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I gotta be the stupidest person on earth.

You see, I have managed to make myself 100 fucking times uglier than I already was. Yep, that’s possible.

This afternoon, I was so engrossed reading on my PC Kindle that I did survival things (i.e. eating, drinking, breathing, farting) on automatic mode. Normal, right? Wrong! It’s all because of this stupid tumbler:

The Accused.

The Accused.

Pair that tumbler with sheer idiocy and you’ve got the weapons to start your personal Doomsday.

You know how kids people do silly/purposeless things like blowing bubbles in their drinks using a straw or making gum bubbles? They’re nothing to what I did. I actually sucked the air out of that tumbler because of I-don’t-fucking-know-what:

This is the scene where The Tumbler gave my mouth an effin blowjob.

This is the scene where The Tumbler gave my mouth an effin blowjob.

Well you know what happened next.

Oh, you don’t? Allow me to humor you. Imagine yourself putting your mouth inside that empty tumbler and mimic how a vacuum cleaner works. Right, so the tumbler will now stick to your skin because of the vacuum/pressure formed and it will continue to do so until you exhale. Heck, you can even dance with that tumbler beak of yours as long as you can manage to hold your breath!

So yeah, I forgot how long or how many times I repeated that sucking thing with the damned tumbler because as I said, the book I was reading was so goooooood (read: Blackbirds by Chuck Wendig). Perhaps I did it too often or for too long–who freaking knows?!

What I do know is as follows.

When I stood up to do something crucial (i.e. allowing my bulimic bladder to purge itself) in automatic mode, I happened to glance at the mirror and saw something magical–this:

Actual shot of mine, cartoonized.

Actual shot of mine, cartoonized.

Yep, I actually managed to make myself un-erasable clown lips because I allowed the tumbler from hell to give my mouth a blowjob.

Sensible people call the result a bruise.

I call it a Lip Shiner.

Or T.O.S.S. (Tumbler Oral Sex Shiner).

Or S.I.S. (Stupidity Induced Shiner).

Fuck fuck fuuuuuuuuckkkk!

Right now? I can’t get to my job without a mask on. Hell, I can’t get out of my room without a mask on! I actually made my life literally worse because of being too engrossed in a book. And they say books make you smarter! GAAAAAH!

Phew. Well, diary? At least there are lessons I’ve learned because of this whole unfortunate event (this is me using my defense mechanism of rationalization, so shut up):

  1. DO NOT do something that takes up most, if not all, of your cognitive function like reading a book, deciphering a mathematical code, or tying your shoe laces without another person in the same room to warn you of impending doom because of the possible things your body could do in automatic mode.
  2. Face masks are survival tools. ALWAYS replenish stocks.
  3. Tumblers are creatures from hell. BURN all stocks!
  4. DO NOT, I repeat, do not receive blowjobs from anyone or any-fucking-thing unless you know how closely related they are to a frigging suction pump.

and 5…

BUY A FUCKING BRAIN a.s.a.p., CLOWNFACE!!!

I guess that is all for now diary. Thank you for listening.

Living a worse life than ever,

    J.                     

I think I think too much. I think when I ought to be feeling. I think when I ought to be sleeping. I think about logical things and non sequiturs alike (sometimes simultaneously). I think I’m using my mind too much. I think I’m sounding like I’m trying to sound smart. But hey, I think I’m about to give my true enemies (potential and present) a fatal weapon to use against me one day.

[Pause, Jenn. Pause.]

What proceeds from hereon would be me entering the password to the account of my self-undoing. Haters, stop falling from your seats!

***

Have you ever thought about how you are so level-headed about everything it rather scares you? Like, have you ever seen yourself as the go-to person when your friends/acquaintances/family need sound advice on life? Like…always? I do. And honestly? It scares me.

I think I’m suffering from a case of Having Too Much Sense.

And why is that a bad thing? Aside from sounding like a self-proclaimed know-it-all, well it’s bad because I think I’m following the “right” path too much. I’m doing all the right things that maybe, just maybe, I’m missing out on something. You can’t be right all the time (yes, even you, clown)…right? There are people out there who think they always have the right opinions even though all they consider in tackling issues are not all the parties involved but just what would benefit them. Well, I know I’m not that kind. (Is the Irony Bell ringing louder by the second now?) I actually give honest advice after thinking through the matter and considering all parties involved–even if I may lose the approval of the one asking for advice. Yes, I guess it’s a good thing.

But why do I feel like I’m missing out on something?

Why do I have this urge to just shove sense aside and intentionally make “mistakes”? Is it my inner villain/troublemaker/Joker learning to assert itself? Or is this only a case of being young and confused (when, ironically, I just suggested I actually got the gist of it all)?

You know that saying “You are wiser beyond your years“? I happen to get that from others. A LOT. Really, that’s full truth. Aside from making me feel Yoda-esque, well (here it goes) I actually don’t like it! It makes me feel NOT normal, like, like a freak. Hey, no offense to freaks! I love you, guys…

BANG!

It. Just. Hit. Me. RIght. Now! Why…maybe having this abundance of Sense is my own freakuality. (Freak + Quality? Gettit?) Maybe having a good grasp of the things around me, affecting me, at the abominable age of 21 makes me NOT the little miss perfect I thought (and hated) I am. Because really, who has got their shit together at 21? Who says sensible things at 21? NO ONE! Because that isn’t supposed to be normal, right? I’ve even got a famous saying to back me up, ha! (Young people, go hate me now.)

But then again…I do. I do have lots of that good sense. Hate me for sounding like a stuck-up mother dog but really, I do. I may not like it most of the time, and yet  it has made it possible for me to help a lot of people (and myself) get out or avoid going into various mess. AND it’s also my freakuality. So maybe…I’m actually starting to like it this time?

[Stop. Thinking. Already. IDIOT!]

