Velocity

Two thousand nine hundred ninety five kilometers is a long way away. Definitely not the farthest corner of the world, but not such an easily reached one, either. Six weeks past (and another six weeks coming) is a lot of time to be apart for two thousand nine hundred ninety five kilometers.

In physics, distance over time makes for speed, but that's just a magnitude, and I'd hate to think of us as going nowhere fast (or slowly). When it comes to me and you, it's really more of a matter of velocity.

See, I never thought I could deal well with displacement. I am the first half of Newton's First Law of Motion personified:

A body at rest will remain at rest unless acted on by an external force.

And you, my darling, are an unstoppable force. You're never afraid to shake things up, to nudge us into new directions. You are the mover and shaker of my world. Inert as I am, I tried to resist by preferring that we both just stay here, two pairs of feet planted firmly on familiar soil. But this time apart has made me realize that those prideful statements about breaking things off are essentially balderdash (thank God for trial runs).

To be honest, I'm still not enthusiastic over the time and distance thing, and I'm hoping to finally have you with an average velocity of zero, back home with me. But if you need to be displaced, then I will be, too. Between the two of us, the math shouldn't be as hard as it sometimes looks. If it came down to a choice between being in motion and losing my guiding force, then I would be off at the speed of light in whatever direction you needed me to be.

(Full disclosure: You know I'm horrible at Physics, so every science-y thing here should be taken with a grain of salt and a ton of artistic license.)

Vicarious

I'm tired of a life lived through your stories. I'm weary of the details of a good time or an annoying day where I'm always a spectator and never a character; the only reason they matter is because you matter.

You know I love you, but telling me all about a life spent with others shouldn't be all there is to spending your life with me.

The Limit Does Not Exist

We've traveled nearly everywhere, it seems--failing at hunting down PUVs and taking cabs instead. We've walked so many steps in the baking heat--I, in shoes too stylish for comfort (failing at vanity, as I often do)--always in danger of slipping on a foot bridge step. I've come so far to find myself parked on a mall bench for three hours, rereading a book which makes my head spin. I've come to be with you, yet I find myself alone (again, naturally--or so the song goes).

I've come so far, waited so long, and felt so alone--to look into your eyes as we talk; to have my hand held on a bus ride, and my face stroked affectionately as we walked along mall stores. All this to feel a happiness so small, yet so full. One that I haven't felt in months, and certainly not from anyone else.

Sometimes I'm afraid to discover just how much I can do for you.

Love is such a boundless thing.

Questionable Intentions

I never meant to write today, but there’s always something about you that compels me—to write, and do various other things I’d never thought I even wanted to.

I never meant to read, but there’s something about a sappy movie at five in the morning that compelled me to.

I never meant to know, but I now that I do, well I guess I don’t mean to know how I feel about it.

Because really, I never meant to feel anything about it. (It’s the movie, I suppose. I unfortunately am a hopeless romantic.)

And if there’s one intention that I at least got to keep, it’s that

I never meant to tell, and I never did.

A Valentine Post-mortem

VALENTINE'S DAY 2011--It's Monday, a fact which slides my mood from indifferent to ever so slightly dejected. Couples are walking past us hand in hand, the girls cradling bouquets of roses, and--in some cases--stuffed animals. I scoff at the latter--twenty-something couples who still regularly give each other stuffed animals are just odd. We're walking in the midday heat to the nearby Robinson's, where in a few minutes we will try, and subsequently fail, at trying to interview random students for a documentary on good government. That's as romantic as this day will get for me, apparently.

* * *

I sit through a class which I don't really want to be in, all the time willing my eyes to stay open (and even when I succeed, I think I still fall asleep while staring blankly at my socks). At the end of the class, a classmate gets the university actors' guild to surprise serenade his girlfriend. I troop out of class and end up singing Aegis songs and Zsa Zsa Padilla's Hiram with my friend Grace at the Oblation garden. We both crave for a karaoke night out, which unfortunately doesn't materialize at the moment.

