the day in photos.
from left to right: being a viking, walking home, coffee break.
by some tragedy, i wasn’t able to snap any shots of yodit.
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finished.
i’m finally done that horrid essay. writing that accursed paper was single handedly the worst thing i’ve ever experienced in my life. and now that i’m done, i’m too tired to sleep. or maybe it’s not so much being tired as wanting to see how long i can last(?)
in any case, i guess there’s nothing left for me to do but rant; and rant i will, tirelessly, mercilessly, unrelenting in the most extreme.
silly little girl. i saw the photo. i saw the way you kissed him, so fervently, so vehemently. you looked so in love, and although your eyes were closed, i could tell by the composition of your entire face; you are giving everything you are to him. but you are just a silly girl. can’t you see how he wants to pull away? i don’t even think his eyes are fully closed; he can’t even give you that. here you are, all passion, all love, and there he is, reluctant, revolted. there is so much in that kiss, that kiss you so earnestly give him, that kiss you want him so badly to return. wake up. open your eyes. his eyes are open, as you give that kiss.
moving on. are you really happy settling? you know you could do so much better. why is our generation so obsessed with relationships? what is this need to love and be loved in return? why can’t you just wait for someone worthy of your attentions? i can think of nothing worse than settling; it’s a false kind of happiness. you’re not in love. you’re in love with the idea of being in love. if he were to vanish tomorrow, how devastated would you be? how quickly would you get over it? maybe i’m being presumptuous, but something in your manner, in your dismissive way, tells me i’m not. it’s the sense that you do not love him; you merely tolerate him. he was merely there, and so were you. right place, right time, but not the right person, i don’t think. let me know when he’s out of the picture. let me know if you’re sad at all.
and you; you’re a disgrace. stop this pathetic hunt. i’m tired of you walking out, barely clothed, hoping for someone to approach you, tell you he loves you. who are you hoping to meet at a nightclub? someone who wants to be with you? someone who will last? you won’t find that there. they just want your body. they want you for the most fleeting of moments. they’ll want anyone who wants it bad enough. and you want it bad enough. and that is the saddest thing.
why are you all so tragic? why can’t you just be happy with who you are? in what sorry place did you find this need to be validated by others? i’d call you pathetic, but i love you all. so please, stop this foolishness. for me.
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i can feel a huge zit about to appear on my nose. i hate this feeling. but i know touching it will just agitate it and then it’ll appear all big and angry and lay unforgivable siege to my nose.
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q and a
alright, so i’m missing good ol’ canada day fireworks to work on a stupid essay that i was supposed to write before summer started.
as such, i’m going to distract myself out of protest and answer some frequently asked questions.
where do you live? toronto, ontario, canada.
what is your ethnic background? filipino.
how old are you? 17.
why are you such a slut? incorrect.
why are you so awesome? you flatter me ;]
now you know me better, maybe.
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dialogue #11
hewhoshallremainanonymous:
i want to wake up next to you in the morning, wrap my arms around your waist and whisper sweet nothings in your ear, like in the movies.
me:
what movies do you watch again? when i wake up in the morning, i’m bitchy. if you make physical contact with me, i turn volatile. and if you started whispering shit in my ear while i tried to sleep, i’d probably throw a hissy fit.
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dialogue #10
083D:
are camille’s parents angry at me?
she says we’re going to have a very important chat tomorrowLALALA:
no
she’s just like
her parents thought we were doing drugs
….
083D:
oh
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here we go.
i’ve read too much virginia woolf over the course of the last two days.
here is the beginning of my essay.
“Reading the many works of Virginia Woolf, one begins to question the importance and impact of society. To what extent does it shape us, mold us, effect who we are? How do we react against it? What role does it play in our lives? Asking these questions, one must use the royal ‘we’ for none of us are exempt from Woolf’s observations, her perennial messages which are pertinent even in this present day. For what is living made of but our interactions with those around us; with our family and friends and the strangers who fleetingly waltz in and out of our lives.”
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tea party.
i had this dream last night where i was hosting a tea party and everything was going well and i was graceful and accommodating (yet not entirely sincere), drifting from corner to corner of the house, striking up six or seven words with each of my guests as i passed them.
and then these people started falling over dead and i realized a pack of killers was on the loose somewhere.
i found one and killed him and ordered my guests to crawl into my secret underground exit so we could escape in the sewers.
at this point, the police were onto me for the man i had killed, so i had these crazy killers and the law on my tail.then my brother got lost in the sewer and i found myself alone with my sister and a stranger in this disgusting little room, rust covered and dripping with god knows what.
i started making out with the stranger, and it was all very strange.
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HAIRCUT.
(let us now take this time to enjoy my face)
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i am supposed to be drowning myself in virginia woolf.
i have extended my study break by an hour and a half.
somebody please shoot me.
(not really, as that would be bad)
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to:
so i think we’re on good terms again. this is good. i think i’ve been waiting for this for a while now, though you may not have seen it at all. i mean, indifference was my only weapon and i don’t even think i used it properly. my silence didn’t bother you at all, did it? but we talked for a bit (even if you’ve probably already forgotten our entire conversation) and the fact that it seemed to be the way it was is enough to satisfy me.
i think i’ve stopped expecting things from you.
maybe we’re past all the awkwardness and confusion and we can just continue to co-exist. you won’t destroy me, i won’t destroy you and we’ll go on, free floating, living our lives; sometimes i’ll be a part of yours and sometimes you’ll be a part of mine, except not most of the time, because overexposure is toxic and stifling.
we can be happy like that, right?
it’s weird how we don’t bring up the things that ruined us. i guess we’re alright with moving forward. every mistake i made, i learned from, and then i remembered you owed me nothing. we don’t really have to talk about it; let’s have a whole new fresh and promising start.
but how many clean slates have we had?
and how many more chances am i willing to give you?
how many more chances are you willing to give me?“destroy what destroys you.”
let’s both pray it doesn’t come to that again.
(kidding. you don’t give a shit at all, do you?)
