Turning 25.

February 21, 2015

“I don’t think I want that.”

This is my approximate thought when I see yet another Facebook acquaintance blow their life savings on the usual material and life-fulfilling investment: a house, a car, a grand business scheme. It’s a consistent, resounding, and distinct murmuring in the back of my mind by the time I’ve reached the climax of every romantic comedy. It’s the only statement running through my head when I see the people around me making decisions that could keep them bound to a single 100-mile radius for the rest of their lives.

This errant thought isn’t exactly the best of friends with my co-existing desire for security and stability in a world where we’re all just a few wrong steps away from having none at all. Sometimes all I want is to curl up in a corner and imagine what life was like just 10 years ago, when my biggest issue was what I was going to play on my Playstation One.

Tomorrow I’ll turn 25. It’s an age that I’ll just take as a normal number. I figured I’d have everything I ever wanted in life by this point, because everything would have gone as planned. I never would have hurt anyone and no one ever would have hurt me; I’d never meet people who led me to question everything I was doing and all the things I wanted. Good and bad behaviors and people would be easy to pinpoint, clear as night and day. There’d be no shades of grey. No, not even in the form of everyone’s hype now because of the damn censor in cinemas.

There would be nothing messy, no one earth-shattering. I would always be completely satisfied.

But I’m learning to accept that it’s true what they say — life is unpredictable, if you’re lazy and full of shit, you wouldn’t get anywhere in life and if you make the wrong decisions, you’ll regret it everyday. It’s what I am now but in my own, though, there’s been a single, reliable constant: I want to travel and time travel. I don’t want to be confined in this life anymore. The only thing I want, to put it simply, is the world.

It’s one of the only activities that keeps me feeling like me aside from the gaming world you’ll always see I am in. While we’re at it, I want to do a job that challenges, rewards, and excites me. Unfortunately, they’re diamonds in minecraft for me. And as romanticized as the concept has become, I’m completely serious when I say that I want fireworks, all the time. Am I really that different from the twenty-something who dreams of a white picket fence?

In the past five years, I’ve lived but never left my grandmother’s house – Same city and same country. It’s just recently that the home of the less clever world I sometimes dwell. Anyhow, I’ve woken up to the coldest and hottest weather in my sofa, sat in a rooftop with bland coffee I made myself, wondering if weed would really be as great as everyone said it was, and wandered the region of Hoenn on my 3ds once again. I think, after all this time, nothing was changed. Where is my Boston?

It doesn’t hurt that the average cost of a home is nearly one point five million pesos, meaning that, if the average international airline ticket was fifty thousand, I could see maybe 150 different places in the world for that price. Do you even know how many hotels that could pay for? Do you know how many trips I could take, and therefore how many kindred spirits I could meet, unique experiences I could have, street stalls I could patronize, waters I could drown in, cities I could explore, trails I could hike, mountains I could climb, dear friends I could make? To me, that’s like joining The Amazing Race backwards, in slow motion and it’s all worth it.

My home, my white picket fence, is with the experience all over the world. It doesn’t have a solid form, no brick and mortar structure. Despite the norm, or whatever seems right to the generation coming into adulthood at the moment, I think we’re a bit different. I think we see the world changing around us and we want to explore, and grow and see it all. If I am able to and if I can, in a heartbeat, wanderlust I will be.

Maybe one day I won’t be satisfied with this way of life, all the time. For my sake, I hope that I should start now because this is getting exhausting. For now, though, I have no qualms with admitting it: I am still stuck with chasing down temporarily high.

Toodles.

I hate him…

December 1, 2014

for being such a couch potato. He sleeps at 4 in the morning and wakes up at 1 in the afternoon. He does nothing but eat, shower, watch drama on TV, play his handheld and consoles, and watch a few episodes from his favorite series repetitively every single day. He, himself, admits that he does nothing remarkably productive. I hate him for having such a small face. He makes me insecure because I, on the other hand, have a humongous face. I hate him for not shaving sometimes. His beard and moustache is too scruffy for me. I hate him for ruining my sleeping schedule and for distracting me from all my school works and extra-curricular assignments. I hate him for making me want to ditch my first class if he miraculously wakes up before I finish preparing for school. I hate him for making me want to go home as soon as my professor stands up, signaling the end of my last class for the day. I don’t even get to bond with my friends anymore. And *whispers* they complain about it. I hate how he sometimes disappear for days without telling me where he has gone to or when he will be back. Can’t he see that I get so dead worried about him every time he does that? And another thing, I also got used to chatting with him almost 23 hours and 56 minutes every day since April this year. I miss him every time he leaves — no matter how short or long his absence is. And I hate him for making me feel that way. Sometimes, he makes me feel like he’s not, in any way, interested in talking to me. He knows how sensitive I am, but why does he continually do it? I hate him. I hate how insensitive he is sometimes. He’s so clueless of other people’s feelings. Or maybe he isn’t? Insensitive, I mean? Maybe he just ignores them and acts like he doesn’t have any freaking clue about it. And I hate him more because of that. I hate him for being too nice. I mean, he’s too kind to reject those girls (and gays) who are trying to take him away from me. *ching chong eyes* AM JEALOUS, FREAKS. UGH. He’s way too emotional — much more than me. His dramas are never-ending and so is my comfort. Don’t call me a pretender. I really am concerned about him and me comforting him on his downfalls is the sincerest version of me. But I really hate him for feeding his self-pity bowl. I mean, where do you meet a guy who stays in his depressive bubble instead of at least trying to escape out of it? I hate him for thinking and feeling that he’s a dead end. He sometimes talks about just letting whatever-stuff suck the life out of him. He starts to not care about anything — not even himself. I hate how he does not see himself clearly. He’s such a downer. He doesn’t believe me when I tell him how amazing he is.

