July: In a Nutshell
July, the second month after my
first Monthly Nutshell (yes, I’m really doing this), can be summarized into two words:
Awesomely Blessed. It’s a rainy month, yes, but everything had fallen where I wanted them to be, and I became more active and more of myself while still keeping in mind what I can and cannot show the public; everything went great that it felt like the weather was great, too. A lot of things happened: I’ve been elected as an officer in three different clubs (which is
heavy); my first pair of super heels had been purchased; my first mountain had been trekked; I’ve gained more friends and even extended to other students from other Institutes; my energy level had gradually heighted, which led me to several beaten up nights.
July is my birth month. Usually, it would piss me off when it’s July and nothing good happened (even my birthdays are lame). But July 2012 had been so good to me that it’s scary to end it. It wasn’t perfect: major zits on my nose, pain-in-the-ass chores and school requirements, and lots confusion in many aspects of life. It wasn’t crystal clear perfect and spectacular but it was great. It’s even better than June. It was great, okay?
JULY ARCHIVES
(what I’ve written and posted in this blog)Nineteen Years Later
(Friday, July 6, 2012)This was by birthday post. It was by far the
best birthday I had: I finally was released from the awful chains of being eighteen years old (it wasn’t my favorite); I was immortalized and officially became worthy of being a member of the Salvatore brothers’ nest of vampires in Mystic Falls; I’m blessed and thankful for everything; I’m loveless but still happy. I’m basically living a dizzyingly rollercoaster-painted-in-neon ride that only goes up.
The Imaginary Best Friend
(Saturday, July 14, 2012)Last year, I decided to dedicate an entry for this blog on its anniversary. It’s my way of looking back on weird things and of reminding me that I have an awesome blog. I almost forgot about this special day but good thing I made it on time. This blog is an extension of the endless string of blessings I’ve been receiving. I can’t imagine living without having to write about my life, the shits and myself, so I guess if not for this blog, I would have been a walking zombie for quite some time now. I know it’s has been infected with spammers lately, and that random celebrities declare that they “support” me and that I have a “nice blog”, but I believe it’s still a blog and I will forever keep it that way. I promised last year that I won’t delete this even if microblogging sites sprout nonstop and take over the world. I will stick to my blogger.com journal, no questions asked.
One Sided Bittersweet Gravity
(Saturday, July 21, 2012)An extension to my
“Status: Perilously Infatuated” post, this was an evidence of how confused I was with my feelings for GEMV – and a sure way to suicidal. “I miss him a lot, even if he doesn’t miss me back. I like him a lot, even if he doesn’t like me back. I would just wait for that moment when I’m really sure what I feel, and for that day when we meet again and hope I won’t freak out.” I’m so stupid. Geez, let’s just read books.
Hamartia Overload
(Wednesday, July 24, 2012)Hamartia is the word for a hero’s fatal flaw that brings him to his tragic end. I first came upon this word on a novel, and had the desire to ridicule myself and point out all my imperfections again; maybe they would sound less hurtful when I talk more and more about them. Maybe, after some time, I would get used to the ugly ride and reach the I Feel Beautiful Land and sing
Believe In Me on the top of my lungs like I’m Demi Lovato. Let’s do this, Self Esteem!
STRIKING QUOTE“Grief is natural. Overcoming it is a matter of choice.” © Mrs. Woodhouse,
The Virgin Suicides (Jeffrey Eugenides)
BOOKS UPDATEI found it hard to make time for reading because of my tight schedule, but thank the heavens I still finished some fictions and added another Read Book in my
Goodreads account. So far it says, “74 Reads”. 100 is a long shot, but I would try my best to read as much as possible.
July Reads:
Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan (sweet stuff),
Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver (I’m falling in love with this author, and oh, Kent McFuller, let me love you and your curtain of a hair), and
The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides (creepy as always).
Current Read:
Deliruim by Lauren Oliver.
FAVORITE PERSON
(lad/s or lass/ies who made an impact to my life or anybody else’s or someone who inspired me the most)I’m dedicating this section to a fellow Society member and Rotaractor, Mary Ann B. I love her. I guess she’s older than me by a year. She’s like the older sister I wished for but never had. I never thought we would be so tight, with her being a senior and me being an irregular student. I don’t know why she’s so nice to me, or why she decided to call me “Darling” when we’re both not gay after maybe two weeks after I transferred to the school. She’s so sweet and friendly that it’s shameful, on my part, when I get mood fits. She even chose me to be her secretary, which I right away accepted because I like the club and I love her. We work together for the prosperity of the Rotaract Club. They say secretaries are the right hands of the presidents, but in our case we are each other’s
both left and right hands. We can even be each other’s legs and support system. I hope it wouldn’t be awkward if ever she reads this.
FAVORITE PHOTO/GIF ©I’m obsessed with
Michael Colton Dixon. Again. I don’t know if I should get tickets to their show here in Manila; I want to see him but I don’t want to be fed by some Jessica-Sanchez-is-a-Filipino biasness that would
obviously happen. Maybe I would just relentlessly hope that he’d have his own solo concert tour and come back here. I’d save my ass off to get VIP tickets if that happens, I swear!
ONLINE ENDEVOURS
(things I’ve done online to hopelessly make me cyber-famous without removing my clothes or making Youtube covers)I’m basically missing in action this month. I only posted some
Will Grayson, Will Grayson typographies and some painfully
flawless females I might have homosexual crushes with.
SONGS OF THE MONTH- King of Anything – Sara Bareilles (Because I’m currently in love with her, and this song is bad ass.)
- Summer is Over – Sara Bareilles, Jon McLaughlin
- Kontrabida – Sam Concepcion (I seldom listen to Filipino songs, but this is Sam, so…)
- Right By My Side – Chris Brown, Nicki Minaj (Because I love Breezy.)
CHAMPAGNE TO POP
(celebrations, yays, confetti!)Other than my successful journey to Immortalization, my birthday and my blog’s anniversary, I celebrate this month the budding opulence of my social life. I’m not the outgoing type of kid who attends the most talked about parties and drinks ridiculously expensive cappuccino in coffee-bars-with-ambiance. I’m the type who goes to bookstores and looks at shoes like I could eat them. With the personality I have, it’s a miracle for me to have friends and be socially active. But maybe I compromised with them or they compromised with me, but I have friends who don’t mind if I can’t join them in their Friday night outs. They respect my decisions and don’t call me “killjoy” when all I really do was to kill their joy. I love people who can accept weird kids in their cliques.
July was a blessed month, so I’m worried that blessings would stop coming, too the moment this month does. But, just like what John Green wrote in
Looking for Alaska, we can’t know better until knowing better is useless. So let’s do this August! I can’t wait till I write another Nutshell for you.
