The Feeling is Mutual

5 Reasons Why I Hate You

1. You write nonsense stuff to make yourself seem cool.

2. You think you are nice because you are good to your friends. Nah.

3. You don't like Ayn Rand.

4. You tag me on Facebook like we are really close. Seriously?

5. Nakakaawa at nakakahawa ka.

I swear before Kronos you will pay for the day you and your bitch bestfriend made me feel at my worst. Amen.

P.S.

Yes, I am talking about you. jhytrvcxzrewqw

IF TRUTH BE TOLD, I'LL ONLY TELL ELLA

DEAREST,

I don’t believe myself. So this happens when you get delusional and try acting normal, and brave, and carefree?
I should have denied this the moment I realized it might turn into something monstrous; it’s eating my soul completely. To hell with Newton’s third law!
These butterflies never give good inspiration. Never. I’m freeing them. Yes, I might need pixie dust to retaliate with what I have lost – time, mostly – I’m thinking of saying goodbye to the person I have become these past few days.
This is not healthy. And I suck at writing pieces like this. Because you see, it’s hard embracing truth. But of course, nothing is ever easy in this world.
So there, I’m not making sense. I think I’m back at loving Joseph Yeo or Lucas Brandon or Peeta Mellark again because of YOU. Remembering is a choice, and I choose to forget YOU.
If you’ll ask me now, (and no, I did not utter that prayer) I’ll say, “YES.” And you won’t dare believe me because that has been the trend. And I’ll have to laugh at myself and cry some other time to spare me the words I should have spoken.
I hate you. For making me write this for the first time in my 19 years of existence. I don’t know how much I have been trying to be happy wishing you happiness.
I have no idea how you end letters like this. So yeah, I promise to be cooler the next time.

LABLIN

Bittersweet Devirginizing Station Part Two

And so I swept the floor clean, nonchalantly whistling a five-note melody I heard somewhere. Mi, mi, fa, so, so... The sound of CJ’c vacuum cleaner had made me not recognize my own voice, something I was very thankful for. Because later this week, I would be missing me. A part of me wished that I would hurt and prayed that he would, too.

Sometimes, there is pleasure in pain; it somehow makes you feel the essence of life; we need to be hurting at times to know we’re alive. Woah, I’m alive!

I tried forgetting the idea that on Friday, I would be meeting him. Here in my room. In my bed. Because for three million pesos, he would be mine. Or at least that would be for one night.

If only that bastard knew how much I lost for the rendezvous...Where we would have cheap wine, cheap talks. And we would do it. But before that I would slap him in the face, and make him beg for his life.

As I uncluttered the litter box hidden under the far side of my bed, I recognized a familiar piece. There it was, that pesky fortune cookie fortune I used to keep for good old times’ sake. Pasted on a scrapbook page I torn from my collection. 

Fate ceases to favor the weak.

I crumpled the tiny scrap of paper and threw it onto the floor. Fate ceases to favour the weak. I watched the vacuum cleaner sip it in, swallowing the paper as well as other essentials, cotton buds, a sock, a golden earring. The ornament made a slight annoying sound before it finally went in. The noise made my head ache.

Suddenly, my hands felt tired, I lost grasp of the vacuum handle. So, it stood on the floor. I knew I had to stop. Cobwebs were still unattended. The cabinet was both empty and full. The rug was a dirty mess. Cigarette butts were everywhere. But it was the end of the cleaning. Mi, mi, fa, so, so. I lost the tune.

Fate ceases to favour the weak? How I wish I could prove it wrong.

*******

“What is written on the contract is what will be happening. Page 14 on the ethical standards of devirginization.”

“I know.” Of course she did. But how she wished she could simply order the brat a change in conditions.

“Then, what’s that look?” said Felixa, a twenty-something negotiator from Bittersweet. She had pink fingernails on her right hand and black on the other.

“You’re cool.” She said pointing at her fingernails.

“Thank you. But madam, you know very well that I was assigned to arrange this for you under settled and signed provisions.”

“Page 2. Every patron is God. How about that?”

Silence. Ria had been keeping that ace, worried that it might not pull the strings together. However, seemed like it did.

“But...” The rocker chick tried ignoring the grin on the face of the woman before her, and she knew she had lost it. Two hours of rhetoric and the customer was but a hard-headed nut.