* * *

I'm squeezed in on a jeepney that looks like a tetanus trap, between the sweaty, mean-looking kind of men who would make you pretty apprehensive of being held up. Thankfully, my judgmental sense is mistaken, and they turn out to be harmless. Five minutes in, I bring out my new and cherished copy of Miguel Syjuco's Ilustrado. My sister--a high school senior--bought it for me yesterday. I had accompanied her to Greenbelt to take pictures for her visual arts elective, and we dropped by the nearby Powerbooks. I was browsing the General Fiction aisle, when the stacked copies caught my eye. I'd been wanting to buy it for weeks, but lacked the money to do so. She insisted on buying me one. Today I gave her a pack of giant marshmallows (her favorite). It might seem unfair, but that's how we work--I give her time which I actually shouldn't have the leisure of spending; she gives me money for books which we both doubt she'll ever want to read. Sweetest thing anyone has done for me this week.

* * *

Second ride on the way home. I'm squinting in the corner of a red-lit jeep, still stubbornly reading my book. It takes a while to read this one--I'm not a huge fan of vocabulary words learned past the sixth grade--but I like it a lot. Across me, a woman carefully holds two long-stemmed roses slightly wedged in her shoulder bag. The perpetual traffic jam drags the evening on. 

Ilustrado makes me think of how much I actually love Manila, despite the traffic, the trash, and the trash talking we Pinoys often describe it with. Earlier during the afternoon heat wave, I commented: "If I would ever leave the Philippines, it probably wouldn't be because of the political situation, or the economy--it would be because of the weather." While reading though, I think I still I wouldn't leave. Or if I would have to, I'd miss it terribly.

From time to time, I get completely lost in my book, only to look up and remember where I actually am; it's hard not to be reminded with the rumble of a dozen jeepney and tricycle engines, and the pungent smell of fish wafting from the Pasay City Market. I look down again, my eyes straining to make out the relatively tiny text; my mind straining to be distracted from the thirty minutes that still remain on my ride (should've been just ten minutes, but that's Metro Manila for you). Distraction has always been my cure for disappointment.

* * *

Valentine's Day has always been a curious day for me. I see it as a day of expectations--as Grace said, guys are expected to spend for girls, and girls are expected to appreciate whatever their boyfriends give (and that translates to all relationships). This is the one day--even more than Christmas, or their birthdays--that people all over the world feel entitled to some form of affection.

My relationship with the universe has been pretty similar these few days. I've been a having a good yet very stressful time. I do (school)work I enjoy; I'm getting along okay with my parents; and my love life is good too. But somehow I'm not as contented as I am some days. There's a tinge of disappointment at the back of my throat. I feel entitled to something else--something more; something grand. 

I don't know why, but these days I feel like the universe forgot to give me flowers on Valentine's Day, like an otherwise loving significant other who let me down this one tiny time. But I'm pretty sure we'll patch things up soon. After all, it's been so good to me.

*Photo credit

***

Also, you guys should sign this petition! Spread the love to the LGBT community by supporting the Anti-Discrimination Act of 2010 (House Bill 1483) Click and sign! 

The Truth, At Last

I came out to my mom today. My head's still reeling, so I can't really say much about it. It just found its way into the conversation, I forget how. The coming out part was pretty natural, just like any old conversation over lunch. We also had a 3-hour debate concerning norms, gender equality, religion, personal opinion--really, my head's throbbing. We're always like that, but it's only now that I appreciate where I got my debating skills. 

For the most part, she was okay with it--except for the God's orginal design angle. As I expected, she had an idea already, and my confirmation was all she needed. Although, I told her about the possibility of me being bi, and she thinks that sexual orientation is a choice, so she's probably holding on the 5% chance that I'll find a guy to marry one day. Knowing my mom, I told her not to expect any husband from me--kids, maybe, but  then she can't wrap her head around the idea of a homosexual couple raising kids, so...