(P.S.: I didn’t post this on the exact last day of July because I would be super busy that day: Acquaintance party! Dancing! Broadway production! Meh.)
Hamartia Overload
Hamartia – fatal flaw that brings a hero to his tragic end.I’m
not a hero, but I’m
full of hamartia. I know that people, especially hormone bags like teenagers, should look at the brighter side and celebrate the good things and not the bad, but there are some of us who just
can’t blindly
ignore the imperfections that come with puberty and genes. That’s where self-talk (an inner speech that includes the questions and comments you address to yourself) comes in. Occasionally self-talk works with me, but most of the time – screw self-talk – I’m so pessimistic that even transposition can’t change this negative sign I carry around, even inverse property becomes a zero property to me. (I’m talking Algebra – awfully weird).
Since these imperfections will forever stay as imperfections, I got around to making it easier for me by ridiculing myself and/or by noticing other’s flaws and comparing who got it worse. (These are
Hamartia 1 and
Hamartia 2.) I’m fully aware that doing so is terrible, but that’s how I get through the day without having to hang myself in the closet or do pathetic and masochistic things to myself and my body. Sometimes I have it worse; sometimes I feel good about myself. But before I reach the I Feel Beautiful Land and sing
this song with conviction, I need to pass through ugly roads and patchy detours.
And right now I will once more take the painful ride… and sucks for you, you’re coming with me. (Put your seatbelts on for a rocky ride! Geez.)
Hamartia 3: I hate myself for being insecure. Before, I remember I didn’t have a lot of insecurities. Not that I was in love with myself for being ridiculously gorgeous or slim or perfect, but I was
contented with who I was and what I had. I didn’t wish for new clothes or smart gadgets. I didn’t care if my phone is so old it’s phased out. I didn’t care; I had more pressing things to press flat. But, God, now I do. I care. My insecurities are piling higher and higher every day. I look at the mirror, and “Crap”. I look at my unflattering body, and “Crap”. I look at my social life, and “Hopeless”. I don’t know where all of these are coming from. I’m even starting to think that the “Intelligent Girls are Sexy” is already a non-existent mantra. Yes, I believe I’m
not dumb. (School is where I basically excel. Only. Except Gym, of course.) But right now, I don’t think having an obese brain matters anymore – even personality. It’s just all about
face face face. Can’t it be
brains brains brains? I will be waiting for that time when smart girls run the world.
Hamartia 4: I am nosy. Nosy doesn’t mean “big nose”, okay? Nosy means snoopy (not the dog), prying, always curious. That is me. I’m always curious. I told myself to always ask questions even if they’re annoying because the great Albert Einstein once said, “I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious.” For all the world knows I can be the next Trying Hard to be an Einstein. Although I have a problem with my being nosy: I have itchy hands. Nope, I’m not stealing things. I merely pick things and observe them up close or read them or sit on them or anything.
Without the owner’s permission. I always forget to ask them if I can look at their things or read their notebook. Every time something catches my attention, I grab them without hesitation. I’m so curious I’m already
inconsiderate and
disrespectful. I can’t help it: every little thing interests me.
Hamartia 5: I had mentally killed too many people. It even surpassed the number of cockroaches I’d murdered. I’m such a perfectionist. I hate making shallow mistakes. I hate people who can’t comprehend or follow simple instructions. Basically, I’m a
nightmare for a leader. I get frustrated easily and I don’t take blames for mistakes I didn’t make (why would I?). Most of the time, I subtly tell people their mistakes, but when I don’t, I kill them in my mind. I kill them with detrimental words that even I can’t spell. I’m judgmental. Every night I pray and ask God’s forgiveness for my growing list of victims… but the next day I do it again. It’s so bad that even my little good deeds can’t make up for it.
Hamartia 6: It’s all about me, me, me. It’s the reason why I made this blog in the first place. I’m quite self-centered even if I always declare that I hate spotlights and all the attention shits. I still hate spotlights (they bring red splotches on my face and chest and some wetness under my arms), but sometimes I need to be
appreciated. I want to be seen and thanked and praised every so often. That’s the only way I feel good about myself without doing either Hamartia 1 or Hamartia 2. I need friends who share the same interests as mine so we can have something to talk about, or if we have clashing hobbies, I need someone who can at least
understand me and
accept the screwball that comes with being my friend. I need friends who can appreciate the smarts I sometimes possess and the arts I make out of boredom. I’m so full of myself I’m bloated (literally and figuratively).
Hamartia 7: I’m so weird. And I like it. It’s one of the few imperfections I proudly embrace. Weird is good, weird is wonderful, weird is special. I like being weird. I feel good when I blurt things out in the middle of a class that make everything awkward. I love it when I talk the Book Language. I hate it when I freak out, but that’s who I am: I can’t do KEEP CALM and BE AWESOME. I’m more of the CALM THE SHIT DOWN and WEIRD IT OUT. I
don’t regret being weird. We are all weird anyway, some of us are just good at hiding it (God knows they make snow angels on their beds and pick their cereals by color). Let’s all embrace weirdness!
Phew! Now I feel good. Oh dear, you look nauseated. Get off my blog before you throw up.
One Sided Bittersweet Gravity
I can’t stop thinking about him.He’s always there – always running around my mind, starring in different daydream sequence I make every minute, making me feel giddy, happy and weird.
I can’t help it. Every little thing reminds me of him, even Katy Perry’s songs. I was trying to study but I couldn’t because all I thought about was him. My attention is unequally divided because of him. He’s basically an absolute distraction for an absolutely distracted me. I don’t
understand this feeling anymore. It wasn’t this bad before. I wasn’t yearning this much for him. Everything is all over the place. I have no idea what led me to this foolishness or what pushed/triggered me to miss him like I had never missed him before. It feels so good and yet so bad.
I miss him more than ever. I want to see him every day, to see his warm smile, friendly eyes and unfaltering sociable aura. I have these immoral desires to feel his warmth, his skin, his presence. I want to hug him and hold his hands. I want to stand beside him, to buy books with him, to sit and laugh next to him, to be normal around him. What sucks is that I know these things will never happen because they just
can’t. And what’s stupid is that, even though I know it’s all hopeless and heartbreaking, I
never stop wishing and waiting.
Waiting – the most ludicrous thing ever. I’m fully aware that I’m waiting for nothing, but heck, I will wait.
To put things straight, I know I’m not in love with him yet. But I’m not sure. I had never felt this way towards someone who isn’t named Sam Concepcion. From the first day I saw him, to the last day I met him, until the day I don’t see him anymore, the feeling is always there – lingering, dancing around, madly uncontrolled, making my life crazy and my heartbeat irregular. And the worse thing is that I
like it: I find it as one of the best feelings ever. He inspires me even though I don’t actually see him. I’m infatuated with someone who probably doesn’t even remember me, who probably only knows me as a bookish-blogger-Facebook friend.
