Tired

What happens when you run out of strength and will to go beyond what is possible?

Nothingness. 

Relapse Part II

Good news: I was off the stick since June 29, 2012!

Bad news: I relapsed today.

This is the second time that I relapsed. The first one was when I was in college. I was heartbroken and I wanted to be a better person. So, I decided to quit smoking. How? I used flooding technique wherein I intentionally smoked two packs of cigarettes in one night (it was December 17! Lantern parade!) until I couldn't breathe anymore. After that stint, I stopped smoking for six months. The mere sight or smell of cigarette made me want to throw up. For six months, I was clean. My lungs were clean and free of nicotine. I didn't crave for it. I didn't feel any need for it. Then, came thesis. Everything went downhill from there.

From being "sober" for half a year, I relapsed. From the usually two sticks a day, I consumed at least five a day after I picked up the habit again. Before I knew it, I can consume half a pack a day (and that was when I was still in college). After college, I became notorious in smoking. I had the liberty to smoke everywhere, at my own expense. From two sticks a day to five to 10 to 20 to I-can't-even-count-anymore. On the hindsight, I could feel my lungs giving up, but I took no hid. Even when I was diagnosed with Upper Respiratory Tract Infection in October 2011, I didn't drop the bad habit.

It was only in February 2012, the second time URTI hit my system, that I decided to limit my nicotine intake. From the usual I-can't-even-count-anymore, it went down to half a pack a day. Then, I decided that I would only buy cigs every Friday, which led me to 1-2 sticks a day from Monday to Thursday. Slowly, I was detaching myself from nicotine dependence. From time to time (usually during Fridays and Saturdays), I would exceed the 5-stick rule that I imposed on myself. But I was not a notorious smoker as before.

Then, URTI paid me a visit again. This time, hell knew no fury. URTI wanted revenge. I thought I was going to die. But of course I didn't. That was when I decided to totally quit smoking, since it wasn't much of a need to me anymore.

I was off the hook since June 29, 2012 until I decided to take a drag today. I wasn't even stressed. I was, for the most part, curious. I couldn't remember its taste anymore. I couldn't remember how it felt like or how I should do it. Hence, I pulled the string and lit a stick of Black. I took one long drag, then another, then another one only to realize that I can actually live without it.

I am not sure if I should call it a relapse, because I am not planning on smoking again, not tomorrow, not in the near future. But for the sake giving in to "weakness," I would call it as such.

Relapse and back to square one.

The Wasted Youth

It's been more than two years since I stepped outside my comfort zone and embraced the world outside Padre Faura. Two years. Imagine, only two years. And yet, it feels like eons of years had passed. I feel old. I am withering.

Two years ago, I can pull off a triathlon consisting of drinking all night long, taking an exam the next day, and drinking after the exam. Without feeling tired. Without getting sick. Now, I can't even knock down a bottle of beer without feeling tipsy. I sleep at least 8 hours a day, but I always feel tired.

Once I tried to bring back the old times. Convinced that I can still get back the vigor I had for drinking and rock and roll, I spent three consecutive days drinking non-stop. Two days after, my immune system dropped significantly. I got sick. I am wasting away. But this I refuse to accept or to even acknowledge. I am only 22, how can that happen?

Two years ago, I can still manage to get my shit together. Despite the lack of sleep and resources, I can make anything happen. My optimism was beyond me. I believed in myself, in my idealism, in my dreams. At the time, everything was possible. But now, all that's left of me are memories--memories I can never re-create, memories I can never live again. Sometimes I look in the mirror and I try to search the person that I was two years ago. I try to look further: beyond my bloodshot eyes, beyond the blemishes in my skin. I try to find that 20-year old girl who thought she could be anything she wanted, but I cannot. She's gone.

I feel old and tired and sick. I can hear my soul creaking, slowly tearing apart inside this frail human body. I am tired. And I am too young to feel this tired.

Hey, Stranger!

Hi, I thought I should drop by today to give you an update with my life. Just in case you are interested.

1. I am reading again. Congratulate me, please. For the first half of 2012, I was able to finish 6 books. Not bad, considering how short my attention span is. This June, I already finished reading 2 books (The Art of Racing in the Rain and The Perks of Being a Wallflower). Yes! I read The Perks again. Go figure why.
2. I am getting involved with physical activities--Futsal and Frisbee. Pat my shoulder for affirmation, please. You know that I am not into sports (aside from Basketball, which I played when I was in high school; and chess, if you consider it as such). I am not a fan of moving my ass and sweating like a panda, but I am bored. And there's nothing I can do after work. No friends to hang out with whenever I want to. No books interesting enough to get and hold my attention. So, yeah. There you go.
3. I am letting myself meet new people. It's hard, but I have to. Because if I don't, I'd be alone forever. And I don't want to be alone, not forever that is. It's hard, because I know that they'll eventually leave and forget about me or anything that relates to me. They will forget, because that's what people do. It's natural to forget. But I don't. I don't have a memory of an elephant, but I remember people. Maybe not as accurate, but I remember them. And when they're gone, I am left alone. But I have to meet new people to make new memories. Because I just can't go back to the same past over and over again.
4. I am trying to write again, which is hard because I can't maintain the same tone. And I keep committing grammar mistakes. But I think that's the essence of trying to write decently. I must commit mistakes in order to learn. Just like in life.
5. I am sad. Maybe that's why I keep on ignoring run-on sentences and dangling modifier. Or maybe that's why I keep reading and keep trying to participate in life. Or maybe, it's just because I readThe Perks of Being a Wallflower again. I don't know. And I am tired of figuring out why.

That would be all for now. After this, I'll be crawling back to my bed and resume reading Looking for Alaska by John Green, which I already read early last year. Bye.

History loves to repeat itself

What have I done to deserve this kind of misery?

I quit this shit. Seriously. Ktnxbyedying.

Memories of a Daddy's Girl

I was once a daddy’s girl.

I was his favorite child, the apple of his eye. I was the only one he allowed to sit on his chair in the dining area. He never allowed anyone, not even my mom, to sit on his trono. Anyone, but me. I was his precious daughter.

I was his little princess. He always had pasalubong for me. He always bought hopiang baboy from Tipas on his way home. I never got tired of hopiang baboy, because it was our favorite merienda. On my fifth birthday, he gave me a Pink Pig Pillow. He said that I looked like the pillow. Despite my mom’s protest, he also gave me a white and green truck for a toy. He even gave me an endless supply of Mongol 2, only because he knew that I had the habit of sharpening my pen every 10 minutes.

