What I Cannot Say

I am on the verge of tears and I am berating myself because I have written in another blog that if there was one thing that I would not like to read on another person's blog, it would be about their pain. And here I am preparing to tell you how much pain and how much pressure I am in right now. I hate to do this, but I guess there is simply no other way.

I have a boyfriend whom, for the sake of anonymity, we will call Center. It fits appropriately because, whether it is to my benefit or not, when we got together, and lived together, he became nothing less but the center of my life. I had my work, my self and my family to think of, but nonetheless, I would think of him first before everything and everyone else, including me. I know this is not a very good set up, but what else can I do? I know no one here whom I can really talk to, so it was either him or no one. I chose him.

I do have a few gripes about Center. He's a lot older than me, and by that I thought a lot wiser. But to some extent I was wrong to assume that. He is the essence of Peter Pan, he has stopped maturing and changing his perspective and I feel, that right now, I am stuck with a person who is quite self indulgent. Since I got here, I was the one working, and I was the one taking care of the rent when we were renting, and up to now, I still carry the bulk of the expenses, food, utilities and others. He does not have a job, and seems to have so many reasons why he cannot start finding one. But I tolerate this, although I have gone up to the point of cajoling him to apply for a job, and I have resigned myself to thinking that when the time comes that he's feeling right, he will come forward and start looking a job for himself.

But if there is one thing that really hurts me the most is when Center seems to not appreciate me. He is quick to appreciate other people, from their looks and their jobs and a myriad other things, but he does not seem to be the same for me. He is always, on the other hand, quick to say negative things about me, like "Ang arte mo" or "Naman!" I know that I am not perfect and I am perhaps less than the other girls that he often compliments online, but I just want to feel that I am a bit special myself. Is it so much to ask that he calls me cute or pretty as well? Is it too much to ask for him to say that I'm great too? I guess I'm just tired of telling myself all these compliments and I want to hear it from someone else. Is it to much to ask for a little morale booster from someone who says that he loves me?

Because he never seems to give me any assurance, I am led to think that perhaps, with the right circumstances and the right person, he will just go and cheat on me. He certainly has done that before. Heck, I don't know. I just feel so insufficient right now. I feel so bad after finding several posts from him on other people's multiply account about how pretty and cute they are. I feel bad that we're together for the last two years and he never, from day one, ever told me that. I just feel bad that I can not seem to get the emotional and moral support I need from him, when he just gives it away to other people...other girls. Perhaps what's even sadder is that I end up feeling that I am not good enough and it affects my self esteem. And another sad fact is that I know that he will not change. That I can confront him over and over again about this habit of his and I know that after a few weeks he will be at it again.

I hope someone, something can help me. I am in so much pain.

Finally! Starbucks 2009 Planner

There it is folks!
I finally got my first ever Starbucks Planner! I got the one in blue.



I've finally completed the 16 stickers I need. I'm looking forward to starting my next o

Three to Go!

Just three to go for the Planner! Wee!

Migrated Entry 03: How Much for School?

Just how much am I paying for my Jesuit education? I really cannot quantify. I haven’t seen the sum total of my enrollment fees for the last four years. I squirm in horror when I think of it, tallying up those numbers that at the end of four years will give me the piece of paper telling my future slave drivers just how good a slave I was; running after ungrammatical teachers and old hags. (bato bato sa langit, pag tamaan…masakit)

There isn’t much difference between the now and the time when they took the Negroes to England to man (or woman) the kitchen, or stables. I feel that my Jesuit education, as they emphasize it, is only making my ticket to the next master a little bigger, maybe a bit dressier.

That’s why I so dislike people who take expensive education for granted. I feel that you have no right to be kikay, devote time and effort in putting mascara and concealer and blotting oil control sheets on your face, when you do not even know the basic subject-verb agreement. I think that you better stick to learning the APA standards of citation and stop plagiarizing your research papers, and even journals!(in addition to submitting them on time with the proper number of pages) before you even start to play your video games and playing cards, before you pick up the keys and go to a bar.

And what’s more, I do not think people have the right to get laid when they were asleep in health and sex class, go running to me,crying, and asking me what to do. Eh kung di ka tatanga-tanga… I am itching to say.

It’s a free country of course. And I do not stop people who do those things I mentioned. But that doesn’t mean that I’ll start liking what they do. I am not a frigid person. I enjoy the sins (0r are they really?) of the flesh just as much as the next person. But hell, lust is no excuse for stupidity.

Some people think that I have no social life. I do. I drink and go to bars, dance and have fun. But it does not compromise my performance, wherever.