I’m not sure if I’m already in love with him, but what I’m sure about is that I like him a lot.
Something always brings me back to you. It never takes too long. No matter what I say or do, I’ll still feel you here ‘til the moment I’m gone. You hold me without touch. You keep me without chains. I never wanted anything so much, than to drown in your love and not feel your rain.
Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity. Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I’m supposed to be. But you’re on to me and all over me.
© Gravity, Sarah Bareilles
I want to tell this all to him and let him know that I’m almost-obsessed with him and make him be aware of his two-year-long admirer. I want to let him know how much I appreciate him and his quirks and epic fail antics. I want him to know how much his determination, perseverance and damn brains knock the ragged breath out of me. I want to tell him how much he inspires me to go to school every day even though he isn’t my schoolmate. I want to scream into his face how much he means to me, how his virtual emoticons make me go jelly all over, how his Facebook beeps send electricity to my veins that leads me to writing revoltingly cheesy lines like what I’m doing right now. But beneath all these “I wants”, all I really yearn for is to see him in all his wonderful physicality.
When I was in high school, I can show and tell a guy that I liked him. But with him, the case is different. Outright avowal needs thorough calculations and educated guesses. I came up with the deduction that maybe I find it hard to tell him how I feel because: 1) we’re not super friends; 2) I’m not worthy of him; 3) I can’t even imagine myself dating him because 4) he’s too good, smart and perfect for me, which really
sucks; and 5) I can’t properly enunciate comprehensible words to him (even a “Hi” is a pain) because 6) I freak out and run away when I see him, which is basically not
cool. My past victims were plainly inferior to me when it comes to attentiveness and grade-consciousness; I regarded myself as someone better than them (which was utterly immoral), so I guess it was easier to be vocal about some feelings issues. But then he came, and I feel so inferior next to him that I might as well kill myself or stay in a dark corner and still kill myself. He’s standing in the upper part of the Awesome People List, while I was there, so
down there I’m eaten by the shadows. I feel so small compared to him. He’s so much more accomplished, smart, friendly and focused. I’m basically, seriously and painfully
not worthy of someone like him. We’re figuratively unequal.
And when I think about it – the declaration of my fascination for him – if it ever happens, it would
scare the heck out of me. I don’t know what I’d do the moment he learns about it. I hate awkward walls and all that consciousness because they’re all shits. It would
break me if he learns about it and decides to stay away from me. Oh, please,
more pain now, eh? I’m
dead if he comes up with the conclusion that I’m a creepy stalker and shouldn’t be considered a friend. But I still want for him to know about it. I don’t know in what way, but it should be given a voice, maybe because I believe it would lessen the burden of yearning and would help me properly sort out what I really feel for him. I know it wouldn’t wane everything, but at least I know where I should stand, what I should expect and when to stop waiting and hoping.
I miss him a lot, even if he doesn’t miss me back. I like him a lot, even if he doesn’t like me back. I would just wait for that moment when I’m really sure what I feel, and for that day when we meet again and hope I won’t freak out.
Let’s not make awkward walls, GEMV, okay? (I’m sorry if I wrote about him again. I just needed to release this confusion.)
The Imaginary Best Friend
This shall be yet another post where I believe my dear blog is alive.
Dear Wingardium aka Wings aka DOWAC,Happy birthday!
Three years: that’s how long you’ve been keeping up with my pathetic life through written pathetic words and phrases which you gladly and genuinely accept and publish. Without hesitation. I’m so glad I made and have you. You are one of the things which I don’t regret making and/or deciding upon. We’ve been working harmoniously together to the point that I consider you a human being already, not just a Blogger-powered online journal. You’re real and living in my heart, my soul, my mind and my entire life. I know it’s a bit barf-emitting, but honestly, if you are really alive and all that, I’d make you my second best friend and hug and visit bookstores with you. And you know, just by the last sentence prior to this, that I’m an anti-social human being without a lot of friends who can understand me. I’m so wretched that I even believe you’d be a
better teenager than me.
But let’s not be so
hypocrite here. I have always been honest with you, so right now I want to be as honest as possible: I almost
forgot about your birthday.
Again. Last year this unfortunate thing happened because of my masochistic anticipation for the last installment of the
Harry Potter movies,
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2. (I miss
HP, still. It’s so different not having to go to the cinemas around this month to see it.) This year, though, I can’t make
HP my excuse, but I’m
not making any excuses, believe me. I almost forgot about this remarkable day because I’m so…
busy. Really. I haven’t been this busy since… well, since high school. And when I say “I’m busy”, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have time to fangirl or sleep or have me-time anymore. I’m busy in a sense that my mind is working all day and my body half of the day, and thinking anything outside what I usually think is not allowable anymore. My mind works like this: wake up, bitch > cook > bath and stuff > school > home > cook again > homework > club responsibilities > think of Mom, Sam Concepcion and/or GEMV > try to sleep. I’m trying to juggle everything since I’m the current person in-charge of the house. Don’t ask me for details; there are creeps around.
I was thinking of what I would blog this week when I remembered that it’s your freakin’ blog anniversary. And I was like, “Holy cow, how come I forgot about it?!” I need some free time, Wings. I didn’t think that there was mind and body limitation before, but right now I wish there was any Constitutional Bill that would
obliged people to have mind and body rest and all that shit. But I guess there are worse cases than mine (which isn’t really bad, to begin with). But, again, I can always say that writing and reading relax me and make my life better – which is yet another reason why I love you.
Anyway, for the last couple of posts we have here, I’ve been sharing to you my accomplishments and lucks and oh-I-love-my-life. I was serious when I said that I think 2012 is my year. For one thing, you’re still so much alive and active. Your number of followers have now ascended to two digits. Although your tagboard is infested with spammers who believe they can compel us to visit their sites (God knows they’re lairs of viruses) with their “Nice posts, keep it up, sweetie” and by naming themselves “Miley Cyrus” (I don’t know a lot about Miley but enough to know that she
doesn’t have bad grammar), we both know that our real, existing, totally-not-Miley-Cyrus friends read us.
Also, I noticed, every year the posts we have here are becoming more mature, community-oriented, God-centered, emotion-conscious and smart. Even though from time to time I post senseless and stupid things, there are
morals behind them. When I back-read some of those posts, either I have the tendency to barf or doubt the fact that I was the one who wrote it. Sometimes I can’t help but feel good about my writing and bloat my head a little for being such a bad ass blogger. I know that you, Wings, aren’t a famous blog (yet) with the thousand followers and million hits, but I trust that beneath all the petty entries we have here, there is something to
learn from them, and that they aren’t always senseless and stupid. (This is a self-induced morale booster; we need it, trust me.)