But is it possible to actually hate someone for all the negative traits he has and love him for the same reasons? Yes, folks, I guess it is!

I love how he has nothing really important to do every day. Nothing keeps him busy and he allots most of his time talking to me. And that makes me really happy. I love how we never get tired of discussing our opinions about everything. We talk about the simplest things like, excuse me, poop, daily meals, and television drama. We also talk about the most complex of ideas we both formulate and acquire through our different media. Oh, I’ll never get tired of talking to him. I’ll never ever get tired of him. I hope he doesn’t too. I love how feminine his facial features are. He’s so adorable *squeal* and sometimes, when I look at him, all I can think about is eating his face (in a non-sexual way). I love how we talk until 2 in the morning even if I have a morning class at 7. Sometimes, I wish we’d change our chatting schedule because I really find it hard to stay awake and pay attention on my morning classes. Though, I regret not one bit of staying up late with him talking about the most random and most important details of both our lives. I love how he makes me feel excited for dismissal because he makes me feel like I actually have someone to go home to. He makes me feel like there is someone actually waiting for me while I am in school. I feel loved. He makes me feel loved without even saying a word. I love how humble he can get sometimes. He knows how to apologize when he knows he’s done something wrong. When he goes missing for days, he makes sure he explains everything and he asks for forgiveness — which I will never get tired of granting him because I cannot even stand the thought of being mad at him. I love how he disproves me of my accusations of me being an unrequited attention to him. I love how we agree on most things. He once said that we sort of think alike. Heh. Kilig. I love how generous and understanding he is. Those traits make him sort of a heartthrob even if he denies it. He is quite charming, I tell you. BUT HEY, IF YOU’RE A GIRL AND YOU’RE READING THIS, DON’T TRY TO RESEARCH ABOUT HIM AND ADD HIM ON FACEBOOK BECAUSE I SWEAR TO ALL THE GODS AND GODDESSES IN THE ETHEREAL WORLD, I WILL FIND YOU AND I WILL BEHEAD YOU. *winks* I love how he knows how to *chiki* *chiki* me when he finds out that I’m not in a good mood. (He learned that from me. Hehehe) I also love how he virtually crawls in to my arms when he’s depressed. He runs to me when he thinks that the whole world has given up on him and I, alone, haven’t. I may hate how dramatic he is but I also kind of love it because that’s when he asks for my help and makes me feel like my presence is actually appreciated. And that makes me think I am goddamn rich. Why? Because when I have him, all by myself, I consider not whatever else the world has yet to offer me. He’s enough. And there’s nothing else I need. I’ll never give up on him even when he, himself, has. I love how he thinks he’s unappreciated sometimes. Because I get to show him how important he is to me. And he likes it. Hahaha. And I love it when he swoons when I compliment him. I love how he makes me laugh when he says that he’s not meant to do good in life. Funny. That guy is heck funny. I know he’s wrong and again, I get to tell him that! I’ll always be his cheerleader. And he will always be my MVP. My Most Valued Person he will always be.

I love him.

Picnic.

November 13, 2014

probably something similar to hug me i’m sCared 3. nighttime is pErfect since i hate the heat and that my skin might get tanned instantly. i want the mat Laid on the ground to be checkered red. any colored mat I guess. i want a basket beside containing not chickeN but my favorite snacks and niblets: crEam-o vanilla, hello panda, knick knack, iced tea, and a pizza perhaps… with much mushroom, and much cheese thank you Very much. gamEs to pass time such as uno stacko or word guessing are great with matching shouts and random story sharing the whole time. venue could be with A few people or two. a band or a noisy background is fine Too. we wouldn’t mind theiR businesses anyway. rainIng seems to be the perfect conclude to a perfect event. we Can share an umbrella or run for it while laughing as it ends a moment of bliss and accompaniment. Finally, we then wish that the day is longEr and the time is slower.

…then it happened and it was way, way better than i expected.

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