The Things That Keep You Up

Pictures of Success
Rilo Kiley


Two years and three months is a lot of time to get lost. I took my time. It was great at first--learning new things; meeting new people; settling in to a new stage of my life. But slowly, I was making a habit of shedding the "silly" things in favor of filling my life past the brim with the "serious adult stuff" (you know, the stuff that they say really matters).

Blogs that serve as online journals? Quit that--my writing's too sappy anyway. Better just stick to fine-tuning my emails for that perfect tone. That photo blog? Put a stopper on that, too--I wasn't improving much; more of a hit or miss, really. The only jpegs I should scrutinize are those banners that need to launch tonight.

In a life where 85% of my hours are spent at home or at work, where do I find the time to look at something through a lens and give more than half a second's thought to it? In countless months where I end the day so drained that meeting up with friends feels Herculean, from where do I draw the energy to synthesize my thoughts or feelings beyond Facebook's simplistic, emoji-laden descriptions? Feeling angry. Feeling exhausted. Feeling burnt out. Feeling existentially insignificant.

Today I left 2 hours earlier than (my daily) average to go on a dinner double date, which we extended by waxing nostalgic about our teenage days over coffee. A friend tagged me for a photo challenge, which led to a revisit of my dusty photo blog, which then reminded me of this corner of the internet where I used to spend sleepless hours trying to squeeze substance out of the best and the worst of my moods and musings.

All this time I prided myself on rarely staying up at night to finish work. On some occasions I'd clock in for 10- to 12-hour workdays, but later, at home, the work mostly stops, and I mostly spend my precious remaining hours talking to my family and my girlfriend. Then I sleep. Then I wake up the next day. Rinse, repeat.

But now, I'm thinking part of this aimlessness comes from giving up on the things that keep me up, and the things that used to make me take a moment to observe and admire my environment. They stopped being a part of my life--either through work, or through hobbies. I always thought that I was square enough to be able to lead the generic drone life, but what do you know? Guess I have a much bigger need to be actively creating, rather than just consuming through books, shows, movies, and music. Maybe it doesn't even have to be creative work--just something I feel very strongly for.

As with anyone who's ever been lost, I've been trying to move forward, but maybe part of why I couldn't was because I'd forgotten my compass: the feeling of being so immersed in something that it keeps you up without you even trying*.

*Might not apply to insomniacs

Dissociation

The last seven months have been wildly busy, but that's not my only excuse for being absent from this blog in a while. Truly, I have so little energy left to write anything coherent on most days, but whatever could be mustered is now being split.

I've been cheating on this blog with another one. Not much, really. It's just happened three times so far. My main reason for keeping two separate writing blogs, is that the other one focuses more on...uhh, spiritual stuff, I guess. Not that this blog, in all its angst-filled glory, hasn't revealed too much about me already--I just find that I'm a lot cheesier in that aspect.

It's also a kind of experiment. On one hand blog, there's this angsty kid who fuels the frequently emo and definitely-less-than-holy posts. On the other is the more hopeful, kinder person who drops by my consciousness from time to time. I might've also failed to mention that my other blog is mainly about trying to reconcile my faith with the fact that I'm a rainbow-loving homo. Now, how to manage all that without developing a dissociative identity disorder?

Yeah, this is one of those trying-to-find-myself, what-am-I-doing-with-my-life projects. This could probably count as a symptom of early onset quarter life crisis, but these things happen far too often to alarm me at this point.

Life is a continuous cycle of self-improvement. I just wish I didn't have to be so emo about it.

---

If you want, you can check on me at The Closet Christian. Don't tell me you haven't been warned, though.

The Future Is Not Meant To Be Feared

Now that I think of it, I spent a great deal of 2012 being afraid. I started the year with anxiety over the possibility of not graduating on time. Then I graduated and spent the next three months worried about what kind of job I would have--and if I would have any, for that matter. But divine providence led me to a good job, which opened a whole new box of worries--mainly about whether I could do well and face up to each responsibility. This past week, I've been thinking about the future again, in terms of some personal matters. That didn't turn out so well, either.

