Silly Robots
This will be my first time to post something just because I was tagged (by
Tricia Sayurin). And all right, I have nothing exciting and worthy to blog about. The zombies came back and ran away with my brain, and I hope they won’t eventually eat it… Oh goodness, this made me remember Cole Sprouse (Cody Martin)’s line from
The Suite Life on Deck movie –
“But I’m the brainy one, Zack. If I’ll lose my brain, I’d only be… the one.” Ha! Nothing, I just remembered. Moving on…
RULES:
1. Each tagged person must post ten things about themselves.
2. You have to choose and tag ten people.
3. Go to their blogs and tell them you tagged them.
4. No tag backs.
5. Have fun.
- For a first impression: I'm a boring person. I don't and can't do small talks, and I can be silent as the dead. I enjoy the deafening silence. I don’t know. I think I’m just the silent type. How many times did I say silent? Geez. I’ll only be interesting and fun to talk to when we have something in common, like maybe love for books, Harry Potter and Sam Concepcion (insert blushing gif here).
- I want to be a novelist, so freaking' bad. Writing 'bout the things I never had. I want to be on the cover of Forbes Magazine, smiling next to Rowling and the King (Stephen King). Oh every time I close my eyes, I see my name with bragging rights… I think that says everything. (c) Edited “Billionaire”, Travie McCoy
- I'm a bookworm. I eat books. My life is practically all about endless books. They are like my own kind of endorphins – they make me euphoric and talkative. I try to read one or two books every month. I prefer mostly fictions and sci-fi. I hate true stories and sad plots.
- I'm hopeless romantic. I fall in love with fictitious characters and sulk at the fact that they can't be real. Who can blame me, seriously? Who wouldn’t fall for the caring, soft-hearted and artistic Peeta Mellark (of The Hunger Games)? Or swoon over the funny and strong Ronald Weasley (of Harry Potter)? I swear, if they’re real, I’d go hunt for them guys. Damn it.
- I have poor eyes. I don't know if it's inherited or from those nights that I've been reading without enough lights. I’ve been in too much trouble and humiliation because of them… but still, I couldn’t live without my poor, blurry eyes.
- Sam Concepcion is my man. Enough said.
- I am claustrophobic… or at least I think I am. I hate crowds and narrow spaces. Yes Sir, including concerts and trains. I always feel like I’m being enclosed in this locked vault with nowhere to escape and sucked into this silly black hole that’ll lead to Hades’ kingdom… how dramatic.
- Dementors are my ultimate nemesis. They make me lose trust in myself and what I can do. They suck all the remaining happiness in me, and how unlucky, I haven't mastered my Patronus charm yet. “Expecto Patronu-hum! Err… Expecto Pat – crap!” See how fictions and books influence my dull life?
- I would want to have kids someday and name them: Peeta and Pierro (boys) and Prim, Perrine and Prairie (girls). I love kids, everything about them – even their annoying tantrums and peevishness.
- I love my God. I love people. I love everyone. I’m lucky to have a crazy family and even crazier friends.
So that’s it. If I’ll have my own way, I’d expand this list to a thousand. There are a lot of things that I like, that I hate, and that interest me. But albeit my long list of “This Is Me”, I’m still a boring, dreary person. Let's leave it that way.
Speechless
God is awesome. This is awesome. We are all awesome.
I wish I could give God a hug and a kiss right now.
Live or Perish?
Hello baby DOWAC (yes, that's what I call this blog) and readers! I'm on my writing mood again and will post some relevant stuff that I should have blogged before. I'm sorry for my insanely profane use of words on my last post. All of it was a product of a broken heart, false hopes and initial shock. I’m really sorry. I’m not promising you all that I won’t do it again, because I don’t think that will happen. Yes, I use curse words a lot, and I’m sorry about it.
Anyway, have you heard of the news about the “end of the world” phenomenon? It’s widely known as the “Judgment Day” and I’ve read about its history and stuff. It was said that 2011 is the 7000th year from the flood. If you can still remember, and I know nobody forgets about this, 7000 years ago, God asked Noah to build a huge ark that would carry all kinds of animals in pairs and Noah’s family, and a great flood washed the earth and the individuals that were not inside the ark. In short, the world was destroyed by the flood and the catastrophe. The flood lasted for forty days, and all that was in safety started a new race of humankind.
