So this is my life, and I want you to know that I am both happy and sad, and the bag I bought just two days ago broke down this afternoon, and they laughed at me, and I laughed at myself, and I feel like a suckish person right now because of my inability to make things okay for you, for everybody, and I like hugs but I don't think you should do it too often unless you really really mean it, and my grandfather's back in the hospital, and my dad says that he's old, and he has a weak heart, and perhaps he won't live long in this condition, and my dad said that during dinner, and I sent God a quick prayer to give my lolo the will to live a little longer, because I know that will keep him alive somehow, because I cannot cope with my thoughts, much less death, because I cannot bear to see my mom and my grandmother and my aunts and my uncles  and my cousins cry

And now that I think about it, I am not "both happy and sad." I am just sad and the fact that I am sad once again makes me even sadder.

And Chryss, I heard my mom gave you a ride. I hope it wasn't awkward.

And I owe Carissa a birthday present via the Internet and I thought of sending her a birthday message but honestly, I don't have much to say. I think I'll make her a mix.

All I know is that I'm not doing too well in school. 


All I know is that life's unfair and you're unfair and it's unfair how you can get away with it and I can't. I can't because I can't get angry at the people I love and it stifles me and suffocates me and breaks me inside. It frustrates me when I try to tell you things and you don't let me finish because your judgments get in the way. I try to tell you things and you always have something to say and I can't blame if you don't see things in my dysfunctional perspective. I don't blame you at all, but I don't think there's much room to grow here for me. I'm not happy and I don't I want you to comfort me this time if me not being happy feels like a burden to you. I'm just not happy. Maybe you should just let it be. Don't stretch yourself out. You don't deserve a freak like me. 


All I know is that my self-destructive thoughts are getting the best of me. Maybe I've caught some kind of personality disorder. I don't know. 


All I know is that I love the "you" in my thoughts. I love the "you" in reality as well but you frustrate me a lot. The people I love all frustrate me in one way or another, but unlike all of them, you understand and you listen and you try and that makes me feel nice. I like nice. 


All I know is that the talk about social media didn't help me at all. I'm not here to help a good cause or to protest the world's issues. I'm not here for people to read. I'm here for myself. I can only write for myself and if that makes me selfish, then be it. Let it be. I don't care. I try to be vague but sometimes, I guess I just don't care anymore if someone gets hurt over the things I write because I didn't write all these for them. I wrote these for myself and hurting them was never in my intentions. You should know by now that I'd rather hurt myself than hurt others. I know I probably sound like some snotty, indifferent little prick, but then again, who cares? 


All I know is that it's almost midnight and I should sleep, but I'm not going to because I have unfinished homework, because I procrastinated. I'm exceptionally good at that and maybe that's why I'm not doing so well. But I'm not happy trying to "do well" according to their standards. I'm not happy being stuck in this rut of people's expectations. I'm not happy trying to compete for that spot. I'm not happy and I don't love what I'm doing and I don't know why I'm doing this. It's my ego. My ego is at stake. I don't have much going on for me, but I don't have any stable source of motivation anymore. I used to do this for myself, but I've grown so bitter over everything that it's not enough anymore. 

You Still Hurt Me 

by William Fitzsimmons (feat. The Great Neck South High School Choir) 

And I miss you since you went out for that walk

I'm not comfortable with how the story ends
We were lovers and now we're not even friends
You were perfect and I guess I'm just a creep
But you still hurt me

Here comes the part I dread the most. That part in this poorly directed movie of a life, that is mine, when everything comes together for everyone else, but never for me. When the broken ones save their sinking hearts and mend their broken bones, while I fall off the crumbling tip of the iceberg.

I woke up today and I was angry. It was the kind of anger that hid in the silence. The peaceful kind. The kind you try to stash at the back of your mind in an attempt to forget. I was angry at the strong gut feelings of deja vu I was getting. I was angry at the past for trying to force itself into the present. Or maybe, I was hurt. It's hard to tell when you're human and you're overwhelmed. Please, though. Give now a chance. Give me a chance.