***

Hmm.

That actually felt good.

Who said online journals suck?

Those who hang out with me long enough know that I’m rather fond of theories. No, not the academic type. Like yuck? E=mc² means fungus to me. I’m talking about “practical” theories.  I enclosed the practical under those squiggly punctuation because like anything, practicality is subjective. To me, being practical is just like when I’ve learned how to pick my battles. That is a practical skill.

Sometimes though, I totally forget it.

tumblr_m6vmjk40Z91rvzunzo1_500

Typical scene in a playground/Facebook chatbox.

Now theories. See, I have this new theory. I’m sounding like a pretentious fool claiming it as mine when for all I know it has already been said before. But then again, only bona fide fools think like that. Even you if you actually think of that right now. For everything has in fact been already said before. We just keep on rediscovering things, tweaking with them a bit, and voila! We think of these ideas as ours. Well that’s how the world works. We’re all selfish that way.

But without further blah-blah, this is “my” recycled theory:

There are four kinds of people: those who live in the past, the ones who live in the present, and the ones who live for the future. The fourth kind lives in another dimension.

Now let me expand on that using the idiot’s favorite format–BULLETS!

  • Psychiatrists mostly make a living out of the last one. But they are all qualified to be his patients anyway. Even himself. I don’t know why I’m using a masculine pronoun. I must be sexist-masochist.
  • People who live in the past usually includes, but are not limited to: people with terminal illness, Nazi supporters, Republicans, people who use a manual typewriter, historians, your grandparents living in the country, monarchy advocates, Catholics, the villagers in the Shyamalan film The Village, and heartbroken, bitter exes.
  • Those who live in the present are either or all of the following:
      1. -junkies who never had, don’t, and will never have enough money for their junk
      2. -Justin Bieber
      3. -those blinded by their youth/beauty/energy/bank account balance
      4. -those afraid of responsibility
      5. -buddhists, yogis, and other New Age enthusiasts, witches and satanists (pseudo or real) included
      6. -those wanting to escape their pasts but are just as terrified of their future because it might be just the same as their pasts; think Mobius strip.
      7. -those belonging in the Homeless Society
      8. -those still on the recovery phase (of anything at all)
  • The ones who live for the future includes only three types:
      1. -Geeks (overly sci-fi fan or not)
      2. -the Oppressed (i.e. war victims, aesthetically-oppressed a.k.a that ugly kid on your mom’s wallet picture 20-or-more years ago, oppressed by gravity’s force a.k.a obese people, Blondes, couples idiotic enough to raise kids, interestingness-oppressed a.k.a Bores, Hippies who say things likeOur vacuous hoarding of stuff is a leash around our necks, a symbol of our insecurities and petty status-envy, while living in this consumer world.)
      3. -the Misanthropes–very giddy to see the onset of Armageddon, this one. As if they don’t see it happening every day yet. Idiots…

Well that’s basically it. As you might have smartly noticed, I have classified humanity and gave us another set of labels to attach to each other. I love us all that much. And because of that, I want to end this with a note to all possible readers, bots and nonbots alike, that if you think I have been politically incorrect (like, I have been obese-ist, family-ist, or other -ist crap) and are wishing to learn my house had been a crashing site for the debris of another failed North Korean missile launch, I have five words for you:

Ain't life a bizarre contradiction?
P.S. The theory has just been updated! It now includes The Fifth Kind. Not much is certain except this group having learned to cross the boundaries of time, dimensions, and labels (ironic as that may sound, but yeah). Are you one of us? I’m still not asking you, idiots.
P.P.S. If you have not yet seen Blindness, please, PLEASE DO. :)

What makes people people?

Being privileged could sometimes be a matter of perspective. Some argue it’s always. Counting your blessings and curses and seeing that the good stuff outweighs the bad could make one feel privileged somehow. And yet do we really count our blessings or is it just advice we give to comfort people who are on the brink of tying their nooses?

Tying Nooses

More often than not, I find myself questioning everything, and the meaning behind anything at all. Are there aliens? What happens to you after you get sucked by a black hole? How big could an anus get? Is there a life after death or do I just get reincarnated into a microbe? Don’t you tell me I’m alone in using such questions for self-interrogation. Anyway, I asked the first question in this post because of one true experience.

Days ago, I braved myself to see the world. Yes, I actually went out of the house. And not only that, I went to the busiest portion of the city where the majority of the people you’d see are the dirt poor.

Financially.

I thought at first it’s only the lack of financial prosperity, but when I looked closer I saw that the saddest thing is not how shabbily they dress, not even how they work in a space where you can literally smell the scent of shit wafting constantly, not even when I never saw these people give out a genuine smile to another person, no. I’m okay with a non-smiling person most times–I do that a lot myself. It’s the way they look at nothing, the nothingness of space, with eyes that reflect exactly that.

Hollow Eyes and The Grim Reaper is really a watch repairman

I thought I was not seeing people but their ghosts.

Not that I actually know how real ghosts look like. I still don’t know whether I’m lucky or not for that but I know seeing one would spook me out. So, determined to prove I was not in the ghost plane, I poked the watch repairman.

I actually touched something solid! But then he turned to me with those eyes. Nothing changed; it’s as hollow as ever.

That day, poverty stared at me. And I looked back.

So…

What makes people people? I don’t know, but despair seems to be a part of it. At least if those creatures I saw are actually people. Heh, I know they are–despair had already been an acquaintance to me, too.

But what I saw was already an excess.

I never intended to count my blessings. Forcing myself to look at reality that day made me do it nonetheless. Money is already a part of humanity, but we shouldn’t let it get the best of us. I know I am more privileged than some of those people–that I could still eat three times and even have some spare time to blog–so it’s easier for me to say that. Maybe. But I won’t take it back.