But contrary to what has been spreading like wildfire all over the internet, May 21st isn’t really the end of the world. It’s the day when Jesus Christ will return for the Rapture – a reference to the being caught up referred to in the Biblical passage 1 Thess 4:17 when in the End Times the Christians will be gathered together in the air to meet Christ*. Those who will be saved, approximately 3,000,000 true believers, will be sent to Heaven, and hence, it’s the end of their world. The others, who will not be saved, roughly 6,997,000,000, will suffer a different fate. They will be punished to five cruel months of disaster, disease, mayhem and everything that spells suffering. After those unfortunate months, called “End Times”, the sufferers will now ultimately face the “End of the World.”
If you may ask why they need to go through grueling and tough times, it’s because they do not believe in God. They don’t respect and fear what God is and what He can do. The trials that they will face will make them realize that there is only one Father, and guess what, He’s very powerful that He can make us all suffer in one snap and live in tranquility in another.
For the record, I do not believe that the world will end tomorrow – washed out, burned or any other way – because the Great God is the only one who knows when and how we would all perish. If you believe and have faith in God, then you will not be afraid if Jesus Christ will return and choose only three million people and leave others on mortal peril. You will not be afraid if the Rapture will indeed happen this Saturday. If you trust and believe in Him, you will live.
Maybe our own little world would end in any other way we can think of – a singer’s world might end when she loses her voice; a mother’s will end when she loses her child; a lover’s will end when the one she loves leaves her for good. We may have it in any way… but we’d all end up in this: Our world ends the day we stop believing in God’s love and care.
Notes:
I Pushed Too Far
I just had my heart broken – again.
I know, it’s really weird and pointless since I haven’t been talking about me falling in love or the horribly familiar butterflies coming back inside my horribly big stomach. I have been mum about my romantic life’s status, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that I’ve been keeping all of these to myself and for not giving you a tiny bit of a hint about my heart’s state. And now that it has been shattered again, I’m running back to you.
Okay, I get it. I’m selfish. I only think about myself. I only remember you when I’m sad or depressed. And when all shits don’t fall into places, I always come running back to you with my heavy shoulders and wet-with-tears pillows. It’s a bad habit, and I’m totally aware of that, but what the fuck, I’m not doing anything about it.
What the fuck, I’m stubborn. What the fuck, I’m stupid. What the fuck, I don’t know where I’m going. What the fuck, I don’t know who I really am. What the fuck, I fucked everything up.
It’s pointless again – how I got my heart “broken” when I know that it really shouldn’t have been. It was a small infatuation, and clearly it wasn’t love. I was happy when he was around. I felt special, but it was merely love from friendship. We were just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.
And I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I don’t know why my heart busted with pain when I saw what I saw. And what I saw should have been good had it not affected me. I should be happy that he’s happy. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? I’m his friend. And I have no right to be hurt like this and eventually blame him for this wretched twinge I’m feeling inside. This is insane.
I now believe that infatuations can seriously go “out of hand.” It really can, and my mistake was not guarding my emotions and pushing it too far.
I shouldn’t had look at it beyond the “friendship line.” (
c)
Wretched, I am
Dear You,
I miss you.I haven’t seen you for a while. I haven’t gotten in touch with you except for the help of a powered processor called the computer and the wide range of the famous internet. But still, I am not satisfied with “virtual touch.” It is
limited – time, characters, use of words, personal touch, feelings – in all ways, and I won’t be able to say what I want you to know. And you probably won’t believe if you only read them on your radiation-emitting screen. Trust me, some words are better said in person.
Like how much I miss you – and it’s
so bad.
And that I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for everything. Oh, wait. I hope you won’t perceive this as a “Back to December” type. It’s not about relationships or regrets or wishing-to-turn-back-time-and-making-it-all-right. I just want to let you know that I’m not proud of what I’ve been doing to you, of how I’ve been treating you. You probably don’t notice; you probably wouldn’t understand. But I’m really sorry.