I was his little buddy. We watched X-Files together every Thursday night. We both liked soft boiled egg on top of fried rice. We went to Tita Penny’s grave together. We cooked barbeque every Sunday; he was the one doing the barbeque, I was the one grilling them. We listened to DZMM every morning. We were buddies in every conspiracy we had against my siblings.

I was his sidekick, his right hand. He always tagged me along to the piggery and to the grocery. He taught me how to bathe a pig and how to feed it. Despite the searing stench of the piggery, I gladly obeyed his teachings. He let me play with his fishing rod, and let me see his .38 gun. He allowed me to help him in cleaning the car, though he never let me touch his babies.

I was the answer to his frustrations. Days after I turned seven, he gave me his college ring. We were sitting on the stairs. He told me, “I know you’ll be a good lawyer someday.” I knew nothing of being a lawyer then, but it sounded awesome. I grinned, and observed the green stone on the ring. I tried putting it on my ring finger, but it was too big. Little did I know that that ring was just as big as the dreams he had bestowed upon me, and that I was too small or too young to even know the gravity of it.

I was his favorite child. He could have given his college ring to my sisters, but he chose me—the middle child. I did not know his reasons for doing so. I never learned why, but one thing was clear: I was his darling little girl.

I was a daddy’s girl until that 24th day of April 1998.

I opened my eyes to the blinding light that came through my window. The roosters were singing their daily anthem, signaling another day in that boring summer of ‘98. I grunted in my bed, squirmed as I reached out my screaming alarm clock. It was eight in the morning. I got up. It seemed to be a nice and sunny day, a perfect day to test my newly made kite.

I smiled to myself. I had been able to make a kite the other day. For an eight year old kid, that was already an accomplishment. I got up from my bed, stalled a little, and inhaled the sweet tangy aroma of cinnamon and soothing smell of coffee coming from the kitchen. It might have been my cousin’s doing. She liked cinnamon bread and coffee together. Hearing the grumbles in my tummy, I postponed my daydreaming and headed out to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, I found not only my cousin but her parents as well. That was new. My aunt and uncle were usually out and working during the day. It was unusual, but I was more concerned with the breakfast than with their reason for ditching their work. I greeted them good morning. As I sat on my usual seat on the dining area, they seemed to be overly happy. They wore a big smile on their faces, as if they won the lottery. They looked like the clown from Hunter X Hunter. Not that I was complaining about it, but it was weird.

“What’s up with the smile?” I asked.

“Are you up for some malling today?” my cousin replied.

I was taken aback. As a child, I spent every summer of my life in Bulacan—a place of infinite rice fields, scorching heat, and permanent flood. Every summer vacation, my parents would deport me to my Aunt’s place in Bulacan. They had this notion that I should be introduced to the old school type of vacation, that I should have a normal vacation with my normal cousins. You know, a summer vacation with human interaction. They hoped that human interaction would ease my intense dependency on TV and imaginary friends. And summer vacations there usually did not involve the comfort of airconditioned malls. So, malling was really a wild suggestion.

“But I am going to fly my kite later.” I responded, a coy smile forming my lips. I tried hard to remain nonchalant about the idea of going to the mall. I was raised that way—to be subtle in my desires and not to demand anything, unless it was strongly suggested.

“It’s okay. You can do that any other day.” my uncle said.

I looked at him, wishing that my eyes would not betray the building excitement in me. He was still wearing his smile. That was something. My uncle rarely smiled. He usually kept his lips sealed and his face void of any emotions. My uncle was a strict patriarch; his words were law. He was also a traditional person. He had an aversion to malls and the likes. He believed that a kid should always know how to play the traditional games—piko, shato, sipaang bola, and even kite flying.

I did not reply. Something was wrong. Really wrong.

My aunt placed a piece of cinnamon bread and hotdogs on my plate. I thanked her. Like any caring mom, she patted my disheveled hair and smiled. Her pat felt weird. Her smile looked weirder. I glanced at her; she was still looking at me. I caught a glimpse of her soul through her eyes. She was telling me something, yet my feeble mind could not process it. Blame the cinnamon bread, I was distracted.

Silently, I ate my breakfast. I heard their whispers and felt their silent knowing nods.

“Once you’re done with your breakfast, we’ll go to the mall.” my cousin interrupted my little privacy.

I nodded in response. They were acting like they were hiding something from me. Being an eight year old kid, I was not to suspect anything, but I hated not knowing. Did they sell my doves? Did they feed my goldfish to Thalia, their cat? Did they burn my books? Did they seize my piggy bank and forget to replace it? Did they do something that would upset me? They were certainly hiding something from me. And I hated not knowing.

Silence dominated the dining area. I could feel the thick pressure rising. My aunt, whose tension I could feel, melted the gnawing silence. She asked, with her soothing and soft voice, “Ano’ng gagawin mo sa savings mo kapag nalaman mong patay na ang Daddy mo?”

I stopped eating. I was eight-year-old, and answers were simpler then, because I knew nothing of difficult questions. I was eight, so I said, “I’ll buy him a casket.”

With that, she cried and left the dining room.

“Why did she cry?” I asked my cousin and uncle, who were both staring at me, dumbfounded. I didn’t know why she cried. I didn’t know why the others kept smiling. I didn’t know why they kept on insisting that we go to the mall.

I caught my cousin and uncle share a knowing look. My uncle set his coffee mug aside, and looked at me with a kind smile.

“Get yourself fixed. We’re going to the mall.”

But we did not go to the mall. I was not able to fly my newly made kite. Instead, we went straight home in Rizal, where a gloomy feast was being held. I ceased to be a daddy’s girl, because daddy left his little princess, the apple of his eye, his little darling on that nice and sunny day of April 1998.

I could not remember what happened after that. My memories were hazy and somewhat inconsistent, but one thing was for sure: I was not the same person again. Things changed. I did not want to sit on his trono anymore. I stopped liking hopiang baboy. I stopped watching X-Files and listening to DZMM as well. I basically ceased to do the things we used to do together. Then, I grew up and forgot most of the memories I had with my dad. I grew up and moved on. New memories occupied me, and I was not sad anymore. I think that’s the thing with children; they can forget even the most painful event in their lives. They can forget and move on. Just like what I did.

I might have forgotten how it was to be a child or how it felt when my dad left me, but I knew that once upon a time, I had a dad. I was once a daddy’s girl.

Meet and Greet my Dad

Once upon a time, I had a dad. A real one. Let's call him Valentin.

