Happy Birthday Ma!

Happy Birthday Mom!

Here's to my best friend and the greatest Mom in the world.

Your wisdom is my wisdom. That's why I'm so [such a] smart[ass].

My mom is great because

she tells me I'm pretty [when no one else will]

she tells me I'm fat [by taking away the extra slice of cake]

she tells me I'm smart [when I feel like a dumbshit]

May you have fifty more!

I love you!

On being a dumbshit

I've read many things, especially on Friendster profiles, about pain being a part of love. I do admit, stupidly, that I used to hold that as my soul truth. But that's really not true at all. Love doesn't have to hurt for it to be real. There's no official documentation that states loves causes pain and death and eternal mental anguish. Love is pain and pain is love is some poet's distorted way of saying "I know I'm a dumbshit for staying with this person, but I'm gonna do it anyway." I should know. I was once that dumbshit. And if you think I'm saying all of this now because I think my Francis is the most perfect man in the world, well he is- haha. Die of envy, for all I care.

Seriously, though. Of course Francis is not perfect. No man is. We have our moments when we're two inches away from strangling each other. Sometimes we argue about everything. But, see, it doesn't hurt to love him. I don't walk around with my head between my legs wondering what I got myself into. I don't put up with bullshit, either. Love, when you have it, is freedom. I know, coming from me, that's puke-worthy, but here's the truth:

You can be yourself freely with someone when you can shake your bonbon during commercials, pop gas in the middle of an intimate conversation, laugh like a moron on Valentine's day at the beach while the sun is setting, say the funniest thing in the middle of a heated argument, sing so off-key your dog starts howling, and, at the end of the day, you know that person will still be there, ready to share the next moment with you.

Love is a choice. It's a choice of all sorts. You choose what you do when you love, you choose the way you behave when you love, you choose to let the person you love treat you the way they do. If you sit there and pine and hurt and cry, that is your choice. Sometimes, it's a good choice because crying and hurting are okay. Though, when you've been sitting there in the same corner not having seen the light of day for the past couple of years, you don't have love, you have mentally insane tattooed on your forehead. If your friends buy you a straightjacket for Christmas, it's time for you to pick your ass up and move on.

I'm not a dumbshit anymore. On the contrary, I think the smartest thing I've done is listen to my instincts. My head is where it should be (no where close to a wall to bang on), my heart is whole, I smile more, I'm comfortable with who I am and confident of who I can be. I look forward to going home. I don't dread tomorrow.

I'm in love and it doesn't hurt.

On fungus

Exes are like fungus. No matter how hard you try to get rid of them, they come back when you least expect it.

The other day, I spoke with an old friend (common to LL and I), who told me about certain confessions made on Valentine's day. It turns out, while I was enjoying myself at the beach, LL was pouring his heart out.

Boo-fucking-hoo.

It was all basically about how he regrets losing me and that he still loves me and if he ever had another chance...blah blah blah.

Obviously, it's too late.

And just for shits and giggles, I want everyone to know how triumphant I feel. This is victory, many years in the making. Though I don't want him to suffer the rest of his life, he deserves to feel that void.

I feel kind of bad that I'm gloating. So fucking what.

Bwahahahahahahahahahaha. (Me pointing a finger at him, laughing because I'm done with his sorry ass.)

Back to ME

I used to write this blog for myself, but then when I realized that people were actually reading it, I found it harder for me to write. I guess it made me a little more conscious of what I wrote, trying less to offend people or give a little too much insight on what I feel at certain points in my life. I have begun to cater to the needs of the reader (though, I'm not sure anymore that my friends still read this as often as they used to), which is not good. This blog is for me. It has served as an outlet for the feelings and ideas I have of the people and situations that constitute my life. So, from now on, I will write (again) what I please. To those who take offense, get over it! My life does not revolve around you. This is for those who understand me and know that there is no sense in taking all this personally, because there is nothing I say here that I don't say to their face.

The one that Francis likes

I can't believe this! I've forgotten my friends' blog addresses. I lost them since I changed my template. I decided, last week, that an old brown parchment-looking template didn't suit my needs any longer, and the dull gray one does. I want to find Yeng and Lala, my cousin Julie and my friend Jerwin. I need those addresses again.

I don't feel so good today. I can barely breathe (and it's not because my jeans seem a little too tight). I feel as if I'm constipated, but I know I'm not. I wish I were home right now...which reminds me, I went to the doctor last week. He told me to relax and stop stressing out. I have too many ailments for someone my age- pains in my chest, hyper-acidity, numbing legs. I've come to the point where I don't think as much about certain things, but I tend to go to the extreme. My family either thinks I make a big deal out of nothing or I'm offensively indifferent. I grew up, Mom says, with very little reaction to anything. I've always had the same facial expression- blank.

Mom is leaving for the Philippines again and I'm having panic attacks. Uck. Happens every time. I feel like a kid. Separation anxiety becomes me. I wonder if I can make it without her sound advice and her beside me. Seriously, as independent as I am, I don't know if I could take the risks that I've had if she weren't there watching. Independence can only go so far.

Francis will be here for the weekend. I'm sooooo effing excited. Finally, I have someone who fully understands how much I still loathe Valentine's Day. Although, I do admit, this Vday was the best.

I've been trying to finish this entry for the past two weeks. It's already the 21st of Feb. and I still haven't posted it. I don't know if I lack the time to write or I just can't put the words on paper anymore.

Everyone is still sad at home because Mom's not there. Even my dog still mopes around waiting for her. I did finally clean the house and hopefully we can maintain it. I mean everyone has their own rooms. This may seem mundane, but for a family as big as mine, it's hard to keep track of who's making the mess. I think this is my accomplishment for the week.