I’m sorry that I’ve been so hard to deal with. I’m sorry for being so selfish and self-centered. I’m sorry for just thinking about myself and what is good for me and not considering your own thoughts and feelings. I’m sorry that I forgot that you’re also human just like me – someone who gets hurt and has his own problems to deal with, too. I’m sorry that I’ve been bugging you every time I need help. I’m sorry that you’re the first and only person whom I can run into when I feel all shitty and fucked up. I’m sorry for making your shoulder the wettest ever because of my tears. I’m sorry for making your arms painfully numb for holding me for too long until I stop sobbing like a kid. I know that you have had enough of my problems, and that they’re getting into your nerves already. I’m sorry for not stopping even though I’m very aware of your annoyance and exhaustion. I’m sorry that I took you for granted.
I’m sorry for over-using you as a friend. I’m sorry for disturbing you when I’m so bored, and I have no one to talk to. I’m sorry for not thinking over first if you’re busy and not available. I’m sorry for thinking that you’re always there for me. I’m sorry for thinking that you cannot say no to me and my petty needs. I’m sorry for not reciprocating what you’re doing for me. I’m sorry for not helping you like what you do to me. You’re always the giver, and I’m always the receiver. And it hasn’t changed since.
I’m sorry for not thanking you every time you comfort and help me. You know I’m not so good with showing gratitude. I’m sorry for just walking in with my heavy shoulders and walking out with a light heart without appreciating your company and not treating you ice cream. I’m sorry for being insensitive and abusive. And not doing anything about it.
I’m very sorry. I don’t know how to say it in any other way. I’m just so sorry.
And thank you for everything.
And I miss you.
Always,
I
Drinks and Perceptions
Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.
- The Wonder Years
One fine Saturday afternoon –
fine, meaning no rain, not too much sun and cash on hand – four (three males with a variety of sizes and a girl with pale skin) young people –
young, meaning almost legal but not there yet, full of teenage hormones and up for anything – met for the first time after almost a year. For a moment there was that awkward silence that people always get when slapped with nostalgia from upfront. Who could even blame these kids?
Let me tell you about that four young people: the first (who was also the first to arrive) was a tall, scary-built lad who has nice eyes and smile that will either make you love or hate him. He was wearing a plain, v-necked shirt, pants, the usuals and a red-to-almost-maroon bonnet. His silhouette says one thing:
Don’t you mess with me. The second was a funny young lad with full-of-funny-thoughts eyes and an only-funny-things-come-out-here mouth. In short: he’s,
surprise, funny. The third was a lad with thick-rimmed glasses, thin arms, and loved lotion. And yes, he’s
really smart – and he can’t walk slowly. He always looked busy and on-the-run. The last was a girl with a young mind, an old soul, full bangs and poor eyes, and as what the funny young lad said, “Looks very anemic.”
They were friends from grade school, were fortunate enough to still be able to keep their friendship and were thankful for the wonders technology can do. Sometimes Facebook can be very useful, even beyond what its purpose is for and despite all the applications it offers that are really unnecessary.
For a long time, all they did was walk around the very small shopping mall. I reckon they’re planning on putting blindfolds and still be able to walk around without getting lost. Yes, that was how long they were walking. They talked about the present – school, grades, professors who talk about ghosts and unknown history, professors who don’t give a damn, friends who eat sardines with coffee, friends who listen to “medieval period” music, and petty matters that infuriate them and their petty reasons. They even got into criticizing fast food chains and how ice cubes take half of the glass’s space and less was left for the actual soda.
The guy with the beanie shared what he had learned from his History professor. “Once there was a datu who ordered one of his officers to go around town and take every woman’s v-card.”
“What?! True?”
“True.”
“Who was that datu? Tell me!” the funny guy asked. They all had to laugh at that!
“Whoa. What a job! And the officer was actually being paid for that?” the girl with poor eyes asked despicably.
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s a tough job – having sex with different woman you come across to. That would need a lot of energy. Tiring job, indeed.”
“Yuck,” the girl stated.
“And I’m saying this as if I know how it feels like,” the funny guy said. He pointed the guy with the beanie. “Wait, you know how, don’t you?”
