Friday, May 23, 2008

Still Here...


"i choose to be happy..."

That’s what I’ve been saying all along for over a year now. Happiness is a decision. We choose to be sad, to be lonely, and to be apathetic. We choose ways how to be happy. We search for it. We succeed. We fail. That is how life puts us on a pedestal: Waiting for us to react on the tomatoes being thrown at us. Do we catch it or let it smash our faces?

I took a step back and checked where my life is right now. Where am I going? What am I doing? I decided that I would like to take stock of what I have created and not created. What I have achieved and not achieved and what needs to be done. Am I at peace with myself? Am I ready to take on the world and seek new challenges? Am I.....am I......am I.Maybe I should not be thinking too hard and let the heart do the talking again....

I sometimes hide behind my smiles and silly gestures. I take quick glances while I think eyes cannot see and when I'm done, I turn away before those eyes catch me being me. Eyes and lips, they are like Medusa's stare turning simple things to stone like words that bruise emotion and crush the soul. Keeping things tucked away till they escape in ink upon my paper and then through my fingers via the machine in "0"'s and "1"'s. Yes sometimes, I want to scream so people will notice me for more than my stature and talents, to scream so people will stop their gossiping tongues. You may ask how I managed to hide and not be seen behind my happiness. I have to hide a part of myself that is as much as part of me as my intelligence and my blood.

Amid all the stings and joys of life, I asked myself, “Do I know who I truly am?”

I am the sum of every year, every month, every day, every hour, every minute and every second of my own life. Each moment that I breathe is another moment to take in each blessing I received. Through my eyes, my mind takes pictures of everything I see. My ears hear and my mind records. I am the sum of everything that is around me. Life is what I’ve made of it but it’s also a part of the influence about me. My life is what I made it so far.

Through the trials of life, I want to stand strong and grow in stature that I must pass through the trials of fire that we all must pass through. I am not asking for more trials to walk through because I know that more hardships will come before me. But life always put me up on the pedestal. Without them, I cannot be shaped into a better man; my character cannot be made more solid. There is in each refiner's fine, a beauty that touches our lives. Each flame burns away the rough edges and when those fires are quenched I am left a different man. The fires burned away at each rough edge until what was left was, is a glimmer of shiny metal, that now shines above it all. Around me, the heat of flames has been quenched and the pains of the trial have been soothed. If I must pass through again, then I will be stronger still. For being stronger is the only choice that I have left.

But am I happy. In general, I am not.

What am I truly missing? Is it the affection of a one true love? Is it the kindness of people around me who I long for? Or is it not finding who I really am?

I’ve been on a quest since my early teen to find myself to the world. Fear of finding my world collapsing has kept me from announcing what I’ve found to the world, while around me people seem to ignore what I’ve known since twelve. They can’t embrace what, they cannot see. The longer, I sit with fear in my heart. The longer I’ll sit with a wall about me, hiding in its core a part of that needs to breathe, so it be sustained. I have every right to free myself from the clutches of my fear. When I gaze into a mirror, I can see all the pain lying beneath my skin, and it scares me when I look into my own inky darkness. I need to find my way among the shadows that loom out from my trapped soul. Sometimes, it seems that I'll never be free enough to be true to my spirit. Why if the world seems to scream at who I am, do I bother to search for me? Without being whole, I would forever feel lost to myself. My vision of life would never be completed, and it would forever haunt me until the day, that my soul finally shouts "Yes!"

My eyes are heavy from sleep not attained last night. My hearing seems fine expect for at times, the sounds around seem much too loud. My mind seems to be cluttered perhaps for the same reason that my eyes want to close and not open. The words, I write seem to take longer to exit out upon the paper. My thoughts lay scattered across my minds great divide. My mind and hands work so hard to get each letter, each word to flow just so. I just don’t know what part of me is voicing these scattered words today. My heart or my mind, though right now my mind seems empty of any intelligent thought. It’s just the way things go when someone feels lost.

So far, what I want in my life is to be able to just be me. Opportunities come every once in while, but it’s not nearly enough. I would go crazy if, I couldn’t be me.

I often wonder what people are thinking, those that find out about me and those who just think they know about me. Do the people who just think they know about me act differently around me then those who know about me? Do those who think they know about me see me as a threat? I wonder how many people create instant assumptions about me without taking the time to get to know me. Good for them. They already know the totality of who I am while I still search my true identity.

Somewhere between here and there, there sits a bridge that once crossed is gone for good. . There isn't any middle ground between here and there. You're either here or there.

I guess….

I guess I’m still here…



Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Practice makes Purrfect

Quite often, people exalt their skills in a variety of things. Whether they’re good with numbers, at sports, or in the arts, they never stop talking about how good they are.

But, there is one skill I’ve never understood why people talk about: kissing.

How can a subjective skill be rated on by the individual doing the deed? Last time I rememer, kissing is dependant on the POV of others.