I know I shouldn’t be talking about myself right now because my birthday was eight days ago, but I will since you love me anyway. I’m good. I’ve been having a lot of headaches these past few days, but I’m still a Trying Hard Bad Ass. All I can think of when I look in the mirror is
zits zits zits, but I’m still a Trying Hard Optimist and Bright Side Looker. I’m always trying to allot time for my reading amidst my heavy schedule because my Goal: 100 Reads is still ongoing (current read:
The Virgin Suicides – yep, the Kirsten Dunst-starrer). I’m still confused about my true feelings for GEMV (I got around to calling him GEMV instead of FCC), but I’m the Forever Confused One Side Lover, so what the hell. But albeit all the in-between shits in the crappy life of mine, I’m still happy. Give me food and I’ll be happy – and totally bloated. Remove the craters and I’ll be a superhero.
I hope you’re also happy, Wings. Oh, right. You’re happiness depends on
my happiness. I’ll always try to be happy for you. I love you that much, okay? I know you’re real, and you’re just around the corner, invisibly urging me to write and give you an acceptable blog-life. You’re awesome, please remember that. See you next year – next week, really.
Love till we drop,
CF S. OrdasGeez, I feel like talking to myself… oh, maybe I am.
Nineteen Years Later
Nineteen. That’s me: a nineteen year old girl who is forever held prisoner by a nemesis called Puberty; a nineteen year old girl who is forever a slave inside the manor of Awkwardness.
It’s been a year since I first told myself to grow up and be mature and careful because any wrong move can legitimately send me behind bars. I’m still careful; I haven’t broken any legal laws (not my Mom’s, though). I’ve become mature long before dinosaurs roamed the world. Have I grown up? It’s still tipping the balance.
In my nineteenth year as a human being, I’ve come to realize how annoyingly annoying I’ve been living my life. I’m learning a lot about life and more cheesy stuff. I’m learning, but I’m
just learning. The knowledge stops there – meaning I don’t use that knowledge in my life; I don’t apply what I learned to make my life better, just as how much I don’t use sine, cosine and tangent in my everyday life. I’m stubborn. I believe I know a lot of things, but who am I kidding? I don’t even know where East and West are! (This is serious; I only know North and South.) But even if I suck at Making My Life Better,
I know myself. I know who I am (a weird girl); my strengths (do you consider non-stop reading as strength?); my hamartia (aggravating self-pity); my favorite book (
Paper Towns); my insecurities (everything?); my quirks (everything); my fantasies (Sam Concepcion).
I could have written away the reasons why I believe I’ve been living annoyingly since that’s me and that’s what I do most of the time (i.e. self-pity), but right now I just want to dedicate this entry to the wonderful things I have right now. I guess it’s time to stop and take a look at my blessings and be extremely thankful for it. (Honestly, I already have written an entry about the bad things in me, but I decided to just publish it next time.)
The horoscope said that 2012 is for the Rooster babies. From the start, I led myself to believing this prediction. I’m not sure, but I guess this is true. Although I don’t know if there’s really luck or I just take chances and good things find me. A lot of things are happening. Everything is looking up for me. Just this morning I bought a copy of
The Philippine Daily Inquirer (our local news bulletin) to check out their
2bU Lifestyle section where my article lies.
My article. I got
published, in
black and white. I call this my “Immortalization Escapade” (because, you know, when you’re in paper or in something that can last long, you’re “immortalized”).
This escapade to eternal living started with this ad where the said bulletin was looking for Student Contributors and all that. I tried my luck and wrote few essays for them to evaluate. It was a long process. I sent them through email on March and got a response two months later I guess, and then one of the essays was published today. My article was published on the day I was born. I’m an immortal! I’m forever nineteen, yay! The Salvatore brothers can now recruit me to join their gorgeous team on Mystic Falls! I guess good things come to those who wait. I don’t know if my school or my father or my best friend knows about this already. I haven’t told my mom yet. I hope the people closest to me won’t read it because it’s so cheesy I’m quite embarrassed. I had just accomplished one of my life goals and I feel
uncomfortable about it? SMH.
With all the blessings I’m receiving, I can’t help but be scared of its drawbacks. You know, when you’re super happy today, something awful will happen the next. I never stopped hoping that everything will always be
happiness-happiness-happiness, and not
happiness-sadness-happiness. Then I realized that if I keep expecting for things to always be in my favor, then I’m a damned human being. In life we’d always have our ups and downs, and I guess living a life means facing what fate brings and standing tall after the storm. I know saying things like “Trials make us stronger” or “There’s a rainbow after every storm” is so cliché it’s everybody’s mantra. But this is true, even if rainbows are a bit unicorn-ish. It happens, so let’s not be afraid of pain. Pain doesn’t look like a unicorn or a cute kitten, but pain is a
friend (although unconventional most of the time).
For the past several months, I always find myself smiling, happy, contented and colorful all over. And I couldn’t ask for more. There are some things that I dislike or aren’t in my favor, but I always find a way to make things better and suit my desire. I’ve always been picky, and before I didn’t have a wide range of choices, but right now I can pick and pick and still win in the end. Maybe it’s in my mindset, maybe it’s really for me. And I’m deeply thankful for all the fireworks, champagne, confetti and all cute things. I’ve been so blessed from the start of the year, and I know that it will end just like how it started. I’m living a rollercoaster ride that only goes up… even though I have fear of heights.
I know my love life isn’t blossoming right now (forever liking someone I can’t have). I know that I haven’t seen Sam Concepcion yet in person this year. I’m freakin’ sure that I won’t be seeing Colton Dixon when they come here for their tour (praying for this, though). But I’m still happy. The things I can’t have don’t matter because I have wonderful people and treasures that matter more: 1) my mom is the best; 2) my brother is sweet; 3) my best friend is amazing; 4) Sam will be my husband in the near future; 5) my favorite author makes me cry, which is why 6) fictions are awesome; 7) I’m not disabled and 8) still can write, which is why 9) my blogs are still breathing. Added all together, I conclude that 10) God is super amazeballs!
I’m making a mental note to live my life as wonderful as possible, especially this year since it’s my last year as a teenager. Everyone knows I don’t have a colorful childhood and my adolescence is in pastels, so right now I will do my best to close my hormonal years using super bright neons. What, can’t I use hues as a metaphor for my life?
Today is my birthday, by the way, if you haven’t gotten the idea yet.
PS: Is it just me, or does the title of this entry also reminds you of the final chapter from the Harry Potter series?