“Damn, no!”
“Yuck, still.”
Once, they stopped to check out some of the pins on sale. The funny guy with the full-of-funny-thoughts eyes was actually aiming for the balloons which he thought was free. He was wrong, by the way. They spent almost a quarter of an hour just to pick pins and assess what was ugly and what was funny. The smart guy with thin arms wasn’t interested because he was busy waiting for his cash.
“Hey,” the girl with poor eyes passed a pin to the guy with the beanie.
“'Dancer Inside'… No.”
“Really?” she asked, dubious. She rummaged the container for more. “This,” she passed another one.
“'Engot Inside'… Maybe.”
The girl with poor eyes sniggered. “Maybe.”
Their afternoon went on like that: walked, stopped by and talked, walked, stopped by and talked, laughed, reminisced.
“You look like Sam Concepcion,” the funny guy said, referring to the guy with the beanie beside him.
“What?!” the girl with poor eyes disagreed. She was idiotically infatuated with that Concepcion guy and wasn’t keen on unreal comparisons.
The guy with the beanie laughed. The girl hoped he didn’t actually believe what the funny guy had said. The thin-armed guy was busy waiting for his money again. Better not disturb him!
Surprisingly, they got tired of doing nothing, and they could literally walk blindly in the building and still come out unscathed. Finally, someone had suggested having a drink – drink, meaning not anything plain, but something with alcohol. You know, teenage hormones and adventures.
So they finally got out of that boring mall and set off to a place they’re all familiar with. It was the same place they’d gone to, and they sat on the same couch they’d sat on before.
“This was the place where you’ve talked about bacteria and all the trivia,” the funny guy recalled, referring to the guy with the beanie.
“Ha! I told you so,” the girl with poor eyes said, egging the guy further. You see, the guy with the beanie has multiple personalities: at times he’s too private – he wouldn’t say anything; other times he’d talk about his perceptions and opinions about issues that bother him and he wouldn’t stop; he’d talk about religion and ignorance and government and outer space; and sometimes he won’t talk about anything – too snob. Teenage hormones, always the issue.
They had two buckets of beer and some stuff to feed their stomach. The guys talked about the past – their love lives before:
“She can’t look me in the eye,” the guy with the beanie said, referring to the girl he had dated even before he hit puberty.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“She even had a song for you. What was that again?” the funny guy contemplated. “Oh right! ‘I Love You, Goodbye’.”
“Yeah, right,” the guy with the beanie snorted.
“I even researched about that song,” the funny guy continued, and then he sang. “'Wish I could be the one…'”
“Geez.”
Friends who got pregnant:
“She was?!” the girl with poor eyes asked, surprised.
“Yes. Her baby’s three months old.” The thin-armed guy provided the details.
“Unbelievable. She was just into sports before. And I even thought she doesn’t do boys,” she recalled, still a bit incredulous.
Friends who were actually bisexuals and a whole lot of negativities:
“Is he really gay? Seriously?” The girl with poor eyes was always the naïve one.
“Yes. You didn’t know?”
“I do. But wasn’t he, you know, in denial before?”
“Couldn’t accept what he was yet…”
“And now he’s out. Wow.”
The girl with poor eyes was quiet (she only said something when she knew what the guys were talking about, but other than that, she was as silent as the dead) because she was not good with small conversations and talking about the past. She just swigged down glasses of beer until she had finished almost four bottles. The guys were talking; she was listening along.
“Are you okay?” the guy with the beanie asked.
“Yeah, sure,” the girl who’s been drinking too much answered, although she was sure the world was spinning.
And all the shits fell into places.
Note: It didn't end drastically. There wasn't anything illegal that happened. Nothing was "sacrificed" or "surrendered." Oh God, don't think of it that way. I just don't know how to end that story.
And another thing, all accounts are what my revolving brain can remember. I wasn't really sure who said what, but it was said. Fun, fun, fun Saturday, not Friday!
Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.