Even if it is true, how does it happen? Not everyone is naturally talented (no matter what their over-inflated egos think). When dealing with kissing, could it be a matter of practice makes perfect: The more people you kiss, the better you are at it?

It’s not the same as people who talk about their sexual prowess. People can have lots of sex, but that means they’re whores, and nothing more. Kidding. Insert A into B. Remove A from B. Repeat. Kissing is much more complicated, with more calculations than a quadratic equation. Exponential limits even.

Of course, no one would ever admit to being a bad kisser. That’s lunacy.

So, whatever the answer (natural born talent, or macking machine), all I have is one question: Can I get in on some practice?

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

First Time

No matter how confident you are in your abilities, there's always a sense of nervousness when it happens, when you're put on the spot to put out. Your brain loses all of its basic functions. Your insides turn to mush. Yet, no matter how you feel, you have to take it and give it like a man.
All of this over the first time. The first phone call.

It all begins when a certain set of numbers passes your way. Since the first step is taken by someone else, it's your turn to follow-up. The ball is in your court and you have to know how to play the game. Don't be an ass and wait three days. They gave you their number for a reason.

Call.

How do you handle the situation? Should you be funny and crack a couple of jokes? Should you be sexy? Should you just be yourself and act like a total loser and trip over your thoughts and words like a prepubescent teenager?

Decisions, decisions.

Now onto your voice. Should you go for Barry White, although your tone resembles that of Fran Drescher? Not knowing what to do, you settle on your version of Kathleen Turner - a touch raspy, and a cigarette away from lung cancer.

Little beads of sweat form near your hairline. Your eyes squint and dry your mouth twitches. What is supposed to be dry is wet and what is supposed to be wet is dry. Gotta love evolution.
Thankfully, no one can see you. God forbid if they knew what you looked like when you were calling. Who would give you a second glance if they saw you wearing a ratty pair of boxer shorts and nothing else?

Your hand reaches for the phone and your fingers tap on the hard plastic. While one hand picks the handset, the other dials the numbers. From a distance, a phone starts to ring. Someone picks up.

"Hi..."

Talk Dirrrrty

Whenever I hear dirty talk in the appropriate context, it makes sense and it helps in the arousal process.

It does what it’s supposed to do and it does so effectively.

But, it doesn’t work for me.

From my experience, I find it to be hilarious. In fact, when I hear it, I begin to giggle and the giggle turns into a laugh. And, no one wants to laugh in these kinds of situations.There could be several reasons for the hilarity:

1. The things being said are ridiculous.
2. The things being don't feel genuine.
3. The things being said sound like porn parody.
4. Their mouth should be busy doing something else.

I'm sure there are other things that are no-nos, but I can't think of them now because I'm too busy laughing.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Move Bitch

I was feeling a little down tonight, bored at work. From RS, JC and I walked along Ayala going to BCT for a meeting. Had 2 cups of coffee and some chips, still, bored as hell. Left BCT around 2am, went back to RS. I decided to swing by 7-11 to get some chips and drinks.

As I was scanning the narrow aisles, some fat-assed woman and her husband we're standing smack in the middle gawking at the candy section. Hoping to browse on the other side of the woman, I figured I was skinny enough to try to squeeze behind her, unfortunately grazing her fat ass in the process. She instantly turns to her husband and says, loud enough for me to hear:

"You know what word has fallen out of the English language? Manners."

Admittedly, I didn't bother to even whisper an "excuse me" as I passed, but she saw me coming at her and didn't bother to move. Given her obvious sense of old lady entitlement, I suppose her comment isn't all that surprising of a reaction. I glared at her afterwards, but she didn't notice, and I briefly thought of responding with: "Was that comment intended for me? It wouldn't have happened if your fat ass wasn't taking up the entire aisle," but then I figured I wouldn't stoop to her passive-aggressive level (or what would have been pure aggressiveness in my case).

At any rate, the brief unfortunate episode made me feel even worse (on top of the fact the store didn't have the chips I wanted).

Got any Mr. Chips? Care to share?

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

I'm so happy for you!


Every so often, I go online to check out what has been going on in the lives of people I know. Quite often, they disappear from the radar and the Internet is the only way to know if they're still alive.

When the name of an asshole is typed in the Google search engine, I wait for the results to appear. If the number of hits is low, a smile comes across my face. Not many. That’s good. While perusing through the links, I notice that they haven’t done anything, or have had much success.

Unless they have.

Then, I get pissed, especially when they don't deserve to be successful.

A few of the links have contact information. Maybe I'll be polite and send them a note and congratulate them on their success. But, fuck politeness. I know what these people did to get where they are. They have no empathy, no affect. They managed to do stab others in the back without breaking a sweat.

Although the big thing to do is to put aside any unresolved feelings of bitterness due to their littleness, that won't happen. I can't fake sincerity. You can practically see sparks being produced when my teeth are clenched into something resembling a smile.

They won't receive a note saying I'm so happy for you! from me, because I'm really not.