If only I had a dollar for everytime Whitney (from ANTM Cycle 10) mention “plus size models” and how she’s doing obese girls across America a big fat favor, I could buy enough food to fatten up the starving children who look more like they could use the damn calories.
Bite me.
I’m growing fatter by the minute. It’s refreshingly humiliating.
Why do certain colleagues of mine like to knock my desk every time they walk past? Did someone die here before? Because if this goes on, someone might.
Okay, I think I need you now.
Once again, I’ve allowed everything and everyone I’ve come to know and love be yanked into this fervent scramble for air. I think you know that version of me, better than anyone else.
Yes, I think I need you now.
If you just realize what I just realized,
Then we’d be perfect for each other
and will never find another
Just realized what I just realized
we’d never have to wonder
if we missed out on each other now.
But I can’t spell it out for you,
no it’s never gonna be that simple
no I can’t spell it out for you.
Baby, as the song suggests – you’ve gotta realize.
You’ve gotta realize that I don’t just dish out endearment terms like ‘baby’ easily, that I had commitment issues way before I was introduced to the term ‘commitment’, that I have made sacrifices I never thought I’d ever be capable of for you, that every single day after the one where we crossed each other’s lives took place in different scales of crazy, that for the past 18 years, I’ve been living a routine, a sloppy and ambiguous one, but nevertheless – a routine and that knowing you has upset the said routine and turned my life, in more than one ways, upside down and inside out.
But I’ve realized that I’ve fallen so absurdly in love with you – the mat vespa who speaks chopped up English and has a pair of beautiful eyes that speaks so much for themselves. That, or rather, you.. makes it all okay.
The following is an extract from an entry I typed and scraped, simply because you’re not worth the humiliation derived from a public baring of my soul.
Maybe you were, but right now? Not a single drip.
“Do I have to be lonely and self-sufficient to be qualified to sit in your car and make conversations with you? Do I have to always be the one who’s a notch below you before I can make this friendship work out? Do I have to feel chewed up and spitted out before I can ask how’s your day?
Maybe this wasn’t your intention, but it sure as hell feels that way. And after a whole year of this feeling constantly thrashing inside me, I’m tired. Too tired to do anything besides wonder what really happened to the friendship I’ve invested so much time and energy in.”
There are so many questions but knowing you, answering them would be a feat. Furthermore, I can’t help but realize that we don’t talk anymore.
We simply don’t.
Looks like the Act 3 classes my mom enrolled me in when I was 6 paid off.
“I believe you are the answer to every tear I’ve cried
I believe that you are with me,
My rising and my light.”
So I lied (in the previous entry.)
My mind wasn’t revolving around a complete blank. Neither was my heart. Quoting from The Leap Years, it was a silence; a loud silence.
Walking out of the movie, I walked into an eerie confusion – one that I believe I have been avoiding for quite sometime, one that I’ve lost sight of ever since I laid my eyes on him. It was a good movie, albeit seemingly constructed, Ananda Everingham’s distracting/delicious nipple and the irritating fact that 90% of the cast carried an accent – it was a good movie nonetheless. It was a movie that left me more than the need to pee like a racehorse. It entrusted me with doubts and uncertainties about my own life, if I was ever going to find a romance that’d live up to the grandiosity of the one portrayed, if I was worthy of such an epic love.
The world… it’s immensity scares me. There are people, too many people to be collective referred to as people. There is nature that the Earth sows, technology that we indulge in, the same one that taints us. Emotions lie across a gigantic palette, our lives a meager canvas. There are so many stories to tell, and before us is a massive audience, each with their own story for our scrutiny.
As our lives intertwine, our stories grow on a familiar tune. Our canvas start to share similar strokes, our stories become a cliche. We become insignificant, and we struggle. We challenge the insufficiency of what we’ve become, in hope of making a difference.
In hope that when we’ve lived our final minute, we’d continue to live in someone else’s heart as a memory, one that is etched deeply and dearly. We’d live on as a catalyst to a difference in someone else’s life. Our names would not be buried in guilt, nor in silence – but in solemn whispers echoed within cathedral’s walls.
I want to be that person; that memory, that name someone would keep in their prayers. I want to live knowing that I will live on in someone’s heart.
I want to know that someone and I want to love him like I’ve never loved before.
And that, pretty much sums up whatever I’m feeling right now.
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