December 16 was a usual cold day for many Ilocos Norte dwellers that lived in 1938. Second World War was looming over the horizon, but that did not prevent them from preparing for the start of Simbang Gabi, a tradition we inherited from the Spaniards. They were hoping that they would be able to complete the nine days of Simbang Gabi so that their wishes could come true. Unfortunately for Justina, a devout Catholic, she would not be able to complete it because the night before she was rushed to the nearest hospital to give birth to her fifth child--Valentin. That day, December 16, 1938, the world gave its nastiest smile on him.

Valentin grew up in a large family, which was very common at that time. He was very good in numbers, just like the rest of his family. He graduated Valedictorian in elementary. Like any of us, he had his childhood dreams: to be a CPA lawyer (unfortunately, only the CPA part came true). He had a sunny disposition in life, he believed in everything. He believed that he could do anything and that he could be anything he wanted to be. In his eyes, everything was possible. But when his father went bedridden due to stroke, the family's middle class status went down the drainage. So as his childhood dreams.

At a young age, he learned the hard way. He helped his mother in her work, so to add to their income. He worked some odd jobs just to help his family. Among the brood of six, he was the only one whose education had suffered a lot. He had to stop schooling because his older siblings were all in college and high school. He had to sacrifice his "tuition fee" so that the college students in their family could continue studying. He just resumed studying when there was extra money. Then when there won't be enough money to support his education, he would stop again. His education went on and off for some years. But he did not stop believing then. He worked harder. He studied the books of his older siblings just to catch up. At long last, he graduated in high school in 1957, three years behind his supposedly graduation.

He then ventured to Quezon City when he learned that he passed the UPCAT. He was full of positive vibes when he got to Diliman. All his dreams were slowly unfolding before him, he thought. He explored the city, hoping he could get a boarding house he could afford, there wasn't any. Instead of being Iskolar ng Bayan, he became Construction Worker ng Bayan. Instead of having diploma from the University of the Philippines Diliman, he had nothing but a piece of paper signifying that he passed the then-prestigious UPCAT. And instead of living in a decent boarding house near UP Diliman, he ended up living in an abandoned truck in Caloocan. He then moved to Malate to live with a photographer cousin. He helped his cousin in developing the pictures in return for free lodging. He held three odd jobs at the same time only to make ends meet. After sometime, he went back to Laoag with his baggage full of dirt and with his skin pitch-dark.

He continued his college education at Divine Word College of Laoag, majoring in Business Administration. This too went on and off. During the years that he stayed in DWCL, he showed exemplary academic performance. He topped most of his major subjects. He worked while studying. He was a laborer during the day, and he was a student in the evening. It was not until his third year college that he decided to go back to Manila. He thought that he would earn decent living once he was there. He left his college degree undone with a mission to give a better life to his family.

Once in Manila, he became an employee in Congress. After that, he looked for a better paying job to support his younger brother and his father's medical needs. He then applied as a staffer in an oil company, then made his way up to being a manager. Life was indeed smiling upon him at last. Years came by; he decided that he was not growing as an individual in his current managerial post.

In 1969, he ditched his managerial job and started working in BIR as an inspector. After a couple of years, he decided to continue his degree. He enrolled at Philippine School of Business Administration to finish what he started out. Like before, he studied while he worked. He obtained his degree in 1975. Though not with Latin Honors to tag along with his name, it could be assumed that he graduated with high grades. In 1977, he made his fulfilled the first step to being a CPA Lawyer. He passed the board exams, and became a Certified Public Accountant. This gave him a high position in BIR. It was the start of Valentin Bareng-Santos' time so to speak.

He was indeed a hard working man. He loved his family more than he loved himself. Though he spelled success in his career, his married life was close to being dysfunctional. He had three wives. The first one he had annulled. The second one died from cancer. And the third one he had died on. He was known for being cool with women. He was Mr. Suave personified. Despite that, he was a good provider and a good father to his children. He never forgot their birthdays (for those he knew). And he never forgot to have quality time with his family.

However, good things must come to an end. On September 9, 1997, he was diagnosed with Liver Cirrhosis (which later became cancer of the liver) due to his excessive alcohol intake and failed health-seeking behavior. That day, the optimist in Valentin Bareng-Santos died. He got depressed. He could not accept the fact that he was not invincible, that like everybody else he could acquire such disease. He was in denial. He sulked and drunk even more. He felt alone. And he did not know what else to do. His family supported him in every way possible. After some time, he went to a support group (a group of people with disease like him). But he found it difficult to accept his situation. The disease was slowly eating him. Cancer cells already hit his lungs. He was at the point of no return.

Exactly 600 hours and 10 minutes after my eight birthday, he died. But all I know is that once upon a time, he existed.

Young, Wild and Free

Here goes the obligatory birthday reflection.

My 21st year of existence, as I prefer to call it, was a huge terrible hangover. A year-long hangover, both literally and figuratively speaking. It was as if I gulped two (or maybe three) bottles of Vodka coupled with a case of beer and I-couldn't-remember-alcohol-blah-blah on New Year's Eve and forgot where I put my sanity the morning after (in which case the morning after meant the rest of the year).

It was a fog of good and bad memories, but mostly bad, of which I refuse to think about now. I was 21 and most of the time, high and drunk. I was 21 and I thought the world was for me for the taking. I was 21 and I didn't know any better. (Of course, I thought I knew better at the time. Who am I kidding?) I made bad choices and stupid decisions which resulted in a series of unfortunate events that I call my life. (I know that now, thank you.)

It started with me ditching my first job for the search of The Great Perhaps, which turned out to be, well, The Great Ellipsis of the year. Then, I thought I was in love with a man I never really liked. And then, law school happened but it didn't really happen (I dare you to make sense of that.) And everything went downhill from there.

I whined about it, but I'd like to think that I shut off some well-meaning people in my life. I became this massive ball of despair and hopelessness. But thanks to beer and friends (or friends and beer, whichever comes first) who listened to my repetitive rants about frustrations over life and the choices I made. They kept my insanity to a minimum level.

To say that I drank the year away was an understatement. And no, don't mistake me for an alcoholic. I was not and never will be an alcoholic. (Oh shit! That's what alcoholics say.) I spent most of my nights in misery and most of my days nursing a hangover. But the thing was, I 'moved on' with my life. I struggled everyday with high hopes and crooked optimism that everything shall pass as it should.

And it did. It actually did when I finally decided it should end. My ultimate realization was the cliche--it was only up to me.

