I suppose there is nothing much left to be said when somebody basically tells you that you’ve been kinda awful for the past 3 years. And that you’ve been pretty much nothing but selfish.

Nope. Nothing left to be said.

My realities and my fantasies mixing in an unpleasant mesh of conflicting emotions.

Not only have i been feeling terrible, ive also come face to face with the fact that i am terrible.

Terriblement. Trés.

Oh well. C’est la vie. Et il est merde.

Aah my poor college french. A oerfect reflection of my life at 27. A mess.

To be honest, this is why i run. So i dont have to hear other people tell me things about myself that i already know. Im working on it. No need to rub it in my face.

Dont mind me. This is what i like to call pms. I feel too much. And think too little.

Haley from One Tree Hill (yes, I am totally in love with that show) once said “write down the things that you can’t say” so I will.

1. I miss my dad. Terribly. I try to keep it together for the sake of my mom and my sister who cry at the littlest things that remind them of my dad. I crack jokes. I try to change the topic. I refuse to dwell on it. And I get by, somehow. One day at a time. But stone cold walls only last so long and mine are crumbling. I miss my dad and I can’t make this dull ache in my chest go away.

2. I’m still confused. I just can’t figure out what I’m feeling right now. One minute I want “creme brulee” and the next minute I just want some simple “jell-o”. And I know wanting “creme brulee” makes sense and I really want it but there’s just something gnawing at the base of my spine that keeps saying that there’s something missing in that “creme brulee” and perhaps I’ll find it in “jell-o”. And to this I say, GAH! All the cliches, the rom-coms, the books, the old diaries – yep none of them are helping at all.

3. I can’t believe it’s still in my head. It doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t matter at all. I’ve said time and time again that I’m over it. And truth be told, I am. It’s just that, every once in a while, I remember something and that sets me off once again. Why does it matter so much??? “…I still hear trumpets” said the song a friend of mine made me listen to. S is for Slowly, I always say (or at least my friend, Roncee would say).

4. I’m fat. Acceptance. Next stage: Diet.

5. I’m so excited for JAPAN! Goddammit. I know it’s still a couple of months away but I think I’ve pretty much narrowed down the places I really want to go to. Now to prioritize. And to decide whether we spend a day or 2 in Tokyo (we’ll be staying in Osaka). JAPAN! But I haven’t told my sister and my mom yet. I kinda feel guilty leaving them behind again, and spending so much money for this trip.. which leads me to the my next point.

6. Somehow, with my dad dying (him being the breadwinner) and my sister leaving her job in Canada to be with us during these difficult days – I’ve suddenly become the unwilling bread winner. And I’m too selfish for the position. As much as I don’t want to admit it, because it’s silly and it makes me to be such a terrible daughter – I feel quite uncomfortable with having to second guess all of my purchases and financial decisions versus before wherein I can do with my money pretty much anything I want. I don’t hate it. I just need to get used to it, I guess.

7. I think I may be burnt out.

I promise to post something light-hearted soon enough.

There is nothing more liberating than walking around the house nekkid, with Team Sleep’s Ever playing in the background. It makes you feel sexy, in control, free—

Not that I would know. I’m just saying, really. I have yet to find out.

I’ve always wanted to share how I am the queen of itineraries (or at least I’d like to think that I am). How I scour every blog posts, every tip and article on Lonely Planet, go through photo galleries, forums, just to maximize the few days I’ll be able to spend on a city that is not my own. I even planned on sharing the itineraries I made for some of the trips I’ve been on and some of the itineraries I’ve made for friends.

But I’m too lazy. So instead I’m just gonna talk about the travel bags I’ve been jones-sing for lately.

1. Dana’s Messenger Bag by Manhattan Portage - I used to think these bike messenger bags were butt ugly but after finding out how much stuff I can fit in them, and add to that my love affair with bags that free up both my hands, I just can’t help but want this baby in my life. I just can’t help but imagine walking towards immigration, fishing for my passport that’s somewhere inside this bag, drowning in a sea of space alongside with a map, my wallet, my notebook, a couple of pens, loose changes, my camera (owning a dslr and not wanting to carry around a camera bag is not an easy life to have), a scarf, lip balm, sun block, sun glasses, my ipod, my phone, hand cream, a book – I did say that I need a bag that can fit a lot of stuff, right?

Ok so they’re not exactly ONA bags which are the prettiest things I ever did see. But for $89 (vs the $250-300 Onas), I’m pretty sure they would suit me just fine. Besides I’m a complete klutz so if I get stains on a Dana, or a rip, or a run, I wouldn’t mind patching them up with a duct tape so I can run, elbow people in the train, and bump into whatever without caring at all vs when I’m carrying an Ona, nobody can be within 5 feet of my bag and they have to be covered in plastic in the rain. Totally defeats the purpose of being a travel bag.

