Ang Kaibigan Ko

Pangalan niya'y Abigail. Siya'y hindi kaliitan. Isa siya sa mga pinagpalad na magkaroon ng malaking hinaharap. Kung minsan may kolorete pa yang linalagay sa mukha niya. Pero, maganda rin namang tingnan kaya ok lang. Hay, andami na naming pinagsamahan. Pero, pag-usapan na lang natin yan sa ibang pagkakataon.

Si Abigail. Nagkakilala kmi nung college. Sa interview yun para matanggap sa isang unibersidad sa Iloilo. Parang siyang asong gala na palakad-lakad sa isang building. Pinapaypayan niya ang sarili niya gamit ang kanyang mga kamay. Kasabay nito ang paghinga ng malalim bawat segundo. Natural, lumapit ako. Sabi ko, "Are you alright?". "I'm ok, I'm just a little bit nervous..." Yung gaga! Akala niya sa akin tanga. Obvious naman na super duper kinakabahan siya e. Denial pa. Hinayaan ko na lang gumala sa lobby. Finally, tinawag na kami. Sabay kaming ininterbyu. Pagkatapos umiyak-iyak ng iyaking kasabay namin, lumabas na kami. Si Abigail? Ayon, nakahinga rin nang maluwag. Doon kami nagsimulang maging magkaibigan.

Sa unang tingin, sira ulo. Pagtumingin siya sayo, parang mahiyain na mabait. Pagtumagal-tagal na ang usapan niyo, malalaman mong mabait na mahiyaing sira-ulong klase ng tao si Abi.

Marami yang drama. May make-up para sa mata, clinique na blush-on at lip gloss (kung minsan) na bitbit. Mahilig rin siya sa musika, mula kay Mandy Moore tungo sa Fergie hanggang sa System of A Down. Gustung-gusto niya mag-shopping, manigarilyo at uminom ng kape sa Bo's. Kung saan-saang lupalop ng mundo na yan nakarating. Sabi niya sa akin, mag-aaral raw siya ng medisina. Sabi niya rin virgin siya. Virgin-virginan! Ganyan yan talaga siya pag sober siya. Minsan, ayaw niyang umuwi kasi mag-aaway raw sila ng nanay niya. Siyempre, kung ikaw ba naman ang nanay at ang unica hija mo ay umuwi na amoy yosi at beer. Pero, excited siya kung pupunta sila ng SM kasi bonding time raw nila 'yon. Sabi niya "money can't buy happiness, money isn't everything". Pero siya yung bumili ng singkweta mil na celphone, na hindi naman user-friendly, dahil walang ganyang celphone sa bansa natin. Pilipino raw siya, proud daw siya, pero hindi naman matatas magsalita ng wikang Pilipino.

Sabi e, komplikadong tao. Pero mapagtitiisan naman. Joke lang, kahit komplikado siya naging matalik na magkaibigan. Hmmm, siguro, dahil pareho kaming komplikado. Wala akong pakialam. Salamat nga pala para sa lahat. Basta ang alam ko walang katulad si Abigail. Ang isinulat kong ito, para sa sira-ulong si Abigail at sa aming pinagsamahan. Abi, baka mabasa mo to, may utang ka na salamat at sangkatutak ng compliment sa akin. Sayang ang oras ko sa pagtype nito.

Out on the Town

I was pretty drunk last night. Then again, I drink every night. What's a few bottles more for my liver to detoxify? Sigh. There are things we do to keep ourselves believing that there is a point in living. It was a different night last night. I took ten drugs, of the same family, of the same size, of the same value. The cup of McDonald's coffee quenched the bland taste.

5 minutes onward, I felt no reaction to the drug.
10 minutes later, I was just sipping coffee and listening to Kanye West.
20 minutes later, I was laughing at my friend. He seemingly enjoyed talking about the new love of his life. If he's lucky, he can have 50 years in jail for statutory rape.
After 30 minutes, I felt so light. It was like walking while carrying the world on your shoulder, but seemed like I only had my iPod with headphones blaring. The jokes were lame but I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. It was a cold night, but it felt warm inside. Indeed, it was pleasurable.

I was strolling in an alley, the feeling made my thoughts float to somewhere else. I walked my friends to their lair. It was too early to go home. It was sleepy yet, I was still in the mood for a party. I thought about getting some more of those tiny thing from whence the happy feeling came. I can do that some other time.

Soon, I found myself in a club with men, twentys, thirtys, fortys, and fiftys. Their eyes were locked on the creature that was before us. I couldn't help but wonder what they were thinking. I fixed my eyes on other things. There was a man sitting in a table behind my chair. His arms were wrapped around a girl. He was a bachelor, I think. Like all the men in the room, his eyes were fixed on the stage. His hands were not at ease, though. All ten of his digits could not keep crawling back and forth the exposed thighs of the girl sitting next to him. She was young, pearl skin, with clothing that barely covered her. The room was dark and cool air surround the room, apart from the smoke in my cigarette. At least the man's hand could provide warmth to her body.

I lit another cigarette and blew the smoke towards my right. It was only then that I noticed a man sitting three chairs from me. He pulled out a lighter from his pocket and lit a cigarette. His eyes steadily watching the femme on the stage. Her breasts were exposed, a shawl covered her femininity. She was moving with the beat, ever so slowly. She looked at her reflection in the mirrors that hung on the walls of the room. She stared at her face for some time and glanced at the people below. Someone threw a piece of paper on the stage. She picked it up, allowing a glance of her uncovered bottom. She removed the sheath of cloth covering her bottom. She was grinding to the tune. Her beautiful hair danced to rhythm of her body. Then the music stopped.