I asked Keeshia if I am a mean person by saying all this. She answered a resounding YES. But then, I really mean all this. Take it, hate me or not, this is my piece.

And yes, I can be mean,pala.

Migrated Entry 02: The World From Me

No one ever said that things will be any easier. The truth is, there is no such thing as "real world". It’s the same banana as I usually say, or the same potato. You can still be late in the real world, you can still feel tamad. You can still get scolded at. You still live. Your still learn. Only this time, you don’t have to write on your notebooks (unless you really wanna) what you pick up along way.

There are still schedules that you have to follow. Not following them means a deduction from your pay. One of the most important things that you must keep within in you (unless you never had it in yourself) is the ability to keep time. Over and above the places and the things that may come along your way, you can never be wrong when you respect time.

Me? I refer to myself as a person in a kingdom far, far away. There are some things that I might want to tell you, just in case you come to join me in this kingdom (far, far away).

1. Learn to commute. Learn the bus routes, MRT, LRT, jeepneys and FX’s and how they differ. No one can live on using the Taxi everyday. You can buy a brand new PSP when you save that Taxi allotment in one month.

2. Bring an umbrella. I always think that one day I will be reborn with a mutated arm that has an umbrella attached to it. Save your skin, hair and temper with an umbrella.

3. Keep a support group. Be friendly.

4. Do not stop learning. Whether it is learning how to speak Armaic or learning how to use a photocopy machine by yourself, never stop seeking knowledge. Drink it in, wallow in it. Only a fool believes that he has learned too much.

5. Reinvent yourself. Put on that little black dress and those stilettos that you were hiding for so long. The best place to start over is where no one knows you, and you know no one.

6. Last, Imagine. Take it from Walter Mitty. Inscrutable to the end.

Migrated Entry 01

Bare (Lazy) Bones

While there are days when I just want to lie down and sleep, wake up and sleep again, there are actually quite a number of days when I feel up and going.
*Sigh* I honestly do not know what to write about.
What pops into my head is Henry’s last write up in Beacon. It was so senti, so drama and so un-Henry that I actually thought (for a split second) that Henry was high when he wrote that. Of course the facts were facts, but I never thought that my hard-balled-political-writing friend can whip up things like that. Of course I dare not comment on the other articles because they are in the past. Oh, you know.*Wink*
I miss writing for Beacon, even when only a sordid handful read the damned thing. I miss debate even when we don’t break (though we often do). I miss the Union and travelling in a bus for more than 18 hours just to speak for something like a total of 28-35 minutes (double that if we break) in debate competitions. The ratty Beacon Office, the place where I slept the whole day in when I had a fever. I miss the greasy feel of the back canteen and the delightful monstrosity we call Chinito’s. I miss the J’s (I only call them that in my mind): Jon, Jams and yes, Jhing. Oh, gosh, I miss that school, that city. And no, I do not miss S.

(Note to MR: I never resent the article to you. Why would I give those readers of yours tips on how to cope with the traffic, price and life here? They should suffer. *Evil laugh* Kidding aside, I just thought that it wasn’t my place anymore.)

I went out a while ago and I saw a welcome banner sign out front a school. I tried to remember what it feels like to have the first day excitement. I miss that feeling,too. There are lots of things I missed and am missing after having thrust myself into this new world a tad too early.
But well, anyway, Henry texted me and told me that I was the only absentee in our biannual meetings at Coffeemix with Marco. That made me kinda sad. Those were cheap, student-on-a-budget meetings but they were fun. Sobra.
I have fun now, too. There are a lot of fun places here. I with a fun person (most of the time). But this is not fun-fun. It’s just fun. I hope you know what I mean.
I might be going home, who really knows? I surely don’t know myself. Is it a sad thing? I keep myself brewing by writing stories and stories that never get to have an ending. I have like a whole notebook of intros and middles and beginnings and endings that do not match. I hope they have a life of their own that will spawn soon. I surely will love that. If anything, it’ll be an assurance that I am still myself, Ems.
Ramble. Ramble.
Largo ya ’ste. Thanks for stopping by and don’t forget to get yourself a cookie

FINALLY!

You know how much I heckle myself to finally getting a haircut.
Finally! After so long, I had my haircut on a day when I NEVER thought of having my hair cut.
Here's the story:
I was walking down from applying for a job inside Don Antonio when I found an outlet of Reyes Haircutters. Being the cheapie I am, I thought: Hell, why not? When will I get back here, if I say next time. So in a few minutes, I had bangs, and a new hassle free layered cut. All for Php50.
Pat me on the back.