Monday, September 29, 2008

I believe it's called an orbit

Re-entering the blogosphere hasn't been as easy as i imagined it to be. It's just that when you get used to steeping in your own acrid-smelling drama, the feelings and emotions no longer trickle down to reach you fingers.

The keyboard remains untouched.

For the past months, I have been making myself believe that it's okay not to write about things. And during that time, it kinda worked. To cope with unrequited love, one must not put meaning to any gesture, occurrence or anything. Officemates expect you to be happy. There is no room for sadness. You have no right to dampen the mood. Happiness is the new coca-cola and if you don't sip from it, you're just another moron buying house-blend tea from the cafeteria. So my recourse, I turned to my other circles. I exhausted my friends' company until their ears bled, rejecting all my first-hand rants and complaints. I knew I was starting to become a drag to be with.

Even before that, during my stint at howbaduy, I resorted to vagueness and misdirected identities to protect not myself but the people I was dragging into the mess that is my life. I am not sure how to go about this, because truthfully, I feel that I've lost my right to express. I don't know what's actually happening, and what's just taking place in my head.

One person once told me, as he was gently letting the fact that he will never love me slide in, he said that I protect myself from the world too much. It had nothing to do why he was rejecting my feelings, really. Maybe it was just a criticism he had to say. Maybe my psycho-ness and drama was making things inconvenient for him. Maybe it was destroying his image. So I have to say sorry if I am finding it hard to cope. If I am finding hard to be pleasant 24/7. If I can't be all happy thoughts all the time. If small talk wasn't my thing. If I am finding hard to be friends with him. That it's not easy to let my defenses down because really, hurt and ache and pain could be tiring, and sometimes the easier pain and ache and hurt to deal with is the one I inflict on myself. I'd rather move about and think that I was the one who decided that all things are hopeless.

It's funny how everything goes back to the fact that I like him and he doesn't like me. It's difficult to wake up every morning and to stand in front of the mirror and think that I look fine. To over look those bulges that stuck out, or to ignore the fact that i don't have a defined jaw line. It's hard to say something and not think that I said the wrong thing or that I delivered it the wrong way. You see, when an item has stayed on the shelf for too long, the guys at quality-control would surely soon swoop in to throw the item in the stock room.

This is not self-pity. This is just an unusually heavy post and I promise to try to become happy again. I have been smiling all day, especially after he told everybody that he's falling for someone now. I have been smiling and working and going though the same routine that I should be anyway. But this is my blog and I realized that I don't have to be someone else here.

The next post will be happy. And I assure you that I will find a better star to spin around at - it could be career, family life or social scene. I will try my best to be a whore. Anything that won't have to involve letting myself get close to another person anymore.

Wednesday, September 17, 2008

The official first post

I have not written anything with literary merit for more than four months.

While I am aware that said statement is grossly vulnerable to questioning (like what makes me think that I've ever written anything that has literary merit), i choose to open this blog with it because it sounds like a disclaimer. It suggests that the reader should not expect much from the entry. It says that I haven't flexed my writing muscles for a while now and therefore, expect crap.

* * *

If you think about it, life is full of disclaimers. "Slippery when wet," "Contents may not be suitable for children," "Enter at your own risk," "Whatever makes you happy." Even "Maybe" could be considered an effing disclaimer. Disclaimers foreshadow drama. At the same time, it washes the guilt off the thing that would cause the pain.

Case in point:

"I am this way to all my friends." Fucker. Now that's the bitchiest disclaimer of all the bitchiz.

* * *

When someone tells you "I am this way to all my friends," and you process it, to whom would you give more credit to, to yourself or to him? I mean provided that you supposedly care for said person possibly more than you care for yourself. I believe that the said statement could only mean one of two things:

1. "You delusional freak."

2. "I'm a whore."

And so you should drop out from the masters program so you could devote all the time trying to solve this mystery.

* * *

The second thing that you should probably know about me is that I am a copywriter. I am holding the first thing that you should know about me hostage until it's totally unnecessary for you to find out about it.

Anyway, I get paid to lie and to mislead people. I know, I know. I'm so lucky, having found the career that requires me to do something I love doing. You see, when I'm bored, I lie even to myself. And lying to a mass market to influence spending habits is definitely a step up.

* * *

When I found out how many namesakes I have in this city alone, I immediately claimed this blogsite address. I've had it for quite some time now. I could whip up a million and two reasons why I have not written anything here, but I am afraid I wouldn't know which of them would be the truth. Perhaps they all would be true. Perhaps none of them would be. Perhaps I'm thinking about it think too much.

Yeah, I think too much.

What I don't have to analyze, however, is the fact that I haven't written anything here 'til now. And maybe that's the only thing I can afford to tell anyone. Having this url means I cannot make any disclaimers for every disclaimer I will be posting here as they shall all be attached to my name.

That is, if I really am carl clemente.