They call it flirting.. I call it expanding my social horizons
This world has so many stories to tell
Just not enough ears that will listen
That’s why everything is too loud
That’s why everyone is misunderstood
And that’s why we feel so small
It has been one hell of a night. The stench of vomit and alcohol lingers on, street lights keep getting dimmer and dimmer. The night escapes away. I can see the sun now.
I am late.
I am light years away from looking presentable. Smudged eyeliner running down just above a slight bruise on my chin, a hickey, I think from god knows who.
I am on my way home, so early in the morning. I stride pass the busy students who have probably earned the bags under their eyes from the long night caressed under the weight of thousands worth of back-breaking books. I have had days when my muscles have given up from carrying these. I still carry them today.
I am late.
The morning just gets worse with drivers honking on, not giving a damn if they only miss me by the skin of my teeth. Has every man and woman gone color blind? I, for one, still think red does not mean speed up and try not to run someone over.
An old man sleeps by the corner of the street, his bed only but scraps of boxes of plastics. A dog bathes in yesterday’s puddles. My eyes have never grown tired of seeing man and dog, living the same way. But my hands—now that’s a different story. Does it help to give money to the poor if it only contributes to their addiction? No, not just drugs. Not just cigarettes. I think of addiction for helplessness. Youth and strength has been wasted so many times.
I am late.
Finally, my room, at last. My books await me but no, I have no intentions of opening them. Instead, I run straight to the comfort of a toilet, spewing away last night’s memories, flushing away the flashes in my mind- the stranger who kissed me, the longest friend I’ve known who tried to make a move, the shots of liquor I drowned in, the memory of him, her, this fucked up world.
I am late.
No time to contemplate this life. And fuck, that’s just how it is. We run our busy days, we drink away our worries, and we start the day again. We redo mistakes again. We keep falling and falling and falling. There is no such thing as too scarred, too hurt, too wounded. What’s the difference? It’s all so fast, I can’t tell.
But I am late.
I pass by the same people, this time the man bathes in the puddle, the dog is sound asleep in the unusual bed. This time a policeman stands in the middle of the pedestrian, I hurry. Life can only hold opportunities for such little time. I run.
The blue-chaired classroom is as it should be. Familiar faces, some friends from last night, another chance. The professor comes in, she smiles, he writes on the chalkboard, she greets us good morning, he yells at a random student, she gives a surprise quiz.. No one is ready. But we push through. We bounce back. We forget.
We move forward, yes?
We’ve all heard cliche lines like “its not you, its me” or “you’re an awesome person but im just not ready” and one that i’ve used a lot is “we should just be friends”
Break-ups are terrible. And I cannot tell you of an unterrible way of doing it. All those nice gestures people do to try and ease the burn they’re just about to inflict to someone, its total bullshit. Eventually, the moment someone breaks your heart will hurt you so bad you remember them every single day..when you wake up, when you walk by the place you first met, when you eat your favorite food he cooked for you on your birthday, and especially when you’re alone at night suffering from the dreaded insomnia.
I’ve seen friends break up with their boyfriends. Usually done with the “you’re the nicest guy ever” and followed by the “but this just won’t work.”
And I’ve seen douche bags dump my friends. I’ve usually had to comfort them and pretend like a famous Philosopher, showering them with quotes that will somehow empower them. (For example, dont cry because its over; smile because it happened.)
Dear reader, I don’t know the best way to break up with a person. But I do know the worst way and that is to do it over a phone call, or a text message, or a fuckin e-mail.
People should stop using technology as an excuse for convenience. If you have to break someone’s heart, at least have the guts to say it to their face. Don’t throw away months of something real into cyberspace with some sad face emoji.
I think that’s what’s wrong with break-ups nowadays. Its always done in front of a screen. And I know you’re gonna ask me about long distance relationships…well I guess that’s the exception. But for people who have the means of meeting up and talking about it, THEY CERTAINLY SHOULD.
To break a heart is to make a person cry. Its somehow like starting a wildfire, burning through all the special days and special photographs. It’s ending a chapter, deciding move on to some other book without that someone. The least we can do is to man up (yes, whether you’re a girl or a boy) and just do it with all the sensitivity we could muster 🙂
I dont get why people pay so much attention to commercials when all they secretly say is:
You are ugly! Buy our make up
You are too fat! Buy whatever unhealthy pills we have
Love your own skin but look so much more better by buying our clothes. In short, your skin is ugly and you need our clothes to cover its ugliness.
Daniel Padilla is eating this junk food. Eat it and be closer to becoming like him.
Don’t get me wrong. I like trying out products and feeling good about myself. But sometimes these commercials are just fuckin annoying.
They put famous people on a pedestal and set this unachievable standard so that the common people will live in vulnerability trying alleviate their imperfections by buying all these products they endorse.
To those who believe bullshit commercials, please love yourself first so that you can delineate what makes you feel good from the stuff you buy to look/be like other people.
Dear society, is that too much to ask?
Remember the tiny voice that once said “I wanna be an architect!” or “I’m gonna be the best teacher ever.”
Well that’s gone now.
That sweet innocent voice is lost.
Cuz all I hear now is:
Pass the exam. Don’t look back. Cheat. Take Flight.
Memorize everything down to the finest details.
Just get a good grade
Kill or be killed…
I guess survival of the fittest exists in college. Cuz every minute I’m not reading and memorizing all those scientific terms, I feel like someone else gets above me- closer to the dreams of becoming a medical doctor. I feel like school isnt about learning anymore…its more like an arena.
Grab a sword and stab the others. If you don’t, you die.
I dont like this. I dont like the reality that I have to push everyone else down the cliff just for me to get across.
