Whenever I get insomnia, I would look over some of my stuff and a few nights ago, while on a "scavenge", I found this piece of torn and crumpled paper and discovered that during my month-long hiatus last March and April, I actually did a lot of writing. I know this has been long overdue but I’ll publish this anyway. Just to keep the memories safe. hehehe

:::

Day 1:

After 23 hours of puking and throwing my guts out, I am finally home. Home sweet home. I never really appreciated that until I experienced to never get back.

At the boat before I left Zambo, I felt oddly serene like the glassy sea that I was looking at the time. Looking at the changes of the old people I knew and now, I barely know, it’s kind of a lil sad, though. I even thought, should I blame me because I distanced myself from  them for so long, but  hey, it wasn’t  really my fault. Whenever I plan on coming back, something’s just came up and I had to wait for the next summer but again and again, some things just came up.

Finally im home. Hugged my mom, squealed with my kid sister, flopped in our immaculately made sofa, and ate lunch mom prepared for me, then when I felt like I could really walk (dehydration sucks, sea sickness sucks more) , I went up to my old room.

My room. I love my old room. It’s the only place I felt really mine. I find peace here. Peace is something that has eluded me because I chose to wrap myself in a chaotic world, a world that I think will sate my neverending restlessness. And then, when the dust of college and job hunting finally settled, and I fell into a routinary, rather boring existence, drab and dull all, I became restless once again and soon depression started. But lately, I realized it wasn’t the restlessness of starting a new bout of craziness that was troubling me. It was a subconscious telling me to find inner peace. Now, laugh. Yah yah I know. I even scoffed. Inner peace? Who the hell needs that when I’m barely starting a life. Hell, I think those two words are just for people who already get tired of their lives and have experienced everything that this damn world has to offer.

But then, that notion ( I’m talking inner peace, here, folks. Stay with me.) , has this stubborn quality about it and being weak-willed that I am , especially with things I wanted to do, I simply would have to do it coz I’ll go crazy if I wont. Being obsessed about a thing, even one as corny as inner peace, is so darn compelling. So here I am, took a leave from the office, jumped on a boat and threw up all the way from Zamboanga cithee to mah homeland. I swear, if Hansel and Gretel have followed my barf bags ( noun; plastic of all shapes and sizes where I put my puke on and throw it to the sea), they would have found their way to safety. BUT. But I stopped puking during the night ( even a puker needs her rest too) , so I guess they were soon lost. At least I gave some sharks a favor. And now im ending this shit. So much for inner peace. Peace y’all!

:::

To be continued….

If I ever got the time and the mood to dig up old memories

Reasons why today was my perfect day:

1.       Woke up in the right side of the bed

2.       Got dressed to the hilt

3.       Gave a bastos guy “the finger” at seven- forty-three a.m

4.       Had pancakes for breakfast

5.       No boss, meaning…

6.       No hassles

7.       No deadlines

8.       No problemos

9.       Freedom!

10.   The weather is just perfect!!! The rain just perks me up.

11.   Cut some ties ( finally, it was way overdue)

12.   Levelled the playing field (bwahahaha!!!!)

13.   Nice songs sa radio

14.   I was a good daughter today.

15.   Good sister.

16.   Good cousin.

17.   I’m good.

18.   I’m happy.

19.   They say im prettee today ( la akong paki sa kokontra, this is my perfect day!)

20.   Gee, I really counted my blessings today, didn’t i? Weird…

perfect day, by hoku

Sun’s up
A little after twelve
Make breakfast for myself
Leave the work for someone else
People say
They say that it’s just a phase
They tell me to act my age,
Well I am

On this perfect day,
Nothing’s standing in my way

On this perfect day,
When nothing can go wrong

It’s the perfect day,
Tomorrow’s gonna come too soon
I could stay, forever as I am

On this perfect day….

Someone asked me, “Where do you get your inspirations whenever you write? “ I mulled it over a bit…and a little bit more.

I get inspiration whenever floating phrases passed by lazily over my head, sometimes, these phrases are scant, while some are too overbearing its hard to think of everything else. They reverberate over my skull, over and over and over again, never stopping until I would jot them down on some piece of paper or opened my computer and type them in, or in some cases I type them into my mobile, and then…they will finally slink away like satisfied cats after a hearty meal.

I get inspiration on feeling wasted, on breaking rules. I can write about being truant and doing misdemeanour, and the absolute thrill of getting caught. I can talk about being disrespectful, about being a disgrace, and being a rebel, because I actually am. I can talk about being bad, about being nasty, bitchy, shallow, and insensitive because I am guilty of those things.