As much as I hate to admit, I'm apparently more cowardly than I supposed. The habitual worrying, anxiety, and cynicism acquired over the years have all eventually concretized into a fearful, negative view of the future, which I often adopt under the guise of being a realist.

In hindsight, though, all those situations I spent so much time worrying about turned out to be the best experiences of the year. I gained so much knowledge and insight, met the most inspiring people, and even got to know myself a lot better. For those, I am immensely grateful; and this gratitude has helped me gain a new perspective.

Part of that perspective also serves as my mantra for the coming year: the future is not meant to be feared.

I know that the coming days and years will bring new challenges, surprises, and changes, and I'll probably still get nervous and excited about it. But I resolve to let faith and optimism reign in the place of anxious, cynical fear.

Hope is a wonderful thing, and aside from having more of it myself, I also wish I could inspire the same in other people. (Hey, I think I've just found my resolution.)

Cheers to the new year and the great things it will bring!

Hang Time

Because for some reason I like finding themes in things, the current theme of my life is this: hang time.

My previous inspiration post worked; I've finally made it out of college. I spent some weeks recuperating from my final, dazed days as a university student. (The first weeks after I had passed my thesis, I woke up almost every morning with a start, preparing to rush to school and submit my revisions. They say it takes 28 days to make or break a habit; I was working on that research for 10 months.) Then I spent some days in Bicol with my family. When we got back to Manila, I started the hunt.

Basically it's just been 3 weeks since I seriously started looking for a job, but oh, what impatience. There are people to whom things come easy; I am not one of them. I guess it's good training in a way--building character, teaching me to work hard for the things I really want. And work hard, I will. Maybe I'm built for stress, or work stress for that matter. I always like it when I'm working on something, especially when I'm able to understand and be good at what I'm working on--when I'm moving forward and making progress. I've never been the type who was good at sitting around and waiting.

I thought I could at least use this spare time to write, but often, I can't. There are some new subjects and styles I'd love to experiment with, but the right words, right tone, and all that aren't coming to me yet. So I'm biding my time in that department, too.

All those years in school, even when I had to wait for things, I always knew what would come next. For the first time since I've been aware of it, I have absolutely no idea what the universe has in store for me. I have plans, of course. But with these kinds of things, you can only bake your half of the plan so well. The rest is in someone else's hands (or maybe someone else's oven, if you're stubborn about sticking to that metaphor--but it sounds so wrong).

Here's a story: I almost flunked Physics in high school. I usually think of myself as a fast learner, but I was dumb as a rock in that course. Come to think of it, maybe rocks understand the laws of Physics better than I did. The worst lessons for me were the ones on projectile motion. It was a struggle to get half of those computations right. Among other things, I was awful at calculating hang time. I always thought it was little more or a little less than what it actually was.

Maybe this is just me being awful at the concept of time again. Maybe I'm right in convincing myself that there's nothing wrong or shameful about just biding time and having to wait for things. (Maybe the only real shame were my Physics grades.) In any case, I'm just going to have to hang in here, I guess.

Seeker

Somewhere between a summer of new passions and old frustrations; between the thrill of an internship and the lazy first days which will mark my final year in college; between rainy days and John Mayer songs; between rare moments of clarity and my usual pseudo-profound stream of thought—somewhere, the stories I would have told got lost.

I was parked for three hours at a dentist's waiting room while my sister got her braces readjusted. During the wait I reread (for the nth time) Luis Katigbak's insightful first book, Happy Endings (which you guys should totally read). Afterwards, I wondered where my stories went.

And for the first time, I wondered if I would ever find them.

Yes, we (who claim to be) writers can be such bitches about writer's block and our never-ending insecurities about not being good enough, or about not having anything to write about, or not being able to do justice to what would have been the perfect subject. Or maybe that's just me.

