Confused-Shoes

ganito ang sitwasyon. two weeks from now, graduate na ako, meaning wala na ako kailangang i-take na course as an undergrad in my degree program’s curriculum. So I have the whole of October to myself. Kung susuwertihin, 1.4 ang aking GWA kaya medyo mahaba yung title ng honor ko (hehehehe yabang.) Tapos, sa Nobyembre, may LAE. pag pumasa ako, edi magpapakabuang sa UP Law. kung hindi, takbo tayo San Beda. Bahala na. Mula Nobyembre hanggang June naman, kelangan ko ng trabaho para di ako mabulok sa bahay. Malamang magcacallcenter na nga ako. Tapos magbasa basa ng mga nobela ni Camus at Sartre at mag-praktis ng Math, Logic, at Vocabulary para sa ating LAE. Ayun. Hehe.

Sana maka 1 ako sa 114, 199. Ok na ang 1.25 at sa ENg 158 at 1.5 sa Eng 197. Sa Kas 1? ****** na paper, ang hirap. hehehe. bahala na din. DI ko alam bakit sa lahat ng mahirap eh dun pa. Kumbaga, ay wag na lang. Mali ang mga analogy.

Lovelife?______________________________________________________________.

Minamalas lang talaga. Tagilid. Sana kagaya nung HS (diba Conrad?) happy happy. hehehe. ewan ko nga ba. pag tumatanda nagiiba ang buhay.

Suntok sapak tadyak batok kagat. Grrrrrr, ayoko pa tumanda. Pero si Shane, Ines, Davy at Jehn, 20 na sila. Susunod na si Jay Cruz, Conrad, tapos ako. naku. Matanda na Dahong Papaya, bente anyos na sila.

Sa lahat ng post ko, ito ang pinakamatalino dahil ito ay sincere at totoo. Galing sa puso at hindi sa utak. Ito ako na nagsasalita, kaharap ang PC sa isang malamig at madilim na kwarto na puro libro at mga magazine. May kama na naging kasama ko ng ilang taon na at isang pakshet na aircon na minsan sobrang lamig, minsan naman wala ka maramdaman. Freon lang siguro.

Bukas na lang!

I decided to forego all illusions as to how I should treat the matter about pretending that I shall always stay on top. Of course, I never was on top. But then, it is pretty nice to sometimes pretend that I am.

(During the graduation picture in the studio in some side street near West Ave. last Thursday, I kept complaining ot the photographers about why they force us to smile when in fact we were the customers and it was our portraits being taken; we should have a say about how we will look. But then somehow, as I drove myself home wittily against the erratic U-TURN slots along Quezon Ave., I realized that complaining really didnt do me any good, save for the fact that it was a psychological need. Anyway, it occured to me why we always complain that we aren’t photogenic or that we look bad in photos. It isn’t that we don’t look good in pictures, it’s just that we have an idea in our very mind about how we are supposed to look, but then, it is just an idea we have of ourselves, and in truth, what the cameras take is how we really look like. We just can’t  reconcile with the fact that our idea of how we look doesn’t match the way we actually are.)

So it came to me, I should never be so stubborn about the way things go and why things don’t go the way I want them to. Anyway, it is just that state of affairs and it is impossible to overcome what has already been done. In any case, if ever again I shall be caught in the middle of dissapointing turn of events, I shall just shrug my shoulders and recall to myself that our ideas of what a good day should be doesnt really jive at all with what actually happens with the world. The world is simply a cruel place to live in.

if you’re always with the same set of people everyday and you are growing your hair long, they’re really not bound to notice. But if you get a trim and show up the next day, they’d say that you look different - funny, cute, fresh, young, whatever. Regularities bore us. The novel and the unprecedented, they shock.

it’s pretty much the same with the past. You can’t leave it behind when you are in the midst of living right through it. That is why, people say, there must be a break with the past, a sudden catastrophe, a very life-changing experience, for the moving on to be genuine and and acceptable. otherwise, there really is no telling if the past has ceased to haunt you. Unless there is some big thing that changes you and everyone else thinks that you have so been changed, the past stays.

What are these things that break the ties that bind? break-ups with your 5 year boyfriend. recovering from an accident or a failed suicide attempt. trying to get a move on with the death of your parents, or one of them. being rehabilatated after a long bout against addiction. being rejected or dumped by the person who promised to take care of you. Shit.

