Lady & a Not-Very-Gentle Man

“In times of dire need, self comes first.”

-Red Elephant, The

It’s 11:30 p.m. They were eating outside and he lent her his jacket since she was literally hugging herself from being cold. Let it be clear that she DID NOT ask for nor did she thought about it. On the way back home, as they were riding his bike, he kept tsk tsk-ing, muttering how she’s so lazy as not to bring her own jacket. After three blocks they stopped, he demanded to have his jacket back, and for the next ten minutes rode in silence with her becoming a human popsicle.

Gentlemen would open doors for her – too bad they’re a very endangered specie.

Image sources here.

Broken Little Livid Thing

It feels like a huge, dark, dead body is constantly growing inside my chest. It keeps struggling to occupy space meant for gas exchange. This is anger. This is resentment. And once again they’ve decided it’s already time to visit me.

Can you change what you are?

I mean, is it that hard to believe a person is bestowed with more than just his physical traits upon birth? I believe I was born with boiling blood. In my younger years I find it so easy to hate anyone or anything. I could always find a reason for enmity.  It took me quite a long time to realize what I hate the most is not any person or any other thing but this trait to hate so easily itself.

Although it is not without valid reason, every time I hate a person, I also have this notion that I am hating myself. Do I hate myself because I allowed them to hurt me? Do I hate myself for feeling? For caring? Do I hate myself because this hate has spread and now it involves and risks hurting people I care about?

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes.

Hate only brings hurt…resentment. And this, well this breaks you. This even brings the worst sort of crying. It’s the kind that brings tears that never comes out of those eyes.

Then you’d go thinking, “Oh, I would do anything just to make this hate go away!“

But would you, really?

I would. Still, pride is holding me. Like it’s hate’s conjoined twin. Or better yet its puppeteer. And more often than not, he’s the worse to beat between the two.  And it keeps you from forgiveness – both asking and giving. I was assaulted, but I fought back. I fought hate with hate. This only brought more hate – the one thing I hate the most. Makes sense? I don’t know. I know it’s hard to find better words.

In the back of my mind, I know I should’ve kept my cool. That was the right thing to do. Thing is, the back of my mind is so much smaller than the dominating center. And at that moment this bullying part shouts “FIGHT BACK!“. I would give all ten fingers and a tongue if it’s a lie when I say I wish I kept my cool.

But like people who get in trouble, emotions got the better of me.

That leads to how awful I am feeling now. But as I dig deeper, as I force myself to face the truth, I heard a thought saying, “If I haven’t fought back, would it spare me this rotten, gnawing sensation?“.

The answer was no.

See, even if I haven’t reacted in the offense, I would still hate myself for not even having enough guts to protect myself. Maybe it’s just in a different angle, but the result would be the same – hating me.

I would give out a front tooth (and I intend to keep it; can’t even imagine what the hell you would do with it…unless you have a weird tooth fetish making me less than glad to find you reading this) if I could find a single THINKING person who has not hated himself once in his entire lifetime. I could not, that enough I know.

Will it be right to say then that all thinking people are broken because of this past/present self-loathing? I believe it is. Yet it would be another thing to say that these broken little things will never, ever be happy. Or whatever you call that sense of being alive, really living, and loving it. I know I call that happiness.

And I will be happy again.

For I am just a broken little thing, but in the name of my slightly broken right front tooth, why, I am far from destroyed.

*image credits here*

Profanities and A Red Ballpen: A Misdirected (?) Rant

(Do not read this if you want something cheerful/something to stop you from gulping down that whole bottle of Prozac in your hands.)

It annoys me how young people (and sadly some adults) can’t utter one sentence without having a cuss word in between these days.

Take these lines:

1. “We’re so fucking excited to get our hands on some shit!”
2. “What’s that you’re writing on your pussy piece of paper, you motherfucker?
3. “Turn off that shit of a song you prick. It’s so messin’ up mah mood.”

3 lines from 3 different people in 10 minutes. No wonder I’m up for a rant.

I don’t know what happened.

Maybe I was sucked by a black hole and ended up 100 years back, but I don’t recall ever assenting to this COOL trend in speaking where the adjectives that took centuries to form are merely replaced by a set of 10 words used repetitively which has “fuck” and “shit” as the generic terms.

I know you have every right to freely express your thoughts, but so do I. And if you want to improve your tasteless attempts at communication and expect a civilized response, why not try borrowing the red ballpen of Miss Sunshine from your kindergarten class and cross out those pretty little profanities inside your head before they come out of that miserably intolerable mouth? Believe me darlings, you are making our eyes and ears an object of torture.

So why don’t we just NOT look/listen to you then, eh?

Because clearly, it’s already too late. The damage has been done. You have already ruined our once-so-cheerful/near-to-pure day. And frankly, this language you are sporting DOES NOT make you look COOL. I repeat, it DOES NOT make you look COOL and only implies two things:

1. YOU WANT TO LOOK/SOUND TOUGH (only Santa knows what happened to you for using this defense mechanism).
2. YOU TRY TOO HARD TO LOOK/SOUND COOL (which by the way, you aren’t. At least not on my self-righteous book. Blame it on the media for telling us popular kids swear a lot and get out of it whip-free).