That's the difficulty of treating literature like a romantic relationship, I guess. There's too much of an emotional involvement. Sometimes I think I can just call it off, and work on my other (unfortunately nonexistent) talents. But no matter how crappy my work gets, I can't not write.

At the other end of the spectrum, I think about writing for a living. I almost tried—I got accepted for a writing internship at an awesome company, but I didn't confirm my slot. Mostly that was because I was waiting for my dream company (which did not turn out well), and partly it was because I was afraid. To be fair, the company knew what they had coming. I was asked to bring some writing samples (and one or two, I picked out from this blog). I guess they kind of liked it, or found it free of glaring errors at the very least. But I chickened out, because—as with everything else in my life—I'm afraid of not living up to some self-imposed, insecurity-born standard.

(I did end up in an equally awesome company where I had a productive and fulfilling internship experience, but that's a completely different blog post.)

So I guess in reality, this is partly about me and writing, and partly about me and the fears that I have yet to conquer. Well I'd better conquer them fast because I have no room to be afraid. There's quite some responsibility resting on my shoulders this year: an org to dedicate my time to, and a long list of people—with me at the top—who are expecting me to finish that gosh-darned thesis, no matter what it fcking takes, man. Then we'll graduate happily ever after—or at least I'll be happy for no longer than a month. I'm giving myself that much time to take a break, and then I'll find a job.

But that's all future talk. I'll tell you all about those bridges when I get there. Because I sure as hell will keep writing. After all, if literature is a romantic relationship with words, then maybe if I stop trying so hard, the stories themselves will find me.


[That cute little girl in the photo is Yana, my two year-old cousin.]

The Janus Tributes 3: Resolutions

Christmas and New Year's were pretty quiet this year, and I wasn't in the usual mood for wishlists, presents and year-ender posts. I did have awesome fun with my friends before the break, but the holidays are a time for family--and honestly, I love my folks but they're really boring. (They read this blog, by the way. Awkward questions, plus I am generally so dead. I hope they forget the url. If you haven't, well hello there parents. Please stop reading.)

Anyway, the main reason for not having a year-ender was that 2010 lacked the usual craziness and chaos that I usually go through. While I'm very grateful for such a stable and peaceful year, those two adjectives barely make for any interesting stories. The last year was great for meeting and keeping friends, but not much for telling tales. I did gain a lot--knowledge; wisdom; friends; weight; and increased alcoholic tolerance (either that, or better control over my drinking) among other things. But I can't rid myself of the feeling that I could've done more. I could've been more.

Thus, I've decided to make resolutions this year. It's been a while since I've made any lists, but here we go.

Dear Rz,

This 2011, never ever forget to:

1. MAKE A LOT OF RESOLUTIONS. And by resolutions, I mean short-term goals; concrete things to work for. 
2. TAKE CHARGE. Of your life; of your relationships; of your work. Don't leave things to chance--or worse--to someone else. You know you can do it, so why don't you?
3. GO FOR IT. [Ehem, OJT, ehem] I'm tired of your easy come, easy go, laid-back attitude. You have to push yourself this year. It's time to get up and get the things you really want. It will get tiring, and you'll feel perfectly like crap, but if you keep giving a little extra, it will all be worth it. On a related note, 
4. GET WHAT YOU WANT. If what you're getting isn't what you want, dump it and find something better. C'mon self, give yourself a treat. Don't settle for second best.
5. KEEP YOUR FRIENDS. You know how bad you are at this. But you have awesome people in your life and you can't afford to lose them, so lose the hermit habit instead. Reach out, let them in, and be good to them, always.
6. MAKE BAD DECISIONS (sometimes). I don't mean the life-ruining, relationship-wrecking type of bad. I mean the type which makes for funny stories later on. Don't be so uptight. Stable is best left to ICU patients and couples trying to start a family, and you're neither. Now is the best time to live for yourself, before you spend your whole life on responsibilities. "The things we regret most are not what we did but what we didn't do."
7. LIVE HEALTHIER. Okay, blogging this at one in the morning is a bad start. But please sleep earlier when you can, and learn how to wake up before 8 a.m. again. Lessen the cough-and-colds count this year. Last year was too much.
8. DO SOMETHING ABOUT THOSE FLABS. It's a bit rich to talk about flabs when you're such a skinny bitch, but they don't look good on you. So hit me with some sit-ups this year. I'm not talking six-pack abs overnight, but if your stomach and love handles get any fluffier, you'll be mistaken for a pregnant woman with your otherwise thin frame.

