Posts Tagged ‘old school’

4 years ago, I randomly met this guy at an East Village bar. Shortly after that initial meeting, he gave me a Christmas CD which he mixed himself and weeks after that, sent me these postcards during his travels to India. We haven’t seen nor spoken to each other in 3 years and outta the blue, he reaches out and we’re going out tomorrow! I’m gonna need Xanax for this. Wish me luck! 

Though I am one of the most transparent persons around, I tend to spew fabrications just to elicit reactions from people. Sometimes, I learn what kind of person they are by the way they respond.

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I was going through my old clutters inside a balikbayan box and found my old notebooks stashed at the bottom of my art materials and old CD’s and VHS tapes. I am such a keeper of old mementos and souvenirs. (How can you throw them away? Those are better remembrances of fond memories than putting up an album on facebook!) I reread some of my journals. I think I really am getting old. Ha! I coudn’t believe how many hundreds of thousands of thoughts I have passed on to paper, some of them were like from a different person. There were dreams written that I completely forgot that came into reality.

I love all my notebooks. Every each one of them. I knew I was writing for every phase of my life, that on every end page of each, there’s a note written “END OF CHAPTER.” It’s so funny how I would easily decide when to end. I have one notebook where I’ve written only on few pages, and then I started on a new one. That was the time I was on a transition from one relationship to another. My mind was so messed up I couldn’t put it on paper… and I think that was the time I started blogging. That time, my notebooks and livejournal started pulling tug-of-war on my thoughts. Until time came when my hand knows when to use a pen and when to use a keyboard.

My first notebook ever was a blue Cattleya red-&-blue lined notebook. I was in Grade 2 when I started writing stories. My first story was about a boy named Scott and a girl I forgot who. I don’t know why I couldn’t forget the boy’s name. Must be because I still remember how I would write Scott cursively. I have loved the curling of the S.

That was a love story and I don’t know why the very first story I ever wrote was a freakin’ love story!

Too bad I lost that notebook.

The next story I wrote was of a girl with 5 older brothers who went with her to the park, and they had a van, and then they played music, one instrument each.

Normal stories… until I met Gaiman and I began to write mythopoeic stories. I passed some of them to magazines. But they would be returned cause, of course, people wouldn’t wanna read outta-this-world fictions. But I just did it for the heck of it.

Damn, I miss my fictionist self.

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I am a very sensitive person. But not the “ang sensitib mo naman!” kind. No. I am sensitive in a way that I can sense people’s emotions hundreds of miles from me. Yes I am a super hero. Bahaha

I am not overly touchy, not too fond of besos, and I am not the type who’d miss people to a fault – although, I do have my moments. But I love hugging and kissing and holding hands and I do miss past experiences… I am not really what you’d call clique-ish, neither do I prefer to roll with a posse. People from my Elementary/HS will attest to that. Hell, they even labeled me as “autistic” which I don’t mind. But I do have a select group of friends since childhood that I can never replace with whatever people I have now in my circle. I call them my gems.

My social capacity is limited to that – of my loved ones.

So on a regular basis, I move about without a care in the world. Because that’s just it. I just do not care anymore. I am a ninja of the fleeting kind. Yes, ninja’s are fleeting. But I meant that I am not one sometimes.

If people don’t like me, I can sense it. But thing is, I don’t really care. Cause I wouldn’t want them to, anyway. What, so I can do the same with regards to them? No thanks. Vive et sine vivere. Before, I wouldn’t appreciate it if they talk behind my back. I’d say that they better say it to my face. But now, I don’t care. Really. They can talk all they want behind my back. At least I gave them something to kill time with. They can mess with me in my face or at my back… just as long as they don’t mess with my family. I have lived sufficiently long enough to even care what people think of me. Life is too short. People can do whatever they want! Cause I found out that I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT. Happily.

Like I said, if people cross my family (blood-fam and soul-fam), I can either kick them in the face, or write about them on my blog/notebook. I can do the previous for defense purpose, the latter to practice my writing. So there.

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SUPER RANDOM THOUGHT: Just realized that I could afford to lose all my important phone contacts than lose my music files. I am one heck of a closet anti-social.