2. The Northface Longhaul 30 – ever since my sister took our communal Victory Knox trolley (well not really communal since it’s really hers and I just steal it from time to time) with her to Canada, I’ve been in a constant search for the perfect travel luggage. Something that’s easy to spot from a mile away, but subtle enough to fit my dry and drab personality. Something that’s definitely ok to be thrown around by porters who don’t give a shit about how expensive your luggage is – they will not take care of it even if you put a fragile sticker on it – but not butt ugly. And most especially something that can fit at least a week’s worth of clothes (that inclues a heavy jacket, a pair of boots, a pair of sneakers, a pair of nice sandals and a pair of flats). Then I walked into Bratpack, and then I saw this beauty. Perfect for a week long trip to Japan, don’t you think? Maybe even a 2 week somewhere else. It’s just perfect. And at nearly $300 it better be!

3. The Northface Terra Youth 55 Pack - and then you have those trips that are just too short to carry a giant trolley but too long for all of my things to fit into my Northface Heckler. Or maybe you’re going into those kinds of  trips wherein you will cross multiple countries and just can’t afford to be lugging around a heavy trolley because you need both hands free or something? I don’t know. But just in case a Longhaul or just a Heckler can’t fit your need, then I’m pretty sure the Terra Youth can. At least I’m pretty sure it’s just perfect for me. And for $89, I have to repeat how perfect it is for me (and my budget).

So there you have my travel luggage wishlist. And with my 2 upcoming trips later this year, I could really use these. Maybe a miracle will happen and Northface/Bratpack will pick up on the linkbacks and reward me for the publicity (or not because I don’t really bring in any additional traffic for them). A girl can dream, can’t she? Especially about these bags. And besides, at least I’m not asking for a gwapo travel companion (like say, Ryan Gosling that perfect perfect man) instead.

My teeth need tending. Seriously. I have cavities. And unfinished root canal treatment. I need to have wisdom teeth removed too. But since my number 1, best dentist in the world is gone (aka my dad), I’m afraid to go to dentists. I’m pretty sure they won’t give me the 5 second breather every time the sound of drilling makes my skin crawl or the “wait wait wait” break every time I feel a funny tingling in my molars. Only dentist dads do that.

So seriously. Who do I allow within a 5 mile radius of my pearly whites (not so white now thanks to the absence of my dad!)? Finding a good dentist, you can trust and who will not overcharge you is like finding an awesome cardiologist who will not kill you.

And then there’s also that problem wherein I will never get to have my “Father-Daughter” dance. Ever. But that’s another blog post.

I need a new dentist.

Avoid and Evade.

I’ve been told that that’s my default reaction to any problem/issue/whathaveyou that comes my way. Perks of being passive-agressive, I guess.

When my dad died, I refused to talk about it. I deliberately chose to bury all the feelings under work, under other problems (under pressure). I went out a lot. Since my dad died I’ve been to SG, Tagaytay, and spent more time with my friends than I did with my family. Drank more than I used to. And just slept it off during the day. I couldn’t stand being home. I couldn’t stand hearing my mom cry whenever she remembers something about my dad (which was every few hours). I found other things to do, other things to focus on that doesn’t involve thinking of my dad and how he was never coming back.

Maybe this is also why I’m so bad at keeping in touch. At keeping friends close. At keeping relationships alive. Because at the first sign of trouble, I bail. Under the guise of “pa-cool”. I remember guys I dated who showed the first signs of looking the other way (at least that’s how I saw it), I made sure I “lost interest” first. Not replying to texts. Not making the first move to start a conversation. Acting like none of it mattered even though I wanted to punch the shit out of them (aka i wanted to see them and kiss them silly) Passive-aggressive at its best.

I run. I book the next flight out. I go to Ponti nearly every night. I turn of my cell phone and write cryptic one liners on social media platforms. And smile through it all. Fake, plastic, smile.

And what do I get out of all of this? Nothing. No matter how deep I bury the feelings, the problems, they come creeping back up. Slowly, one by one. And some, stronger than ever with an iron grip on an already bruised heart. (how cheesy did that line sound?)

My motto has always been, “make them make the first move, Conway!” yeah. Life lessons from a hockey move as demonstrated in a 90s disney movie. Point is, don’t get hurt. And from experience, I’ve always gotten hurt just by taking that leap, jumping the gun, heart on my forehead. Acknowledging feelings, and acting upon them have gotten me in so much trouble already – I think it’s high time I learned my lesson. And for the past few years, running has always worked. Ignore the feelings until they disappear. When they come back, worry about them later.