I feel giddy whenever I think of falling in love, in getting my heart broken, and breaking somebody’s heart. I get inspiration whenever I see a crush, or I feel the pain of an unrequited love. Inspiration strikes whenever I see couples in fast-food chains, there in their little corner, oblivious of people milling about, just content in the little universe they created for themselves. Sometimes they make me feel hollow, made me want something that I don’t have yet, yearn for something that I used to have but I took for granted. I get inspiration when I can’t sleep in long trips, over coffee and while riding the jeep over awful, just so awful traffic.

I get inspiration whenever I feel the sorrow of losing someone I love, or even someone I barely knew. I can talk about grief because I’ve seen sallow and gaunt faces that are bereft of emotions and life; I can talk about death because I’ve seen the blood and gore. I can talk about bitterness, because I’ve felt its bitter taste. Yeah, I could write about loving, because I have loved. Yes, I could talk about losing, because, indeed, I have lost.

It’s just so sad that I couldn’t write about everything else because I haven’t experienced everything yet.

Someone broke my heart today.

Someone said goodbye and walked away

Yesterday, someone was there

And today I stare as he walks away

Someone broke my heart today

We laughed at old times together

Then I waited for his confession

But he didn’t even looked back as he walked away

Someone broke my heart today

He said he cares

But I know he does not really

He didn’t even looked as I walked away

Someone broke my heart today

We sat in the rain

The rain poured down my face and camouflaged the tears

But he didn’t even glanced my way

Someone broke my heart today

They ambled into the lobby

He looks at her like she’s the prettiest thing

He sees me and sends a friendly wink my way

Someone broke my heart today

He says he deeply cares and he says the nicest things

about how special I am to him

But he just needs to get away

Someone broke my heart today

He storms home and batters my being

And he didn’t even spare my chinaware

Then with all the mess and bruises, he just up and stormed away

And as I walked home

I tried to control my tears

Sanctuary seems so far away

As my teeth dug my lips to keep the sobs from coming out

The keys got tangled with my hands

Finally I reached the door

Left the lights off

Crawled into my bed

And simply cried.

Because, someone broke my heart today.

* to the people who got their hearts broken and to those who keeps on breaking other people’s hearts, thanks for lending me your stories…

I am not an alcoholic. I am sure of that. But somehow, while I sit here in my work desk, furiously typing and conjuring messages, somehow my mind wanders to that little glass with a salt-encrusted lid I drank while I was out on a Saturday. I’m talking of tequila. I just had a chat with my friend who was with me that time and he does have a craving for that little glass too.

My first encounter with tequila was after our PE Night my sophomore year in college, but dude! That was sooooo blah! Tasted like cough syrup, and I abhor any kind of medicine (I have to gulp cough syrup during our RLE while I was a pre-med student, and that was one of the worst memories of my life ever!), and I gave up strong liquor  of any kind, settling myself with beer, my preferred drink. It turned out, however, I did the drink the wrong way. The salt and lemon (chasers, as they call it), should come in last, not prior to the whole drink. No wonder, I almost gagged after I drank it.

However….right now, I’m envisioning myself downing glass after glass of tequila, and washing every gulp with a half of lemon. Mara, stop it this instant.

Oh, my god. I’m turning onto an alcoholic.

Yah. I really have an attic. In our house in the isla, anyway. While I was back home last March, this was what I wrote on a night when I couldn’t just sleep.

::::

Its already 11:40 pm and people there have been sleeping since 8 pm so I figured there must be something wrong with me. Anyway, cant sleep because my stomach’s grumbling, must be the hotdogs I ate or all that gas I gulped during an afternoon of hagikhikan with old friends. So, instead I pored over old photographs in the attic and boy, I came up with a lot of nasty observations. I used to never like photographs, maybe because I don’t look quite right in any of my old photos. It’s either my face was too dark, I was caught unprepared, or ok, I admit, I am not much of a good poser. I absolutely have lack of poise and imagination with all my pictures, I tell you. Winced a lot over awful, just so awful shoulder pads ( whoever invented them, anyway), eww, I couldn’t believe I ever wore those…pictures of a family trip to Cebu and a side trip to Dumaguete were all good pictures, except a forlorn me in every frame. Father just had a trigger happy moment, I guess, while blatantly ignoring his daughter’s nauseous state (from the trip, motion sickness dude) Years later, and somehow, from the magic of digital cameras coz you can choose the pics that portray you in your bestest ( yah, wrong grammar…I know) angles while the uglier ones get deleted. You no longer have to rely for fate for a good lighting or whatever, or just sigh in defeat whenever u don’t like how the pictures will come up after the roll gets printed. Somehow, I now know what’s my best angle , chareng.