I think I am lonely. Perhaps I will never lose this loneliness. I yearn for it, for the lovely kind of lonely tinged with nostalgia. I embrace it. I embrace the thoughts that flow out of my loneliness. I embrace the sad songs that sympathize.

I do not like this kind of lonely, though. The kind of lonely that snatches you away from the world and throws you into this limbo of nothingness, and you're alone with your ghosts. I dread it.

I get attacks, sometimes. In the middle of the day. From my thoughts. They have been very loud lately, screaming like banshees, hungry for a victim. But I am the only victim they can capture. I am the only one they can break. There is no escape. 

Decipher me. I am the dead ends you meet and the maze you were mistaken to enter. Humor me. I am tired of trying to humor myself. Or give me a long, warm hug. I like hugs

I think my blog is in a coma. There might possibly be a screening for the school paper's editorial staff tomorrow. Heck. I've learned to despise journalism and I am a crappy writer. I will leave it to fate and faith. My angsty thoughts are screaming at me while angles are swimming inside my head. I have a lot to bleed, but it's 12:06 am. I still have quite a handful to study. I seem to go dumber and dumber in Math every year. What is common sense.

Sigh

I'm still bitter over summer ending so quickly and school bitch slapping me openhandedly.

how was your sunday, love?

Sunday Morning by Maroon 5

Come and rest your bones with me

Driving slow on Sunday morning

And I never want to leave

Oh, pilot, can you help me?

Bruised (Acoustic) by Jack's Mannequin

"So read your books, 

But stay out late some nights, some nights."

• Three days before school. Ya'll live happy lives because there's three freaking days left.
• Geez, I hope we get a decent English teacher this time. 
• Forget life. I am deeply infatuated with the weather. Rain, rain. 
• What exactly did I do with my life these past two months? I feel like I just woke up with a memory-lapse.
• Lately, I've been lying awake with my earphones on, straining my ears to catch the gist of the song lyrics because then, once I do, I catch myself smiling, an airy, lightheaded sensation creeping up my spine. Almost like inspiration, except I still can't get the words out. 
• I have this strong gut feeling that I'll be blogging in bullets a lot once the school year starts, and you can bet there'll be lots and lots of rants! Not that I'm proud of them, but it's my way of unwinding, so deal with it, yeah? 
• Strawberry ice cream, anyone? 
• I want to write you a poem in the midst of this weather. Rain, thunder and leaks on the roof. 
• I like Jack's Mannequin. 
• My life is uninteresting. 
• I don't have much to say anymore. 

in memory of Vincent

"Death is like  a journey to the stars; to die peacefully is like going there on foot"

-Vincent Van Gogh

Vincent (Starry Starry Night) by Don Mclean 

Starry, starry night.
Paint your palette blue and grey,
Look out on a summer's day,
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills,
Sketch the trees and the daffodils,
Catch the breeze and the winter chills,
In colors on the snowy linen land. 

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.

Perhaps they'll listen now. 

Starry, starry night.
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze,
Swirling clouds in violet haze,
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.
Colors changing hue, morning field of amber grain,
Weathered faces lined in pain,
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand. 

Now I understand what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they did not know how.
Perhaps they'll listen now. 

For they could not love you,
But still your love was true.
And when no hope was left in sight
On that starry, starry night,
You took your life, as lovers often do.
But I could have told you, Vincent,
This world was never meant for one
As beautiful as you. 

Starry, starry night.
Portraits hung in empty halls,
Frameless head on nameless walls,
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the strangers that you've met,
The ragged men in the ragged clothes,
The silver thorn of bloody rose,
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow. 

Now I think I know what you tried to say to me,
How you suffered for your sanity,
How you tried to set them free.
They would not listen, they're not listening still.
Perhaps they never will...