I haven’t written for the past week. That’s how it felt like. Looking at the last few posts, I realized how impersonal they were. And how I’ve been avoiding confronting myself lately.
I’d like to think it’s the usual hump, the big gap, the missing part, or at least that space between here and there that you can’t quite decipher. I’d like to think that I just have nothing much to write. I’d like to think so many things… but I have been thinking too much.
I was looking through my notes on Facebook and I stumbled upon this old thing I wrote about a year ago. I remember being in a coffee place and feeling all these things, so maybe you can be transported in a coffee place and feel all these things too. Enjoy.
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It’s a Friday night and I am surprised by the lack of people in the city. Usually, the city is alive on Friday nights, with people itching to escape an entire week’s worth of work, an entire week’s worth of arguments and senseless topics over tasteless luncheons and rushed breakfasts. Usually, the city is alive on a Friday night. But not tonight. At least, not tonight.
There are people. They walk around, boys with their big hoodies attempting to appear ghetto and “cool”, girls with their high-pitched voices and emo punk hair do that often make their morena skin look dirtier than it actually is. There are men and women in their business attire, some with a group of high school friends, others sitting intimately with their partners, whispering the day’s aggravations over cold coffee and a shared pastry. Everyone wants to keep their money to themselves nowadays.
Though the week has barely started, I am already experiencing severe cases of rageaholism. So may I just be random today, especially that I am blogging at an hour that is not of my choosing?
1. Excuse you, but I am not hard-headed. I freaking comply every single rule imposed upon me. There is only ONE condition to that: I HAVE TO UNDERSTAND IT. Is it my fault that I cannot understand why corporate=black for you? You cannot rebrand a company just by changing the facade of a building, you have to change the people as well. It’s not leaving culture and tradition behind. It’s merely adding new ones. It’s called developing. Learn it. Live it. Love it. Or better, just read up on it. Then maybe I won’t have a hard time justifying why an institution is spending over a billion pesos on a luxury condominium.
*word vomit*
2. I am not being tough nor am I filled with pride. Is it too much to ask from anyone that maybe this time, they can consider me? I know what I did (and I did that on purpose, unfortunately) that made a person hurt as much as a person can. But does that other person know or at least, is that person considerate enough to acknowledge doing something of the same effect? I’ve been looking out for person after person after person all my life. Maybe this time, you all can consider looking out for me.
*word vomit*
3. You are probably the only thing that keeps me sane in my life right now and I am having a hard time coming to terms with the fact that you will have to go away soon in order to actually make a living. But I am comforted by the ideas and plans that you have for your future… and how those plans include me.
*word vomit*
Okaaay. I believe I am officially bulimic. So much for a great lunch.
Of course, I feel that way everyday. I look at my Facebook friends, and see the faces I haven’t seen since grade school. And they’re all abroad or in their swanky new apartment/condo or with their new baby or on a trip with their loving husband. They are everywhere and I am just here. And sometimes, I am beginning to think I haven’t seized as much opportunities as I should have.
2004, I went to the US. Could have easily applied for a film scholarship there. Could have easily looked for a writing internship and applied to convert my tourist visa to student. Could have easily inquired about sponsorship and worked there. But no. I went back.
Then, there’s meeting Epy Quizon, who hinted about “pursuing passions early”. Could have headed to MOWELFUND right after that interview. Could have headed to UPFI for an application. Could have headed to LVN or Viva or Star and inquired about a possible internship. But no. I just went back to school.
Worked for Eat Bulaga for almost a year as a commentator/critic. Met the entire cast and crew. Met directors. Writers. Producers. Worked side by side with the veterans of the entertainment business. Could have easily pushed for a better job. Could have easily pushed for more writing gigs. Could have easily kissed ass in hopes of being part of their immediate circle. But no. I just went about my day, working from one paper to another, being invisible.
So yeah. I have a lot of reasons to feel that everything good is happening somewhere else. Because the supposed good things that should be happening to me, I just let them all pass me by. So there. Here I am, wishing for a good thing to come by. Then maybe, if I’m brave enough, I get to be the good thing other people wish happened to them.
I hate the fact that I teared up seeing them dead by the sea.
I hate the fact that I always see your face.
I hate that I know you need flats and stretch pants.
I hate that people are just cold.
And that hate flows freely in me.
And I hate that I am not apathetic.
Because I know that I am comfortable just being hateful.
Now, enter cue music.
the salt of your skin 