“If you could only tell Master the details, it would help. What do you say?” Her voice was almost pleading.

Master, but of course. I was your Master’s master. Hell, no.

“Oh, darling, I know you could handle that. What about a better nail art?” she said, tossing a five-hundred peso bill to Felixa who was immobile.

She waved goodbye to the lady and breathed to herself, “Iron 59 you’re in trouble. And so am I.”

(to be continued... should Ella find the actual second copy)

Part One here

L.L.

FACEBOOK HIATUS

A few minutes before this post, I was about to deactivate my Facebook account. Being on Facebook for more than a year now has been both a fun and taxing experience. However, lately, the stress of not being able to speak out what really is on my mind makes the socialization tediously virtual.

It seems that I really have some problem with my social self. I hate being judged, and I can’t stand being disliked by others. I don’t intend to please anyone either, but I guess it’s every other person’s struggle to try being understood. I hope this makes me normal. I used to think that silencing myself and trying to be invisible would do the trick, but later on, even the people around me heard my silence.

And how they found the discovery amusing!

I had fun posting basketball game results and some random musings. I hate myself for not posting what’s on my mind, and I hate myself for not enjoying Facebook as much as I would love a normal conversation.

It’s really hard to throw yourself into this social pool online while being real-life acquainted with the same people you are connected with on social media.

I hate being overrated. It makes you feel guarded of your actions to the point that even you find it hard to recognize your real self from the person other people expect you to be.

I want to completely walk out of the Facebook crowd because almost everyone I know is on Facebook. However, I cannot simply disregard the fact that it has been very helpful in (a) group conversations/class announcements and (b) online stalking. Joseph Yeo’s finally on Twitter, and I think I’m served with the second purpose. As for the Facebook messages, I assume my classmates can all go back to text messaging instead, as I will for the coming days.

I’LL BE ON A HIATUS. AND I’LL MAKE SURE I’LL LOVE IT. I’LL TRY TO THINK THINGS OVER AND DECIDE LATER WHETHER TO LEAVE FACEBOOK COMPLETELY OR BE THE PRODIGAL SON.

Right now, I just want to hire the Sopranos. I’ll throw curses in the air and they will be paid to listen. I want to stand at the edge of a cliff and warn life not to be a bitch! And listen how it yells back ‘Bitch! Bitch! Bitch!’ at me in dying monotones.

Other than these, I simply want to Pacquiao-punch the driver who overtook a jeepney and drove on the wrong lane, bumped my brother’s motorcycle and got him hospitalized. I won’t hire the Sopranos, I’ll tell it myself, I’ll ask how that efffin driver got his license and advise him to get a life!

I can never forgive that man because I was never God.

A Note

Found this note on my phone.

"I am bound to forget that there are things worth keeping for yourself. I believe that the hardest form of truth can only be achieved by that feeling of being stripped of every single detail of privacy,to be somehow naked in front of both nobody and anybody,and not to feel even a bit of sympathy for personal pride and ego.People have always wanted seeing their reflections in mirrors because they hate the truth refracted through the prisms of others. Accepting truth is as hard as digesting a book which contains the morals of the society.Thus,recognizing the real self becomes less bearable than acting out what others might expect from you. Opinion leaders gather public opinion,both pro and con,but they speak only either to praise or bash,not oneself but another.It is rather confusing that most of us had palpably flaunted our love for our ego,and yet nobody has the proper courage to reveal their bare self publicly.Could it be a question of the mind or a question to the norms?Had you chosen selfpraise,you would have become a nobody.Had you rather opted for safety,you would have become anybody.I don't wish to be either of the two.I plainly want to be me.Whether I am ugly,or boastful,or kind,or smart,or immoral.Because only in seeking for the 'I' will one be able to find the more lucrative sense of individuality.Everything starts with reasons.Reasoning is a purpose of the mind.As one struggles to find the real essence of becoming a part or member of a group,a team,a family,a class,or a society,he has to realize to become one with himself,first.It is hard to speak what the mind doesn't think,or deny what the eyes see.Unless,of course,you're too good at acting."

I probably wrote this after reading Ayn Rand's The Fountainhead. I swore then I wouldn't let anybody read it, trying to make the thought as personal as possible. I was hammering the idea inside my head; I did not even consider writing it until I realized how poor my memory is that I won't forgive myself should I fail to remember the exact words. I did not intend it to be a personal motto of some sort. Just a realization. A proposition, hopefully, for future rebuttal and better argumentation.