Everything is a decision, even the decision to drown in misery or to shrug it off and learn from it. The result may not be what I expect, but there must be some wisdom in it. There's got to be something from it for me. In this case, I learned how to overcome defeat and frustrations. I learned to make the most out of the lemon. Get the Vodka, drink, and get on with what I currently have. That's how life is. I cannot always get what I want, but I can always give it my best drunken shot. I know that sounds too Mitch Albom-ish or Legally Blonde-ish or whatever inspirational shit you have there, but whatever.

The year 2011 wasn't the best year to count. I had my shares of wrong turns and detours, but I think I am where I should be at the moment. Being 21 sucked, but it was quite a learning experience. Cheers to being reckless, drunk, and most especially, to being 21.

Now, time to take down that hangover—I am getting high this year.

Four Scores and a Book

I want a lot of things lately.

I want to have travel blog, or maybe some posts about my travel experiences. Or maybe about the people I encounter in each of it, or maybe about the food, the scenery, the odd things in a certain place. But I know I can't.

I want to put up a clothing business. Or a food business. Or anything profitable. (Yes to money, yo!) But I know I can't.

I want to experience the world, to be part of it, to see people and to live life. But I know I can't.

I want to want the things that I did, but I know I can't.

And I want to keep this post decent and lengthy, but I know I can't.

Update you soon.

There goes the answer

I was not looking for it, but it came. It might not be the best option, but it was what I needed. It took me a two-hour bus ride from San Carlos City to Bacolod City to finally decide on what to do with my life.

Here it goes:

Law school. Exactly a year ago, I was determined to pursue law school, but well, life happened. I'm still up for it, but then I decided to postpone it for another year or two. Why? One, I cannot make the same mistakes again. I must be prepared with contingency plans if the first one did not work out. Two, I have my doubts (agaaain.) I don't want to head into law school half-heartedly. There can't be half-measures on my part. I can't take the risk and the judgment that comes after if I quit in the middle of law school. Third and probably the most legit reason, my younger sister is going to college this term. Hence, I am stalling law school. It can wait, but my sister's right to tertiary education can't.

Wanderlust. Because of the kick of the doubt, I also decided to search my calling--whatever it is. In order to find that, I will travel the country, searching pieces of myself bit by bit. I will give in to my wanderlust. I must find myself first. And when I do, I'll make a review of my life choices.

Books. I keep buying books, but I don't have the time to read them. Hence, the four-feet tall stash of unread books in my room. This year, I have to make sure that I read at least one book a month just to keep my brain cells from bumming. I can't afford to be stupid if I would go to law school, right?

Infinite Wanderlust

I will travel the world one place at a time. Soon, soon.

I started the year with a bang--booze from 9pm December 31, 2011 to 12:30 January 1, 2012 with five drunkards namely Kenneth, Erdie, Juno, Stef, and Faith--and decided that this would be the year for great adventures and steady exploration of the world, well at least, the Philippines.

In almost three months, I managed to compile three albums--Zambales in January, Cagayan de Oro and Sorsogon in February.

Potipot Island, Zambales

Team Malaysia (Kenneth, Yours Truly, Erdie, Faith, and Stef) doing the Barkada Shot

There goes the Walang Kamatayang Jump Shot

Touchdown Cagayan de Oro--the City of Friendship (How apt, Faith and Tin)
At Gardens of Malasag Eco Tourism Village
Park Cafe--where you can buy coffee/shakes at 45php max

El Presidencia Ruins in Barcelona, Sorsogon (It could have been a better archaeological site if the local government developed and monitored the area)

Rizal Beach (stayed at Vera Maris Resort--a perfect venue for Shake, Rattle and Roll movie)

And of course, it wouldn't be complete without a picture of Mt. Mayon!

As I end this post, I have to start packing for a trip (this time, it's official and pure business) to Negros Occidental. I have yet to see the itinerary, but I am sure that the experience would be as liberating and as educating as my previous trips.

Living in the Past

This is a celebratory (aka Pride by Association) post for The Crew. Four out of five in med school! Good job, Gerls! But before you become doctors of medicine, let me just remind you of your level of sanity back in college:

The first all-nighter at Bahay ni Ate.

The second all-nighter, still at Bahay ni Ate. Went out for thesis break aka Candy Break.

The (I can't remember when) all-nighter at Briege's house (aka The Hobbit's House).

You must understand that I am an old person by nature. Hence, the nostalgia.

The Boy

He was not the first boy you loved, but he was the first one to see you on a different light. He was not your One Great Love, but he was the one who made you want to stay. He was not a Prince Charming, but he was everything you needed and more. But he broke your heart, crushed your soul, and left you without even saying goodbye.

The First Bite of Reason

You thought you loved him, but after some time, you realized that you actually did not. The realization made you sad, because you thought it was real, because you thought and you firmly believed that what you felt for him at the time was as real as your existence.

After the fall out, you cried buckets of tears, thinking you won't be able to feel again, that you won't be as in love again. You thought he'd be the last person you'd love, but you were wrong.

Now, six months past your second heartbreak, you are in love again. And how you wish that this time, it would be real.

Gravity's Command

It is like falling in love for the first time.

You memorize every detail of his being--from his physical attributes to his core values. You know his smell--rustic and comfy; his eyes, those eyes that speak to you everytime you look at him; his lips that twitch everytime he thinks of something witty but refuses to say it; his nose that wrinkles whenever he looks at you; and his voice, that soft yet stoic voice. You understand why he keeps most of his emotions to himself, why it takes time for him to open up, and what keeps him from doing what he wants.

You keep tabs of little things that he's done for and with you like how you keep the fondest memories of your childhood. You remember the way he looked at you the first time you met, the first joke you shared, the first laugh you had with him, and the other firsts. You remember everything he says, whether it be about a random dog or a political dogma. You save everything in your memory. Heck, you even write about it. You write about the day he called you fat ass and the night he asked you of your weight. You take note of his random anecdotes on certain things. You write about him--the way he talks to you, the tone of his voice, the touch of his skin, the smell of his hair. You write about the way he makes you feel whenever he is around, whenever he cracks a joke, whenever he is with you. You write your memory with and about him. Everything that relates to him, you take note so that you won't forget.

With each day, you keep on reviewing, asking yourself, "Of all people, why him?" He is adorably random and awkward, a little humanoid on the side. He is hot and cold, not easy to understand and to handle. It is like you are dissecting and scrutinizing a masterpiece. You are gentle as you turn every piece of him inside out, inspecting, knowing, understanding, and accepting. Every part of him screams his name, of his uniqueness, but you know that he is more than the sum of his parts. Definitely more than that.

