July 3, 2002

THERE WAS a reason I wasn’t able to check my mail last night – unseen forces probably didn’t want me crying myself to sleep. Because I’m sure that’s what I would have done if I read last night’s mail. Because that’s what I did when I read it now.

Didn’t help, of course, that my officemates were around me when the feeling hit. Had to brush away my tears fast so no one would notice.

Last week, I e-mailed someone even if I knew there was a huge chance the e-mail would just bounce back. But he got it. And he replied.

He was someone I loved for over a year. But someone I couldn’t be with because of various reasons. My being a stupid bitch one of them.

I had waved him off as dead, in the attempt to get peace of mind. I was successful for three years but now I know he’s alive.

I don’t know why I cried. But he’s always affected me in a strange way. One call and I'd be deliriously happy. He had me constantly listening to Sarah Maclachlan’s Angel and crying myself to sleep for months. He had me hallucinating about running into him in malls. And to this day, when my cousins would mention his name, I get painful pangs in my heart.

One e-mail and I'm all broken. I don't think he has any idea how much power he's had over me.

Now he’s alive.

Now I’m crying again.

***

More weird searches from weird net junkies. Perhaps I should change this blog's name to Nocturnal Pervert?

problems+behind+Rockwell+Makati

angel+fighting

Lori+Erwin+nude

erotic+stories+of+horny+students+with+teachers

wives+wanting+to+fuck+someone+else



Ugh. Stay away, sick-os.

***

“HOW DOES it feel to be nominated left and right?” Ru asked me this afternoon.

He was talking about our paper nominating 1) my article in the paper’s magazine and 2) one of my section’s issues for [what-shall-remain-unnamed-for-the-time-being-lest-we-be-jinxed].

Even if we don’t get to the finals, even if we don’t get to crash the awards night all glammed up, even if we don’t get to make stuttering fools of ourselves while giving the obligatory speech, I’m a happy happy nut.

Being nominated is enough honor.

Yay! *cartwheels*

***

THANKS for the new book, Ru. Will attack it soon.

***

YESTERDAY, the professor was asking for different forms of sex. Since it was a Theology class, no one wanted to speak up, lest they gave away just how much they knew about sex.

“Marital” and “extra-marital” were the first two answers.

All around me, people were cracking jokes, quietly so self-righteous professor will not hear. “Umm, cumming in her mouth?” One guy said with an earnest look on his face. “Umm, sucking it?” A girl interjected.

Finally, professor high-and-mighty swooped in on one guy at the back. “What’s another form of sex?” She blared.

The guy, evidently flustered, said, “Bestiality?”

The whole class roared with laughter.

The answer turned out to be “incest”.

***

SOMEONE texted me this afternoon. “How does one reach deep within one’s self and say, ‘this is important enough and I want to share it with everyone’ and become a writer?”

You are born with that feeling.

***

Lille posted about last week’s existential agony.

She got the nail right on the head. The changes and not knowing if you could ever go back to being what you were before.

Thanks, Lille. It’s always good to know you’re not alone.

Come to think of it, I did grow up in the media. I was seventeen when I was initiated into this industry – that was four years ago. I was nicer then, even a bit shy, definitely more innocent and not at all jaded. I did not have an envy-inducing bank account and neither did my parents. I did not have a last name I could wave around or connections in high places. I had nothing but my passion and my desire to write. After being enslaved by a drugged out bitch, after meeting all kinds of people – from the type you want to equip with halos and wings to those you want to chop up and feed to hungry horses, after countless deadlines, after carrying more responsibilities than I thought I could ever handle, after seemingly endless screaming matches with my mother who doesn’t understand that my work requires me to travel and go out and actually stop being a toddler, after having my ideals crushed by people who are here for the money, after having PR people bug me even at home/on Sundays/at night, after choosing my work over family trips to the US, after juggling school work and various jobs, after not knowing if a person likes you because of your position or because of who you really are, I have become a completely different person. More sure of myself, not at all shy, bitchy at times, intimidating to some, a workaholic to others, no longer innocent, jaded and at times weary. One thing has remained constant – I am still head over heels in love with this job. With this crazy world. With my equally crazy life.