I guess I just don’t want to feel anything anymore. I’m tired of getting hurt, being left behind, lied to, dangled on a string (like slow spinning redemption? haha), etc, etc. And that’s how I’ve learned to put on my poker face, my fake, plastic, smile. And run, run as far away as I can from reality and sink into this cave I’ve dug for myself surrounded by alcohol, foreign language, and purple unicorns.

But I think in the process of running, I’ve also forgotten that I’m leaving people behind and they have feelings too. While they’re ready to face the problems with me, get hurt with me, I chose to abandon them just to protect myself. I’m doing to them, exactly what people have done to me which pushed me to take flight. And that’s not fair.

Moral righteousness (is there such a term) tells me to stop running, keep my feet on the ground and be a pillar of support for the people I love just like how they’ve been to me (or at least try to). But the bruises on my heart (haha!) are telling me to fuck this shit and run. I can’t stand being hurt anymore. One more pinch and I’m close to breaking (even though that’s a total exaggeration). The answer should be easy. Even I know which one I should pick. But you would be surprised to find out that this is a struggle for me. Self-preservation vs being part of a team.

No wonder I’m so lonely. Because I continuously choose to be one. But you have to admit, it’s easier being by yourself. You can’t get hurt by the people you open up yourself to, because you don’t open up yourself to anybody.

Last Saturday (March 31-April 1), I went to Tagaytay with 6 of my friends to get away from the hustle and bustle of the city. One of them owns the house we were staying at.

And the weekend couldn’t have been any more perfect. It felt like it was made to fit a John Hughes movie.

They say I’m boring when I’m happy but I want to remember that weekend because every bone in my body is saying it’ll never happen again. Most good things don’t.

I live for those little moments. The kind you only get from watching TV, reading a book – or for some people – from stepping out your front door.

Dancing outside of a coffee shop, playing loud music – and laughing laughing laughing. While the fog settles, and the breeze turns your insides frigid – there is nothing else but the loud conversation, the jumping around, and the off-pitch singing to make hearts and shoulders melt. Hanson, Phoenix, Franco, Anberlin, Garbage, Jet, Sexy Time Music – and for all of the hipster shit? Just dance it out!

Advises and fantasies are shared over beer, overlooking a dark horizon. Lights out, candles now. And then there’s the comfortable silence that comes with thinking what you want to say to the person sitting in front of you, beside you, 2 chairs away from you – to make them realize how grand they really are. “You are fantastic” is all there is to say really.

And I truly believe that friendships are sealed when all of you are stuck in one room, windows closed, quiet breathing, and soft music playing – and then somebody farts. Yet nobody says anything. You just see it in their faces.

Of course alcohol, hilarity, and vulgarity are always present. 7 people in one room, one glass, and bottles upon bottles of alcohol. Open windows, packs of cigarettes  to coax out the quotable quotes and the secrets. “I love you guys.”

The hours leading to the end is always the saddest for me. Trying to stretch the time, pocketing moments to make them last longer. One last game of cards. One last insult for the fat girl you’re all friends with but don’t really like. One last song for the long drive home.

http://grooveshark.com/s/Sextape/2LbrQm?src=5

Cruising through the city after hours
With me fusing all our powers
Here’s to all our

Take me one more time
Take me one more wave
Take me for one last ride
I’m out of my head

Tonight, Tonight
Tonight, Tonight
The sound of the waves collide
The sound of the waves collide
The sound of the waves collide
Tonight

She likes going to the park. She goes on good days and on bad days. And even on days she would describe as “wala lang”. iPod and a paperback in hand, she would plant herself underneath a rubber tree decorated with red and yellow spaceships the Makati police liked to catch on nights when the stars would twinkle the brightest and the moon would resemble a half eaten monay.

The Makati police catches them with fish nets attached to the four twenty feet long bamboo poles they would leave on the rooftop of PBCOM. The spaceships, always hovering above that building, were attracted by the bonfire the citizens of Makati would make on nights the moon looked like bread – nights they believed to be when Bathala is happiest because the moon has filled her stomach once more.

The spaceships hanging from the trees weren’t empty. The spacemen were inside, unable to escape because the oxygen would kill them. So inside their spaceships, they would sing.

While she reads. Always Murakami. While she listens to her music. Always The Beatles. Never Steinbeck. Never Jeff Buckley. Always the same. Always on Tuesdays when the Makati police are drinking beer in bars, and the spacemen are singing for their dead.

Maybe I should just stop thinking about the things that might happen. Say “FUCK IT” and just kiss you.

Either way, the world has already ended, anyway.

-kaka, circa 2004