What am I to you?

Today’s the day I’m going back to you.

I find myself feeling busier than fuck. Interesting how hugely little turns in events can affect a life. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not doing enough. At times, I feel like I’m doing too much. Which is the greater evil? It depends on my mood swing—as everything else pretty much does.

It always starts with a girl. I will go on and on and on again, it will always be because of a girl. I live in no man’s island, and sorry to the cock blockers out there, no amount of girth can make me bother. Or wait, I’d probably puke a little. Then again, puke is vagina. Fuck, everything is vagina!

My coin purse is a vagina.

When I fold my arm, there’s a vagina.

Chicken ala king, ala vagina.

I want to go to Vigan, or vagina.

So today’s the day I tell you a secret—as if everything I put on this anonymous blog isn’t secret enough. Or pretty much, how anonymous is this anyway? The answer is anonymous until someone finds out.

It’s 6:01PM and I don’t have business to do overtime work so I’ll be fucking up anytime now. I still have an eye infection to treat, oh yeah, today’s the first day I came to work without my blonde hair. No one noticed the change, as much as I thought they would, because I am wearing my super cool fuchsia Ray-bans the whole day, yes even as I type right now, because my left eye is swollen. Mind you, our office is very lenient when it comes to outfits—thank god—I feel like dieting til I lose half of what makes me me because I want to wear naked clothes because it’s so cold in our office. It’s so cold. It’s so vagina!

So the secret is, I don’t like hanging questions. If you’ve ever met a person who talks a lot, and asks a lot, and bothers to ask even the dumbest questions about the most atrocious details of social conduct, expect that that person is either of these two things: 1) not going to let a question rest without an answer, or is 2) me!

Few days ago, I went Amsterdam on E. Told her I missed her. Meant it.

Few days ago, I learned to sing a song for E, because I thought I wanted to ask. Didn’t need to, but felt the worse evil, the want, so I asked. She answered, pretty much. Ain’t it pretty. Vaginal answers!
What the fuck is this thing saying? What the fuck does this thing want? What the FACT, she’s delicious.

I like delicious. I like delicious feelings and moments of retro succulence that I can only go hyper with my feral fertile mind. And I guess, just in case she won’t rest until I answer. She’s vagina. Clearly, how wrong is it to see people as an orifice! But then again, were you even listening? What is a vagina to me?

YUM!

Tumbler

Back in college, I broke up with someone because she demeaned Starbucks. Well, not directly, but rather, Starbucks' price marks. She hated the fact that I go to Starbucks at least twice a day (it was planner season); thus suffer the bad effects of too much caffeine like a palpitating heart, difficulty in sleeping (to no sleep at all), and frequent heart burns.

All those reasons fuelled just how much she hated the part where a visit at Starbucks is P200, at minimum. In hindsight, I didn’t realize that she was coming from that place where she was a college student but working as the breadwinner of her family. I was too fucked over the idea that she (jokingly?) required sex at least three times a day—which I said I couldn’t.

So I broke up with her because, judge me all you want, but to me it was and still is as sound as the break of dawn… I said, Starbucks meant more to me. I said something to the flavour of, I’ve been with Starbucks for years and it has comforted me through countless number of bad days—though at an expense—but still, there for me; while she, was a newcomer. That considering, Starbucks is a more valued friendship-relationship that if I were going to choose, since she was completely making me quit the coffee habit, if I were going to choose, I’d choose Starbucks because it is a more loyal friend. (Later on, the girl did end up ‘cheating’ with someone else, thus the soundness of me choosing Starbucks over her, brava.)

I don’t remember how she took it, badly I would assume. I don’t even know who else knew about it, it was, I’d love to think, a private breakup; but if people knew about it, I know judgments were passed. Despite so, I still think choosing Starbucks was the good choice (if it isn’t the right one), because years over and Starbucks is still there—a home for P200 at minimum.

Today, I am mad over my head because the beautiful tea tumbler that I bought for myself as a birthday gift to me (yes, I gift myself with mundane things), was lost last night. That tumbler was the most beautiful thing because it had star-like cut holes as an orifice and it was a clear glass with multitudes of greens as leaves for design. It was perfect because during my last birthday, I took steps to be Wiccan and more in-touch with my earthy zone. That was my tea tumbler, because I drink from tea leaves (sans tea bags) and the star-cut lid was the perfect filter. It was perfect because I bought that to console myself of the bomb that exploded from the core of our house. It was just a tumbler for the outside world, but motherfuck, it was my sanity set to plastic jug. (I found a photo online)

And it got lost. It got lost last night. Judge me all you want, but sometimes we rest ourselves to the most mundane objects (because people can’t be trusted really), so objects develop souls, and these souls attach themselves too tightly on our hands that when we lose grip, the hands just feel so weightless. I feel hollowed.

Dancing

I write these words to you,

 

river of foaming dreams.

 

Your mouth is a poison of bitter taste,

 

your blood the chilling song I hear.

 

In this room of jazz

 

crippled vintage trees,

 

I am a patient rock

 

dancing on your skin.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Magnetic Fields - Dancing in Your Eyes