She doesn't like the idea of promoting gender equality, and she thinks that changing culture is both impossible and superfluous. That's where the debate was centered on. In the end, she just told me to be prepared for the consequences of my choices in life--since, you know, she believes while I can't choose to be straight, I can choose to marry a man if I wanted a family; thus she feels I'm just being adamant on this whole lesbianism thing.

Still, I don't know, it's nice that she finally, finally knows. There's still my dad, who'll probably have a fit when he finds out. My mom will probably tell him, and it'll take a day of explaining or something. But right now I'm just glad that I've told my mom. She's not ecstatic over it, but she accepts it, at least, and that's great news for me. It feels like a sigh of relief after holding my breath for so long.

Bad Decisions

A week or two ago I watched this one episode of How I Met Your Mother, where Ted, one of the lead characters, has to tear down an architectural landmark (The Arcadian) to make way for a new building he was designing. He was pretty reluctant; at first he thought it was about the building. But then he realized it was really all about a girl who was protesting against his project. His friends then recalled the silliest things he'd done, all for the sake of dating particular girls.

I just love that show (you should watch it, it's awesome). And—not for the first time—I found myself being able to relate to Ted. Embarrassing as it is, I have to admit I may have, on occasion, gone totally out of my way for a girl I liked.

There's this incident from almost ten years ago that I remember vividly. I was in fifth grade, and I had developed a crush on this girl, who upon meeting me, apparently decided that she hated my guts. She teased me relentlessly, until one day she decided to stop; at that moment I realized that I liked her. Now, I don't know what that says about me, but (*cough* masochist *cough*) I guess I was pretty much a hopeless (and clueless) romantic at the age of ten.

So anyway, we were friends already, and there was a fair of sorts in school—with mini-rides, inflatable houses, and all that. I was with a couple of friends when she and a couple of her friends went up to us, joking around and asking to be treated.

And, before I knew it, I had my wallet in my hand. I wasn't a rich kid, so I handed her the remaining 50 pesos in my wallet. I got a sweet smile and a peck on the cheek, and I guess that made my day back then, despite the fact that I had no money left for the rest of the day. Later on she went on to be the first girl to officially break my heart, when she started dating a close friend of mine. Tss, kids those days.

Here I am, ten years later: about five inches taller, with a better haircut and better fitting clothes, but almost exactly the same attitude when it comes to my love life. I may not be tripping over myself in the haste of doing irrational things for every single girl I happen to like, but I can't say I've quit the habit entirely.

Over the years, in the name of dating, or simply liking someone, I have:

• embarrassed myself multiple times by trying to pull off something I normally wouldn't even want to try;
• been dragged into awkward events and situations wherein I knew practically nobody else;
• taken impractically diverted routes home for the sake of being able to commute with aforementioned someone;
• stayed up amazingly late, or woken up amazingly early to talk to said someone (depending on whether she's a midnight or morning person);
• regularly attended classes which I wasn't enrolled in;
• waited for hours, hoping to casually bump into said someone during her free time;
• gotten lost multiple times, trying to find/buy things as gifts;
• learned to play the guitar to impress aforementioned someone;
• totally overhauled my wardrobe (yippee for me);
• played nice (actually, I really am nice), even when it felt like torture;
• tried/am trying to change my attitude toward things (yeah, that's mostly for the better though);
• and some other things which are too specific and/or dramatic to disclose here.

They might sound like totally normal things to do. I guess that's because at some point, we've all done irrational—or, at the very least, uncharacteristic—things for the sake of love, or the faintest illusion of it. If you haven't...well, hang on, you'll find your match.

Does loving or liking make us foolish, or does it make us brave?

Hands down, I'd have to agree that it drives us to make some really awful decisions sometimes. But still, unless you'll end up getting seriously hurt physically or psychologically (or something horrible like that), I'd say go for it.