Just look at this letter from time to time; keep your word, and you'll do fine. This will be your year. Make it worth recalling when December rolls around.

Love,

Yourself

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.

Runaway

One evening, a few weeks ago, I sat caught in the middle of a traffic jam and the pouring rain. One of the (many) things that usually piss me off is riding jeepneys on rainy days. The windows are all draped with thick plastic and the general lack of air and space triggers my slight claustrophobia.

Luckily I was in one of the seats at the very end of the jeep. Staring out at Taft Avenue, I noticed a pedicab driver, singing at the top of his lungs as he pedaled by, completely drenched in the rain. He whooped as he swerved and passed under the torrent cascading from one of the LRT station roofs.

It's crazy to admit, but admired the pedicab driver--or rather, I admired the freedom he exuded. The image of me, crammed inside a jeepney for fear of getting wet in the rain, was one that I felt defined my life in general. I'm confined by rules, by things I've been led to believe I should be doing.

Click for source.

Lately I've been catching myself thinking about living more. I've grown tired of my rules and my duties, of always doing the right thing even when it makes me miserable. I want to do crazy things--dance in the rain (Gene Kelly style), stay out late, go on vacation, pretend to be a rock star, go on a road trip, or talk to total strangers. Or something, anything out of the ordinary.

It's the way I've been raised, and it grew on me, I guess. I've always had to be responsible--for myself, and for people around me. I've always been wary of letting people down, that I sometimes find myself in situations I'd rather be out of.

I have this fear that I'll be stuck in the routine my whole life. I know the responsibilities will just continue to pile up, and I want to get away--even just for a while--before I have to deal with them again. For once in my uptight life, I want to run away and come back, just to feel that I've changed somehow.

But for now I just have to make the best of what I've got, find small ways of escaping the ordinary. And someday I'll find the means, and or the courage, and maybe a buddy who'll go crazy with me.

Growing Pains

I know it's pretty late to blog about Inception or my birthday. Nevertheless this is a blog sort of about my birthday and it starts with me watching Inception.

I actually watched the movie a couple of weeks before my birthday. It was the first movie I ever watched by myself, and it was an awesome first time, I must say. I loved how intelligent the whole thing was. However, it didn't blow my mind as much, because I didn't think of the many interpretations of the plot when I watched it. Aside from the kick-ass zero-gravity fight scenes, what really struck me about the film was that it showed how easily we could lose track of reality.

The slightly depressing part is, I think I'm getting too grounded in it. This is where my birthday comes in. You see, I turned twenty barely a week ago. And while I don't want to be Peter Pan, I'm a teeny bit worried that I might be getting too caught up with the mundane things in my life. 

Actually, people never believe me when I tell them my age. I'm already used to being mistaken for either a boy, or a fourteen year-old (and on one hilarious instance, I was mistaken for both). I have no problems with acting like a kid either—you know, playing computer games when I'm supposed to be studying for exams, not cleaning my room, that kind of stuff.

But the thing is, I'm afraid I may have forgotten how to dream. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a detective, a ninja, and a magician. Later on I wanted to be a lawyer. Then I started reading the Harry Potter series and I wanted to be J.K. Rowling.

During my last year in high school, I seriously considered a degree in Humanities or Creative Writing. After doubting my writing prowess and having countless mini-debates with my mom, I decided to let it go. I personally settled for a degree in Computer Science, because it was a "serious, real" career—and the salary isn't so bad either.