- Octavia Butler
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Silly Robots
This will be my first time to post something just because I was tagged (by
Tricia Sayurin). And all right, I have nothing exciting and worthy to blog about. The zombies came back and ran away with my brain, and I hope they won’t eventually eat it… Oh goodness, this made me remember Cole Sprouse (Cody Martin)’s line from
The Suite Life on Deck movie –
“But I’m the brainy one, Zack. If I’ll lose my brain, I’d only be… the one.” Ha! Nothing, I just remembered. Moving on…
RULES:
1. Each tagged person must post ten things about themselves.
2. You have to choose and tag ten people.
3. Go to their blogs and tell them you tagged them.
4. No tag backs.
5. Have fun.
- For a first impression: I'm a boring person. I don't and can't do small talks, and I can be silent as the dead. I enjoy the deafening silence. I don’t know. I think I’m just the silent type. How many times did I say silent? Geez. I’ll only be interesting and fun to talk to when we have something in common, like maybe love for books, Harry Potter and Sam Concepcion (insert blushing gif here).
- I want to be a novelist, so freaking' bad. Writing 'bout the things I never had. I want to be on the cover of Forbes Magazine, smiling next to Rowling and the King (Stephen King). Oh every time I close my eyes, I see my name with bragging rights… I think that says everything. (c) Edited “Billionaire”, Travie McCoy
- I'm a bookworm. I eat books. My life is practically all about endless books. They are like my own kind of endorphins – they make me euphoric and talkative. I try to read one or two books every month. I prefer mostly fictions and sci-fi. I hate true stories and sad plots.
- I'm hopeless romantic. I fall in love with fictitious characters and sulk at the fact that they can't be real. Who can blame me, seriously? Who wouldn’t fall for the caring, soft-hearted and artistic Peeta Mellark (of The Hunger Games)? Or swoon over the funny and strong Ronald Weasley (of Harry Potter)? I swear, if they’re real, I’d go hunt for them guys. Damn it.
- I have poor eyes. I don't know if it's inherited or from those nights that I've been reading without enough lights. I’ve been in too much trouble and humiliation because of them… but still, I couldn’t live without my poor, blurry eyes.
- Sam Concepcion is my man. Enough said.
- I am claustrophobic… or at least I think I am. I hate crowds and narrow spaces. Yes Sir, including concerts and trains. I always feel like I’m being enclosed in this locked vault with nowhere to escape and sucked into this silly black hole that’ll lead to Hades’ kingdom… how dramatic.
- Dementors are my ultimate nemesis. They make me lose trust in myself and what I can do. They suck all the remaining happiness in me, and how unlucky, I haven't mastered my Patronus charm yet. “Expecto Patronu-hum! Err… Expecto Pat – crap!” See how fictions and books influence my dull life?
- I would want to have kids someday and name them: Peeta and Pierro (boys) and Prim, Perrine and Prairie (girls). I love kids, everything about them – even their annoying tantrums and peevishness.
- I love my God. I love people. I love everyone. I’m lucky to have a crazy family and even crazier friends.
So that’s it. If I’ll have my own way, I’d expand this list to a thousand. There are a lot of things that I like, that I hate, and that interest me. But albeit my long list of “This Is Me”, I’m still a boring, dreary person. Let's leave it that way.
Speechless
God is awesome. This is awesome. We are all awesome.
I wish I could give God a hug and a kiss right now.
Live or Perish?
Hello baby DOWAC (yes, that's what I call this blog) and readers! I'm on my writing mood again and will post some relevant stuff that I should have blogged before. I'm sorry for my insanely profane use of words on my last post. All of it was a product of a broken heart, false hopes and initial shock. I’m really sorry. I’m not promising you all that I won’t do it again, because I don’t think that will happen. Yes, I use curse words a lot, and I’m sorry about it.
Anyway, have you heard of the news about the “end of the world” phenomenon? It’s widely known as the “Judgment Day” and I’ve read about its history and stuff. It was said that 2011 is the 7000th year from the flood. If you can still remember, and I know nobody forgets about this, 7000 years ago, God asked Noah to build a huge ark that would carry all kinds of animals in pairs and Noah’s family, and a great flood washed the earth and the individuals that were not inside the ark. In short, the world was destroyed by the flood and the catastrophe. The flood lasted for forty days, and all that was in safety started a new race of humankind.
