If I were born a boy, I bet I could make any girl fall in love with me by playing her this song on the guitar.



"To Her With Love" is the very song I think any girl would love to hear from a lover/potential lover, especially if she's standing on the brink of adulthood or some other major life change. There's an acknowledgment of the girl's maturity, intelligence, and independent streak. The persona also recognizes that she has the capacity and strength to become whatever she wants. (Tip: some girls fall harder for guys who tell them they're smart than for guys who tell them they're beautiful. So if the object of your desire is that type of girl, then you should definitely sing her this song.) At the same time, the persona points out that you (the girl to whom the song is addressed to) are going to realize that the world is a shitty place sooner rather than later. You are going to experience cruel cruel life firsthand. But don't despair, I'm here for you. Let me be the buffer that will soften the blow of reality because I love you and you are gorgeous.

On that note, never trust a guy who attempts to win you over with love songs.

This time last year, I got an industrial piercing (which is now long gone because it never healed). Also, I was freaking out over my thesis because genius that I am, I put it off til three weeks before its due date! And they let someone like me graduate from college? Pfft.

I still can't get over how much I changed in such a short span of time, and how I love the way I am now and how my life is going, directionless as it may seem. Srsly.

At the moment I'm frantically piecing together the requirements needed for the UP Creative Writing program (which is due in four days). My application forms remain unfilled because I can't, for the life of me, remember when I defended my thesis. Or what my thesis is called. I'm pretty sure it was some long, pretentious title. I just need to remember what it was. And when I defended it. Did I even write a thesis? I can has graduated from collidge?

This moment of procrastination has been brought to you by the strange effect of mixing uppers and downers (two cups of coffee and anti-allergy medication). Kk, back to those forms!

There comes a point where you have to say, "Enough is enough." And I think I've had MORE than enough of this. I give up. Ayoko na.

I don't know how I'm going to do this, but I need to run home, pick up my shit, fill up some forms, head back to the office, submit shit, and make it in time for lunch. All within the span of an hour. Because I'm a giant idiot and I left everything important in my rush to get to work.

Two nights ago, I figured out that maybe being stupid is the key to happiness. I wish I were the kind of girl who worried about not owning the newest Manolo Blahniks instead of being the kind of girl who's worried about not being worried about not owning the newest Manolo Blahniks.

I don't know why I still tolerate you. But you irritate me very very much.

Now, back to work.

This was me yesterday, complete with the song playing on repeat in my iPod:


New Slang by The Shins

Lately I've been well on my way to burning out. I'm working my ass off like never before, driven by the need to earn money and spend it wantonly on travel and "useless" things. When friends invite me out I rarely ever say no (unless I really can't stand you and I don't even bother replying cos you're not worth that one peso *HINT HINT*) because I worry that we'll end up drifting apart if I don't make time for them. During the rare instances when I get off work on time, I need to muster up the energy to row an invisible boat at the gym because all those hours sitting on my ass is making the fat accumulate in my midsection. If I'm not at the gym I'm rehearsing with the band, trying to think up ways to make our songs more striking and musically whole. My day's far from over by the time I get home because I still have blogwork to do and friends I'd like to talk to and can only talk to on YM. If I'm lucky, I fall asleep 11 pm. The next day begins with my mom banging at my door at 5:30 am because I always sleep through my alarm.


Gold teeth and a curse for this town were all in my mouth

At work yesterday morning I could feel myself slowly becoming unstitched. Despite 7 hours of uninterrupted sleep, I felt like I spent the night tossing and turning on a bed of sharp pebbles. I barely had the strength to get up from my seat to join my friends for our early morning procrastination rituals. I was so close to breaking down that if anyone came up to me and said the right combination of words ("Thank you, Thom Yorke for putting music into our depression."), I would have exploded into a mess of tears and existential psychobabble.


I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find.

I've never been so exhausted before. Which is entirely different from being tired, mind you. Tired is the urge to just drop everything for good with a "Fuck it, I give up." It implies a very strong sense of hopelessness. When one is exhausted, however, one simply needs a break from the Bundy clock of everyday life, a few hours to recharge one's batteries if you may. At least that's how I see it. There was just no way I could wait til the weekend for my break; I needed one now.

My opportunity came when a friend from the night shift said he and some friends were watching The Simpsons movie at noon and did I want to come along? At first I wasn't sure because work means money, and money is always good to have. Then again, what good is money when you're not in the right state of mind to enjoy it?


Without a trust or flaming fields, am I too dumb to refine?

So I clocked out at 11 am and walked over to Shang for an hour and a half's worth of irreverent humor. I was a little relieved when everyone decided to head home and get sleep after the movie. The exhaustion was weighing me down, putting me in the worst shape to make the moves on my new crush (who was in zombie mode himself). Besides, I couldn't get rid of this urge to withdraw from the rest of the world like a cranky old hermit.


And if you took to me like a gull takes to the wind

There was still an hour and a half left before my 3 o'clock appointment so I did something I haven't done in months. I had one of those long meandering walks by myself, with my feet on autopilot and my iPod cutting me off from the rest of the world. For once I have never been so happy to be alone. I love spending time with my friends and meeting new people, but I'm still a social claustrophobic to some extent. Going on hermit mode was so refreshing that I kept it up all throughout the evening. I went on invisible on YM and spoke to no one (but Kristel just to let her know that I'm still alive, and the editor just so I don't come off like an irresponsible douche), did my work, got a full body massage, read The Great Gatsby (which I bought during the long walk), fell asleep at 9 pm.


Well, I'd have danced like the queen of the eyesores

Sometime in the evening, the exhaustion metamorphosed into the flu and I woke up at 5 am with a high temperature and arthritic bones. It's good to know that I'm just suffering from a virus of sorts and not a mental breakdown that's starting to have physical manifestations. For once, I'm glad to be sick because it gives me a legitimate reason to spend the rest of the day and tomorrow in my room, drifting in and out of sleep with the curtains drawn. I think I need more alone time, and who knows when this opportunity will come again? Never mind that my absences are going to eat up a huge chunk out of my paycheck. By hook or by crook, I shall be back to my "normal", sociable self and ready to rejoin the rest of the world by Friday evening.


And the rest of our lives would have fared well

My mom interrupted my packing to show me a very interesting find: proof that I was already an emo kid at seven years old! Either that or I must have been taking drugs and I didn't realize it then.



I don't remember writing this and I have absolutely no clue what the hell that last sentence meant. O_O According to my mom, I used to write her short notes at that age and in every note I would say that I had a "terreble day". Good God. Aside from the fact that I was bullied by a couple of girls in the school bus, I vaguely remember that my childhood was a happy and normal one. Maybe that explains why I'm the way I am now. People can't always be happy throughout their lives. Every single god-awful, weird thing that's been happening to me lately must be payback for having an abuse-free childhood.

Ever since I met up with some grade three classmates a few days ago (whom I haven't seen nor spoken to since I was eight!), I've been going on this weird nostalgic trip, rummaging through photo albums and hunting for old letters. I seriously regret burning my high school diaries and the circumstances in which it happened. When I was a kid I had this romantic notion that I'd give all my diaries to the man I wanted to marry so that he could have all of me and my neuroticisms. I did just that and he suggested tossing them into the bonfire because he couldn't stand to read about my past. I think that's when my romantic notions started dying.

Back to packing! I love how I was too lazy to remove my clothes from last weekend's Ilocos trip from my duffel back. That takes care of half the stuff I'll be bringing. See? Sometimes being lazy is a good trait to have. :D