After all, bad decisions make for good stories. Or so they tell me, anyway.

Counting Years

If you ever read my older, mushier posts, you'd know about my ex-ex. We keep getting back together that my friends all tease me about not being single since I was thirteen, and thus being terribly out of the dating/flirting game. But we can't help it. We're just so much better at being together.

She's the most awesome person I know. And she's such a big part of the person I've slowly morphed into for the past years. She helped me grow up (haha) by growing with me. 

I try not to write about her, because--for all my love of words--I still know I could never do her justice. I'd either come up too short, or too mushy that my insides might melt--like how they feel even just as I'm trying. [See what I mean? B, if you're reading this, it's honestly the reason why I don't write about you much.]

Considering we first got together on her 13th birthday, it has now been 7 years of on and off bliss (for the most part), and incredible comfort and contentment (all the time). We've stopped trying to count because we couldn't agree on what years to include.

But if there's one thing I'm sure of, it's that I've been in love with just one person for the past 7 years. Definitely no contest about that one.

Taken some years ago.
Okay, I look like a dog here. But never mind that.

*I'm sorry for the mush. It's my girlfriend's birthday, I hope you understand.

Horror Vacui

I've never been afraid of empty spaces. In fact, you know how much I detest crowds and cramped spaces, almost to the point of claustrophobia. There's a certain unpleasantness in having to compete for space and having to get stuck with people I don't know—especially with relationships.

I've always thought of myself as a lone wolf. I manage best on my own. Friends are great, but the freedom of making decisions for myself and not having to depend on anyone appeals to me. In the last couple of years I've managed to train myself in the art of self-sufficience. I've gone from clingy to detached. Don't ask me how or why, but something changed.

Lately, however, I'm starting to become afraid again. Those careless, costly mistakes are taking their toll. I'm running the risk of losing you—and despite my best efforts, I'm absolutely terrified.

You see, you are an exception. To others I'm calm and collected. I laugh and I'm silly, and I care deeply for my friends, but even my closest friends only go so deep. It's gotten to the point where there's an automatic barrier that they can't simply cross. I'm also the best quitter there is—when something annoys or disinterests me, I walk away. I avoid, I resist, and I hide. But you I can never hide from.

With you I'm rash, impractical, emotional; totally irrational. I'm child-like—both when I try too hard to be cute, and when I forget that I'm not supposed to be too vulnerable. I don't know if that's the worst of me, but it's the part of me that drops my defenses. I guess it's also what allows me to feel most contented and at peace when I'm with you.

But with what I've been doing, I've been shutting you out. I apologize for being selfish and stupid and uncaring. It's far less than what you deserve.

It's amazing how you put up with me for the last seven years, when every now and then I have to pull a major overhaul of my attitudes. But here I go again. Someday soon, I'll make it up to you and all that patience will pay off.

I'll make sure of that. Because there are some things I can't afford to lose.

It seems, that the only space I'm afraid to leave empty is the one I've reserved exclusively for you.

image source

Deadlines

I'm still swamped. Literally. I'm waist-deep in papers—though I'm usually seated on the floor when I sort through them—but well, you get the point. The hell weeks of college life are upon us once more, and the only thing I can do is to blog about it.

Actually, I meant to write this post weeks ago, at the onset of this semester's hell month. But it ended up being crammed, much like my academic work. I've gone through about two weeks of hell, and now I'm one week shy of being able to sleep normally again. I have one case study and three final exams left before I can close my eyes at night and not think of what I'll have to get done by tomorrow.

Of course, with tons of requirements come—well yes, great responsibility—as well several bottles of Red Bull, cups of coffee, and piles of junk food. But the word I was looking for before I got distracted was actually deadlines.