It is like falling in love for the first time and seeing the person in a different light.

On Why I am Pressured Right Now

For almost eight months, I evaded the ultimate question: "What's your plan for the next academic year?" I tried so hard to keep my face straight and my resolve unwavering. I refused to give any concrete answer to any person who asked me that question. I refused, because I honestly don't know how to answer them.

However, it seems inevitable, especially right now that most of the Gerls are in medical school (2 in UP, 2 in UST, 1 in UERM, and 2 in DLSU-Dasma--all of which are prominent medical schools in the country). I know that I should not feel pressured whatsoever, but I am a fairly competitive person. And it doesn't help that people around me including my mom keep asking, "Are you going back to law school?"

Here's the thing: I am sure of going back to law school. I just don't know when. I still want to go to law school despite my experience last year. I still want to have that blood rushing, heart thumping, and mind boggling recitation ordeal. I want it that bad, but only time will tell when I'd be back. Because as of this writing, I am waiting for some miracle to happen. I am waiting for the great come back, the defining moment. And when it comes (and I believe that it will), that'd be the time I will give an answer to the ultimate question.

For now, I will keep my fingers crossed as I wait for the best birthday gift ever. Till then, I will not entertain any question that has to do with law school.

Goodbye, Manila. Hello, Reality!

I have always thought of making an article about Manila--its diverse culture, the people from different walks of life, the pollution, everything about Manila--since I first step into the grounds of my alma matter, but my laziness got the best of me. I slacked off the writing and decided to enjoy every bit of Manila-ness I could grasp.

I never really expected to love Manila. I mean, who would, right? Manila is polluted. The air you'd breathe consists of carbon monoxide, carbon dioxide, and other respiratory-impaling gas. It is filthy. You'd see used condom along Taft Avenue, used napkin somewhere in Pedro Gil, diaper with poop near Padre Faura, and a lot of cigarette stubs anywhere. The place is a scary place--it is congested with hawkers, snatchers, hold-uppers, and other lawless elements. The place is, to put it in a bourgeoisie's word, ew. It is the exact opposite of where I grew up, but Manila grew on me.

For almost six years, Manila played a big part in my life. It is where I established my identity, built my dreams, and found nine awesome friends. This is the place where I learned that being street smart is better than being intelligent. It is where I found (and eventually lost) the first guy I kissed in the rain. It is where I first broke my heart. It is where I spent most of drunken moments, down in the gutter, looking at the stars. It is where I first broke down and cried my heart out. Manila, despite its filthiness, taught me everything I need to know about reality. Manila has and will always have my fondest and cruelest memories. But I can't live there anymore.

I had to leave Manila now. Not that I find no reason to live in this place, but I just have to grow. I just have to move on with my life. One day, I know I will come back to where I found my dreams. When that day comes, I know I'd be once again ready to embrace the ugliness of Manila.

But for now, it's goodbye Manila! Hello, Reality!

Cheers to February!

I started the Love Month on my deathbed but ended it with a bang. So, what happened in February 2012?

Aside from being diagnosed with Upper Respiratory Tract Infection (again) and spending the first two days of the month in quarantine, I missed my appointment in Department of Foreign Affairs for my passport. I planned to get my passport this summer for Team Malaysia's out of the country experience together, but things got rough and I got sick, so I passed. I intended to set another appointment, but the passport failed to reach my top five short term priorities. Anyway, hopefully I'd be able to remember it this March.

I was under medication for eight days. Imagine my life without beer for eight consecutive days. I was a lot slower and more stupid than my usual self. Actually, the doctor advised me to take antibiotics for 10 days, but on my 8th day, I forgot to bring my meds with me. And I was offered beer during the Feast of St. Guillermo and Virgin del Rosario in Pasig. 

In this feast, two important things happened: one, I forgot my phone in my officemate's house. That was the first time I forgot my phone. Ever. Two, I rekindled an old flame and started to appreciate life, culture, and diversity again.

After that, I went to Cagayan de Oro with Tin and Faith. Ekat was supposed to be with us, but she OD-ed herself and woke up two hours before our flight to CDO.

The trip to CDO was a humbling experience. I saw some of the evacuation sites for Sendong victims. I was able to observe people from different walks of life. Though I did not taste the real life in CDO, at least, I was slightly exposed to the reality in the area. Despite the harsh realization, I was still able to enjoy exploring some of its areas and spending most of our stay there in sleeping and watching re-runs of HIMYM in our hotel room. 

Four days after the trip, I got my head hammered by alcohol at the Phi Lambda Delta Sorority's Impulse: Straight Up, No Chaser event at Republiq. It was my first time to go there, I would admit. (I am not a party party girl. I am more of a chillax beer drinker.) And it was definitely an experience. I, together with other friends, drank to our heart's content. The peg was "drink 'til you die." We were able to drink, dance, sit. It was more than what we paid for, really. Definitely sulit! All thanks to Gellai, of course! 

The next day, I woke up with a monster hangover in Manila. I slept for another two hours and everything went hazy from there. The next thing I knew, I was in MOA, meeting Briege, Jemuel, and Abi for Star Wars: Phantom of the Menace 3D. Unfortunately, the mall was not showing Star Wars anymore. We walked the under the exploding man-made stars during the Pyrolympics and decided to go to Tagaytay. In which case, I found myself drinking with them until the five in the morning. 

After getting intoxicated for two consecutive nights, I once again realized the beauty of living young, wild, and free. It was not exactly good for the health, but memories were made during times of drunken stupor. And these memories would probably be the stories you'd share with your future grandchildren. 

Having a twin monster hangover, I headed back to Manila in the afternoon and went straight to Cafe Polli (their coffee is cheap but tastes good!) to meet Gellai, who just came from Baguio at the time. After spending some quality time together (that included I surfing the net and she studying for an exam), we, together with Gela, went to Ping Mang to have dinner.

I was on the third day of recovery from my intense liver and physical workout when I was assigned to set foot in Sorsogon. Exhausted and still a little hungover from my previous engagements, I woke up one hour before my flight to Legaspi City. Good thing I live 30 minutes away from the airport, I was able to be at the boarding area (after several mishaps like going through the entrance for male passengers twice, etc.) at exactly 6:10am, just in time for the delayed boarding. 