If it’s any consolation, people who have lots of money never escape despair either. It’s part of not just humanity, but of life. The earth despaired when Michael Jackson died (it did!), mama turtle despaired when a heron ate her newly-hatched turtling (or she didn’t because she wasn’t even there).

What I’m saying is, it’s normal to feel despair. But we should not let it defeat us because as long as you’re still [technically] alive you’ve got a shot at changing things. Yes, even the whole miserable condition you are living now.

Even despair.

It just really pains me seeing people, even total strangers, look at the world with those empty eyes. Is life really such a dreary phenomenon for them? It’s all such a waste. We don’t have the certainty of another life except this one we currently have. You might believe in an all-powerful benefactor or not but you’ve got to admit that life is a gift–one that doesn’t last. So I don’t really see the point of living it like you’d rather be dead.

All of us–rich, poor, ugly, beautiful, black, white, yellow, red, straight, crooked–are vulnerable to despair. But it’s up to you to wallow in it. Or you could always choose to look at the lighter side and might actually be happy.

And then, it might only be my perspective…

Whoa–this guy can WRITE!

It was the second set of words I told myself last December 2011 when I came upon his blog. The first set was rather unintelligible. He expressed his ideas with humor, wrote intelligently, and with an uncanny mix of cynicism and sanguinity. Needless to say, I was hooked. And I was amazed by the number of people engaged in an entertaining and clever dialogue in the comments section.

I had no idea what WordPress is before that, nor did I have any know-how in blogging. I was just surfing the net; bored with Facebook egotism, and yet vowing to eat a plastic fork before I touch a single textbook during that Christmas break. So I continued mutilating the mouse, and through a series of unfortunately forgotten web pages, I clicked a link to his post. When I saw the possibilities blogging could do, I wanted in.

So I signed up right then. I explored how WordPress works, and I found it surprisingly easy; surprising since I always consider myself computer-dumb. But then, anything is relatively easy when you want it enough.

I didn’t write anything until April the next year, though. The reason is simple: I felt insecure about my writing.

It was the last semester in my four years of college, and during those four years I never really wrote anything other than those related to my field of study. I kept a journal but it was a requirement, and by that point I grew to hate any word with the prefix require-. So I burned that journal as soon as I’m done with that certain subject.

SHORT VERSION: College sapped the creative writing worm in me.

LONG VERSION: Back in high school, I was actually part of the school paper. Years before that, in my sixth grade, there was a line saying “I want to be a writer someday,” under my photo in the yearbook (I should have written something more practical but you know how idiotic sixth-graders are). I grew up loving books, and with it grew the love for writing. As what is often the case, they were almost inseparable. I almost forgot that love when I studied Nursing. Maybe because the course took up most of my time and energy, maybe there were lots of distractions (believe it or not, I was a normal person with a social and, uhurm, love life). Maybe I just used up most of the rest of my time hogging my sleeping nook. Whatever the reasons were, I stopped writing–the kind that’s done just for the mere love of it.

I don’t claim to be good at anything other than eating, but being out of practice for something in about four years could make you apprehensive to start again. But during April last year, a new graduate stuck in her mom’s house with a head full of ideas and a pocket full of dust, I can’t even start my exploration of the real world.

Before I knew it, boredom became the anthem of my life (well that and frustration, confusion, ubiquitous angst/what-is-my-place-in-this-world drama, et cetera, et cetera and so forth).

The Scream - HiNaD version

Choosing between mutilating my carotid artery with a nail clipper and humiliating myself by writing my first ever blog post on my actual birthday, I chose the latter.

Thus, in a way, HiNaD became my twin.

It was an idiotic move, I know. Who else but an idiot would pick the same birthday as himself for his blog? I could have celebrated two birthdays in a year and get double the greetings to satisfy my ego. But instead I chose to deny myself the privilege. Oh well, I blame the genes. I didn’t become an idiot by myself, you know.

Anyway, it was real fun from there on.

I have grown not only as a blogger, but as a writer and person indeed.  I wrote stuff I would normally not dare write about [my] family, my real life friends, and my country–one quite droll, the other rather serious. I wrote about the difficulty of being good, and made fun of old timers, calling them Satan in disguise.  I learned that every Homo Sapiens has hypocrite blood.  I encountered rude bloggers a.k.a trolls, and dissected their rudeness while mentioning a four-letter word ten times in a post. Even then, there were times that I couldn’t care less and just posted something stubbornly silly.

I also wrote about how it’s much easier to mock everything than to discuss our true feelings, and how I thought I was mentally disturbed.  I discovered that professional doctors really believe happiness IS a disease (I KNOW, RIGHT?!). Then I tried to answer the question “Who am I?” and failed miserably. So instead I wrote about something I don’t know how to categorize

But before all that, there was this mediocre stick man comic with a rather nice story to tell. Speaking of storytelling, *blushes* I rather wrote lots of them short/very short stories, my babies. For a collection–TotWK–I collaborated with Landix, a wonderful artist, bless him. I didn’t even realize I can write “horror” effortlessly until someone pointed it out here in HiNaD, bwaha!

And oh, yes! I discovered I rather like ‘em Goths. That and a lot of other very amazeballs stuff.

Wow, I did write lots considering I was practically on a hiatus for about four (?) months last year (I was preparing for the licensure exams). Looking back and reading those pieces/attempts-to-make-sense by my mind, I still find myself believing in almost exactly the same truths. Hmm, it’s a wonderful feeling, come to think of it…

(Oh geez, my head’s getting bloated with the awesomeness of Me again. Good thing I only review my blogging achievements once a year, haha!)

All of those things mentioned are wonderful, rewarding stuff–enough to make me continue doing this bloggy thing for as long as I could. But the BESTEST part of it all was/is/would still be meeting you.

