“Another one? Really?” Yes, really. Because admit it, you care~ I’m kidding, of course you don’t. But seeing as how I have this need to chronicle things lest I forget them, voila. Another long-ass blog post that nobody would bother to read, but hey, mi casa su casa, you read what you want. My life really is interesting, though. Especially now that I have a mirror, after nearly a year without one.
Yes, you heard me: I now have a mirror in my room! Yay! Aw now, don’t begrudge me this little happiness; it’s been a whole year since I last got to brush my teeth in front of a mirror, or leave the house knowing what I look like. It’s one of those little things in my life that I really appreciate right now. It’s great that I learned to live a year without caring too much about my physical appearance, but a mirror would really help with checking if I have dried soap anywhere on my face. So again, I say YAAAAY! I bought it in Manila and had to carry it around from there to Baguio, but it wasn’t too bad, since it just sat on the bus floor for most of the trip. And, may I say, it was totally fucking worth it. I can take selfies now OMG. Hahahahahaha I’m kidding, please
In more sober matters, my cousin got the infamous Dengue fever last last week, and he was admitted into a private hospital. You know, the kind of hospital that we can’t afford. Don’t ask me why; I think my mom panicked, so she sent him to the nearest hospital she could think of. Plus the fact that the head doctor of that place had been our family doctor back in the golden days, when we could still afford one. Needless to say, the 4-day confinement raked up a whopping Php18,000 fee, which of course we could not conjure out of thin air. So my mom went around talking to the doctors, explaining to them that we really don’t have more than Php10,000 on our hands right now, and that may we please pay the rest as an installment. They relented, but on one condition: that my convalescing cousin be left in the hospital as a sort of collateral for the remaining payment. Check out how humane that is. He’s been out since, but the images of that day still bug me to no end: how my mom went from doctor to doctor, trying to ask them for some consideration; how she had been so stressed out before going to the hospital, trying to figure out how to come up with the money; my cousin, all quiet where he was once bright and happy, holding back manly tears when my mom told him he had to stay in the hospital some more because we couldn’t pay in full. I’m glad all of that’s over, but I still can’t get over this feeling of poverty, even when we’re much better off than actual impoverished people. It makes me wish we were at the same level as them, so we could worry about the same things that they worry about, and not problems the middle class often struggle with. Because, as that day has shown me, we are not middle class. Far from it, I believe.
So, what’s new with me as a human being? Well, for one, I think I have mild tinnitus again. The tiny faraway bells and gongs in my left ear are back, and now there’s a new component to the musical ensemble: a rushing sound, like the wind. It’s kind of okay, since I can still hear stuff, but it’s weird, you know; it’s like being blind in one eye. Everything’s muffled through it, and it kind of makes me afraid to use my earphones on it (because it might do more damage? I don’t know okay) I think I got this from the wrong use of q-tips. Maybe it’ll go away, like the last time. Maybe it won’t, but I’ll be damned if I ask for help.
And speaking of asking for help, I am done with it. The last time I tried, my mom started talking about how hard her life is and how I should be praying to Jesus instead of talking to people about communist activities. I don’t even understand how that last one came in since I am not a communist (err, not an active one at least), but you get the picture. And when I talk to my friends about my problems, they just stare around at the walls or at anything else and let silence fester in between us, until I offer to change the subject to something actually worth talking about, like that new show on TV. Boy, do they jump on that topic. So, I am done with telling people about how I feel, or what I’ve been thinking these past few days. I vow to shut up and keep to myself, because really, nobody fucking cares about me, anyway. I realize that I sound sulky and whiny, but this is more a statement than a complaint. I’m just saying. And while I am not okay with it, I’m not averse to that plan. I do think I should stop talking to people about things that don’t matter to them. And then sometimes, I think I should stop talking to people altogether, but I digress.
In other news, I have decided to stop chasing her. *cue fanfare and confetti* Just a rundown, since I’m dedicating an entire blog post to it: One day last week I started crying and didn’t stop, and afterwards I emerged from my room enlightened.. And by “enlightened” I mean “much lighter”, because I have been empty since. (bleagh, what a corny punchline) At first I thought it would be another empty promise on my end, and that I would only try and talk to her again after having sworn never to, but it’s been a few days and I’m starting to think this is the real shebang. I don’t think about her all that much anymore, and when I do, it’s.. Pale. I can’t explain it any better; it’s just pale. The emotions that are usually horse-powered kicks have now been reduced to watered-down slaps, and the curses that come out of my mouth are often due to the fact that I thought of her again, and not because of the thought itself of her. It’s going pretty well, to be honest. She’s still a constant thing in my head, though, like elevator music turned way down.. Only what’s playing isn’t elevator music; it’s Red Hot Chili Peppers. I feel like I’ve been dead since, but give it a few weeks and I’ll be okay. I just hope I don’t fall in love with anyone again, ever. Ever.
Oh, and I have also retrieved Mathilde My Journal from my Manila home. God knows how many eyes have skimmed (or perused, god forbid) the pages of Matty, but I doubt anyone could have understood my piss-awful handwriting (which in truth isn’t really awful, just a little too emotional and dramatic to be read easily). Emilio My Journal, though, I could not find. Him I worry about, because he came before Matty, and my handwriting then was way legible than now. I fear that they have decoded my secrets of–uh, I actually don’t remember what the thesis statement of that time in my life is, but hey, a journal is a journal! It’s supposed to be private, so I hope whoever misplaced it didn’t read it at all.. Fat chance of that, though. Ugh, life..
Okay, so I guess that about covers it. I’m sure I skipped over a few things, but I don’t remember them anymore and I need to get to class in a few, so until I have accumulated enough life events to tell you about, I’ll be filling you in with poetry and asides and songs and photos of skies. Til next time!