After landing in Legaspi, I, together with other officemates, had breakfast at Bigg's Diner (probably one of the coolest diner I've seen by far). In search for Marshall's Burger (aka the Best Burger), I ordered Bacon with Mushroom Cheeseburger. After a few bites, I decided to shortlist it alongside burgers from Wham! Burgers, Wendy's, Mcdo, Burger Brothers, Slammers, and Angel's (for more taghirap moments, you know.)  After stuffing ourselves with food, we then headed to Sorsogon. After two hours of sticking our assess to the seat, we found ourselves in Vera Maris, a resort that I deemed as the perfect venue for Shake, Rattle and Roll experiences. After checking in, we had our lunch at Cafe Rosita, which is probably the coziest place in Gubat, Sorsogon. We stayed in Sorsogon for three days and two nights for fieldwork. We headed back to Legaspi on the night of our third day to catch the first flight to Manila. 

Back in Manila, I had to face reality--work. On the last few days of the month, my fuse broke. It must be due to stress, unmet expectations, raging hormones, and other things I'd rather keep to myself. Nevertheless,  diplomacy ruled after letting out my bottled thoughts and emotions. All's well that ends well. 

_____________________________

*This is subject to revision in the future 

**I'd probably post another blog entry about my food choices in February, let me just take my time. 

Multiple Choices

I have been trying to write a blog entry for the past two weeks, but I just can't seem to finish anything that I started. 

I tried writing about my Cagayan de Oro trip and how I proved the mantra: what goes around comes around. I tried composing something about my Valentine's Date and what I came to realize after it. I tried finishing an article about friendship, alcohol, and Friday Nights and morning afters. I tried writing about unplanned road trips and drunken nights. But I just could not seem to finish anything. Is it because a.) I am busy with other things; b.) I am just too lazy to think; c.) Writing is not and will never be an easy task; d.) I am happy; or e.) all of the above?

The answer is, of course, E. All of the above.

A. I am busy with other things. Since November 2011, things are slowly unfolding before me. I never thought of being a government employee at the age of 21. (Yes, a government employee under the current administration. Who would have thought, right? If you knew me in college, you'll understand what I mean.) Much more, I never thought of being busy given the idea of a typical government employee. Guess, I was wrong. Aside from work, I have also been spending most of my time reading or sleeping or going out and/or drinking with friends.

B. I am just too lazy to think. Enough said. 

C. Writing is not and will never be an easy task. I need to feel it, and the feeling only comes once in a blue moon. 

D. I am happy. One cannot simply write when happy, because things are too hazy. Thanks to happy hormones. I must feel down or angry or totally moved in order to write. I just cannot write when I am happy. Why? Because words drown in elation. 

So, yeah. I guess, that's just it. 

By Academic Standards

And the constant battle with myself begins... 

Reasons why I think I am not an achiever (by academic standards):

1. I did not graduate with a laude standing.
2. I was not active in school.
3. I was pretty mediocre in school.
4. I don't have a title (like Engr., Dr., Atty., PhD blah blah blah)
5. My life choices were stupid. 

Reasons why I should think that I am an achiever:

1. I sent myself to school. 
2. I worked my ass off to pay for school-related stuff (alcohol, food, etc.)
3. I had good grades. 
4. I was a drunkard who graduated on time. 
5. I made my mom proud of me. 

I am pretty sure that academic standards will not and should not be the basis of my own person, but still... I have issues right now. I know I cannot do something about the past. It's just that it pays to reflect on it for us to be able to understand the present. Oh well. 

Side B

Can you keep a secret? Because I have a confession to make. 

This is hard for me. I'd appreciate it if this admission will stay between the two of us. I don't usually do this, but I guess it is high time that I acknowledge this version of me. So, here it is: I think less of myself more than what I admit to the world.

To put it simpler, I am insecure. I am this big ball of insecurity. I sure don't look like it, but I feel it. The insecurity gnaws my being. It sucks my awesomeness as a person. I know I should not feel that way or even think that way, but I am human, too. I have my own issues. 

People tell me that I am one of the most confident people they've met, that they are amazed by how I don't give a fuck about everyone's standards and norms, that blah blah blah. Sure, thanks. But here's the truth: that's just a facade.

I'd like to think that I am really all that and more, but every time I do so, the more I realize that I am just this pretentious, full of shit, annoying, and insecure girl (Yes, talk about self-pity.) The more I think, the more I realize that I've amounted to nothing (based on the society's standards or success) for the past years. I may only be saying this because I have achiever college friends, but I don't know. I am not comparing myself to them. It's just that, I want more for myself. Do I even make sense? I mean, where am I right now? Sure, I have many aspirations in life and for my future, but what am I doing with my life right now? What are these life choices I've made? What have I done to myself? How will I be able to get through this period? What to do? What to do? Oh. Shit. Not. Again. 

I have nothing. I am nothing. Maybe in another time, I would argue that having nothing and being nothing is actually a good thing. But not this time. Not this time. 

Everything fades into memories

There's nothing like the first real heartbreak. It burns like the cold, sending chills down your spine, paralyzing your senses. It pierces through your soul like a newly oiled sword, leaving you breathless and incapacitated. Something always has to remind you of something with someone somewhere. The random replay of memory of what was sends you into the twilight zone. It seems pointless, but it feels like it only happened yesterday. But one must move on. One must realize his or her worth. One must be free from the past.

It's never too late

Here goes the long overdue year-end assessment. 

Let’s just say that 2011 was a rough ride for me. It was full of challenges, difficulties, and wisdom. But one thing I am sure of—I got out of it alive and stronger than I could possibly be. So, what happened in 2011?

• I forgot my worth. 
• I became the person I didn’t want to be.
• I hurt the people who love me.
• I failed the people I love.
• I said things I did not mean.
• I broke someone’s heart.
• I got my heart broken. 

All because...

• I fell in love.

I hated myself for the things that I did, for the person that I’ve become, but I learned my lesson well. I learned things that only experience can teach. In the process , I gained what I’ve lost. I prolly received more than I deserve. And I am thankful. I am grateful that I experienced those things, because in the end, I acquired something more—wisdom. 

Now, I’ll take one step at a time. Here’s to 2012 and what lies ahead.

P.S.:

2011, you were one hell of a ride. You went tough on me, thank you. I needed that. Now, all I can say is GOOD RIDDANCE!

My History on Love

Relationship request from [insert name here]: Accept or Reject?

Today, I will get too personal. Today, I will talk about my past relationshits and what I learned from them. Before we start, let me just tell you that:

• I am not after the looks.
• I rarely have "couple" pictures taken.
• I am not into labels.
• I usually make bad decisions.

