It’s 7 a.m. and I’ve just gotten roughly three hours of sleep. But the morning sunshine’s just way too irresistible to sleep through. Besides, I’ve been thinking so hard since midnight about some sick stuff…real hardcore thinking, man, that it’d eventually wind up in my dreams during my shortlived shuteye. And if I don’t write about this now, I’ll definitely lose my saneness (or what’s left of it)...like…soon. So never mind that my eyes are still squinting, refusing to open up. Never mind that my head’s a little light, or if I am currently nursing three sore pimples—two on my forehead and one on my chin—due to obvious lack of sleep (I have been staying up ‘till four since Saturday, no thanks to severely piled schoolwork that was neglected during the holidays). Never mind my personal vow to “never make this blog my diary, as internet should never really be completely trusted, and as vanity should never be one of my countless other sins.” I’m wearing my heart on my sleeve today. I’m typing, and that’s it! Oh…and by the way, a groovy morning to you.
Fast and furious. Yeah, that’s him. I should’ve known what I was in for. It’s hard not to have any strings attached, despite the very fact that I am the perpetrator. Lesson learned? Don’t mess around with somebody who wants something serious, especially if he’s rushing like some modernday, rugged Casanova. I say “Casanova” because he might get too alluring along the way, that you actually find yourself asking if you have indeed fallen for somebody who can’t tell you straight those three sacred words like a man would (just when you thought you were finally dating a man, sheesh)…or even spell it properly, for that matter (well, I’ll be damned). Wait a sec, that ain’t very Casanova after all. O.o And then, all of a sudden, you’re stuck in a glitch…because just when you decided to “explore and expand your horizons,” you actually find your own space shrinking…real fast, too. You’re gonna be all about him for the next few days…or weeks, even months. And yet, you can’t help it, man. ‘Cause you’re way too engrossed…not even in love. Tae, right?
But thank God for other guys with depth, especially the ones who think they’re too cool for Friendster. Then again, there are some profiles worth checking out (yeah, the ones where the spelling’s right)…oh, and I’ve been a fan (I prefer that term to “stalker”) of one just recently. Gawd, I love such depths which I can actually swim in (not that I know how). That fragile, boyish look doesn’t hurt, either. And those hands…GAWD. At first, I’d be sighing to myself, “I think I’m in love”…but NAH. He must be WAY too out of my league…we’re not even friends in (or is it “at” or “on?”) Friendster and I doubt if he still remembers me, too. And then the prospect of declaring unrequited love to someone pops in my brain…and then images of high school, all pimpled, martyred and hurting and everything, come streaming afterwards…and I say, “No f**king way.” Tae nanaman. Again, your space shrinks even more and then you wonder where the hell your “horizons” went. You go and say, “No, thanks…nothing serious for now” and yet, like a little kid getting up on a stool to steal some cookies from the jar once he’s left alone in the kitchen, you actually take EVERYTHING seriously…everything to heart. How many times do I have to tell you to get your heart outta here?? It’s got to take a rest, man.
Every new year starts with a bang. Before you know it, you’re once again being hauled into something strange…and yet, it’s kind of familiar at the same time, which always freaks you out. After hours, perhaps days, of hardcore thinking (when you should be doing that for French 10 or Theater 100), you’ve come up with a theory: it’s not that you’re scared of being single forever. The one thing that threatens you more than anything else is that you may fall in too deep and too fast every chance you get. That seems to be your specialty, see: going crazy over someone who’s just not crazy enough for you…not that you want something in return…you actually need it, man. There are alternatives, though…except that you should never get dead serious with something, lest you get caught up again in a labyrinth that you have actually built for yourself in the first place. If you don’t get your dose of casual fun and keep on taking the things that break you in the end, you’re pretty sure that you may not live very long...which is a bummer, since you’ve yet to own your first pair of Manolos, raise a child or children, and help save the world with love, peace, and of course, art. Just thinking about everything you’ll miss…is a huge pain in the a**…total bad scene. You may want to take some Prozac or mere Aspirin…get involved in something uncomplicated and yet unstable OR something stable and yet too, too complicated. O.o And if love comes, as in the real kind, it’s always when you least need it…and when you already do, it never seems to stay…and THAT, my friends, is the saddest part of what d’you call that again? That most painful four-letter word (you-know-what or it-which-must-not-be-named) that burns your throat, and tears at your heart, and sucks you dry of your best, sweetest words (only to make you eat ‘em again later on), and makes you sick with both the good AND miserable kinds of drunkenness, and makes and breaks you, and drains your wallet…and…oh what the heck, it’s not like you’re alone, right? C’mon, Bianca Gonzalez lost Lino Cayetano to KC Concepcion. Owen Wilson almost killed himself because of Kate Hudson. Jenny lost to Angie.
and Samson weren’t mentioned in the Bible. Simoun Ibarra never got the girl, and Vincent Van Gogh lost an ear…and his mind, for cryin’ out loud! So quit sulking and scowling and let’s do this the better way. Sing with me as we toast to 2008. *hic* Regina
(“post-Bamboo, pre-new, pretty boy from Bicol” days)
Album: It’s Not Easy Being Green
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