:::

3:30 am Woke up Mom due to a bad case of surupot and stomach cramps. Watery stool later confirmed suspicions of another case of lactose intolerance. Shit.

Stupid.

Feelings are just too damn hard to control. Why is it when you think that you have everything under control, like lakewater settling after an oversized dewdrop, you punk came along and mess it all again. Why is it that some days I don’t care about you at all but there are days when you make me feel like I’m high on some-drug-and-don’t-ask-me-what-drug-coz-I-don’t-know-because-I-don’t-do-drugs?

Damn stupid still.

Seem to be like a stupid moth to a flame, knowing the dangers of what I’ve been trying to investigate into, but still can’t seem to veer away it and still flicker nearer, and damning nearer (how stupid could one get?) until I can almost feel the heat of the fire, or sometimes, the scorching flames get lucky and got to lick the hems of my dress?

Banal.

But, really. Was it your fault, or was it mine? Was it your fault that you care, but didn’t care enough? Or was it mine, cause I was just looking for some fun and then fell for that sappy- when-you-stare-at-me-i-feel-like-a-giggling-schoolgirl?  Damnation. This is soooo damn corny.

I’m ranting now.

We are so similar yet we can’t seem to make things work out. You make me happy. You make me forlorn. I am too tired of thinking of you. You’re like a song stuck to the gray squishy matter they call my brain. And my brain aint that intact in the first place. Could days just be easier and tide me over to my clearheaded state always ( days when I believe I don’t care for you one damn bit) and, could nasty nights ( when I cant sleep coz u plagued my brain like insomnia) simply left me alone?

Please stop the misleading coz its friggin annoying. Please stop saying you care when you don’t seem to have the guts to assure me that you do. And hey, stop thinking that I’ll be that crazy about you, coz I might change my mind in a split second. I’m a female, after all, and females have a knack for changing their minds.

Im calm now.

Bruised not broken. Yah, you bruised my heart. And you bamboozled my mind. You’re one damn lucky guy coz I aint into you that yet. Don’t you dare break my heart coz I’ll break your damn face.

These past few days my headset is practically stuck to my ear because songs nowadays are just sooo yummy. My brain cells must be begging for mercy right now, some might have died from the direct blast of high decibel notes, some might have registered themselves to a mental facility, and those left might have migrated to the deeper recesses of my brain to await their fate. I’ve been crazy about Paula Deanda’s song, Easy and Jojo’s Beautiful Girls. These songs just bring in the indak factor( not to mention that the message is just sooooo girl power! if the guys can do the playing game, why cant we women?) that some days when I’m in my euphoric state I could barely contain myself and just stand and sway my hips to the beat…until I remember I am In the office and I barely had time to collect my frayed wits before I totally could make a fool out of me.

Insomnia and 2:30 am

Need I say more?

“Cryptic now, eh?” You might say.

Say I, “ Aye, sowatdapak?”

Stubs of unlit cigarette in my pink frilly ashtray

Can’t gulp no more toxic fumes

My cough’s bothering me

Bent back spasmodically convulses

Shoulders constant ups and down with no possible connection to particular dancefloor move

Dry throat occasionally emits a crack of thunder

Chock-full of secrets in my book

Romantic plans go up in smoke

And simply friends are we now, eh? Charing.

My mind is bursting at the seams

Colors do fade

But fabrics stay put

Coolness.

It’s 1 am and I’m still up even after getting back from a shindig aka kain-uman-slash-bilyaran- slash- kantahan and sigawan portion with my  should I say, long lost highschool buddies. I say long lost because we literally ignored each other during college, well except the occasional nods and hoys!, we never really got along to that weekly night outs. I don’t know why that happened, perhaps we got tired of each other after 8 years, or we were just busy with our own lives and a different set of friends. 

Well, it’s been a reunion of sorts, the third one in a span of 9 months. After a couple of our high school buddies died last year, we tried to get together as much as we can. The first one was in December, a few days after Lipae died in

Malaysia

from a tummy disorder, then we did another one in April ( we visited Cleng’s grave, she died May 2006) and then tonight.

Heard some comments from the boys like ‘sexy ka naman’, which I would come up with “sexy nako dati, di nyo lang napapansin” in a pasinghal way.  Well I was wearing tighter clothes than usual, plus I no longer project that little tomboy aura, instead I brought along all the kapalmuks factor I could muster. Well I guess nung kabataan namin, they always voted me class muse ( pa cute lang ata ang labanan nun, apparently Justin Timberlake still haven’t gotten sexy back). HekHekhek.