I’m beginning to sound like some self-help author. Fucking hell. This is not so bloody true of me. Let the bullshit past walk with me and I’d be throwing punches against it all the way. let it walk with me and I shall be shouting every bit of obscenity I know. There is no escape from the past unless we get tp kill it. Let not the past abuse you, but abuse the past to your fucking advantage.

"Inside of my heart is an army of angels, just `cause I let you go…volunteers they are here to love and help me only `cause I said no to the killer eyes that invite me to do things I would have to lie about (just lost their sparkle), and it’s better now, when you’re safe, you know I love you more when I’m far away, now that all I need is gone. "

barbie’s cradle rocks. I just found that out now. Inside of my heart is a lion, shuting for blood. hahaha. I’m quibbling. Oh well. Cheers to the coming October. One year since Greenday begged us to wake them up when september ends.

There are women who have said that they were in love with me when in fact they didnt really mean it, just as I have said I love you to women whom I didnt really love at all.

It is a brutal game of seduction, a witty ocean of words and a few disarming smiles and innocent glances that best conceal a terrible wave of desire.

I am almost turning twenty and I shall say goodbye to teenage life, oh, this terrible forest, and I shall, too, leave behind me the knowledge that once, when I was young, I was skilled in such a hideous game of touch and go.

Some evening when there is no rain and the moon and a thousand stars will keep vigil with me, I shall hold a special rite for the sake of affirming what I have just sworn to eschew before I face a new phase of my sickening life.

Then I shall no more insist to hear someone’s stories nor shall I dig hard to find secrets buried in deep inside untamed shells. I shall be once more rock that feels no pain, an island that never cries. I shall do poetry and I shall be the poet of my life. Once more I shall be worth my own humanity regardless of whoever tells me that my worth is mine alone.

A vicious story, life.

I would like to see myself twelve years from now with a new car, bought purely from my sweat, and play in a new band with some fancy guitar. Have a little kid with a mother that’s well bred, oh, and a peaceful, stable life with dreams of a holiday vacation in some country that requires a Visa, or a country house here and there. Of course most dreams go that way, not all however, are fulfilled, but all the same, dreaming is free, why not get a slice more than I could actually chew.

The ladies I’ve met I tend to forget most of them but some leave a big impression on me after all is not a man made by the women who charms him? The best thing, however, is that all these games of seduction are really productive, they mold the minds of the young whether they shall be possessed of an oversion to a second shot of vodka or they would end up drug-dealers in some fishy town. The ladies, oh, well, I was left doing silly blogs.

It was 1999 and I had my first kiss, funny how the topmost floor of the schoolbuilding suddenly looks so picturesque. There are clounds and angels and crows and seductresses wearing bunny hats and colt 45 revolvers. The lips were red, I’m not so sure if it was mine or hers.

I blush. I shouldn’t talk lightly of such things. After all, one little injudicious comment gives birth to a devil cave of gossip. Then there will be counterfiet stories about me and they will echo throughout the funny september air.

I blush. I am young, after all. There is something called hope, the twenties, emphysema, extended childhood, and an ageing car.

I can’t just give up right now. Remember. 19 years of walking my own way. Although I occasionally think about it on certain Sundays. But still. No, I’ve walked far too long and far too far, and have talked about it at such a greater length, told myself all about it. It makes perfect sense. Keep walking (thanks Roan).

So I get up from bed, get myself fed, and rinse the impurities out, drive myself underspeedily into the brothel school, and burn my lungs to fade. It’s all a legitimate activity. It’s not so rare, I guess, a million other people this side of town to the very same thing over and over. Talk about routines that kill you. Or symphonies that bore you. Either way they are both special. They kill with a whimper.

Why do I love music? Because I get to hear pre-programmed rehearsed and recorded things. I hate unpredictability. I hate the apparent chaos this universe has. I hate everything that has to do with variability. Oh well. Wonder why I didnt get too be smashingly great at the maths.

Oh I don’t know. It rains. It is raining. The rain drowns everyone. The rains drowns me. 19 years and I’m still freaking afraid of the rain, and life in general. Of course I am tired but I can’t just give up now. hooooo!