And then you probably know the rest—I shifted out and landed in OrCom, which I think is an awesome course. It's where I want to be. Now my concept of dreaming is lusting over a job as an account manager for an advertising firm. I'd earn enough and buy my parents a house, buy myself a car, and then get my own place. I want a kid or two (but unless I start gaining romantic interest in guys then I'd probably have to save up for a costly, husband-less procedure, or for adoption). So far off, I know. It probably shows maturity, and having goals is a good thing. But where'd my other dreams go?

Sure, I'm gonna grow up. Who says I can't be awesome at it?

I know stability is a good thing, but I can't help but want to shake things up a bit. I just turned twenty, and now, more than anything, is the time to live life before my responsibilities start catching up with me. I mean, my mom's constantly on my neck about graduating ('cause I got delayed). I already have a family to support, and future hospital bills to worry about. So don't blame me for wanting to be young and reckless and stupid. I just want to be alive.

(Yes, I know that was incredibly cheesy and cliche.)

I guess the first un-adult thing I should do is to stop thinking too much and start doing (fun) things instead. So I'm gonna go now,and I'm gonna have fun. So should you.

Pack Rat

I'm allergic to dust. Whenever I get near the stuff, I tend to sneeze uncontrollably and break out in hives. It's a fact as much as it is a lame excuse to get out of cleaning my room. My mom recognizes that, which is why we were still forced to clean the room and wax the floors a couple of weeks ago (it was worth it though, for mother dear bribed us with 2 14" pizzas and enough soft drinks to satisfy my RDA of sugar for a week). 

Now, room cleaning is a rare event for me—second only to trips to the dentist in the list of necessary things which I religiously avoid doing. So it came as no surprise when I discovered an assortment of mementos stashed in the various nooks and crannies of my small room, some of which I haven't seen in years, literally. My initial reaction was—well aside from the uncontrollable sneezing—a pang of nostalgia, which led me to reminisce about the said items and their history.

Among the objects I found were loose beads from a bracelet given to me by a former friend. You'd think that I would know how to hold on to my few friends, but apparently she grew tired of our company, as well as of the numerous issues we managed to get ourselves into. I remember the Wednesday morning more than a year ago, when the bracelet snapped as I was getting off the train on my way to our class. It seemed ominous, since we were already starting to fall apart/drift away from each other at the time. To this day she refuses to talk to us and barely acknowledges our presence—a tough feat,considering that she usually ends up being group mates with our other friend.

I also found my extemporaneous speech plans, nestled between the yellowing pages of unused bluebooks which I hoarded during my first year in UP, for fear of having to take an exam without one. I put the bluebooks to good use during finals week and reread the speech plans. I was taking that class during my GE days, when I first decided to shift out of ComSci. I don't want to go into details, basically it was a time when my whole life was in a state of flux (which is a polite way of saying "totally freaking confusing and chaotic"). That speech class was a breather for me, almost the only place where I more or less knew what I was doing. Later on my prof became a panelist for my OrCom admission interview (where she got to scold me for my habitual tardiness) and by God's good grace, I got in, and my life regained its direction.

Another notable find was a ratty band-aid (yeah I know they're called medicated plastic strips or something, but that's too long and too lame) given to me by a dear friend back in my awkward high school days. It was a bit dramatic, actually, a symbol for her declaration that she would always be around to help me cope with my emo issues. She kept her word, and she was a great source of comfort for me throughout that year. She gave me a letter during graduation which totally warped my mind—to date I consider it as one of the very few real surprises I've had in my life. We haven't seen each other in about two years, and if you're reading this Jek, well, I think we need a reunion.