But contrary to what has been spreading like wildfire all over the internet, May 21st isn’t really the end of the world. It’s the day when Jesus Christ will return for the Rapture – a reference to the being caught up referred to in the Biblical passage 1 Thess 4:17 when in the End Times the Christians will be gathered together in the air to meet Christ*. Those who will be saved, approximately 3,000,000 true believers, will be sent to Heaven, and hence, it’s the end of their world. The others, who will not be saved, roughly 6,997,000,000, will suffer a different fate. They will be punished to five cruel months of disaster, disease, mayhem and everything that spells suffering. After those unfortunate months, called “End Times”, the sufferers will now ultimately face the “End of the World.”
If you may ask why they need to go through grueling and tough times, it’s because they do not believe in God. They don’t respect and fear what God is and what He can do. The trials that they will face will make them realize that there is only one Father, and guess what, He’s very powerful that He can make us all suffer in one snap and live in tranquility in another.
For the record, I do not believe that the world will end tomorrow – washed out, burned or any other way – because the Great God is the only one who knows when and how we would all perish. If you believe and have faith in God, then you will not be afraid if Jesus Christ will return and choose only three million people and leave others on mortal peril. You will not be afraid if the Rapture will indeed happen this Saturday. If you trust and believe in Him, you will live.
Maybe our own little world would end in any other way we can think of – a singer’s world might end when she loses her voice; a mother’s will end when she loses her child; a lover’s will end when the one she loves leaves her for good. We may have it in any way… but we’d all end up in this: Our world ends the day we stop believing in God’s love and care.
Notes:
I Pushed Too Far
I just had my heart broken – again.
I know, it’s really weird and pointless since I haven’t been talking about me falling in love or the horribly familiar butterflies coming back inside my horribly big stomach. I have been mum about my romantic life’s status, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry that I’ve been keeping all of these to myself and for not giving you a tiny bit of a hint about my heart’s state. And now that it has been shattered again, I’m running back to you.
Okay, I get it. I’m selfish. I only think about myself. I only remember you when I’m sad or depressed. And when all shits don’t fall into places, I always come running back to you with my heavy shoulders and wet-with-tears pillows. It’s a bad habit, and I’m totally aware of that, but what the fuck, I’m not doing anything about it.
What the fuck, I’m stubborn. What the fuck, I’m stupid. What the fuck, I don’t know where I’m going. What the fuck, I don’t know who I really am. What the fuck, I fucked everything up.
It’s pointless again – how I got my heart “broken” when I know that it really shouldn’t have been. It was a small infatuation, and clearly it wasn’t love. I was happy when he was around. I felt special, but it was merely love from friendship. We were just friends. That’s all we’ll ever be.
And I don’t know why I’m acting like this. I don’t know why my heart busted with pain when I saw what I saw. And what I saw should have been good had it not affected me. I should be happy that he’s happy. That’s what friends are for, isn’t it? I’m his friend. And I have no right to be hurt like this and eventually blame him for this wretched twinge I’m feeling inside. This is insane.
I now believe that infatuations can seriously go “out of hand.” It really can, and my mistake was not guarding my emotions and pushing it too far.
I shouldn’t had look at it beyond the “friendship line.” (
c)
Wretched, I am
Dear You,
I miss you.I haven’t seen you for a while. I haven’t gotten in touch with you except for the help of a powered processor called the computer and the wide range of the famous internet. But still, I am not satisfied with “virtual touch.” It is
limited – time, characters, use of words, personal touch, feelings – in all ways, and I won’t be able to say what I want you to know. And you probably won’t believe if you only read them on your radiation-emitting screen. Trust me, some words are better said in person.
Like how much I miss you – and it’s
so bad.
And that I’m sorry.
I’m sorry for everything. Oh, wait. I hope you won’t perceive this as a “Back to December” type. It’s not about relationships or regrets or wishing-to-turn-back-time-and-making-it-all-right. I just want to let you know that I’m not proud of what I’ve been doing to you, of how I’ve been treating you. You probably don’t notice; you probably wouldn’t understand. But I’m really sorry.