I hate deadlines. No actually I love them. (I'm clearly disoriented from lack of sleep and I can't decide where this blog is really going.) Well, it's a love-hate relationship I guess. I hate them because each deadline means more work and more internal panic attacks. At the same time I love them because they give me something to work for, a definite point in time when the effort (or lack thereof) put into a particular task will have to end. And of course I love being productive. Nevermind the fact that I haven't quite learned how.

So the thing is this: I love deadlines because I love productivity. But I hate them because I find that I'm never ready when they roll around.

I love Dali.

I know, it's my fault for being such a procrastinator. I wait around. A lot. That's why I've been dubbed as tambay idol (I have a seven-hour record as of yesterday). When I recall how I've been spending time recently, I imagine my days as a time-lapse video. There's me, sitting somewhere—in our ComSci tamabayan, or some place to eat, or some coffee shop—while everyone around me goes through life in full speed. I, on the other hand, am seemingly stuck in a time zone entirely of my own creation. I'm always moving too slow, waiting for something even I can't identify.

In case you weren't able to follow my pseudo-insightful mode, I'd just like to clarify that I've gone beyond academic work here. My personal life time management skill sucks just as much as its academic counterpart.

All my life I always end up trying to beat the deadlines. I got into a college course, and shifted to another one after two years—I waited one year too long. I often pile up a lot of transgressions against my girlfriend and I wait until she's tired and frustrated before I start trying to shape up. These were the times I got lucky, when I made it, even if it was just in the nick of time.

Other times, I haven't been so fortunate. I've shut people out until they're gone completely. Until they've left, until we've lost all contact. I didn't know there was even a deadline in the first place and I missed it.

So I promise myself to watch out for deadlines, and even prevent them, as in the case of my relationships. I may be a master crammer, but sometimes there's just too much at risk. The most important things in our lives shouldn't have to wait until the last minute.

The Post That Has No Point

Aren't you getting tired of me saying "it's been a while, but I'm back" every month or something? Well, I am. I've now realized that I can't guarantee any regularity in my posts anymore. Fact is, I kind of have a life at the moment, and often I'm just too tired or preoccupied (with, say, my How I Met Your Mother Marathons) to actually write about it. I guess you could say inspiration took a break from me.

Man, I've been swamped. I could ramble all day about school work, or about the hassles of good old everyday commuting, but tonight I just don't want to. Tonight, I just want to relax and smile and breathe the world in.

 

Something happened last week. I kind of got into a fight. Long story short, I got told a few things about me that I wasn't so glad to hear about. But in retrospect, I know they're true, and I'm glad I heard them. My bubble does need a healthy bursting every now and then. The thing is, that fight was probably the first and last I'd have with that friend in a while--she's accepting a job offer abroad, leaving in a month. 

And then this week, just tonight, I was with my ComSci friends on an impromptu DPSM Film Fest Premiere Night viewing. It was fun, but honestly it did get boring. I realized the only thing keeping me there was that I wanted to watch my friends, the people I knew.

[insert One-Tree-Hill-ish background music here]

I also realized that year after year, a bunch of my friends turn into seniors and graduate. Others, still turn into professionals, breadwinners, or simply people with high ambitions for their careers, who take off in pursuit of those goals. The thing is, they usually leave once I've just gotten close to them. I don't know why, but I often end up bonding with people just some months before they graduate or leave the country, or move some place else.

Which is bad, since I'm the super clingy type of friend, the one who'd rather keep all the people I love near me forever and ever, if I could. But I'm learning that while it's sad how people come and go, it's also one of the best things in life, I think.

I've always been happy to meet new people and create new adventures with them, but I guess it's only now that I appreciate the beauty having to say goodbye to people. Some people just have to leave, because they've served their purpose in our lives and it's time to move on to new adventures with new people.

And even if I've only had what seems to be such a short time to spend with those people, I think that in a way, that's the exact amount of time I need with them, maybe. That way I get to treasure my adventures with them more.

So this has turned into the sobrang cheesy talaga! post with no point. All I really want to say is, you, my friends, are such wonderful people. Thank you for making me feel right at home with you no matter how stupid or crazy I get.