I don’t want that. I’m not some piece anyone can just use. But I’m afraid adaptation is turning me into this inhumane being who will do anything just to avoid the chopping block and cheat her way through everything.
But I know Im so much more than that. I’m stronger.
Maybe instead of saying “pass the exam!” I’ll tell myself “learn and be happy.”
Instead of saying “memorize everything”, I’d go with “understand your passion. you chose it, so take your stand and fight.”
Instead of saying “just get a good grade”, I’ll just smile and say “I’ll be happy trying”
And instead of living by the motto “kill or be killed” maybe I’ll start singing to the words “just do your passion and success will chase you down.”
College is tough. But dear reader, I’m tougher. I’m more than just a piece in their games 😉
You are not the monster they say you are. You are not a centerpiece of mediocrity nor some guy’s property…or even cupid’s lone victim. You are not a slave of the world’s criticisms.
You are so much more.
All your dreams, advocacy and passion- that’s who you really are!
You are the words you speak, the thoughts you think, the songs you sing. You are not what your horoscope defines you as..but you are the person who fathoms her own constellations.
You are the damsel not in distress. You are the glow of sunlight..an ocean of vast wonder…a fleeting kiss..a shooting star.. a beam of dancing auroras brighter than any fire those demons can spark.
You are as lovely as the fresh bloom of roses in spring…much more enchanting than the most perfect sunset at the beach.. much more inspiring than what they say you are.
You are not your past.
You are your choices.
You are human.
You are beautiful.
They said our mind operates in two ways when it comes to situations, its either we fight or take flight. But she couldnt choose.
The whole world seem to explode so slowly for dear Anabeth.
The moon played hide and seek with the clouds and the owls hooted the symphonies that haunted the living.
Nothing unusual really.
Nothing except for an empty bottle of tequila and a vial of undrunk poison on the bedside table.
So begins the game of life and death on the very bed where Anabeth lies awake- cold and shattered and breathing.
The mechanics were simple. Drink the poison and death wins. Or sleep for the night and life wins a little. But either way Anabeth loses.
As death gambles for life, Anabeth stares at the ceiling and the ceiling stares back. Slowly the ticking clock releases tension, creating this nostalgia of yesterday. It all came back to Anabeth…
The way she wore odd glasses to school every single day. Everyone made fun of her because they didnt know that those funny pair of glasses belonged to her mother- Anabeth’s mother: once filled with so much glee, radiating almost from every strand of her brown silky hair and eyes as blue as the Caribbean that drowns the beauty of flying and her skin…oh her skin like honey-through sunlight. Simply beautiful, now buried in the depths of rotting darkness.
Anabeth was only 5 when she saw the petrified body of her mother being lowered down to be forever buried.
No one knew this. No one knew why Anabeth cried by the lemon tree when they were joking with her glasses and broke it by accident.
Anabeth never knew her father, and up until now she wonders if such a man even deserves to be called a father.. She lives with her aunt Lysa and comes home to his drunk and wasted uncle George who slept with a different woman every night. But Aunt Lysa loved him anyway.
And by chance, Anabeth thought maybe forgiveness was the answer. And maybe if she could just summon every fiber of her body to walk up to her father’s door, she would be a little happier. So she did try. Knocked once, twice….
And to her surprise, the door opened… with such slowness that it rose the suspense through the roof.
“Hello?” says the man who left her 16 years ago…the man who promised his life to her dead mother. The man who couldve saved her but didnt. The man that in every way was also her.
He was many things to Anabeth but when the sun set on that day…all he was then, was was now the man who closed the door.
It hurt like hell.
So what’s left to fight for?
Live for love?
…when all she ever knew was rejection and pain?
Live for family?
….when she doesnt even have a real one?
Live for friends?
….you mean the ones who laughed at her and bullied her?
Live for herself?
…She was empty. Every beat of the heart and every breath of the lungswas a twisting dagger to her soul.
She had nothing.
She was broken…in every way a person can be broken. And nothing can ever fill the open fractures life has done to Anabeth. She ran out of fight. And flight was nowhere. There was no escape. So it happened.
It’s 5:58 a.m. and the winner is…
If there is such thing as a summer wish then I wish I could go to the beach in a bikini without being judged and called a slut. Is that too much to ask?
So I starved myself every night just to lose the extra pounds and fit into skinny-type jeans everyone was wearing.
So I straightened my hair and covered my face with all the make up I could afford by selling my books until no one would recognize who I was.
You’re too short!
So I overdosed on pills that promised to make me thin and tall.
You’re too dark!
So I sold more books and cleared a whole shelf of whitening lotion in the supermarket, applied them more than 3 times a day, sold more books and bought whitening soaps.
Please, I’ve changed. Please I fit in. I look just like everyone else- tall, white, skinny, and beautiful.
But my mind mind kept saying..
You’re still fat! You’re still ugly!
So I looked at myself in the mirror and it showed me a monster. The girl who cried because she wasn’t good enough is the now a pretty girl- pretty…not beautiful. Just a carbon copy of what people thinks she should be. The girl who locked herself up in her room because she was too embarrassed of herself is now finally thin- just thin…not sexy because she felt horrible and she was starving. The girl who was laughed at is now popular- only popular…but not loved because she ditched her old friends who accepted her just to fit in with the cool people.
I wiped my face, removed all the make-up and I washed my hair which was bathe in so many chemicals that it went dry. I smiled the smile of a girl who is no longer crying..who is no longer gonna skip dinner..who is no longer gonna listen to the monsters that lived in her head..who is finally good enough because she is the girl who is perfect…perfectly flawed with each freckle, mark and each curl in her bushy hair. And I will never try to change for anything else ever again because I realized I AM BEAUTIFUL. And all the girls should realize that too.