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
July: In a Nutshell
July, the second month after my
first Monthly Nutshell (yes, I’m really doing this), can be summarized into two words:
Awesomely Blessed. It’s a rainy month, yes, but everything had fallen where I wanted them to be, and I became more active and more of myself while still keeping in mind what I can and cannot show the public; everything went great that it felt like the weather was great, too. A lot of things happened: I’ve been elected as an officer in three different clubs (which is
heavy); my first pair of super heels had been purchased; my first mountain had been trekked; I’ve gained more friends and even extended to other students from other Institutes; my energy level had gradually heighted, which led me to several beaten up nights.
July is my birth month. Usually, it would piss me off when it’s July and nothing good happened (even my birthdays are lame). But July 2012 had been so good to me that it’s scary to end it. It wasn’t perfect: major zits on my nose, pain-in-the-ass chores and school requirements, and lots confusion in many aspects of life. It wasn’t crystal clear perfect and spectacular but it was great. It’s even better than June. It was great, okay?
JULY ARCHIVES
(what I’ve written and posted in this blog)Nineteen Years Later
(Friday, July 6, 2012)This was by birthday post. It was by far the
best birthday I had: I finally was released from the awful chains of being eighteen years old (it wasn’t my favorite); I was immortalized and officially became worthy of being a member of the Salvatore brothers’ nest of vampires in Mystic Falls; I’m blessed and thankful for everything; I’m loveless but still happy. I’m basically living a dizzyingly rollercoaster-painted-in-neon ride that only goes up.
The Imaginary Best Friend
(Saturday, July 14, 2012)Last year, I decided to dedicate an entry for this blog on its anniversary. It’s my way of looking back on weird things and of reminding me that I have an awesome blog. I almost forgot about this special day but good thing I made it on time. This blog is an extension of the endless string of blessings I’ve been receiving. I can’t imagine living without having to write about my life, the shits and myself, so I guess if not for this blog, I would have been a walking zombie for quite some time now. I know it’s has been infected with spammers lately, and that random celebrities declare that they “support” me and that I have a “nice blog”, but I believe it’s still a blog and I will forever keep it that way. I promised last year that I won’t delete this even if microblogging sites sprout nonstop and take over the world. I will stick to my blogger.com journal, no questions asked.
One Sided Bittersweet Gravity
(Saturday, July 21, 2012)An extension to my
“Status: Perilously Infatuated” post, this was an evidence of how confused I was with my feelings for GEMV – and a sure way to suicidal. “I miss him a lot, even if he doesn’t miss me back. I like him a lot, even if he doesn’t like me back. I would just wait for that moment when I’m really sure what I feel, and for that day when we meet again and hope I won’t freak out.” I’m so stupid. Geez, let’s just read books.
Hamartia Overload
(Wednesday, July 24, 2012)Hamartia is the word for a hero’s fatal flaw that brings him to his tragic end. I first came upon this word on a novel, and had the desire to ridicule myself and point out all my imperfections again; maybe they would sound less hurtful when I talk more and more about them. Maybe, after some time, I would get used to the ugly ride and reach the I Feel Beautiful Land and sing
Believe In Me on the top of my lungs like I’m Demi Lovato. Let’s do this, Self Esteem!
STRIKING QUOTE“Grief is natural. Overcoming it is a matter of choice.” © Mrs. Woodhouse,
The Virgin Suicides (Jeffrey Eugenides)
BOOKS UPDATEI found it hard to make time for reading because of my tight schedule, but thank the heavens I still finished some fictions and added another Read Book in my
Goodreads account. So far it says, “74 Reads”. 100 is a long shot, but I would try my best to read as much as possible.
July Reads:
Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan (sweet stuff),
Before I Fall by Lauren Oliver (I’m falling in love with this author, and oh, Kent McFuller, let me love you and your curtain of a hair), and
The Virgin Suicides by Jeffrey Eugenides (creepy as always).
Current Read:
Deliruim by Lauren Oliver.
FAVORITE PERSON
(lad/s or lass/ies who made an impact to my life or anybody else’s or someone who inspired me the most)I’m dedicating this section to a fellow Society member and Rotaractor, Mary Ann B. I love her. I guess she’s older than me by a year. She’s like the older sister I wished for but never had. I never thought we would be so tight, with her being a senior and me being an irregular student. I don’t know why she’s so nice to me, or why she decided to call me “Darling” when we’re both not gay after maybe two weeks after I transferred to the school. She’s so sweet and friendly that it’s shameful, on my part, when I get mood fits. She even chose me to be her secretary, which I right away accepted because I like the club and I love her. We work together for the prosperity of the Rotaract Club. They say secretaries are the right hands of the presidents, but in our case we are each other’s
both left and right hands. We can even be each other’s legs and support system. I hope it wouldn’t be awkward if ever she reads this.
FAVORITE PHOTO/GIF ©I’m obsessed with
Michael Colton Dixon. Again. I don’t know if I should get tickets to their show here in Manila; I want to see him but I don’t want to be fed by some Jessica-Sanchez-is-a-Filipino biasness that would
obviously happen. Maybe I would just relentlessly hope that he’d have his own solo concert tour and come back here. I’d save my ass off to get VIP tickets if that happens, I swear!
ONLINE ENDEVOURS
(things I’ve done online to hopelessly make me cyber-famous without removing my clothes or making Youtube covers)I’m basically missing in action this month. I only posted some
Will Grayson, Will Grayson typographies and some painfully
flawless females I might have homosexual crushes with.
SONGS OF THE MONTH- King of Anything – Sara Bareilles (Because I’m currently in love with her, and this song is bad ass.)
- Summer is Over – Sara Bareilles, Jon McLaughlin
- Kontrabida – Sam Concepcion (I seldom listen to Filipino songs, but this is Sam, so…)
- Right By My Side – Chris Brown, Nicki Minaj (Because I love Breezy.)
CHAMPAGNE TO POP
(celebrations, yays, confetti!)Other than my successful journey to Immortalization, my birthday and my blog’s anniversary, I celebrate this month the budding opulence of my social life. I’m not the outgoing type of kid who attends the most talked about parties and drinks ridiculously expensive cappuccino in coffee-bars-with-ambiance. I’m the type who goes to bookstores and looks at shoes like I could eat them. With the personality I have, it’s a miracle for me to have friends and be socially active. But maybe I compromised with them or they compromised with me, but I have friends who don’t mind if I can’t join them in their Friday night outs. They respect my decisions and don’t call me “killjoy” when all I really do was to kill their joy. I love people who can accept weird kids in their cliques.
July was a blessed month, so I’m worried that blessings would stop coming, too the moment this month does. But, just like what John Green wrote in
Looking for Alaska, we can’t know better until knowing better is useless. So let’s do this August! I can’t wait till I write another Nutshell for you.