[end of One-Tree-Hill-ish background music]

Photo caption:  HIMYM is like a year2000something version of FRIENDS. ;)

Something's Mi si g

You can ignore this post, doesn't make any real sense, well maybe except for me.

So I've been perpetually hungry and restless and all that. I have about 5 movies waiting to be watched, 7 and a half of the Demonata books to read, and some Chuck Palahniuk ebooks to try out too. I have several games on this laptop, from Plants Vs. Zombies to The Sims 3. I have cable TV. I have a guitar, and several gigabytes of downloaded songs in my hard drive. We have a refrigerator, which my mom has wisely stocked with an assortment of snacks. I have my Facebook account, my Plurk page, and I have enough cell phone credits to last me for the week. I have one or two friends nearby whom I can call to invite out, or crash with. To say that I've laid out some boredom-prevention methods is quite an understatement.

And yet, I'm fidgety. I can't sit still long enough to get anything done. Whether I'm reading or playing or watching TV, I can't seem to stop myself from getting up every ten minutes, heading downstairs to the refrigerator. I open it, stare at its contents, craving for something I just can't define. I grab one snack or another, and then halfway through finishing my food I decide it's not really what I wanted.

I can't believe it took days and a Facebook post to figure it out.

Maybe it's because this has been going on for a while, that I'd somehow assumed I was used to it. But now it's getting to me once again. Maybe it's because of the break, a time when I don't have school to worry about, or  idyllic tambay hours to fill my day. Maybe it's that Christmas is just around the proverbial corner, and everyone talks about being with the people they love, the people they care about—the people that matter.

Maybe it's because I've had to say goodbye in different ways to a couple of people just recently. And probably because there's someone I've been wanting to be with for so long now.

I might have a lot here, it's a good life. But something's missing—aside from cash of course. Haha. Seriously though, sappy as it is—I'm missing you, and you, and you, and most of all, YOU.

Raiding the fridge is my way of showing you how much I really care.

Photo shamelessly stolen from Definitely Filipino.

 To all the people I miss (whether you're halfway around the world, or just 30 minutes away from my house), and to all who share this feeling of missing, let's still keep Christmas merry okay?

All right, I'm going back to reading now. No wait, lemme check the fridge first.

FAIL Better

I've been gone for another while. My apologies, life kind of got in the way. Academic life, I mean. The last week of my sem was a seemingly endless downpour of papers, papers, and some more papers. Luckily, I got through it, and now I have more or less a week and a half before I have to go back to the toxic, mind bending UPM life.

I miss it already, actually. I'm not exactly a workaholic, but I could manage a week of staring at a computer screen, reading, shit-talking my way through papers, and gulping down bottle after bottle of Lipovitan. But I can't quite deal with hours and hours of nothing to do, no one to go out with, and everything to think about. Movies, every TV series I could think of, endless games—I'm just so tired of it. I've been meaning to write, but I've been putting it off, since my brain felt literally exhausted. I felt like I ran out of words for a while.

And then there's this other thing. I've been thinking about me, my relationships. Well, one in particular. Lately, I've been putting such a strain on the person I value most, and it's because of this irrationally insecure side of me that I can't ditch. I've been so busy comparing myself to others—and thinking about how I don't even come close—that I've quit trying.

That's part of the reason why I haven't blogged for so long too. I felt like I didn't have anything good enough to say, so I didn't even start. I don't know why I'm like this with the people—and things—that I love most. I want so much to be the best that it feels like an all or nothing deal. I keep on waiting for the right time, for when it's all perfect and proceeding according to plan.

Who am I kidding? That's never going to happen.

Let's face it. Life is unfair. I'm never going to get that edge. I'm going to have to earn it. I'll just have to keep trying—and die trying if I need to. So, I'm still a failure. I'm not great; hell I'm not even good.

