Long term goal: Megalomaniac Billionaire. But I can also settle for billions + world peace.

Short term goal: I fucking wanna be a Suicide Girl.





Actually, since two years ago pa.

One time lang, mag aargue lang ako sa point mo.



Wag mo ako bigyan ng taning. dahil hindi ko naiintindihan ang punto mo for doing that. You’re not proving a point to yourself, and neither are you stopping yourself from getting hurt by expecting everyone would leave or would inevitably get sick of you. It won’t help if in the future, you would tell yourself, “I knew it.” It doesn’t work that way. You don’t keep waiting for things to fail and for you to be proven right.

You simply just let go of those fears and just….be.



Alam ko. Pretentious. Pero sometimes, it works.

+++++

I’m glad to find that some things do not change.

I found three notebooks containing most of my makeshift planner/diary which I have dutifully (amazingly) filled every day for about two years or so. Some portions of the notebooks have calendar-type notes on them, some have doodles, a lot have writings, diaries, blogs, whatnots. There’s even this message from Aia De Leon of Imago written on a cig foil which I taped to one of the pages.

I found them because I’ve been meaning to re-start another diary-cum-planner. Something to keep things in better perspective. I was leafing through one of the notebooks which I wrapped with black Japanese paper and scribbled poems all over it in yellow ink. Back then it looked cheesy; now that it’s old it looked rather interesting. If only I could take it out without tearing it and re-use it for the new planner. Anyway, a LOT of the entries had too much angst. It was way back in 2004, and truthfully, if it wasn’t caffeine, it was a lot of repressed anger powering me then. I thought Angry was the New Cool. Apparently I was misled. *laughs*

I saw this entry below:

“Pero ano nga ba ang gusto ko?

Gust ko na gigimik sa gabi kasama ang mga taong walang pretentions: sa mundong ok lang kahit pangit ka, o wala kang pera. Mga taong mas madali sa kanila mag express ng sarili. Na gagabihin ako dahil mas comforting ang gabi. Na ako ang nakayakap dahil gusto kong maramdaman nila ang nais kong iparamdam. Na gusto kong mangharang, isandal sa dingding at siilin ng halik na maalab ang taong gusto ko upang maramdaman nila na hindi lang sila ang nangungulila. Na manghahalik ako dahil gusto ko kahit maraming tao dahil ayokong mawala ang pakiramdam na iyon bagkus ay i seize ang moment dahil tulad ng ulam, mas masarap siya pag mainit. Na gusto kong mawalan ng pakialam sa mundo dahil hindi naman nila ako kilala’t maiintindihan.”


- 08 November 2004.

I was writing about being repressed because my mother told me to shape up as I have been coming home late; and that it doesn’t look good for a girl to be showy of emotions.

2004. I was just angrier then. But still, in 2010, I would find that still, there’s still an overwhelming desire to express: for you to understand. That maybe kisses would explain what I can’t. Because such things may be vague, but they’re unusually tangible and fierce.

My site got hacked. Would you believe it? I woke up to Andrea’s sms, got a jolt, put it back together, and took a screenshot before putting it back to its original state. Buti na lang forwarding lang yung front page ko.

Labo. Wala man lang purpose yung hacking. And dig this–they used Frontpage 5.0 for the coding of the page they replaced my front page with. Meron pa ba nun?! Oh, the humiliation! XD

Useless talaga. lol. Pero, thanks Andrea. ^_^ Buti na lang naging curious ka. ^_^

Something that’s meant to be a part of this compilation of other short write-ups na new beginnings kuno. Di pa tapos. Forgive the grammar. :p

-.-

They say the best inspirations come from those which were either very hungry, or very much in desperation. Johann is currently neither, but maybe being absolutely bored can do the trick.

She has been sitting in the gallery since 3:30pm. The secretary said your father is currently in a call right now, would you be willing to wait for a few minutes? And she had to force a nod, but she knew it meant much much longer than that. Her father happens to be a rather influential person in the media business; a downright art snob, honestly. And she has lived long enough to know that by heart, and probably till her last artistic breath, and she knew that this hell she has been experiencing in the university is nothing compared to how she’s gonna be treated in the real world the moment people would hear her name. It’s a curse, it’s a sweet, sweet curse that she’d rather exploit than to burden herself with. It would come soon, but why not use the privilege for now?

She tapped her foot impatiently. It didn’t help, of course, but she felt she placed a very small sympathetic smile on the face of her father’s secretary who happened to just enter the gallery again for the third time today.