Yes, I sound like a bitter self-righteous grandmomma who had her last orgasm 15 years ago (which must be false, unless last night’s toe-curling, back-arching achievement was a generous gift in the form of a dream from the Greek God of Orgasm, Who-Knows-What’s-His-Name) but I just can’t let my eyes/ears bleed anymore without having my say.

‘Till next time you foul-mouthed, effin scattered pieces of my Salmonella-infested shit!

I Know! I’m Going MAD

I’m completely at a loss.

I don’t know what to do, it’s not the first, but this time it’s crucial I need to know what to do. I know what I want, but unfortunately, what we want is not always what is right.

Or is it? Is it the one really important thing we need to focus our choices on?

I am torn between so many things I try to avoid thinking about them to avoid going nuts. But it’s just making everything worse because deep down I have this deep anxiety that stems from a voice saying, “You need to make a choice and you better do it quick“. It’s true really, even though I would kill whoever that punctiliously right voice belongs to (that’s right. Suicide. Pfft).

Nursing vs Arts?

Travelling vs Staying with the man I love?

Staying in vs Moving out?

Study now vs Study later?

To write vs Deleting this blog?

Ignore vs Slam the door twice to the face of the one knocking right now?

To be myself vs To conform?

Lady Gaga vs Katy Perry? (kidding, they’re both hideous. Sorry again, fans.)

To comment or To let things be?

To smile or To tell him/her his/her existence is so pathetic I wonder how he/she finds the guts to continue living?

To cry or To read?

To Publish or Not?

Argg@#$%^&*

Madness this is.

Gandhi Gone Mad!

Featuring: I Don’t Care Anymore

Phil Collins – I Don’t Care Anymore

Enjoy!

Image credits here.

Outpouring of a Troubled Soul: First Attempt

“It’s so much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings.”

I couldn’t have started this better than with the preceding quotation. It was spoken by Ali, a character from Black Gold – a movie that has touched me lately, and led me to this writing.

It led me to yet another staring-at-the-notebook session and from there I have come up with the idea  that the people who suffer most in life turn out to be either of two things: 1.)cynical and depressed individuals; mostly with antisocial tendencies, 2.)the most light-hearted, easy – going people in the world. The former one chose the easier path, the latter chose to go against what fortune, or lack of it, wanted him to become.

No, I don’t have any formal education in Psychology, nor will I claim to have gone through hell and its branches in my twenty years of existence. So there’s no watertight reason why you should believe this. Rather, this is a personal need for me to achieve the balance that is so remote these past few days.

It has been my refuge to convince myself that happiness is what you make out of life and not some destination, nor loot we should all seek to find. Like a hidden treasure we should make all the preparations to discover. And so I try, with ease fortunately, to face life with as light a demeanor as I can manage.

But life is a trickster.

Once you’ve found an effective way to adapt, it then changes its strategies and forces you to doubt people, their intentions, and your whole new outlook on life. Do we really cover up issues that need to be faced when we choose to sweeten it all up with a satirical approach? Is it wrong to focus on the positive side of things and ignore the depressing events around you which there really is little you can do about? Is it a futile feat to try to make a new path different from what most clouded souls follow? Would it do a person better if he tries to live as what society dictates to be a productive individual – one that has a stable job in a stable institution who pays stable taxes in these oh-so-stable governments?

I have already met so many cynics, and I admit I couldn’t blame them for how they’d turn out. The insults, abuses, prejudice, and mockery you could get from the world around you is enough to make one a cold – hearted individual. I used to respond to these people with a temper I would do my best not to come up with again today. But if I dig deeper, I know that what I really wanted was to scream until my larynx dries up from an inch of these people’s faces. Yes, I am not so different as to not possess that violent streak that  every human being was bestowed with from birth.

But I choose not to use it. As long as I can help it.

And yet again, like YOU, I have limitations and that’s why I have written this piece of melodrama. I made a decision to keep this blog with a mood as light as it can be – not to the extent as a 4-year old can relate to because I don’t have that pure a mind.

But yes, like YOU, I am someone who exists, and yet asks what’s the point of all of this.

Image courtesy of http://www.cherrybam.com/sad-quotes.php

A Rant About Prejudice And Stereotyping Filipino Women

We find ourselves more comfortable when we’re alone but deep inside we yearn for someone out there, just a single stranger to understand.

Do you find yourself in a situation where you just want to avoid all the people you know and have an honest talk with just about anything you could ever think of with a total stranger? I do. Lots of times.

What’s so enviable about it is that you can talk with someone who doesn’t have previous knowledge about you that he can use as tools for prejudice. It so often happens that we can’t help but hope for an outsider’s opinion once in a while. Your future is often predicted by the way you have screwed up in the past that there’s no point at all in saying what you have to say. And it just isn’t right nor is it fair. But it seems that trusting that people could turn out to be much better than how they have been is a lost skill.

*****

It is very tempting to write in all caps now. Really it is.

Breathe… breathe…

It’s just so infuriating how some dumb, horny males NOT of the Filipino race could stereotype all Filipinas as cheap, horny women who constantly look for dying, foreign, and rich male to juice up for all their dollars.

I MEAN, COME ON REVOLTINGLY SMELLY AND UN – LAYable HORNY MEN!!! Do I even have to explain myself here?!

Image Courtesy of Google