, yesterday) was a fun, fun day. I cut class to watch the induction activity of my unofficial org, SoComSci. I was supposed to be at the acquaintance party too, but my parents were out the whole day and someone had to be home to make sure my little sister was okay (and by "little", I mean my third year high school sister).

Since I'm only half as responsible as my parents expect me to be, I did stay out later than I should have. I was in Starbucks Torre Lorenzo with Julie Ann and Mengz. It felt kind of weird, since I am now not able to relate as much to their programming woes, but I guess I'd rather have this added peace of mind. Anyway, what started as a coffee break turned out into a videoke night, and I had a blast with them--that is, until I received a message from my mom about, err, our dinner arrangements. Haha. In short, she was telling me what to cook/buy.

I rushed home, praying desperately for them not to beat me to it, as I'd be dead if they did. I had already invented a whole spiel about the LRT breaking down and such, but my fears turned out to be unnecessary. I arrived home at 8:30, and they turned up at 11:30, with me all worried about what was taking them so long.

They say it's hard to raise parents, and well I guess I'm finding out how true that is. My parents are out a lot (they're members of a religious, socio-civic organization), and they often come in at 12 or 1 a.m. It's actually better, since we get less nagging that way (darn the day my mom discovered text messaging, though), and I'm glad because my mom is loosening up and getting better at hanging out with people, since I inherited the introverted gene from her. Sometimes though, I can't help but worry about them when they're not home past the expected time. I guess I know exactly how my mom feels. Now I give out my fair share of "where are you?" and "what time will you be home?" messages. It goes both ways nowadays.

I guess I am growing up. My commuting curfew has been pushed back from 6p.m. (high school days), to 8p.m. (4th year high school days), to 10p.m. now. Our city of residence applies the 10p.m. curfew only for minors, but in my household, you're only considered old enough when you have a house and kids of your own (or maybe when I'm the one paying the rent). 10p.m. might be kind of early, but that's fine for me. I don't have much of a nightlife anyway--quite the poor little geek. Haha.

It is better this way, not being wrapped around my mom's protective blanket all the time. This is coming from a kid who grew up being warned about playing on staircases and breaking my neck, or crossing the street and getting run over, or even playing habulan and tripping on my own feet (which I did manage to do when I was the lampa kid, a decade ago). I'm glad my mom's loosening up. Now all I have to worry about is her noticing that cigarette smell on my shirt.

Have a good day, folks.

Picture grabbed from graphicshunt.com

Long Shot

I'm not one to brag about my talents (whatever those might be), or about my achievements (mainly because I don't have much, I guess). Sure, I dream of being able to do something great. I aspire and work for that, but I never expect to pull it off. I know, people have been telling me that it's such a pessimistic view, but well. I hope for the best and expect the worst.

Thus I have decided to enter my blog into the 2009 Philippine Blog Awards. It's a long, long shot. But I've always seen myself as someone who'll die trying. Come to think of it, I won't even die. Worst that can happen is that my deepest, weirdest thoughts will be read by a panel of judges I'll be an embarrassing sort of amusement. Not bad--after all, isn't that the point of me creating this blog anyway?

Speaking of shots, by the way, I was in Rob Ermita (as always) a while ago, with two of my block mates. We were in Tom's World, killing time and draining wallets, and I decided to play Sharp Shooter--you know, those basketball shooting things. I got an all-time high score of 160, which may seem really lame until you consider the fact that I'm a skinny, 90+ pound, 18 year-old girl who hasn't played a real game of basketball in five years. Oh, and yeah, I hadn't eaten my breakfast at the time too.

I guess what I'm saying is that you never know how far you can go until you try. This year, I think I finally want to find out.

The Breadcrumb Trail

Yeah, I've taken to blogging in the predawn silence once again. There's just no better cure to a pounding head full of problems I'm never going to solve anyway.

Way to go. Where to go?

I like signs. When I go places, I always take pictures of signs. It's just good when you know where you're heading. But hey, sometimes signs can betray you too. If you're stupid enough to over-analyze them, at least. Like me, for example.

It gets to the point of so much confusion for me, that I get lost and kind of scared, and pissed off, and I give up on it. I walk away. Because hell I figured, there are so many places and ways to go anyway. But everywhere is too far out, so what's the difference?

Where I am right now is a good place. No regrets whatsoever. Because maybe this is how it's really supposed to be. That was how it was.

I guess I sort of miss the dawn hours, and whatever came with them. And I'm glad I tried to look in that direction, even if for most of the time it felt like being led by breadcrumbs--I never knew whether the pieces were just plain scattered, or whether I was going anywhere at all. I'm glad I looked, because I guess I found something good, too. And for someone who is so used to hiding, I allowed myself to be found, in some way.