So, it might be hard for me to explain whatever it was that transpired between me and him. Please bear with me. 

The Childhood Sweetheart. We were in fifth grade. At the time, I paid no attention to boys and attraction. The term "crush" was alien to me. All I cared about were books, friends, and physical games. I was a dork even before. I was a transferee, and he was the first one to notice me. He befriended me and we clicked instantly. Not long after, we found ourselves spending lunch breaks together, goofing around the school together, and pranking anyone in the school (even the teachers). We even walked home together. We were practically best of friends. In our sixth grade, he started acting weird and suddenly got shy around me. He then started sending me letters, which I totally ignored because I hated reading letters. Things changed after that. We started ignoring each other as if we were not friends. It was only four months before our graduation that he told me the content of his letters. Apparently, he liked me... more than friends. Being impulsive and totally mental, I told him, "Yeah? Let's try being more than friends then." His reaction: ecstatic. Mine? Bored. After that day, I went back to ignoring him. We didn't talk until three days before graduation. He asked me what happened between us. I shrugged and told him I was sorry. And we were back to being strangers. 

Lesson learned: Don't say something and then walk away like nothing happened. If you say it, then fucking mean it. 

The Easy Target. I was in first year college. I met him through a common friend. We started out as friends. Things were easy with him. We didn't have to pretend we were somebody we were not. I knew his secrets and how his mind worked; he knew mine. We talked to each other almost everyday always until dawn. We were smooth sailing. Not until he asked me to be his girlfriend. I told him I didn't believe in labels. At first, it was okay with him. But I could only push someone too much. Three months after the no label spiel, he wanted a label. I was bored, and said okay. Three weeks into the "label," I quit. At the time, I had a lot of issues to deal with, so I left him without even saying goodbye.  

Lesson learned: Some people were just meant to be friends. Relationship and feelings cannot be forced to someone. 

The Summer Love Affair. First year going second year college. He was the first person I dated. From the very start, I knew his intentions. He was very clear about it. He wanted me to be his girlfriend. With label. I didn't know what got into me, but I actually gave him a chance. I gave myself the opportunity to prove to myself that maybe I wasn't a frigid and heartless person. The day we got "together," he wanted me to meet his family. I told him I wasn't ready yet. Instead of saying okay, he told me that he wanted to meet mine. What I did was, I let him meet my high school friends. He was the first guy I tagged along to a Barkada Lunch. However, nothing was easy with him. I had to be feminine and perfect around him. I had to extend more understanding and patience, because our wavelengths weren't the same. I also had to make the effort to reach out to him. We were so different, but realizing my relationshit history, I had to make the relationship last for at least more than three months. It didn't last that long, because I caught him cheating on me with someone else. 

Lesson learned: Don't settle for anything less than what you deserve. 

The Teenage Dream. After being cheated on, I focused on acads, friends, and beer. A year after my failed first labeled relationship, I met this guy. He was one of the students in my summer class. He was funny and bursting with energy. He wasn't stunning, but he was interesting--interesting enough to get and to keep my attention. He asked for my number. He called me and things took off from there. Since then, my weekends would consist of Saturday Movie day and Sunday Church day--with him. He made me feel like a girl, like I was special. Effort wasn't much of an issue on both sides. Everything felt right whenever we were together. I didn't mind being mushy and stupid with him. I even made him a poem (yes, I did, judge me then.) The relationshit would have lasted for more than 6 months, had I not fallen in love with someone else. 

Lesson learned: Some things are better left unsaid. 

The One that Got Away. He came to my life while I was having my teenage dream fulfilled by someone else. I met him on a Tuesday (the day I decided to ditch my majors to think over my life and life choices) while I was killing myself with nicotine. He said something that made me smile inside. He was the first guy who told me that. I didn't say anything, but I smirked at him. Exactly a week after that, he asked our common friends for my number and sent me a message. My first reflex was to assume that he was being friendly since he was already warned that I was dating someone else. My second reflex was to friendzone him. So I did both. Things were going pretty well. We were friends who loved to talk about music, literature, and random stuff. We were friends until my Eros shot me with his arrow. I knew I had to stop. And I did. I stopped talking to him and vanished into thin air from his world. 

Lesson learned: Someone will come to your life, change how you view the world, and then leave you perhapsless and stuck in reverse. 

The Counterpart. It took me years to get over The One That Got Away. I didn't think I was ready to get emotionally attached to someone. So, I played the game I played before--the art of being a humanoid. I set foot on this guy's territory, marked him as my own, and left him years ago. Life was okay for him, until I knocked on his door. This time, I had no intention of running away, but I also had no intention of staying. I just wanted to kick back and relax. In the end, it didn't work out for us. We were too much alike that it became boring and predictable. 

Lesson learned: Beware of boredom. It will force you to make decisions you will regret later. 

The Revolution. Coming soon...

Lesson learned: You'll know it when you feel it. Fall in love again, because second chances are always magical. 

I Wish I Knew How to Quit You

Nicotine Level: 15% -- Dismiss?

I've been a regular smoker for 4 years now. It started as an experiment when I was five or eight. I saw my older sister and our cousins lit a stick of my father's cigarette. They were in their teens. I watched them as they flicked the cigarette, took their first drag, and puffed the smoke out. To say that I was amazed was an understatement. I asked myself, "How do they do that?" They did not cough or anything. It was as if they were just breathing normally. How was it possible? And I knew there was only one way to find out.

What happened next was, I peeled a piece of paper from my Yasaka pad, got my baby sister's powder, and made my own version of "cigarette." I put a certain amount of powder on the paper. I rolled the paper and lit it. I took my first drag and coughed myself to death afterwards. It was that bad. I hated the feeling, and from that moment on, I knew that I would never try smoking again. 

Apparently, I was wrong. 

Years later, I discovered Dunhill Frost. Everything went downhill after that. I started with one stick a day, then it became two, until I couldn't count it anymore. I smoked whenever I got the chance. At first, I was hiding it from my friends for fear of not being accepted. (Talk about Teenager = The need for acceptance phase, right?) It was enough that I had the "alcoholic" image, I didn't want them to judge me more. Besides, drinking is more acceptable than smoking. It was only when I was in third year college that I went out in public. I guess, it was teenage angst that made me smoke in public. I was in the I-don't-give-a-shit-about-what-you-think-of-me-I'm-smoking phase. At first, some of my friends told me to stop it because it's not healthy. I actually believed them, but I didn't stop. Of course, I didn't stop. 

