Halfway through 2010, and life has been funny. I’m not kidding - it’s funny. I never thought that my life deserved these “twists” that happened in the last 6 months. I mean, you could pretty much summarize my pre-2010 life and call it “dull” (well,if you count everything from High School), but recently, again, I say, life has been funny. Hilarious, even.

Now, “funny”, for lack of a better word, is not always a good thing when you talk about MY life.

I’m gonna make a bold statement: I will probably never forget my 22nd and 23rd year in this world. Yeah, they say that during your 20’s, life begins to become sort of bumpy and erratic, like an Indie film that’s so hard to understand that when your friend asks you what it’s about, you say, “I don’t know, actually. I’m just…watching.”

It’s an anxiety-driven adventure. I’m constantly anxious about almost every goddamn thing that I can think of. And I’m not like this before. Apparently, having a job and sort of a “social life” are not enough to get rid of this anxiety. I mean, what the hell do I want more?? A goddamn car or something? This is serious stuff, dude. Last month, I bought this small mirror at the mall. And since then, before I go to sleep, I would look at my face and drown in weird thoughts. I mean, I worry about stupid things like my guitar being so dusty, or my office mate’s pimple, or how long the next Harry Potter film would last (I like it longer). Stupid things. And I hate worrying. It makes my heartbeat follow this weird pattern, or something. I have this theory that my heart is like a special case, or something like that. That it beats differently from normal hearts, but not as if it’s a disease or anything. Yep, and sometimes, I worry about that, too. Everything worries me.

And when something “grave” does happen, then I’d probably freak out and die.





One day, the wind brought a weird sting to my head, and since then I had this sort of a probable cause to my anxiety. Maybe, I thought, I need someone. I mean, a legitimate someone. Now, the operative word is “legitimate”. It means the relationship should be fully-functioning, pro-life, and illusion-free. Technically, my last engagement with that sort of quality was three years ago. Three goddamn years ago. I remember my crush, Emy, saying that she used to “play the field”. I know what it means, but it’s weird to me. I mean, I’ve never played the field. I never went out there just to put my best foot forward and hunt. I mean I don’t go to clubs and stare at girls like a friggin’ psycho and then ask for their numbers. I don’t hook up with my friends’ “friends” just for the sake of dating someone. I mean, it’s not my cup of tea.

So the standing question goes, “Am I anxious about not having someone?” My answer would be, “Maybe.”

Now there could be another reason behind this “anxiety”. It could also be that life is simply just taking its toll on me. Like, “A NEW WAVE OF ZOMBIES IS APPROACHING.” Maybe I’m anxious about what’s coming, knowing that there are A LOT more to come. I have to admit, in the spectrum of experience, I’m not even halfway yet.

But like I said, I’ll certainly bank this portion of my life to the history books. When I’m 60 or something, I’d look back and say, “Damn, when I was 22 going 23, I was a freak who worried about life too much”.

Looking forward to a worry-less ending this year.

I always have weird thoughts when I smoke after dinner. Here’s one of them.

* On this day, 3 years ago, I had the chance to change my world completely. I blew that chance. 07-07-07 will always be remembered as “the day”

* Somehow, I’m ashamed of myself for not believing that people are capable of changing their attitude towards the better. I’m seeing that now, piece by piece, one step at a time. And I’m genuinely happy about it. (Being a pessimist can be tiring, too)

* Books don’t just contain characters - books are characters themselves. When I’m caught in the middle of “nothing” and stranded between “lost” and “confused”, I would look at my hand and I would wish that it was holding a book, a familiar, dusty old book. So that I can read under the tall buildings, while vehicles are passing by. It doesn’t have to be those profound and meaningful books that move a lot of people. In fact, I’m thinking of old books of poems and nursery rhymes. Those with a lot of colors and weird illustrations of what’s being said. And just a few lines can make me feel like my eyes are working again, that I can see the places I want to go to. That I can actually enjoy looking at things. Just a few favorite lines and I would feel like I just had my favorite breakfast. It’s not really that books have become life itself - no, it’s only a part of an unlimited canvas of visions and songs. Like a bird trying to block your view of the clouds. Like a friend, or an older sibling, whose presence can make you remember where you are, and what you’re supposed to sing today. And why you woke up in the first place.

u can do better than that.

* When you try to expect goodness from others too much, it can be very frustrating. One day, here comes this shit and you expect people to empathize with you, put themselves in your shoes. But no. They’ll throw you a half-baked “awww” and then wish you’d stop being a drama queen. They never really grasp the gravity of your situation, and at the end of the day, your shit will NOT stand in their way of having a good day. That’s where friends come in. I mean true friends. Regardless of how they show it (or not show it), you’d KNOW they care, even up to the tiniest levels.

* I hate to admit it, but hospitals drive me nuts.

* It’s very rare to find a woman who makes quick decisions, without having to consult her incompetent and unreliable “girlfriends”. Their presence should only be limited to providing “company”. Or “moral support” if you will. But NOT on making decisions. Sure, they always seem to be “knowledgeable” and “wise” when you ask them for advice, as if they’ve been through everything. But when the same shit happens to them, they’ll probably ask for your advice too. So yeah, it’s funny.

* Unconsciously, beneath the darkest pits of our soul, we enjoy being hurt.