He won’t make it?

He can, but for a few more minutes, maybe.

Hours.

He’s very hopeful.

Yeah, I’m sure he is.

They’re rather huge clients, Hanna, your father’s been anticipating this ever since.

Only her father’s secretary out of all the other younger people she knew called her Hanna. That was her father’s pet name to her, something which most of her father’s peers have adopted. She didn’t mind. But she wasn’t sure if she still didn’t mind waiting further.

Two hours, Sally. He could have just rescheduled.

I’m sorry. He was pretty optimistic a while ago.

She nodded. There was nothing else she could do.

I’ll go ahead.

I’m sorry.

Don’t be. See you around.

You take care.

She picked up her bag which has slid to the floors from the couch and walked out of the gallery. It was just about closing time, with barely some people left. This was her most favorite time of the gallery when she was younger. She would go around, feel like she owned all the artworks in display. Soon, she said, I’ll have my paintings up in there. Her father was exhilarated to find out she got in to a well known arts academy when she was in high school, and moved on to conquering the top university for the arts. She was her daddy’s little girl. She’s taking after him.

But that’s hardly how she would put it. Johann inherited her father’s stubbornness and wanted to set out on her own, but she never could. Every time there would come an endorsement to some curators for an exhibit, they would simply look at her surname, and she was in. And she didn’t like this. How could she, if they are expecting her father’s art in her hands? She was who she was, but painfully, she still wasn’t.

She took a left turn in the hallway towards a certain painting that she has always liked. She made it a point to visit it everytime, but she only does so when there were barely people around. It was one of her father’s older works, and in fact, the only work which her father has painted Johann. He never sold the painting, and she feels that it was simply meant for her. She went in to the empty square exhibit and with anticipation she looked for the painting, but found a different sight instead.

Standing in front of the painting was a young lady. Couldn’t have been twenty, she thought. She was simply standing there, thoughtfully gazing at the portrait in front of her. Almost in deep reverence.

Johann walked quietly, almost crept behind her. She still wasn’t budging. It intrigued her, how intense somehow she eyed the painting, but for a moment, Johann felt both annoyed and defensive, like the girl was extracting a secret she wasn’t supposed to know about. This was her painting. She liked people admiring, but not extracting.

She coughed a little, as a warning to her presence, but she still didn’t budge, almost completely oblivious. Johann took the time to observe, yet still a little apprehensive. She’s rather small, a brown haired petite girl with clean nails and fresh lip gloss; with only a plain white cotton shirt and a brown ridged skirt. Both her skimmers are standing closely together, and her hand in front of her, holding a tote bag. She seemed like a little school girl if not for her fierce eyes. Johann stood beside her gangly, noting her clothes in comparison–she simply wore an old white shirt, with plaid pants and white dirty sneakers. Her hair was bunched up with a rubber she saw in her studio, and her own brown sling bag dragged by her right hand. They seemed like the obvious contrast; she, the simple, preppy and clean; her, the dirty eye sore.

She was thinking if she would feign another cough, but the lady cut her off.

It’s very…striking, isn’t it?

Johann for a moment thought the girl was talking to the portrait, as her eyes never left the canvass. She answered uneasily, what do you mean?

The colors. The way it was curved, it was blended.

Johann looked at the painting. She knew it by heart, but there could be some undertones she didn’t notice before.

They’re mostly earth colors, really.

Yes, but those aren’t the only ways to gauge intensity.

Johann’s eyebrows creased. She stared at the girl for a long time. Suddenly, the latter perked up, and started running away from the painting.

Where are you going? Johann called after her.

Out.

Yeah, I think it’s evident, but where are you going?

She screamed a little this time: Out!

Johann was trapped between following or simply ignoring. She caved into her instincts.

She followed her.

Wait! Johann called, but the girl didn’t stop. She reached for her arm and they both stopped in the entrance doors of the art gallery.

What was that about? Johann asked in between breaths.

I had to run.

Why?

I had to get away from something too intense.

Yeah? What, the painting?

Yes.

Why?

Because I can’t focus on two intense subjects at the same time.
Johann looked at her, confused. She gazed back at her with olive eyes. She whispered.

Now I can focus on you.

And Johann smiled.

Oooh! This just came in! Cuuuute! ^_^

Oh that is just SO cute.

(I hope David and Goliath is okay with me posting this *crosses fingers*)