I’m sorry that I’ve been so hard to deal with. I’m sorry for being so selfish and self-centered. I’m sorry for just thinking about myself and what is good for me and not considering your own thoughts and feelings. I’m sorry that I forgot that you’re also human just like me – someone who gets hurt and has his own problems to deal with, too. I’m sorry that I’ve been bugging you every time I need help. I’m sorry that you’re the first and only person whom I can run into when I feel all shitty and fucked up. I’m sorry for making your shoulder the wettest ever because of my tears. I’m sorry for making your arms painfully numb for holding me for too long until I stop sobbing like a kid. I know that you have had enough of my problems, and that they’re getting into your nerves already. I’m sorry for not stopping even though I’m very aware of your annoyance and exhaustion. I’m sorry that I took you for granted.
I’m sorry for over-using you as a friend. I’m sorry for disturbing you when I’m so bored, and I have no one to talk to. I’m sorry for not thinking over first if you’re busy and not available. I’m sorry for thinking that you’re always there for me. I’m sorry for thinking that you cannot say no to me and my petty needs. I’m sorry for not reciprocating what you’re doing for me. I’m sorry for not helping you like what you do to me. You’re always the giver, and I’m always the receiver. And it hasn’t changed since.
I’m sorry for not thanking you every time you comfort and help me. You know I’m not so good with showing gratitude. I’m sorry for just walking in with my heavy shoulders and walking out with a light heart without appreciating your company and not treating you ice cream. I’m sorry for being insensitive and abusive. And not doing anything about it.
I’m very sorry. I don’t know how to say it in any other way. I’m just so sorry.
And thank you for everything.
And I miss you.
Always,
I
Drinks and Perceptions
Memory is a way of holding onto the things you love, the things you are, the things you never want to lose.
- The Wonder Years
One fine Saturday afternoon –
fine, meaning no rain, not too much sun and cash on hand – four (three males with a variety of sizes and a girl with pale skin) young people –
young, meaning almost legal but not there yet, full of teenage hormones and up for anything – met for the first time after almost a year. For a moment there was that awkward silence that people always get when slapped with nostalgia from upfront. Who could even blame these kids?
Let me tell you about that four young people: the first (who was also the first to arrive) was a tall, scary-built lad who has nice eyes and smile that will either make you love or hate him. He was wearing a plain, v-necked shirt, pants, the usuals and a red-to-almost-maroon bonnet. His silhouette says one thing:
Don’t you mess with me. The second was a funny young lad with full-of-funny-thoughts eyes and an only-funny-things-come-out-here mouth. In short: he’s,
surprise, funny. The third was a lad with thick-rimmed glasses, thin arms, and loved lotion. And yes, he’s
really smart – and he can’t walk slowly. He always looked busy and on-the-run. The last was a girl with a young mind, an old soul, full bangs and poor eyes, and as what the funny young lad said, “Looks very anemic.”
They were friends from grade school, were fortunate enough to still be able to keep their friendship and were thankful for the wonders technology can do. Sometimes Facebook can be very useful, even beyond what its purpose is for and despite all the applications it offers that are really unnecessary.
For a long time, all they did was walk around the very small shopping mall. I reckon they’re planning on putting blindfolds and still be able to walk around without getting lost. Yes, that was how long they were walking. They talked about the present – school, grades, professors who talk about ghosts and unknown history, professors who don’t give a damn, friends who eat sardines with coffee, friends who listen to “medieval period” music, and petty matters that infuriate them and their petty reasons. They even got into criticizing fast food chains and how ice cubes take half of the glass’s space and less was left for the actual soda.
The guy with the beanie shared what he had learned from his History professor. “Once there was a datu who ordered one of his officers to go around town and take every woman’s v-card.”
“What?! True?”
“True.”
“Who was that datu? Tell me!” the funny guy asked. They all had to laugh at that!
“Whoa. What a job! And the officer was actually being paid for that?” the girl with poor eyes asked despicably.
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s a tough job – having sex with different woman you come across to. That would need a lot of energy. Tiring job, indeed.”
“Yuck,” the girl stated.
“And I’m saying this as if I know how it feels like,” the funny guy said. He pointed the guy with the beanie. “Wait, you know how, don’t you?”