Yes, YOU. ;)

Seeking truths is harder

When you don’t really want to know

The answer–it’s what’s left

Of a limb after amputation

Of the portion necrotized by fear,

An’ stubbornness,

An’ lies,

An’ that portion that’s infatuated

With the need to instantly gratify

 

Building your life in false truths

Will not suffice as time goes by

 

So you cut, cut, cut ties,

Ignoring pain; you’ll be alright,

You thought, when you deny yourself

Of those mocking verities–leave ‘em behind

Then you find yourself in the same spot

Unclear what the problem is

T’would be long ‘fore you can

Accept those whom we call as truths

Are the best liars indeed

 

An’ when planning doesn’t work

An’ good sense leaves you in a rut

Maybe it’s time to let the ‘lil voice speak

An’ leave reason behind the bars

 

Clueless

Like anybody else, we are one,

Living a question of a life

So who knows what’s what, really?

Who knows enough to tell you what is right?

In a void where truth transcends,

At this breath we’re still all clueless

Your guess is as good as mine

lies_by_cmo

(Children, what business are you doing here? But read if you want. I’m not your saggy mother.)

Families are such a pain. Everyone knows that. Only robots would deny that. Do robots even have families? I wonder when they’d invent robots that are actually capable of reproduction. People do it. Animals do it. Plants don’t have sex with each other. Let’s see you rebuff that.

This is NOT proof that plants can bang each other. Do not be deceived.

This is NOT proof that plants bang each other. Do not be deceived.

Robots would deny hating their families because they make the most perfect sets there are. That’s because every family member is perfect. If you’re the unlucky one who has this dent on one side of your chin then fear not because the rest of your family will just kill you, and from your remains make the most perfect set of ultra-modern furniture. Why do robots dispose of each other too easily? That’s because there’s less gore involved. You cannot say the same thing about humans. Gut one man’s stomach enough to have his intestines spilling out and you’ll know why. You think intestines are cramped inside your body for no reason? They’re shit vessels. Opening up a person’s body is STINKY business. That’s one thing horror movies don’t tell you. Trust me, I know. You’re welcome.

Look at how much they want to kill each other.

Look at how much they want to kill each other.

Another reason why robot families are so great is because they don’t get nasty diseases. Only injuries. “Mom, my thumb hurts. I think it’s broken.” Robot mom will just chop it off and replace it with a new one. “Mom, my thumb hurts. It’s turning blue. I think I got tetanus.” “What?! Oh, my poor, poor, baby…” See? That’s just an injury and humans can already get so worked up and resort to hysterics instead of just solving the problem. It’s embarrassing. And when one family member gets sick, all the remaining cast are often affected. Just imagine what would happen if Timmy gets this actual disease called Filariasis. “Mom, my nose is getting bigger. And longer. See, I can touch it with my elbows! Cool!” Human mom will take one look at you and either collapse or start thinking it was elephant semen that got its way inside her.

Dad would kill himself because an elephant fucked his wife. Twin sister would realize her thighs would always remain as it is because of her elephant DNA. Boyfriends would never do the famed 69 with her for fear of breaking their necks or dying of asphyxia. This would depress her and she’ll choose to follow dad to the grave. Humans are idiots and idiocy grows at a vast rate in numbers, especially if brought about by genetics. Humans should NEVER form blood-related families or any families for that matter just to cut the risk. It’s difficult to change your genes too so there’s no way around it. But humans are too much of an idiot to realize that.

Poor Timmy.

Poor Timmy.

Robot families are the best families too since they all exist in nuclear form. Nuclear families are very rarely composed of more than ten members. If one robot wants to cut ties permanently, he only has less than ten members to kill. Or deactivate. Or whatever it is you call robots do to stop the existence of another robot. On the other hand, humans have all ridiculous types of families from extended to communal to et cetera, et cetera. It’s a crime to have a family that big. It’s CRAZY!

Look, it’s already a challenge to try and get along with your direct blood kin, how much more if you’re compelled to be civilized (a very difficult skill. Civilization is merely an invention of scared human weaklings to prevent being eaten by the brutish caveman next door.) to your bossy, know-it-all, bag-of-wrinkles of a grandmother? Or your psychotic aunt who has interreligious gods as her imaginary friends? Or that second-degree uncle who believes families exist so that you have someone to pay for your debts or save your ass while you waste your life away being a jobless, cocaine-snorting, excreta of society? Tell me that’s NOT crazy and I’ll voodoo you until you think your tongue is a big, slimy worm trying to get inside your body so that you’ll pull it out yourself and chop it into pieces. Ha!

The reason why asian families suck. UGH. Are they forming their own community? And they all make you think they're happy. DO NOT BE DECEIVED.

The reason why asian families suck. UGH. Are they forming their own community? And they all make you think they’re happy. DO NOT BE DECEIVED.

Robot families are also perfect because they don’t feel emotions at all (sci-fi enthusiasts, bash me now). And they’re also incredibly, supercomputer-smart. Imagine not having to feel any distracting emotions every nanosecond of your entire life! And not even needing an abacus to count the fingers in your mechanical hand! The ability to think like a genius is no different from feeling, really – just minus the hassles. Human families are such a pain because there are emotions involved. Pain is even an emotion – unnecessary shit. Take emotions away from the equation and what do you get? Great. Now you’re thinking. Just because the word equation is mentioned you look from side-to-side, up-down looking for help. That’s how much of an i-di-ot you are. You even take it personally to be called one. Pathetic.

The Perfect Robot Family. Complete with the perfect robot dog in the center.

The Perfect Robot Family. Complete with the perfect robot dog in the center.

I think those are enough reasons to validate my stance: Exterminate human families and let the robots rule the planet once and for all!

Hail robots!

The picture says it all.