But I think, that nobody is perfect, really. And the few people who seem have it all good are bastards who managed to grab all the luck. Haha. But really,  I don't take it against them. For us normal people, failure is a fact of life. So if you're not failing, you're probably not even trying enough. Live a little. Try and fail some more.

  Just keep swimming. Or something like it.

And besides, there are just some things (and, say, a certain person who happens to be YOU), that I love too much to quit on. So I'm back. Yeah, you know what I mean.

Out Of The Hermitage

An update for the sake of updating. Let's begin the month with stories about how the last month ended. Mind you, I'm doing this because I can't sleep, and Facebook won't let me upload a new picture, and I'm too lazy too start my PI100 paper. And all that shit. Anyway, here goes.

Remember when I was ranting about not having friends? I bet you do, since it's only a couple of posts below this one, actually. Well, last week I decided to step out of the hermitage (otherwise known as my room) and start talking to real people. More or less turned out well.

• Wednesday was spent with new company, and it was fun, as well as slightly embarrassing.
• Thursday was the JMA acquaintance party, which was just great--I got to meet new people and hurt my backside being pushed into the pool all in one evening (I don't know why people just love to pitch me into pools. Maybe it's because they know I don't know how to swim and it's their way of getting rid of me.).
• Friday was spent in the company of my shiftee "blockmates". I'm glad we're bonding now, and we're all for spending more time to get to know each other. To be honest, I was apprehensive about being a shiftee at the start. It's not exactly easy for me to start another whole getting-to-know-you process after two years in college. And no one can really ever replace one's blockmates, you know what I mean? But I'm glad to have my new friends. I think we're going to have a great two and a half years together.
• Saturday was spent with Iehl, whom I never see enough of. We went window shopping around Rob--an art (I guess?) which I only got the hang of in college. Yeah, you get that when you have three almost-shopaholic friends. Or girl friends, for that matter. Oh boy, do I miss the way things were. There, I said it. Anyway.
• Sunday was bonding time with my sister. My parents decided to tag us along on their night out at San Miguel by the Bay, where I learned never to order full meals at Razon's again (except possibly, for their dinuguan and sisig). Not wanting to be stuck with my parents' friends, we hit MOA and walked in and out of shops, until they started closing. I really have to take my sister out sometime. She's more of a hermit than I am.

Now if you're wondering why spending time out with people is such a big deal for me, let me explain that I'm not an alien, nor a total socially-inadequate nerd. It's just that I used to be so introverted, that I never thought I needed to go out that much. In fact, I tended to shy away from people I wasn't really familiar with. Ever since I started college--and even more now that I'm in OrCom--I've decided to start relating more to people. And I'm actually enjoying it.

Now all I want is a date. I hope Wednesday finally falls through. It's been weeks, so you can't blame me for missing you too much, can you?

There will always be the part of me that's perfectly fine being left alone, but I'm down for company now, too. So, sinong gustong tumambay?

It's Complicated

This topic is so complex that it deserves a lengthier post, I guess. But as I don't have enough time or sense for that right now, this will have to do.

Relationships are weird. The dynamics of a normal relationship (between parents and children, or between friends) are unique to each and every person in this planet. So that's a lot of different dynamics. Freakin' complicated.

Relationships (except maybe family ones) can also vary from one state to the next. Strangers can become friends; friends can become enemies or lovers; lovers can become just friends, enemies, or strangers again. Sometimes it's confusing to tell where the definite limits are in these cases. Freakin' vague.

I don't know. It just popped into my head. It's something we deal with every day, and whether we notice it or not, our relationships with the people around us have a very significant effect on us.

On a more personal note, my life is filled with those complicated, vague relationships. I don't know why, but I tend to bond with people who make for not-so-stereotypical relationship dynamics. It's a real headache when I try to figure them out. But I guess with most of them, I don't really need to. I never really liked norms anyway. It's better to color outside the lines sometimes.