I had a bottle of beer and six cigarette butts filled the ashtray. A waiter came up to us with the bill and we left hurriedly. It had been a long night. I was sober and the effect of tiredness came over me. I was sleepy. On our way home, I thought about the girls who serviced the men there. How much do they earn? What do you gain other than cold cash? Why choose such a profession?Things could have been better for those girls. Then again, not everyone who works there could be taken home. And, there are reasons why they do what they do. I admire them for the courage to dance in a stage with a bunch of drunk men as their audience. Even more, to live in a society who will not accept their profession.

That was a my night out on the town and now, the bed is calling my name.

September 2

Depression and Suppression

It's one o'clock in the morning... this is just me being a big old bat again... I started my life, 21 years ago, I felt, talked, laughed, ran, and jumped. There was so much to do and yet so little time. Hmm... Haven't you noticed that things you do today are the same things you do every waking day? I can never imagine myself doing this for the next fifty years. CAN YOU?? There were times when I thought the grass was greener and when the morning breeze was a little cooler. A calm feeling would embrace my body every chance I get to think of that thought. I was so obsessed about having to notice the little things. I thought it could pave the way for contentment to settle in. I woke up thinking that things would be a bit different. But, they were the same. Was it too much to hope for? I believed that it was possible. Both body and soul were tired. I woke up one morning and then that girl was gone. I lost faith.

Now, it takes me 6000 muscles to move my facial nerve. You see, triggering that nerve could cause a sensation and abruptly place a smile on your face. They say life starts at 30 and then again more people are more prone to die at that age. (The surgeon general would say that there is a greater risk for developing diseases, if you're 30 years old or older. I would suggest you have your dinner with your significant others before the Grim Reaper comes your way. You have lived long enough. Cheers to you.) At 21, I find myself with absolutely no reason to live or laugh. Yes, depression is what doctors would like to call it. That's what I'm going through right now, presumably. Only cigarettes get me to sleep and inspire me to do the rest of my daily activities. Sadly enough, those little nicotine things would be the reason I would die early, with the million who pass on everyday. I don't know where those cheerleaders, footballers, clowns and call center agents get the courage to live everyday with such vibrancy and sprite. I wish I could be one of those energetic, free-spirited, determined persons. Where can you buy perseverance? How do you produce a laugh? What compels you to eat? What is it that drives you?

I found the answers to that a few seconds ago. What drives you to wake up? You are alive, and living partners that state. You have to enjoy that gift that is bestowed upon you. I can comprehend what I'm writing here. I do not understand it, nor have the patience to do so. I do not know how to laugh. I do not care for work or friends or family. I care about what I write here; this is the only way that I could express myself. I am unhappy about the manner in which I project my feelings, bear with me, please.

Apathetic, anhedonic, anergic and anorexic. The 4As, yes, that's me. My brain could not think of anything but those words. An-happy is another word I could add. I recall snapshots of me walking beneath trees, panting and laughing for no logical reason. I have friends and foes - all of them would tell you how absurdly happy I get. I miss that feeling. Suppression is when you say you have problems but refuse to talk about it. Certainly, I acknowledge the sadness and anger upsurge however; I could not bring myself to tell anyone about it. I do not know the cause/s; I do know that the effects are deadly. I will be wasting thier time, just giving them a run around. I just don't see the point in talking about it - with anyone. But here I am, broadcasting it through the World Wide Web. Heee!!

This state is driving me crazy. I have a mom who loathes me for living a smoking and drinking life. She has been telling me to be a nurse, and does not want me to work. She has been giving me red, green and yellow light signals and it has increased the intensity of the confusion I am in. My sister started to create strange marks in her forearm using a cutter. She is into "tattooing", sleeping, Good Charlotte, and a boy who mumbles. My best friend, the most crucial person in my highs and downs, is not in good terms with me. A fight, which I unknowingly started and this fight will end when I finally muster up the courage to apologize. I suppose that's ten years from now. My guy friend, who WAS also the love of my life, is so gay he'll tell you what not to wear and how many cans of tuna you should consume in a day so you'd effectively bulk up. My job is too boring that I would have to push myself so I can do the work it requires. The eight hour shift at work seems like a century and the pressure to hit the company goal could cause a heart attack. The coffee shop I hang out at, every afternoon, announced that they would be closing indefinitely. Drinking beer doesn't give the same kick it used to. The worst part is - friends would say they're there for you and when you turn to them, they would not know what to do. That's exactly why I find talking as a maladaptive behavior. The farthest you'll get is to a bar with a beer in your hand and you'll have an old, worn-out, ineffective advice as souvenir.

Replacing you're family is impossible. I could bomb my office, but there's no guarantee that it would kill all the people there. I can think of ways to kill myself. But I didn't give life to me. A guy up in the clouds did, I would like to ask Him why He created me? I don't have a spot to fill here. I'm here, I'm miserable, angry, a bit mad, and sighing has become as natural as blinking. I can feel my heart beat and my eyes are wide open. And when I look in the mirror, I see a person, alive but not living.