Oh, and lastly? The greatest reason why robot families are so very perfect is because of the fact that they DO NOT EXIST. That means humans will continue to breathe polluted air, copulate, merge as families, and make each other’s lives miserable until some freak disease that will make the Black Plague look as simple indigestion consume us all. Except the cockroaches, of course.

OH YEAH!  *fist pump*

************************************************************************************************************

¨¨¨ The third picture is a real, non-edited image of human being whose name is actually not Timmy but Huang ChuncaiIt saddens me how some people would have to endure that much suffering. It kind of reminds us how really cruel life can be if she wants to be. AND serves another reminder why you and I are so goddamn lucky human beings despite our comparably measly whinings, you ungrateful shit.

If the Universe as we know it had really just sprung up spontaneously – less likely started as a fantastic, utterly complex blueprint of a project of some powerful albeit crazy maker but rather had the origins of something like a spur-of-the-moment such as a fart – then less complex beings such as you, and I, and the Andromeda galaxy, and the growth of a fetus in the womb, and the unexplained intricacies of the brain, and Love are just mere accidents; concepts that are by-products of an unplanned existence, not really a whole lot different from being illusions.

Insignificant. Purposeless.

And simply because of that (or maybe because of wounded pride to have the same status as a fart) that I am more than willing to believe otherwise – that everything is with purpose, planned, and not just an emission of a swirling chaos the size of, say, a Universe. There may be no proof of our “planned” existence or the seemingly purposeless, heinous offenses happening in this plane of existence, and I remain to have doubts if proof could ever be found or if we could even recognize it if it is displayed in front of our eyes.

But sometimes, sometimes blind faith can defy logic at its prime. Sometimes blind faith seems to be the only thing that could make sense of our seemingly chaotic lives.

Now stone me to cyberdeath.

The equivalence of my existence

The equivalence of my existence

A glimpse from the eyes of a Third Worlder. With glasses, of course

Okay, kids. Let’s start.

In an ideal world, resources are abundant, enough to meet the demands and still have spare for emergencies. In the real world, resources are like tissue paper in a public bathroom stall in a third world country – you’re goddamn lucky to even find one.

In an ideal world, professional ethics have their roots at the educational institutions and ends when a professional retires, and sometimes, not even until he dies. In the real world, school is where professional ethics ends.

In an ideal world, Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water. In the real world, Jack asked Jill to go to the highway and rap at car windows to ask for coins from testy car drivers when that traffic light goes red. Sometimes they even have color amnesia and start forgetting those colors mean anything at all.

Living in the third world country, I found, guarantees you an infinite mental list of an Ideal vs. Real combo.

All these years, I’ve seen (I am) people trying to get on with life with their feet on the extremes of a very fine wire. And all this time, I’ve never seen the weight balanced on the wire; people always have a constant risk of falling since they continuously amass on the extremely deprived side.

I’ve never been abroad, limited resources (i.e. having money just enough for NEEDS, sometimes not even close) saw to that.

But since people find numerous ways of making the world a microcosm every day, it is inevitable to get a glimpse, albeit a blurry version, of how people get on with their lives in the upper ranks of the world (read, first world. Although when you get technical-historical about it, it was never really meant to become a “ranking system”. But as with most things, time [but mostly people] distorts something in one way or another and before you know it, a definition sticks like a leech).

Like you, my mother told me it is never good to compare. But I’d sooner lay a golden egg than find someone who truly doesn’t do it.

I know there are nations who have it worse than our own pearl of the orient, but those who have it better outnumber the rest of them. In all statistical surveys other than Corruption and Poverty and the Worst Airports of the Century, we always seem to be at the lowest ranks. And when the compare-o-meter starts rolling, goats get restless with the knowledge of grass having less leaches sticking on them on the other side. And yes, the Philippines does have a great deal of leeches. Goats, too.

Famine, Pollution, Corruption – I know these jocks are hotshots Earthwide, but in some parts, you can’t help but see them without a fishnet stocking blocking your view. I see them with a magnifying glass (along with devastating healthcare, educational, political, sanitary systems) on a daily basis.

I can’t even blame a good and righteous blue-eyed woman torturing her toddler by saying, “Finish that sloppy-food-that-doesn’t-look-or-taste-better-than-something-that-shouldn’t-get-in-but-out-of-the-body OR ELSE I’ll send you to one of them third world countries where they tread on dog shit ninety times a day!

In some areas of the country, I suspect that could be true. But it’s not exactly as horrifying as having to tread on Tuberculosis-infected spit or eating in a carinderia (stalls where you get to eat homemade food) and praying every time you get a spoonful near your mouth you won’t get Hepatitis. In most parts of the country, these things are truth.

For someone used to the comforts of living in a first-world neighborhood, living here might be like Halloween per diem.

I know I musn’t be the first to bitch (excuza me for the French, kids, although I doubt any of you would be lost here for more than a tenth of a minute) about these things. I’m one among millions, methinks. And like all of them people having importance only as fillers in the world of Statistics, I’m wondering about how to change things.

HOW.

A person who thinks normally would have already made the conclusion that I do want to change things as they are.

Maybe I do.

But there’s that space somewhere in the thinking portion of my being (you sensible people would call it the brain, but personally I’m not as sure) that somehow already resonates satisfaction with how things work.

I mean, come to think of it, it’s just like the psychology of abuse – the more exposed you are to something, the more you tend to think it’s normal and the more you resist attempts to change the state of things.

Eck.

Well, maybe. Yes, maybe I am indeed a culturally-abused individual, the only difference is, I don’t know who to blame.

See, the greatest paradox is how people around me, people who could only knot their foreheads in confusion at the prospect of having Internet connection available in ninety-five percent of every square inch in the country and people who could pop their eyes at the prospect of having enough money for food every day, still have smiles that could reach their eyes.

How they could still imagine promising futures for their children despite being up to their eyeballs with loans and debts.