(P.S.: I didn’t post this on the exact last day of July because I would be super busy that day: Acquaintance party! Dancing! Broadway production! Meh.)
Hamartia Overload
Hamartia – fatal flaw that brings a hero to his tragic end.I’m
not a hero, but I’m
full of hamartia. I know that people, especially hormone bags like teenagers, should look at the brighter side and celebrate the good things and not the bad, but there are some of us who just
can’t blindly
ignore the imperfections that come with puberty and genes. That’s where self-talk (an inner speech that includes the questions and comments you address to yourself) comes in. Occasionally self-talk works with me, but most of the time – screw self-talk – I’m so pessimistic that even transposition can’t change this negative sign I carry around, even inverse property becomes a zero property to me. (I’m talking Algebra – awfully weird).
Since these imperfections will forever stay as imperfections, I got around to making it easier for me by ridiculing myself and/or by noticing other’s flaws and comparing who got it worse. (These are
Hamartia 1 and
Hamartia 2.) I’m fully aware that doing so is terrible, but that’s how I get through the day without having to hang myself in the closet or do pathetic and masochistic things to myself and my body. Sometimes I have it worse; sometimes I feel good about myself. But before I reach the I Feel Beautiful Land and sing
this song with conviction, I need to pass through ugly roads and patchy detours.
And right now I will once more take the painful ride… and sucks for you, you’re coming with me. (Put your seatbelts on for a rocky ride! Geez.)
Hamartia 3: I hate myself for being insecure. Before, I remember I didn’t have a lot of insecurities. Not that I was in love with myself for being ridiculously gorgeous or slim or perfect, but I was
contented with who I was and what I had. I didn’t wish for new clothes or smart gadgets. I didn’t care if my phone is so old it’s phased out. I didn’t care; I had more pressing things to press flat. But, God, now I do. I care. My insecurities are piling higher and higher every day. I look at the mirror, and “Crap”. I look at my unflattering body, and “Crap”. I look at my social life, and “Hopeless”. I don’t know where all of these are coming from. I’m even starting to think that the “Intelligent Girls are Sexy” is already a non-existent mantra. Yes, I believe I’m
not dumb. (School is where I basically excel. Only. Except Gym, of course.) But right now, I don’t think having an obese brain matters anymore – even personality. It’s just all about
face face face. Can’t it be
brains brains brains? I will be waiting for that time when smart girls run the world.
Hamartia 4: I am nosy. Nosy doesn’t mean “big nose”, okay? Nosy means snoopy (not the dog), prying, always curious. That is me. I’m always curious. I told myself to always ask questions even if they’re annoying because the great Albert Einstein once said, “I am neither especially clever nor especially gifted. I am only very, very curious.” For all the world knows I can be the next Trying Hard to be an Einstein. Although I have a problem with my being nosy: I have itchy hands. Nope, I’m not stealing things. I merely pick things and observe them up close or read them or sit on them or anything.
Without the owner’s permission. I always forget to ask them if I can look at their things or read their notebook. Every time something catches my attention, I grab them without hesitation. I’m so curious I’m already
inconsiderate and
disrespectful. I can’t help it: every little thing interests me.
Hamartia 5: I had mentally killed too many people. It even surpassed the number of cockroaches I’d murdered. I’m such a perfectionist. I hate making shallow mistakes. I hate people who can’t comprehend or follow simple instructions. Basically, I’m a
nightmare for a leader. I get frustrated easily and I don’t take blames for mistakes I didn’t make (why would I?). Most of the time, I subtly tell people their mistakes, but when I don’t, I kill them in my mind. I kill them with detrimental words that even I can’t spell. I’m judgmental. Every night I pray and ask God’s forgiveness for my growing list of victims… but the next day I do it again. It’s so bad that even my little good deeds can’t make up for it.
Hamartia 6: It’s all about me, me, me. It’s the reason why I made this blog in the first place. I’m quite self-centered even if I always declare that I hate spotlights and all the attention shits. I still hate spotlights (they bring red splotches on my face and chest and some wetness under my arms), but sometimes I need to be
appreciated. I want to be seen and thanked and praised every so often. That’s the only way I feel good about myself without doing either Hamartia 1 or Hamartia 2. I need friends who share the same interests as mine so we can have something to talk about, or if we have clashing hobbies, I need someone who can at least
understand me and
accept the screwball that comes with being my friend. I need friends who can appreciate the smarts I sometimes possess and the arts I make out of boredom. I’m so full of myself I’m bloated (literally and figuratively).
Hamartia 7: I’m so weird. And I like it. It’s one of the few imperfections I proudly embrace. Weird is good, weird is wonderful, weird is special. I like being weird. I feel good when I blurt things out in the middle of a class that make everything awkward. I love it when I talk the Book Language. I hate it when I freak out, but that’s who I am: I can’t do KEEP CALM and BE AWESOME. I’m more of the CALM THE SHIT DOWN and WEIRD IT OUT. I
don’t regret being weird. We are all weird anyway, some of us are just good at hiding it (God knows they make snow angels on their beds and pick their cereals by color). Let’s all embrace weirdness!
Phew! Now I feel good. Oh dear, you look nauseated. Get off my blog before you throw up.
One Sided Bittersweet Gravity
I can’t stop thinking about him.He’s always there – always running around my mind, starring in different daydream sequence I make every minute, making me feel giddy, happy and weird.
I can’t help it. Every little thing reminds me of him, even Katy Perry’s songs. I was trying to study but I couldn’t because all I thought about was him. My attention is unequally divided because of him. He’s basically an absolute distraction for an absolutely distracted me. I don’t
understand this feeling anymore. It wasn’t this bad before. I wasn’t yearning this much for him. Everything is all over the place. I have no idea what led me to this foolishness or what pushed/triggered me to miss him like I had never missed him before. It feels so good and yet so bad.
I miss him more than ever. I want to see him every day, to see his warm smile, friendly eyes and unfaltering sociable aura. I have these immoral desires to feel his warmth, his skin, his presence. I want to hug him and hold his hands. I want to stand beside him, to buy books with him, to sit and laugh next to him, to be normal around him. What sucks is that I know these things will never happen because they just
can’t. And what’s stupid is that, even though I know it’s all hopeless and heartbreaking, I
never stop wishing and waiting.
Waiting – the most ludicrous thing ever. I’m fully aware that I’m waiting for nothing, but heck, I will wait.
To put things straight, I know I’m not in love with him yet. But I’m not sure. I had never felt this way towards someone who isn’t named Sam Concepcion. From the first day I saw him, to the last day I met him, until the day I don’t see him anymore, the feeling is always there – lingering, dancing around, madly uncontrolled, making my life crazy and my heartbeat irregular. And the worse thing is that I
like it: I find it as one of the best feelings ever. He inspires me even though I don’t actually see him. I’m infatuated with someone who probably doesn’t even remember me, who probably only knows me as a bookish-blogger-Facebook friend.
