When days turn to nights...
Contrary to popular belief, I am not a wood nymph. I am a sorceress. I have battled dragons, the fiercest warlocks, and army after army of Roman soldiers. And I have defeated them all. Yeah baby.
"I wish I knew how to quit you..." Brokeback Mountain should have won the statue!
I’m in Baguio. I’m home. I should be happy right? I should be bustling about, savoring the vacation, and generally just be content doing nothing. Hell no. I hate not doing anything. So right now, while the Eraserheads CD is blaring on the background, I’m busy updating this blog and creating testimonials for everyone dear to me.
I hate contemplating. Well, nice and sappy things are welcome thoughts, but the mind’s eye eventually goes to the damp and dark crevices where ugly thoughts are hidden *painful shrug*. Some people generally get surprised when I get mad. Hey, head’s up. Just because a person looks like that someone who gets trampled on in sappy telenovelas- the sweet, soft-spoken, and vulnerable one, just because she looks that way, it does not mean that she is. Hell no. Far from it. Way, way far. I do have advantages though. When I get mad, I get taken seriously. That’s because I rarely burst out. Now, maybe, I would like to remind everyone that just because I had thrown some vicious words, given some chilling glances, and given someone that 20-degrees-below-zero-oh-crap-it’s-freezing-cold-shoulder, does not mean that I have somehow turned into a vicious man-eating monster. No. I’m still me. And a little bit more that is.
My mom constantly rags on me about the way I look. How I have not combed my hair. How I wear shirts with little holes on them. How my hair is so freakin’ flat (I guess she wants hair that jumps up. Huh.) How I eat sweets A LOT. How much I read (she worries about my eyes) and why I don’t like to wear contacts (the mere thought of touching my eye is inexplicably gruesome). How young I look (she thinks I could pass for a high school student). How thin I am, despite everything I eat ( I protest though. I am not thin, I am just “a person with a small frame” *quoting Mara and Val*). What else? Oh yeah- “Why can’t you ever be like your sister, she is so concerned about her appearance” Uh, excuse me? For vanity, my sister puts milk and mashed bananas on her face. For me, milk is for drinking and bananas are… well… never liked bananas. As for putting those on my face? Never. My mind goes to thoughts of puke and slasher movies (hey, see for yourself, mash bananas, milk, and oatmeal together).
I wish that there is a beach on my backyard. Highly impossible, of course, what with me living on the highlands, but it would be perfect though, if I could sleep on the sand and let the warm water of the ocean splash my toes from time to time. *dreamy smile*
I miss my friends. Back in that crazy, rumbling, pollution-laden metropolis. *slumps down dejectedly*
"I wish I knew how to quit you..." Brokeback Mountain should have won the statue!
I’m in Baguio. I’m home. I should be happy right? I should be bustling about, savoring the vacation, and generally just be content doing nothing. Hell no. I hate not doing anything. So right now, while the Eraserheads CD is blaring on the background, I’m busy updating this blog and creating testimonials for everyone dear to me.
I hate contemplating. Well, nice and sappy things are welcome thoughts, but the mind’s eye eventually goes to the damp and dark crevices where ugly thoughts are hidden *painful shrug*. Some people generally get surprised when I get mad. Hey, head’s up. Just because a person looks like that someone who gets trampled on in sappy telenovelas- the sweet, soft-spoken, and vulnerable one, just because she looks that way, it does not mean that she is. Hell no. Far from it. Way, way far. I do have advantages though. When I get mad, I get taken seriously. That’s because I rarely burst out. Now, maybe, I would like to remind everyone that just because I had thrown some vicious words, given some chilling glances, and given someone that 20-degrees-below-zero-oh-crap-it’s-freezing-cold-shoulder, does not mean that I have somehow turned into a vicious man-eating monster. No. I’m still me. And a little bit more that is.
My mom constantly rags on me about the way I look. How I have not combed my hair. How I wear shirts with little holes on them. How my hair is so freakin’ flat (I guess she wants hair that jumps up. Huh.) How I eat sweets A LOT. How much I read (she worries about my eyes) and why I don’t like to wear contacts (the mere thought of touching my eye is inexplicably gruesome). How young I look (she thinks I could pass for a high school student). How thin I am, despite everything I eat ( I protest though. I am not thin, I am just “a person with a small frame” *quoting Mara and Val*). What else? Oh yeah- “Why can’t you ever be like your sister, she is so concerned about her appearance” Uh, excuse me? For vanity, my sister puts milk and mashed bananas on her face. For me, milk is for drinking and bananas are… well… never liked bananas. As for putting those on my face? Never. My mind goes to thoughts of puke and slasher movies (hey, see for yourself, mash bananas, milk, and oatmeal together).
I wish that there is a beach on my backyard. Highly impossible, of course, what with me living on the highlands, but it would be perfect though, if I could sleep on the sand and let the warm water of the ocean splash my toes from time to time. *dreamy smile*
I miss my friends. Back in that crazy, rumbling, pollution-laden metropolis. *slumps down dejectedly*
posted by redkryptonite at 3:26 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home