How they always say people are much luckier abroad but secretly never choose to live away from their country.

How they could look at things around them and never ruminate about how to properly tie a noose but rather how life has blessed them in so many ways.

Some would call it ignorance.

Others, numbness.

The romantics, however, would call it Patriotism.

I secretly call it Cultural Abuse Syndrome: Positive type, although now it’s not that much of a secret as my having a birthmark somewhere down the bush.

Right.

But whatever it’s called, fortunately, won’t matter to the “affected” people because they don’t have time to read and worry about ostentatious, I mean BIG, words; no, they’re busy looking for ways to sustain their basic needs. They don’t have much time for anything else, really, much less on contemplating the mechanism of how to be depressed.

Sometimes, it seems that’s the only thing that keeps you from tying up that noose.

As a child, I’ve always wished to become invisible.

Back then, life was so much simpler. For starters, I knew what I wanted most in the world – flying, beauty, invisibility. The Big 3. I specifically wanted to fly Peter Pan-style, at will and with no wings; I found them to be awfully bothersome.

Yet half my brain’s already rational in that age, so I decided to stick with planes and parachutes instead. Beauty would be the simplest to achieve, I thought. Or so said my mother. But one gets to know it really takes so much more than just growing up. Still, it remained achievable.

I was almost completely happy with these knowledge until I pondered on how to achieve invisibility. In my young mind, the idea was already impossible.

And we know impossible dreams are the hardest to put to sleep.

Like every normal phenomenon, high school came. I still wasn’t able to achieve any of my dreams – the fastest transport I got myself into was a ship, not a plane; I look at the mirror and see not beauty but only me; I haven’t heard of any existing invisibility cloaks except in Harry Potter land.

Of course, other things happened, too. I got my first kiss, formed a few great friendships, made a boy cry through sheer brute, and got scholarships from three different universities.

But there wasn’t a single one of The Big 3.

Life goes on and I joined one university and picked a course I never really wanted because I was smart but stupid. Y’all know college, it’s just high school but you get to say and even do fuck a lot without landing yourself once in detention. I’m just making that up but it could be true.

Now really, what’s cool in that phase was that I got 2 out of my 3 big dreams: I traveled on a plane thrice (disappointing, actually. It’s much like a bus ride), and discovered people are incredibly great liars in college – well that or I could be somehow beautiful.

Those two are big things to someone who still dreams of flying some nights and who used to be an ugly duckling. Big, I tell you.

That P thing some people got in high school? No, not pain and poor self – esteem.

Popularity.

Yeah, well, I think I got it on that phase.

So Number 1-Flying, check. 2-Beauty, check. 3-Invisibility, dream on.

Worse, I thought I was at that point attracting the spotlight towards myself. I didn’t know what to do or how to feel about it, so I did nothing.

I also found myself involved with too many things – love, graduation, break-ups, job hunting, getting broke, partying, family feuds and reconciliations, rejection, job acceptance – you know the list.

Then I think I either really made it big, or I really screwed it up.

You see, I met a really good man. His name is John. Where could you go wrong with a John? It’s such a good name. One of Jesus’ apostles is a John. So was the previous pope. And not to mention Mr. John–ny Depp. See? Anyone that’s a John–ny couldn’t be anything bad.

So I married him.

Everything started like a fairytale – the wedding, the honeymoon (think of Little Mermaid, X-rated version), even the first two years. I felt like I’m living the ultimate dream. I felt like a star.

Then I got pregnant. Twins. I was stunned. I was overjoyed – our love bore fruit! I was depressed – I’m going to be a whale! But really, I think I was happy. I’m sure John was happy back then, too. People from everywhere congratulated us, even that supposed to be childhood neighbor I really could not remember. But things such as Facebook do exist, you know.

In short, I may have felt a sort of a star whilst in college, but that time? I’m a supernova, albeit a supernova with a super waistline.

And after nine months of whaling, I got to see my little angels. Really, I thought I was in heaven. Then we took the babies home. It was all so much fun if you consider not having enough sleep, getting out of the house increasingly less, not having enough time for yourself your sort of fun.

Bitching mother, yes I am.

Truth is I loved my two angels so much I’m fine with all that. I’ve passed on the “supernova” title to both of them anyway. They earned it from managing the seemingly impossible feat of squeezing themselves out of a hole the size of my vagina.

I’d love them more than all the Johns in the world, even. Even MY John. That’s not to say he would do the same, you know? I mean, I dunno if he really could love them babies more than me. That could only be true if he still loves me.

The fact is I don’t know. He doesn’t tell. He doesn’t show. He thinks I don’t know about Cynthia, or Katie, or Eva. The honest to fucking goodness is that I knew about them bitches for a long time now.

And I don’t think he knows that.

Well I prefer to believe that anyway than to think he does know but just couldn’t care.

Oh, and the twins are going to day-care next month. I’m going to have my hands fuller by that time. Yes, that’s really possible. I have to make several preparations for everything to work, yes. At least if not for me, then for them.

But it will work. Things do have their own way of working out if you ask me. Sometimes they even work out too well than how you wanted.

See, I just realized how I’m already living my third “impossible” dream.

Invisibility.

I know I should have been more careful what to wish for.

But I wasn’t.

And at this time? The word could even decide to end, and I still wouldn’t care less.

I wish.

(My brother just told the whole world how much he hates me. And instead of giving him my 2640-word worth of demons, I release them here.)

***

In a land where the sun rises not, where the moon never leaves the sky, there lived the ones whom we simply refuse to believe.

Not that they prefer it any other way.

They have ceased to call themselves angels for they could no longer find their way back where they used to call home. Nor were they demons for they have never pledged loyalty to the fallen prince.

For naming’s sake, let’s call them In-Betweens.

