Madness

There are times when we set things to keep our ground solid and sturdy. And when these things we set in place quake, it is a bit more difficult to manage. I feel mad. I have grown to see the bribe behind my mom's gifts, so she hates me when I point it out; but I can't help it because that's what she does. She gives me something for something. I guess, in a tragic way of looking at things, I learned That from her. She taught me how people manipulate, etc.

I guess, in a good way, she taught me how to be street smart. But there are forms of smart that I wish I didn't have. Things I wish to unlearn, such as the sharp eye to see a hungry emotion. I wish I didn't know the difference between a need and desire. Only then can I sink into a false reality where the world is sincere, because That I know, I am.

I don't like it when people use and abuse. Most people feel grandly self-entitled and it nauseates me to imagine that the statistics are against what I want. That the likeliness to find someone you can trust and sincerely find dear is low. Sometimes I wish we're not just tiny dots, but I'll settle with wishing that at least we're sparks.

There are days when I feel flailing like an artist on speed. Well, I've never tried speed (or most drugs), but judging by the name, I assume speed makes the background fade into a transgression. This week was a drug-filled week. I was sick beginning Monday evening and until last night. I had zero chances of surviving without paracetamol and to make it worse, I had so much responsibility to attend to (considering the many shoes I strive to fit in). Today, I feel sick to my stomach because my reality is keeping me stagnated to the very dailiness which I hope to change. My parents have placed on my shoulder the responsibility to tend for the family, not directly financially, but I'd like to claim bragging rights that it is so. I don't bring home the bacon but I fucking feed the pigs--and for what? For them to nag on my face that I don't wash the dishes so I can't say if a dishwashing liquid is good or not?

I'm sorry I don't wash their dishes. I eat on my own, since the whole implosion last September. I always feel alone at home, a feeling which I wish to remedy with books. "Nauubos pera mo sa libro ha," my mom would complain. Frankly, I wish I found the guts to reply, I'd rather that than my peace of mind.

At home, I sometimes sleep on the couch because that's where I find myself forgetting my self-inflicted dreariness. I don't watch TV for there really isn't anything good to watch. I wish I could watch DVDs but I can't seem to navigate through our home theater set up for the life of me, so I find silence in books. Books about angels falling, about ghosts haunting, about books missing and people sexxxing (sorry, I just had to). At nights I sleep on the couch, I usually wake up with a hurting back because clearly, a couch is not ideal. But quite frankly, a hurting back is preferred than a heavy mind. Peace is something valuable to me and if it would require a bit (sometimes a lot) of discomfort for my distorted spine, I would still commit.

Sometimes, I sleep on the floor. We have this little carpet that feels like yarn and looks like grass. I like sitting on that carpet probably because I am a cat. I am doomed over things as such.

I'm also doomed to chase, I later realized.

Today, I feel a hurried need to just let this all out while it's raw. Sometimes, people belittle other people because they feel self-entitled to greatness or authority. Sometimes, people set standards a fish can't ever comply to. Sometimes, the world just spins madly in my mind. This post is desert storm.

I miss you.