At some point I thought this Tumblr blog was ‘too public’ and I created a new one — a blog that can only be viewed by people I actually knew IRL.
It was fine until I broke my heart again.
There are several reasons why, right now, I refuse to share my heart issues with friends. It’s the holiday season and everyone is still in the mood to celebrate; I doubt if they would appreciate someone whose intention is to darken their mood with her petty love problems. Aside from that, I find it difficult to open up to people. Sometimes I feel as if I’m being a nuisance to them, and so I just keep my thoughts locked up in my head… but the main reason why I refuse to talk about it is because, honestly, I really don’t know what to say. How do you translate pain into words?
No matter how much I deny it, the truth is, my heart is wounded. I hate him for leading me on, for making me believe that there is something to hold on to. I hate myself for believing him. For months I thought there was something special. I want to put the blame on him so I can have something to hate, but no matter how much I try, I eventually forgive him in my head and channel all the hate to myself. Was I desperate, or was he really an asshole for making me feel extra special and then leaving me in the end?
Why do I find myself returning to this blog whenever my heart gets all torn up? Is it the ‘anonymity’ that draws me into pouring my heart out, knowing that I can continue facing the real world with a smile still plastered on my face?
“Ask your female friends, if you have any, if they’ve ever walked home late at night with a key pushed through their knuckles, just in case, if they’ve ever crossed the street to avoid a stranger, just in case, if they’ve ever taken the long way home because of the weird guy on the corner, just in case. Ask them if they’ve ever made up a boyfriend to get a guy to leave them alone, if they’ve ever gotten off a train car and moved to the next because you just never know, if they’ve ever shelled out for a cab because men like you were at the bus stop. Do you really want to be that guy?”—Emily Heist Moss, “A Letter to the Guy Who Harassed Me Outside the Bar” (via executiveproducerdickwolf)
Sometimes I find myself lying to other people, not because I want to fool them or weave stories out of air, but because I want to protect myself. Whenever I am asked a question and the answer would reveal a thing from my past that I don’t want to talk about, I would cover them up with stories that are slightly different from what really happened.
Am I the only one? I’m not entirely sure if this is right or wrong.
Marriage. I definitely want to get married someday and have lovely kids. Sunday will strictly be a day dedicated to our family — we might go out on a picnic, or a movie, or ride bikes, or travel somewhere, or just stay at home. It doesn’t matter as long as we spend the whole day together.
McDonalds. Just thinking about this fastfood place makes me want to throw up — not because I don’t like the food there, but because I used to eat there a lot and now I’m sick of everything that they offer… Except fries. I can never have enough of ‘em :3
Morning. Early morning will always be my favorite part of the day. Nobody aside from me is awake, and I love how I can hum a song, cry while listening to a song that brings back memories, and do chores quietly without interruption, smile while at it, and nobody would ask me why. It’s as if I own the word at 4 o’clock in the morning.
Mangoes. I’m a mango monster. No explanation needed.
I ate dinner at a fast food restaurant today while stuck in a grocery store because of the rain. While at the counter, I overheard a customer shouting at several crew members. Apparently, when he asked for chicken breast parts, the trainee failed to inform him that it wasn’t available. He was also mad because the crew member put too much ice in his drinks.
It’s easy to feel pity towards the crew members, but then I realized, while I was eating, that I pity this man’s children. While he was shouting at the crew members, his two children were looking at him with blank faces. Have they gotten used to their father being like this? I feel bad for these children — apparently, their father thinks it’s alright to shout and lose temper because of other people’s excusable mistakes. There are no breast parts — couldn’t they eat leg, or thigh, or wings? If there’s too much ice in their drinks, they could have it replaced. Children learn a lot by observing, and the first authority that they have in their life are their parents. This father is teaching them that it’s alright to blow your steam whenever, wherever, towards whomever you want to shout at. Have they gone numb over their father’s temper, based on their blank expressions? Perhaps they experience the same tone of voice from their father at home, and it was no surprise to them that their father can talk like that to strangers.
The true test of character is not based on how you treat those you love, but how you interact with the people who are ‘lower’ than you.
Just in case you find out that a girl likes you and for some reason you are not able to reciprocate the feelings, please stop being too nice. I’m not saying that you should be a douchebag to her, but at least stop the sweet gestures. No more sweet text messages, stop spending too much time alone with her, stop the random smiles, the extended favors, and the occasional flirting. You may think that you are doing her a favor by being nice to her, but trust me, it will ruin her in the end. Stop making her think that you like her back. Perhaps it’s good for your ego, but if you have some sense of respect, just stop.
…and so I decided to check if my favorite Tumblr bloggers are still following me. Nope, they are not my Tumblr friends, but these are the ones who make me feel giddy whenever they ‘like’ my posts. I hold them in such high regard that whenever they notice one of my posts, I feel like I’ve gotten a thousand notes just because I got a single ‘click’ from them. I’m guessing all of you are following people like that, eh? You like their blog so much, and you actually consider it a miracle that they noticed and followed you. They start commenting on your posts, liking, and occasionally reblogging you. They start being friendly with you but in your mind, you still feel star-struck.
To point out that those who post tweets and FB statuses in defense of Jessica Soho and against Vice Ganda for his rape jokes are just “mga Kapuso na galit sa Kapamilya” is just…putang ina anong klaseng argument yan?!
And you’re never going to know any of this (do you think that’s poignant or pathetic?) because I can’t stand the thought of you rejecting me. I would prefer to watch you hand in hand with a thousand girls that aren’t me than to hear that we will never be together. I’m going to keep pretending that I don’t like you like that because as long as I am, I can pretend that maybe one day you will like me like that too. Because in this big city, sometimes I feel scared and alone, and while I’m pretending I don’t like you like that, I know for certain that you will always be there for me when I need you, and I’m scared that if you knew how I really felt, you wouldn’t be there for me at all.
I think the weirdest thing is that the person you’re going to marry and spend the rest of your life together with is currently walking the earth, living their own life, going to school or going to work or whatever, doing all these things and making all these memories that you’ll get to hear about from them years from now.