In that sunless world there lies an inn, a public house whose bar these folks often frequent. And here small groups would gather every seventh moon to exchange the sort they consider priceless, but what humans no longer hold as objects of value.

This is tradition.

This is fact.

Another mug of moonbeam, please, Leirum”, muttered a small figure covered in a cloak the same hue as the shadows. He was a lone figure in the bar…yet.

As you wish dear Leug”, replied the bar maiden, a figure with such beauty even Aphrodite could envy, and she has; still does. She gave the small cloaked figure what we call an innocent smile before she vanished.

The inn does not boast of any exquisite structure but of wooden stools and rounded tables, a large and comforting fireplace that has not yet ceased to give the inn life for as long as anyone could remember; and of course, the bar. Behind it is a place where knowledge lies only on the beautiful Leirum and mortal guests who could no longer give us their own accounts.

Here’s your freshly harvested cold mug of moonbeam, eh, just the way you like it!

Ah, thanks, Leirum.

So, what interesting business have you lately got yourself into, Leugarahp? And don’t tell me nothing much again or you’re not coming back to this inn.” And she laughed to let the other one know she doesn’t mean it.

It really is nothing much, Lei, just a minor role in preventing a planet-wide revolution in Uruk-Patel. Those green people really are a riotous bunch.

Wouldn’t you be if you live in a planet as miserable?

Touché. They were a noble race but they wouldn’t last long now. Pretty soon, you would have to meet them. At least they’ve been able to make interesting memories to last a lifetime.

Our lifetime?

Indeed.

She then busied herself with wiping her ivory mugs for the upcoming guests, a task she was fully obliged. “Tell me, Leug, have you been there when their first planet-wide revolution started?

With the Uruks? Played a major role back then, I say. Why, it was a mistake I never intend to do again! You wouldn’t believe thinking beings would be able to be responsible for such gore.

Hm, just as I suspected. You do have your smell in it.

Oh well. It won’t be long now ‘til those people die. Their second moon has just exploded, their life source greatly diminishing. The two queens, both formidable as you well know, have not yet reached a compromise. The people are getting restless and before we knew it they would start killing each other. You have my word in it. It would be so much gore, they like it that way. But they won’t know what they’ve done until it’s too late. They won’t be able to replace their losses now. The two queens only lay about a thousand eggs every moonrise. Not all of them would even be able to survive. Dying, that’s what they are, I tell you.

They wouldn’t be alone, in that case.

The voice came from the newcomer they haven’t noticed. As he rose from the farthest stool in the shadows, he pulled down his hood to different welcomes from the two figures in the bar.

I’m glad you made it, Lesaran.

You just don’t change do you, giant?

Lesaran laughed as he joined them in the bar, giving Leugarahp a patting in the back which send the little one scurrying on the floor, “Just as likely to change as you’re likely to grow, midget.

All three laughed. Even the fire joined to welcome the cheerful new guest.

What would you have this time, Les? And no, I still don’t have any whiskey. I simply refuse to befoul my bar with a drink as inferior as that.

Pfft, you and your standards. Just give me whatever this midget’s having then. Make it a full bottle this time.

Lovely. Now don’t you go telling any tales ‘til I come back, you.

Lesaran just smirked and turned to Leugarahp who, from his fall, was still shifting uncomfortably in his seat, but not with any contempt to the pusher, as was their way.

Is it true Uruk-Patel’s dying?

True as we are, brother.

She agrees?

You really think I know?

They sat in silence as Leirum came back with a bottle of newly harvested moonbeam and a plate of what looked like peanuts but were really dried Human Wishes, a favorite delicacy of Lesaran.

Here’s your drink and some munchers for you both. Where have you been for so long, Les? I’ve missed you. Everyone missed you.

Been to a couple of worlds, but mostly to my favorite spot. You know the place, you two.

You mean they’re the dying breed?” asked Leugarahp.

Everyone always seems to be dying, but only some really do. Sometimes I wish I could.

Silence.

Leirum broke it by asking, “So where have you been then except Earth?

Lesaran was about to answer, but just then the doors opened. Two people entered – one a young man in his early twenties, the other a middle-aged woman in a smart-looking business suit, both looking terribly confused why they end up in such a place.

Hello! This is the Angels’ Inn. Do you wish a room for the night?” came the sweet and inviting voice of Leirum, with a spark in her eyes different from which before the new guests arrive.

Is this what you call this place? Rather gloomy to be an inn for angels, but it will do. Yes, I’d just like a room for the night, please.” answered the middle-aged woman as she crossed towards the bar, and sat beside Lesaran.

You dress awfully old-fashioned in here, don’t you? Do we have a party or something? Lord knows I’m up for a party. It’s been dry, work-filled days all week! Even God needed a breather, didn’t he?”

Oh yes, he did”, answered a smirking, bemused Lesaran.

The young man just remained standing in the center of the room and muttered in a small voice, “Um, I’d like a room, too, if you please.” He sat in one of the stools surrounding a nearby table.

Leirum answered, “Very well, then, two rooms for the new guests. I should go and prepare your rooms, but not before you two warm up and have your drinks. Now I suggest Hope’s Dregs for this awfully cold night, what do you say?

I normally don’t drink anything with dregs in them. Is that any good?” the woman asked Lesaran.

Very – it warms you up from within and leaves you a quite contented feeling. You should try it.” he said with the most charming of smiles to the woman beside him, who blushed before she said to the bar maiden, “Fine. One Hope’s Dregs for me then.

Lovely. How about you, young man?

The young man appears to be slightly surprised to be addressed and just nodded.

All right, two dregs of hope coming up. Oh I could feel this would be one of them good nights…

The woman turned to Lesaran and Leugarahp, who still had his cloak half-covering his face.

What are you folks drinking?

Just the old-fashioned moonbeam, same as here Leug’s having.” said Lesaran.