“Damn, no!”
“Yuck, still.”
Once, they stopped to check out some of the pins on sale. The funny guy with the full-of-funny-thoughts eyes was actually aiming for the balloons which he thought was free. He was wrong, by the way. They spent almost a quarter of an hour just to pick pins and assess what was ugly and what was funny. The smart guy with thin arms wasn’t interested because he was busy waiting for his cash.
“Hey,” the girl with poor eyes passed a pin to the guy with the beanie.
“'Dancer Inside'… No.”
“Really?” she asked, dubious. She rummaged the container for more. “This,” she passed another one.
“'Engot Inside'… Maybe.”
The girl with poor eyes sniggered. “Maybe.”
Their afternoon went on like that: walked, stopped by and talked, walked, stopped by and talked, laughed, reminisced.
“You look like Sam Concepcion,” the funny guy said, referring to the guy with the beanie beside him.
“What?!” the girl with poor eyes disagreed. She was idiotically infatuated with that Concepcion guy and wasn’t keen on unreal comparisons.
The guy with the beanie laughed. The girl hoped he didn’t actually believe what the funny guy had said. The thin-armed guy was busy waiting for his money again. Better not disturb him!
Surprisingly, they got tired of doing nothing, and they could literally walk blindly in the building and still come out unscathed. Finally, someone had suggested having a drink – drink, meaning not anything plain, but something with alcohol. You know, teenage hormones and adventures.
So they finally got out of that boring mall and set off to a place they’re all familiar with. It was the same place they’d gone to, and they sat on the same couch they’d sat on before.
“This was the place where you’ve talked about bacteria and all the trivia,” the funny guy recalled, referring to the guy with the beanie.
“Ha! I told you so,” the girl with poor eyes said, egging the guy further. You see, the guy with the beanie has multiple personalities: at times he’s too private – he wouldn’t say anything; other times he’d talk about his perceptions and opinions about issues that bother him and he wouldn’t stop; he’d talk about religion and ignorance and government and outer space; and sometimes he won’t talk about anything – too snob. Teenage hormones, always the issue.
They had two buckets of beer and some stuff to feed their stomach. The guys talked about the past – their love lives before:
“She can’t look me in the eye,” the guy with the beanie said, referring to the girl he had dated even before he hit puberty.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“She even had a song for you. What was that again?” the funny guy contemplated. “Oh right! ‘I Love You, Goodbye’.”
“Yeah, right,” the guy with the beanie snorted.
“I even researched about that song,” the funny guy continued, and then he sang. “'Wish I could be the one…'”
“Geez.”
Friends who got pregnant:
“She was?!” the girl with poor eyes asked, surprised.
“Yes. Her baby’s three months old.” The thin-armed guy provided the details.
“Unbelievable. She was just into sports before. And I even thought she doesn’t do boys,” she recalled, still a bit incredulous.
Friends who were actually bisexuals and a whole lot of negativities:
“Is he really gay? Seriously?” The girl with poor eyes was always the naïve one.
“Yes. You didn’t know?”
“I do. But wasn’t he, you know, in denial before?”
“Couldn’t accept what he was yet…”
“And now he’s out. Wow.”
The girl with poor eyes was quiet (she only said something when she knew what the guys were talking about, but other than that, she was as silent as the dead) because she was not good with small conversations and talking about the past. She just swigged down glasses of beer until she had finished almost four bottles. The guys were talking; she was listening along.
“Are you okay?” the guy with the beanie asked.
“Yeah, sure,” the girl who’s been drinking too much answered, although she was sure the world was spinning.
And all the shits fell into places.
Note: It didn't end drastically. There wasn't anything illegal that happened. Nothing was "sacrificed" or "surrendered." Oh God, don't think of it that way. I just don't know how to end that story.
And another thing, all accounts are what my revolving brain can remember. I wasn't really sure who said what, but it was said. Fun, fun, fun Saturday, not Friday!
Sometimes being a friend means mastering the art of timing. There is a time for silence. A time to let go and allow people to hurl themselves into their own destiny. And a time to prepare to pick up the pieces when it's all over.
- Octavia Butler
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