I was also pleasantly surprised to find a notepad with short letters from my grade five friends. I remember we got a little sentimental at the end of that school year and writing notes became the in thing during our last day. The notepad contained messages, some affectionate, but mostly jokes—it was only years later when I realized how much my classmates back then loved to bully me. They would hide my bag and lock me out of the room, call me weird names, and even go through the effort of building up a showbiz career for me—they made posters of my supposed "concert" and all that. But it wasn't so bad. We stayed friends, and besides, I'd like to think that I wasn't such a nerd back then. At least they were laughing at me, not behind my back. I sort of enjoyed that too, I guess.

At the back of that notepad was a short note from my crush at the time who decided to go for my friend, much to my ten year-old heart's dismay. It merely said "Ei Rizza o last day na. Have a happy summer vac[ation]", but I remember how I treasured it (pathetic, I know). Thanks to my social awkwardness, we never became close—I would call her to spend almost an hour of not talking—and she eventually migrated or something. I wonder where she is right now, and if she's changed as much as I have. Lame as it was, it was the first in the book of my (un)romantic history. That's another story—which perhaps should never be told in this blog, for my own sake. 

I realize how much I've babbled here, and I'd like to apologize for wasting your time. I have no lessons from this, except that awkward teens need not despair since awkwardness can be outgrown—not that I've managed that, but well.

Photo from here.

I now think of how much of a pack rat I am, both materially and emotionally. I'm a sucker for nostalgia, and sometimes I find myself wishing for things to be the way they were before. However, I've been around long enough to know that there's no going back. I'm just glad that my life's pretty good right now, I'm thankful the people who stuck around. As for the awful times and the people who left, in the words of Fall Out Boy: thnks fr th mmrs.

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. ;)

Drawn To The Ones Who Never Yawn

If all our life is but a dream, fantastic posing greed
then we should feed our jewelry to the sea.
For diamonds do appear to be
just like broken glass to me

It's a school day today. In less than four hours I will take another bath, put on another shirt, and another pair of pants, eat another breakfast, and ride another two jeepneys and breathe in the usual morning pollution. Life is back to its routine--to its rythms, to the lullabyes that drag us down into a subtle and willing monotony. Sometimes I feel like I'm sleeping through my life, on the days I spend on autopilot--counting hours so I can go home to sleep and count hours again the next day. It really is a lot like the lullabyes that my mother used to sing to me, recurring, beckoning into the unconscious.

And that's what I'm trying not to do--to live my life unconsciously. I don't know why I'm feeling this restless all of a sudden--maybe I'm just young and stupid, like they all say. Well if I really am, and I want to make the most of this stupidity and youth--because I know that's what older people miss. I'm not going to pull a Peter Pan and hide away from growing up. I want to grow up, but I want to be aware of it too.

The ink is running toward the page, it's chasing off the days...

I guess this is partly about the things I want for myself--the things I've always wanted to do--that I haven't accomplished until now. I know I'm not running out of time, but there's just really so much I want to do, and I don't want to cram my life. Haha. I know I practically have a doctorate in procrastinating, but I don't want to live my life cramming, spending the last days of it in a rush to live the way I've always wanted to.

And then she said she can't believe
genius only comes along in storms of fabled foreign tongues

I really don't know what's come over me these past few days. My theories range from the need for a post-break up self-reinvention, or maybe this a post-18th birthday stress syndrome...what the heck. I'm just hoping this isn't something like teen angst part two, because I was never happier than when I realized that I'd gotten over that. Haha.

I know the world's a broken bone--but melt your headaches, call it home.

And besides, I'm not angry at the world. I love it. It's so full of possibilities. I'm just restless to be reckless. Maybe this is that feeling of invincibility that older people call stupid. Haha. I don't mind. I have a life to live--corny jokes to crack, friends to laugh with, people to love, and songs to sing.

Which brings me to another topic--I just love Panic at the Disco's Northern Downpour. That's where all these lyrics came from. Just promoting. Haha.

Hey moon, please forget to fall down, hey moon, don't you go down.

See, I'm so restless that I don't even sleep anymore. I am, literally and figuratively, drawn to the ones who never yawn.