Flying in a Paper Plane..
I was once virtually talkative, but I strongly desire to escape and scrap the shits- so here it goes. Just sit back, and relax- if you want to read my brain (if there's any), hover and read on.
Ciao. <3
Hi. It’s been ages. I remember putting you at the pedestal six years ago, my scary delusions of meeting you again and finding magic that will turn us to something that I want badly for us to be.
It’s been six years ago but I still feel awed whenever something new about you comes to my knowledge.
It’s not love, all of that fancy, drooling emotions was swept away a long time ago. The way I feel about you now is far crazier, darker even.
I envy your life.
The way you’re free to travel the world. Get nickels and a living from the thing that is your passion. The words you say, the way they flow like a shining, beautiful river. How they soothe the senses.
I guess I stress the fact that I am foolish by writing this. Or maybe I am just sad.
Then I remember what I look like…
Wow. I feel with this.
(via leilockheart)
I live in this perfect, little world inside my head. I glide by, smoothly and nothing disturbs the idealism of the glass-like flawlessness of my imagination. Inside it, I don’t worry about my mother getting old, and my siblings drifting apart because they are growing, and are obliged to create a life of their own. There are no electricity nor water bills to pay. I could just snap a finger and all of the littlest kinks will iron out themselves. Not a problem will ever stay even for a minute.
Yeah, well.
Being surrounded with machines everyday makes me feel this lousy. I have never felt so alone like this, with same faces I see every lousy day, with same old lousy routine.
I am restless. Maybe it’s time to move on.
To more challenging waves of life, to other boundaries I have never ventured before.
It was not a slip, the first message I sent you after the split up. It’s more like saying that I am almost over the anger stage. Or so I think I am.
I’m beginning to see the life that awaits me. A handful of freedom, lots of space and copious amount of time for myself.
And the thrill of writing coming back to me again.
These things, and other wonderful possibilities, just keep me going.
It’s nice to let it out. To let people, especially your own family, know what’s inside your mind, or what you’ve been going through these past few days even once in a while. You’ll get one of the most unexpected conversations that will continuously amaze you. Why don’t you ever talk with you own flesh and blood in that kind of way?
Yeah, just so you know, they told me that I am too bossy. Too hard to please. Too intimidating. Too uncaring. Too cold. Too harsh that I might end up battered if I ever make a mistake to get involved with a brutal monkey.
And they told me that I am free to make my choices, that they will support me whatever they will be. However out-of-earth and alien-like they are. They will still watch my back.
Oh how I love them for those jumbled mixtures of words.
Uh-oh. I love her for the mushy ingestion of light, teenage musings into my taunt senses. And say, for making me momentarily believe into the beauty of optimism.
I want violet hair, and I am serious.
I don’t know, but I am craving to dye my locks with this color for months. Only if my mother will forgive me if I ever find the courage to finally do so. I have my qualms too, you know. What if after I actually dyed my hair, I end up looking like a drug addict deprived of nicotine or heroine. Or if my company, without me knowing it, forbids blatant hair colors that makes someone the center of attention of people with nothing to do but gossip.
Hay. I want violet hair. I am so sick of my red hair.
(via leilockheart)
Because seriously, I’ve had enough of you today to last me a lifetime.
Darn. It’s okay that I am doing the dirty work. But why do you have to be so mean.
Sun’s good today, at least. And the greens of rice fields along the road. They make up for the bureaucracy of life, at least.
Seriously? She did not expect that people would misunderstood this as RACISM wherein fact she wholeheartedly claimed this as ARTISTIC EXPRESSION. SERIOUSLY?!!!
And oh, she has a disclaimer. Ladies in the background were only body-painted. They aren’t really black. As if that matters.
FHM. Wrong move, buddy. How seriously degrading.
WTF of the Day. Seriously, FHM Philippines? Seriously?
“Using” darker skinned models as props for Bela Padilla already borders on wrong but saying that she’s “Stepping Out of the Shadows?”
It’s no wonder skin whitening is still big business here.
Edited to add: “Scriptina, seriously?” (Aquino, 2012)
Edited again to add: Here’s a link to an online petition calling on FHM Philippines to apologize for and recall the March 2012 issue.
I still can’t fathom how anyone can see this cover and say, “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with it at all!”
And where’s FHM Philippines’ official statement regarding the cover? Tick tock tick tock.
I am fighting against the urge to give into the temptation to distress you again. Maybe you’re doing fine now, as I am counting the days as they go by.
The demands of my work, plus the presence of some annoying carbon-lives occupy a hefty part of my braincells now, and they are a welcome distraction. At least they give me a lesser chance to do something stupid like text you again, or let you know that I am not fine.
This is a test of how strong I really am. If I am sturdy as I claim to be.