Moonbeam? Weird names, these drinks. But what do you expect from a bar named Angels’ Inn?” then she gave a laugh everyone knows to have no real trace of mirth.

All kinds of things, madam, all kinds of things,” replied Leugarahp, who chose that moment to pull down his hood.

The woman wasn’t able to utter a reply, and the man in one of the tables made a small gasp as they looked at what the hood has hidden until now. It was a face as old as time itself, and in it you could never really see true traces of beauty, especially if you have the human eye.

Hey, what’s the silence about? I thought my bar was known to be the source of all tales? But then again I guess everything just has to change, don’t they?” said Leirum, still with a smile as she served the woman and the young man their drinks.

Not really, sister. You know that too well.” was the reply from Lesaran.

Leirum looked at his brother for a moment before going back to the counter.

I think the silence was brought about by the usual reaction from the sight of me. Thank goodness there was no blood shed this time”, said Leugarahp, whose voice echoed a truth to his words.

Oh, you’re always a welcome sight to me Leug”, said Leirum.

The woman, too uncomfortable and embarrassed with the conversation, said, “So you three know each other well?

We’ve known each other a long time now. But you, why, we’ve only seen you now. How did you come to our place? Do tell us”, said Leirum, with a manner that even the most stone-hearted man could not say no to.

Now, this is most peculiar. I can only remember coming home from work, getting ready to change my clothes to go out to some bar, you know. The next thing I know, I’m out in the cold, standing outside your door with that young man over there”, she lowered her voice before saying, “He really is in bad shape, that lad. He looks as if every little noise frightens him. Thank this awfully delicious drink I’ve found better company.” finishing the statement with another sip from her mug.

Interesting story. Don’t you think you’re just in a dream?” asked Leugarahp.

A dream? My life’s been mostly a dream, you see. No real meaning. I won’t be surprised if this is another one.

Oy, you fellow! Care to join us here? It’s rather lonely down there in your spot, I say. At least here you can have close view of my sister. Isn’t she a sight?” said Lesaran with a laugh joined by the others except Leirum, who tried to look annoyed without success.

The young man, who thought he really has no choice on the matter, just as he always thought about all things his entire life, stood up and joined the rest on the bar.

Don’t mind him. He really is a joker, my brother.” said Leirum, as the young man approached with a nervous smile.

It’s okay. This is some drink, by the way. Never tasted anything as good before.

Leugarahp, who was sitting beside the young man, nudged him, “You won’t find a better drink anywhere in your world, lad. Even the finest wines you’ve got down there couldn’t compare to the water we have in this inn.

Once a humbug, always a humbug”, muttered Lesaran so that only Leirum and the woman could hear.

Leugarahp, who was now in a talkative mood after his second mug of moonbeam, asked the boy, “So what’s your story then?

Huh?

I mean how’d you end up here?

Oh…well, I was just in my room, you know, thinking of, of a lot of things. Life. Then I had this really weird thought, see. I never really intended to do it. I can’t remember now if I did. The next thing I know, I’m standing outside your door. She’s right by the way”, he looked to the woman beside Lesaran before saying, “I really was frightened. It’s so weird, you see?

Hmm. A lot of weird things happen to us in the course of existence, young man. Remember that. But tell me, would you rather have these weird things currently happening, or your plain, monotonous, uneventful life that you so wished to end back in that lonely room of yours?” said Leugarahp.

How did you…? It doesn’t matter. You’re right anyway.”

Silence, once again broken by Leirum.

Now, now, gentlemen. Our guests must really be tired from a long, long day. I think it would be right to send them now to their rooms. Why, I’ve made them as comfortable as only an Angel’s Inn room could be.

Really tempting, that one. Oh well, I guess I’m getting old. I do feel tired now you said it. I’m afraid I have to say good night to you, gentlemen.” said the woman in the business suit.

Good night to you, madam. May you sleep in peace.” replied Lesaran with the smile that made the woman felt certain it would be a good night’s rest indeed.

How about you, young man?” asked Leirum.

I think I should also go. I’m sorry, but I do feel really exhausted.” And he really looked as if he is.

Then Leugarahp said to him, “That’s fine, lad. You shall have your rest now. Good night.

Good night.

And with that, the beautiful Leirum escorted the two human guests to their bedrooms; rooms from which no other soul have yet seen, rooms from which their bodies will never see another light of day.

When she came back to the bar, her brothers were still there.

Drinking.

Waiting.

You’ve brought them here, you know.” she said.

Aye.

But unknowingly. Unwillingly.

That’s how it must work, brother.

Aye.

Silence.

I think we should call it a night.” It was Lesaran’s voice who broke it this time.

Yes, I think so, too. I have to get back to Uruk-Patel. They need me now more than always.” said Leugarahp, to no one’s dissent and to Leirum’s full agreement as she looked at her brother with a smile.

Lesaran said, “And I must be getting on. I like Earth, but there are still worlds I have yet to be friends with. I think I should go to one of them.

You really should, brother”, said Leirum, also in full agreement with her brother’s choice.

Each of the men kissed her on one cheek before they put on their cloaks and went out to the night.

Then Leirum closed the Inn’s doors, never locking it for she well knows anyone might turn up needing rooms or just a drink at any time here in their land.

She sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, the kind of minutes highly different from man’s world. She contemplates how the Uruks’ fate lies in the mercy of her brother Pharaguel, the Angel of Destruction. And how her brother Narasel’s unquenchable taste for all the things the worlds have to offer would influence more people’s ends, he being the Angel of Desire. She reflects on all of these, among other things such as the ends of all the worlds and the event that would follow, before walking behind the bar, waiting in the shadows to serve another In-Between, or to prepare rooms to dying beings.

For such is her duty, the fallen beauty Muriel, otherwise known to her siblings as the Angel of Death.

 

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