I’m not sure if I’m already in love with him, but what I’m sure about is that I like him a lot.
Something always brings me back to you. It never takes too long. No matter what I say or do, I’ll still feel you here ‘til the moment I’m gone. You hold me without touch. You keep me without chains. I never wanted anything so much, than to drown in your love and not feel your rain.
Set me free, leave me be. I don’t want to fall another moment into your gravity. Here I am and I stand so tall, just the way I’m supposed to be. But you’re on to me and all over me.
© Gravity, Sarah Bareilles
I want to tell this all to him and let him know that I’m almost-obsessed with him and make him be aware of his two-year-long admirer. I want to let him know how much I appreciate him and his quirks and epic fail antics. I want him to know how much his determination, perseverance and damn brains knock the ragged breath out of me. I want to tell him how much he inspires me to go to school every day even though he isn’t my schoolmate. I want to scream into his face how much he means to me, how his virtual emoticons make me go jelly all over, how his Facebook beeps send electricity to my veins that leads me to writing revoltingly cheesy lines like what I’m doing right now. But beneath all these “I wants”, all I really yearn for is to see him in all his wonderful physicality.
When I was in high school, I can show and tell a guy that I liked him. But with him, the case is different. Outright avowal needs thorough calculations and educated guesses. I came up with the deduction that maybe I find it hard to tell him how I feel because: 1) we’re not super friends; 2) I’m not worthy of him; 3) I can’t even imagine myself dating him because 4) he’s too good, smart and perfect for me, which really
sucks; and 5) I can’t properly enunciate comprehensible words to him (even a “Hi” is a pain) because 6) I freak out and run away when I see him, which is basically not
cool. My past victims were plainly inferior to me when it comes to attentiveness and grade-consciousness; I regarded myself as someone better than them (which was utterly immoral), so I guess it was easier to be vocal about some feelings issues. But then he came, and I feel so inferior next to him that I might as well kill myself or stay in a dark corner and still kill myself. He’s standing in the upper part of the Awesome People List, while I was there, so
down there I’m eaten by the shadows. I feel so small compared to him. He’s so much more accomplished, smart, friendly and focused. I’m basically, seriously and painfully
not worthy of someone like him. We’re figuratively unequal.
And when I think about it – the declaration of my fascination for him – if it ever happens, it would
scare the heck out of me. I don’t know what I’d do the moment he learns about it. I hate awkward walls and all that consciousness because they’re all shits. It would
break me if he learns about it and decides to stay away from me. Oh, please,
more pain now, eh? I’m
dead if he comes up with the conclusion that I’m a creepy stalker and shouldn’t be considered a friend. But I still want for him to know about it. I don’t know in what way, but it should be given a voice, maybe because I believe it would lessen the burden of yearning and would help me properly sort out what I really feel for him. I know it wouldn’t wane everything, but at least I know where I should stand, what I should expect and when to stop waiting and hoping.
I miss him a lot, even if he doesn’t miss me back. I like him a lot, even if he doesn’t like me back. I would just wait for that moment when I’m really sure what I feel, and for that day when we meet again and hope I won’t freak out.
Let’s not make awkward walls, GEMV, okay? (I’m sorry if I wrote about him again. I just needed to release this confusion.)
The Imaginary Best Friend
This shall be yet another post where I believe my dear blog is alive.
Dear Wingardium aka Wings aka DOWAC,Happy birthday!
Three years: that’s how long you’ve been keeping up with my pathetic life through written pathetic words and phrases which you gladly and genuinely accept and publish. Without hesitation. I’m so glad I made and have you. You are one of the things which I don’t regret making and/or deciding upon. We’ve been working harmoniously together to the point that I consider you a human being already, not just a Blogger-powered online journal. You’re real and living in my heart, my soul, my mind and my entire life. I know it’s a bit barf-emitting, but honestly, if you are really alive and all that, I’d make you my second best friend and hug and visit bookstores with you. And you know, just by the last sentence prior to this, that I’m an anti-social human being without a lot of friends who can understand me. I’m so wretched that I even believe you’d be a
better teenager than me.
But let’s not be so
hypocrite here. I have always been honest with you, so right now I want to be as honest as possible: I almost
forgot about your birthday.
Again. Last year this unfortunate thing happened because of my masochistic anticipation for the last installment of the
Harry Potter movies,
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows part 2. (I miss
HP, still. It’s so different not having to go to the cinemas around this month to see it.) This year, though, I can’t make
HP my excuse, but I’m
not making any excuses, believe me. I almost forgot about this remarkable day because I’m so…
busy. Really. I haven’t been this busy since… well, since high school. And when I say “I’m busy”, it doesn’t mean that I don’t have time to fangirl or sleep or have me-time anymore. I’m busy in a sense that my mind is working all day and my body half of the day, and thinking anything outside what I usually think is not allowable anymore. My mind works like this: wake up, bitch > cook > bath and stuff > school > home > cook again > homework > club responsibilities > think of Mom, Sam Concepcion and/or GEMV > try to sleep. I’m trying to juggle everything since I’m the current person in-charge of the house. Don’t ask me for details; there are creeps around.
I was thinking of what I would blog this week when I remembered that it’s your freakin’ blog anniversary. And I was like, “Holy cow, how come I forgot about it?!” I need some free time, Wings. I didn’t think that there was mind and body limitation before, but right now I wish there was any Constitutional Bill that would
obliged people to have mind and body rest and all that shit. But I guess there are worse cases than mine (which isn’t really bad, to begin with). But, again, I can always say that writing and reading relax me and make my life better – which is yet another reason why I love you.
Anyway, for the last couple of posts we have here, I’ve been sharing to you my accomplishments and lucks and oh-I-love-my-life. I was serious when I said that I think 2012 is my year. For one thing, you’re still so much alive and active. Your number of followers have now ascended to two digits. Although your tagboard is infested with spammers who believe they can compel us to visit their sites (God knows they’re lairs of viruses) with their “Nice posts, keep it up, sweetie” and by naming themselves “Miley Cyrus” (I don’t know a lot about Miley but enough to know that she
doesn’t have bad grammar), we both know that our real, existing, totally-not-Miley-Cyrus friends read us.
Also, I noticed, every year the posts we have here are becoming more mature, community-oriented, God-centered, emotion-conscious and smart. Even though from time to time I post senseless and stupid things, there are
morals behind them. When I back-read some of those posts, either I have the tendency to barf or doubt the fact that I was the one who wrote it. Sometimes I can’t help but feel good about my writing and bloat my head a little for being such a bad ass blogger. I know that you, Wings, aren’t a famous blog (yet) with the thousand followers and million hits, but I trust that beneath all the petty entries we have here, there is something to
learn from them, and that they aren’t always senseless and stupid. (This is a self-induced morale booster; we need it, trust me.)