I just wish--even if it might not have made any difference--well, I just wish I'd bothered to ask for directions. It would have saved me from having to wonder, as I do now.

This whole confusing confused blog brought into mind one of my favorite poems.

DEAD STARS

(for Paz Marquez Benitez)

by H.O. Santos

If I still think of her today

Why didn't I tell her long ago?

I could have saved all wondering

For I'd have peace if I did know.

If I had learned of metaphors

Before I wondered 'bout the stars

Would I have written verses then

And worshipped Venus instead of Mars?

If I had found my tongue could rhyme

Would I have shown a face sans mask,

A heart unsure? But woe is me--

I'll never know, I didn't ask.

Indeed, I didn't ever ask, did I?

I Seriously Forgot To Place A Title For This One

Finding yourself blogging in an Internet cafe when you have a decent connection at home is a sign of extreme boredom. In my case, it's an outlet to keep myself from totally unraveling and going batsh*t insane--while I wait for my friends to get off class, of course.

Insignificant newsflash #1: Failing PE.
Yeah, you read right. Fact is, today I managed to miss the third meeting of my PE class. The prof hasn't seen me yet, and when he does, I'm betting I get to drop the subject or he gets to drop me a fat, failing grade of 5. So how the hell do I explain failing PE to my parents? I don't pay for it, and it doesn't affect my GWA anyway, but hell. What a loser. Hahaha.

Insignificant newsflash #2: Library claim tags have invisibility powers.
Okay, so I have this huge headache that's making me wander around campus pretty dazed. I know. I'm seriously lacking sleep, but I expect to get some after we're done with the OC101 report tomorrow. For now, coffee is once again my best friend. But today is a very wasted day. My cup of cold morning coffee didn't seem to do the trick.

I was in the library a short while ago, trying to get some nap and reading time simultaneously. As I was leaving, I realized I lost my claim tag, a first in almost three years. So I went and told Ate Guard, quite nervously, because our library's guard is infamous for her sudden bouts of bad mood. She told me to look for it first, so I went back, disturbing the girl who had occupied my previous seat as I rummaged around the area. I found a number 34 claim tag, but mine was 77. I tried looking in all the known corners of the reserve section, but to avail. When I went outside to tell the guard, she was surprised that I found the 34 tag, which had been missing since the summer. Turns out that my claim tag was in the counter all along, since I had forgotten to take it in the first place, when I surrendered my bag. So I didn't have to pay the fine and Ate Guard considers me lucky now. Gawd, how I wish all my bloopers would turn out to be fortunate incidents.

So, lately it seems I've been losing things I need (including my three year-old Hair Doctor, damn) and finding unexpected ones. Welcome to my cluttered life. For now my head still hurts (so excuse the typographical and grammatical errors in this post, if any) and I'm waiting for tomorrow evening when I will hopefully run out of things to worry about for the week. I just have to get through this blasted day a minute at a time.

Wish me luck, and I hope you're having a better day. Ciao.

Picture caption: Life can be a pretty blur sometimes. Credits credits.

Hide And Speak

An open letter to someone I doubt will be reading this:

Dear Ex-Crush,

I finally found you. All (or most) of you, on the Internet. And I did it without even trying to. Almost a year of looking, and I only find it now--when I've finally lost the desire to find anything.

I found you, and I saw how you've changed. To say it was for better or for worse is not really my business. But you changed, and grew into the person I now half-know. I can't explain why, although I am devoid of the irrationalities and feelings that went with my admiration, I can't really say that I do not care at all. Maybe it's because you're the one I never really understood. Or perhaps I was just looking for something to understand when in fact, there was nothing.

All I can say is, I wish you well.

Just Me

Anyway, this got me thinking about how big the Internet universe is. It's so big that you can always find your own little corners where you can pour your heart out. There's a whole load of personal history you can gather from the web. Take for example, my outdated, unused Friendster and Xanga accounts--which I shall leave untouched to serve as embarassing memorials of a past life. In this case, I found the past lives of a past crush. Talk about history.

I'm betting some 20 years from now, I will look back on all these blogs and social networking accounts of mine, and marvel at how I was such a kid back then. But then, that's the way it always is. We always think of our past selves as naive kids.

I've realized that this entry has made me seem like the creepy little stalker that I sometimes am. But hey, as I've said, it's not my fault if people choose to publicize personal information and I find them. Goodness knows I'm not trying too hard--it's only all Google, you know.

So there. I will now seriously prepare for my report--a task I've managed to procrastinate on for the last two hours. This'll just be another outpouring to add to this particular corner of mine. I have so many of them already. And I confess that sometimes I just can't help but wonder if anyone's looking to find me in these secret places too.

I ar hiding. You cant cee me.