From Dunhill Frost to Black bat to Marlboro Menthol to Black to practically any brand to Marlboro Lights. That was my cigarette evolution. Thinking about it now, now that I have Upper Respiratory Tract Infection again, I couldn't understand why I even started smoking. 

Smoking calms me whenever I am stressed and/or emotional. It clears my head whenever it feels like exploding with information. It makes me say things in a nicer way whenever I feel the urge to curse someone like s/he means nothing in the world. And it helps me to pass time whenever I'm bored. But then, are these reasons enough? For now, I would like to think so. 

I want to quit, but I am not a quitter. I know I would be able to stop someday. It would just have to take time.  I don't have enough discipline and self-control to go cold turkey on it. I tried the flooding technique where I chain smoked almost 3 packs of 20s in one night. I stopped for 3 months and then I picked up the habit again. I just know that impulsive quitting would not work for me. I have to take one step at a time. Right?

***As of this writing, I haven't smoked a cigarette for two consecutive days. An achievement, if you know me. The craving for nicotine is not that strong. (Or maybe that's just because I am sick, I don't know.)

Love Bug

It's the first day of the Love Month and I am spending it on my deathbed. Oh, the irony.

Since it is February, I'll indulge myself to talk about love and romantic shiznit. So, let me lay out my views on love (yes, you'll definitely read lots of this word in this entry, so if you are cringing right now, you might as well leave this page and stalk someone else).

First, I believe that love should be all about understanding and acceptance. You know what they say about seeing beyond your partner's faults? That one is true. Every person in love would understand this. It is like the saying "love is blind" but not quite. It is more of acknowledging your partner's shortcoming and accepting it in a way that will not sway you from reality. I mean, if you really love a person, you would embrace his/her whole humanity. Besides nobody's perfect, right?

Second, there's no half-measure in love. Go all out. You might lose yourself in the process, but you know what? That's when you'll learn to love your own person. And when you learn that, that's when you'll be able to love someone with all your existence. Sounds romantic? Of course.

Third, love is love. There are different stages and kinds of love. The bottomline is, it is still love. If you believe and if you truly feel as if it is love, then who are to tell you that it is not? Besides, what love is not true?

Fourth, all is fair in love and war. However, you must remember that there are rules, whether written or not, in war. What more in love? BUT! You must also remember that some rules are meant to be broken in order to find and to get the person you love. It's just a matter of timing and how far you will go for the sake of love.

Last, all of these are purely relative. You might agree or disagree with me. You may deem my beliefs illogical or whatever. It's up to you. And yes, please do entertain me. What do you think about love?

Who's that girl?

It is that statement: I can never be that girl, can I?

After a series of failed experiments, I finally decided to take a leave from Cupid's Arena. It won't be permanent, of course. It is just that... It is not for me. Not now, at least.

As of this writing, I am in the process of healing from some events that I had no control whatsoever. I am in the process of accepting to myself that I just can never be that girl. I mean, I can't be the girl whom guys want as a girlfriend. I am far from being feminine. I speak, think, and act like a guy most of the time. I am not ultimately mushy over things. I am not into confrontation nor do I want to talk things over. I don't know, it's just that I am not comfortable talking about how I feel. I get awkward whenever that happens and I usually end up stuttering, trying to explain things which in return screws up everything. So, I just choose to shut up. I actually could go on and on with this, giving reasons as why I can never be that kind of girl, but I might end up describing someone I am not, so... Yeah. Whatever.

Though I can never be that girl for that certain person, I know I am someone's dream and reality (Yuck, spoken like a true romantic and conceited person.) Time will come when I will be able to hold someone's hand without cringing. Time will come when I will be able to speak of my emotions without even stuttering. It will definitely come sooner or later. But for now, I'll just live my ink All that and more, because honestly? I am all that and more.

The Return

Hi there, Stranger!

It's been months since I last updated this blog. Sorry for the unexpected hiatus. I know that I vowed to write more last year. Apparently, that didn't happen. Instead, I found myself caught in a terrible hangover that was 2011. To be more vague, life happened.

So... This year, I will not promise anything that is related to writing. I will just blog if and when my schedule and my brain permit me. I know I have to explain my absence, but I'm tired of it. Besides I have the habit of leaving the blogosphere every now and then, returning only whenever I feel the need to exorcise the demon in my head.

Anyway, since I'm in the mood to blabber about my weird and boring life, let me give you a list of the things that I did (or at least as I remember them) this January 2012.

1. Tried to get wasted by drinking alcohol nonstop from 9:00PM December 31, 2011 to 12:30PM January 1, 2012. Goal achieved? No. Didn't get wasted.
2. First day of work. Updated my journal (the tangible) and assessed 2011.
3. Woke
4. Up
5. Everyday
6. To
7. Work.
8. Didn't
9. Remember
10. Much
11. Of
12. It.
13. Went somewhere to do a personal errand.
14. "Closure." I wasn't asking for one, but it happened. I wasn't looking for it, it came to me. I just realized that I got to do what I need to do. It was not easy, but it was what I needed. Principles > Matters of the Heart, that's always my rule. Aside from that, I went to Zambales with high school friends (in which case, we call ourselves "Team Malaysia"). Though we were "na-Juno," we still pushed through it.
15. "Let's get lost in the haze of our childhood dreams and bask in moments of stolen freedom." Day 2 of our Zambales trip. Went to Potipot Island and slept the whole day. Tiring day.
16. Monday Routine with Sasha, Tin, and Beerday Boy Aris. I didn't get drunk, sad.
17. Busy day at the office. Multitasking will be the death of me.
18. "It gets better everyday." <3
19. Flaming Wings with Beks and Phen + Caffeine boost.
20. "I'll be here, wishing I could be there." Tea Party with Faith while Franz Ferdinand was in my ears.
21. "I am the man." Saturday. I did some house chores and watched She's the Man.
22. Hazy. Went out to do some personal errand. Went to Tin's to grab free dinner.
23. Happy birthday, Mom! To the strongest and coolest person I know, cheers to another year of dealing with my shenanigans.
24. "Drunken stupor makes me forget." Mandarin Wok with officemates.
25. "You just get used to it." Had Ze Talk with Faith.
26. "It gets better, right?"
27. Today, I wrote my first blog entry for 2012. Hooray?

There you go. Four days left until the first month of this year is over. Soon, it'll be Valentine's Day already, which means... Cagayan de Oro trip! I hate to anticipate, but I know that 2012 is going to be better. Right?