I know I shouldn’t be talking about myself right now because my birthday was eight days ago, but I will since you love me anyway. I’m good. I’ve been having a lot of headaches these past few days, but I’m still a Trying Hard Bad Ass. All I can think of when I look in the mirror is
zits zits zits, but I’m still a Trying Hard Optimist and Bright Side Looker. I’m always trying to allot time for my reading amidst my heavy schedule because my Goal: 100 Reads is still ongoing (current read:
The Virgin Suicides – yep, the Kirsten Dunst-starrer). I’m still confused about my true feelings for GEMV (I got around to calling him GEMV instead of FCC), but I’m the Forever Confused One Side Lover, so what the hell. But albeit all the in-between shits in the crappy life of mine, I’m still happy. Give me food and I’ll be happy – and totally bloated. Remove the craters and I’ll be a superhero.
I hope you’re also happy, Wings. Oh, right. You’re happiness depends on
my happiness. I’ll always try to be happy for you. I love you that much, okay? I know you’re real, and you’re just around the corner, invisibly urging me to write and give you an acceptable blog-life. You’re awesome, please remember that. See you next year – next week, really.
Love till we drop,
CF S. OrdasGeez, I feel like talking to myself… oh, maybe I am.
Nineteen Years Later
Nineteen. That’s me: a nineteen year old girl who is forever held prisoner by a nemesis called Puberty; a nineteen year old girl who is forever a slave inside the manor of Awkwardness.
It’s been a year since I first told myself to grow up and be mature and careful because any wrong move can legitimately send me behind bars. I’m still careful; I haven’t broken any legal laws (not my Mom’s, though). I’ve become mature long before dinosaurs roamed the world. Have I grown up? It’s still tipping the balance.
In my nineteenth year as a human being, I’ve come to realize how annoyingly annoying I’ve been living my life. I’m learning a lot about life and more cheesy stuff. I’m learning, but I’m
just learning. The knowledge stops there – meaning I don’t use that knowledge in my life; I don’t apply what I learned to make my life better, just as how much I don’t use sine, cosine and tangent in my everyday life. I’m stubborn. I believe I know a lot of things, but who am I kidding? I don’t even know where East and West are! (This is serious; I only know North and South.) But even if I suck at Making My Life Better,
I know myself. I know who I am (a weird girl); my strengths (do you consider non-stop reading as strength?); my hamartia (aggravating self-pity); my favorite book (
Paper Towns); my insecurities (everything?); my quirks (everything); my fantasies (Sam Concepcion).
I could have written away the reasons why I believe I’ve been living annoyingly since that’s me and that’s what I do most of the time (i.e. self-pity), but right now I just want to dedicate this entry to the wonderful things I have right now. I guess it’s time to stop and take a look at my blessings and be extremely thankful for it. (Honestly, I already have written an entry about the bad things in me, but I decided to just publish it next time.)
The horoscope said that 2012 is for the Rooster babies. From the start, I led myself to believing this prediction. I’m not sure, but I guess this is true. Although I don’t know if there’s really luck or I just take chances and good things find me. A lot of things are happening. Everything is looking up for me. Just this morning I bought a copy of
The Philippine Daily Inquirer (our local news bulletin) to check out their
2bU Lifestyle section where my article lies.
My article. I got
published, in
black and white. I call this my “Immortalization Escapade” (because, you know, when you’re in paper or in something that can last long, you’re “immortalized”).
This escapade to eternal living started with this ad where the said bulletin was looking for Student Contributors and all that. I tried my luck and wrote few essays for them to evaluate. It was a long process. I sent them through email on March and got a response two months later I guess, and then one of the essays was published today. My article was published on the day I was born. I’m an immortal! I’m forever nineteen, yay! The Salvatore brothers can now recruit me to join their gorgeous team on Mystic Falls! I guess good things come to those who wait. I don’t know if my school or my father or my best friend knows about this already. I haven’t told my mom yet. I hope the people closest to me won’t read it because it’s so cheesy I’m quite embarrassed. I had just accomplished one of my life goals and I feel
uncomfortable about it? SMH.
With all the blessings I’m receiving, I can’t help but be scared of its drawbacks. You know, when you’re super happy today, something awful will happen the next. I never stopped hoping that everything will always be
happiness-happiness-happiness, and not
happiness-sadness-happiness. Then I realized that if I keep expecting for things to always be in my favor, then I’m a damned human being. In life we’d always have our ups and downs, and I guess living a life means facing what fate brings and standing tall after the storm. I know saying things like “Trials make us stronger” or “There’s a rainbow after every storm” is so cliché it’s everybody’s mantra. But this is true, even if rainbows are a bit unicorn-ish. It happens, so let’s not be afraid of pain. Pain doesn’t look like a unicorn or a cute kitten, but pain is a
friend (although unconventional most of the time).
For the past several months, I always find myself smiling, happy, contented and colorful all over. And I couldn’t ask for more. There are some things that I dislike or aren’t in my favor, but I always find a way to make things better and suit my desire. I’ve always been picky, and before I didn’t have a wide range of choices, but right now I can pick and pick and still win in the end. Maybe it’s in my mindset, maybe it’s really for me. And I’m deeply thankful for all the fireworks, champagne, confetti and all cute things. I’ve been so blessed from the start of the year, and I know that it will end just like how it started. I’m living a rollercoaster ride that only goes up… even though I have fear of heights.
I know my love life isn’t blossoming right now (forever liking someone I can’t have). I know that I haven’t seen Sam Concepcion yet in person this year. I’m freakin’ sure that I won’t be seeing Colton Dixon when they come here for their tour (praying for this, though). But I’m still happy. The things I can’t have don’t matter because I have wonderful people and treasures that matter more: 1) my mom is the best; 2) my brother is sweet; 3) my best friend is amazing; 4) Sam will be my husband in the near future; 5) my favorite author makes me cry, which is why 6) fictions are awesome; 7) I’m not disabled and 8) still can write, which is why 9) my blogs are still breathing. Added all together, I conclude that 10) God is super amazeballs!
I’m making a mental note to live my life as wonderful as possible, especially this year since it’s my last year as a teenager. Everyone knows I don’t have a colorful childhood and my adolescence is in pastels, so right now I will do my best to close my hormonal years using super bright neons. What, can’t I use hues as a metaphor for my life?
Today is my birthday, by the way, if you haven’t gotten the idea yet.
PS: Is it just me, or does the title of this entry also reminds you of the final chapter from the Harry Potter series?
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