Why I'm posting this, I don't know the reason yet. I have this habit of going over my past writings and I assume that soon, at some points in my life, I'll read this to decide whether to delete it or just laugh at myself.

x + y = z

Facebook status + Tweet = What's on my mind.

Blogspot therefore is the equation.

Let the random musings begin!!!

:)

FILL IN THE BLANK

Pop it goes! Pop it blows! Pop it runs! Pop it's gone!

That it was like this, we were never told.

IDEA.

Inside a coffee shop.

GIRL: I hope it rains on your wedding day.
BOY: Whoever said I’m getting married.
GIRL: (Throws an invitation card at the boy) Well, it says here a jerk named Lucas Mauricio is.
BOY: (checking the invitation) So you received it. (smiles)
GIRL: Funny thing is, you forgot to write the name of the bride. Aren’t you planning to invite her?
BOY: (sips coffee) Who’s her?
GIRL: Who’s her? Good thing you ask. I honestly won’t believe if any of the female species considers you for a husband.
BOY: So I left a space, then. Hmmnn??? You can fill in the blank with your name, under my permission.
GIRL: Excuse me. (Sneering) What you should put here are choices! A. The bitch I took at last year’s class reunion. B. My brainless secretary C. The girl I kissed at the club yesterday D. None of the above
BOY: How can you be that smart?
GIRL: (Exasperated) Whatever.
BOY: (Writes something on the invitation using a red pen)
GIRL: Can I ask you something? Do you believe it takes years to bake a slice of chocolate mousse cake?
BOY: I have no idea. But I think they’re done milking the cow. (lifts his cup) Care for a cup?
GIRL: Insomniac here. So, what do you want for a wedding gift?
BOY: Your books. Each with a signature on page 27.
GIRL: You mean, you haven’t read any of the books I wrote? You are disappointing Sophie Kinsella!
BOY: Who’s Sophie Kinsella? (sees her infuriation) Of course, Sophie Kinsella. I never thought you have a thing for vampires with stylists.
GIRL: What do you mean?
BOY: Sophie Kinsella. Twilight. Eclipse. What’s the last one? Breaking Down?
GIRL: If you like being a literary snob, you should at least review your lessons. And we’re talking pop lit here. In the name of Sophie Kinsella, I forgive you and Stephenie Meyer.
BOY: Who’s Tiffany Bayer?
GIRL: Go to hell and meet her.

Silence.

BOY: (talking with someone on the phone) Secretary Reyes, arrange me a date with Tiffany Bayer. I don’t know her number, I don’t even know who she is. Maybe she has Face book, go facebook her! Now!
GIRL: I am leaving. Perhaps the chickens are taking too long to lay their eggs. (grabs her purse)
BOY: No, wait. It’s here.
GIRL: The chickens or the eggs?
BOY: Funny.
GIRL: (gets seated while the waiter puts down the platter)
(to the waiter) What’s special about this?
WAITER : It’s made of Belgian chocolates, Madam.
GIRL: I know. (sarcastic tone here) Does that mean you imported chocolates just to offer me a slice?
BOY: They did. And he has no business here so let him leave.

The waiter leaves the two.

GIRL: You were saying? (Begins eating the slice.)
BOY: What? No, nothing. (pearls of sweat on forehead)
GIRL: (Chokes while eating the cake. Spits some of the mouthful. Boy hands her a goblet of water.)
(Shouts) Waaaaiiitttteeeerrrr!!!!

The waiter rushes towards them looking unapologetic.

GIRL: There’s something on my chocolate mousse. Something that’s hard like some sort of a pebble. And it tastes weird.
BOY: (Sighs. Grabs her spit with the table napkin.)
WAITER: (Shakes his head)
GIRL: What? I want the manager now or I will have both of you sued.
WAITER: (To the boy.) I told you, sir. Indecent proposals have 20% success rate as per this cafe is concerned. Especially at high noon.
BOY: (Rubbing the thing with the table napkin.)
(To the girl.) Exactly how did I fall in love with you?

The boy hands her the ring and the invitation card with her name written in red ink. The girl finishes her cake.

l.l.