When Unexpected Things Happen!

Note: this blog is an experience of mine that was supposed to be nice and worthwhile but it turned so bad and silly. This blog might contain dirty words, just for you to be aware!

We planned to do the drinking stuff to forget someone to my extent, and to move away from the world of academic pressures (that was Friday so we think of no worries at all). But on our way there, things that we haven’t even expected happened.

We started to do it in the afternoon by buying a long necked bottle of light liquor from a store not so far from my friend's boarding house. Unfortunately, we were not able to bring our backpacks, essential things for the bottle to be well kept hidden from the ravenous eyes of the public. Consequently, we have to bring it by hand and ramp it out as we walk towards the place for it to be consumed, a few blocks away from the store where it was bought.

F*ckingly, we were shooed from the place because drinking there was not allowed, not unless the liquor itself was bought from there, making us walk for another 20 minutes looking for another place to savor, but we were also shooed away for the same reason. So I called one of my male friends and asked if we can do our ‘chukarap’ (we term drinking as ‘chukarap’ not to make it obvious) session at their boarding house. But we failed.

This led us to decide where our final setting will be. Upon doing so, we walked for about an hour and roamed around the city and ended our trail at the freedom park, exhausted, hungry and perspiring.

I planned to just go home at leave the bottle of liquor at the street side because we had nowhere else to go. But my companion was so eager not to end the night with frustrations, so we waited until 7 pm, thinking that the store along the boulevard opens at the same time. He played flappy bird while I went to my friends place to borrow his backpack. 

Again, we walked after almost an hour of sitting on the still hot concrete bench, leaving plastic wrappers of hamburgers behind. Fortunately, we found a crisp 20 pesos lying on the sidewalk, and a friend of ours walking on the opposite side towards Jollibee, wearing his ragged clothing and a pair of new gray Ice Cube slippers, and invited him to come with us. Now with the three of us, the ‘chukarap’ session will be nicer, I assumed.

We reached the place 10 minutes before they opened, (another frustration for me). But that doesn't affected the two of them, and they just sit by the sea wall across the road. One ordered a liter of C2, apple flavor and a pack of ice. To make the story fast forwarded, we finished the bottle immediately and ordered another 1 liter bottle of beer. I almost couldn’t take another shot because my tummy rumbles like elephant snores, but I must. After two bottles of beer, I got tipsy (a little bit drunk, you could say that) and decided to just go home ahead of them, thinking of my father’s reaction when I arrive home with that condition.

I arrived home with a churned stomach, but I still forced myself not to spoil with our wall or to our floor after my father castigated me. He yelled like an angry lion to a little puppy who just nod and nod after another sermon. Tired, he turned off the lights and left the puppy sneaking, touching the wall to support him, allowing him not to trip over, towards his bedroom.

I closed my eyes but could still feel the dark world turning around me, making illusions through my head.

At the end of everything, I cried while curling myself into a fetal position, knowing that I failed to forget her. I failed to forget the woman that I like. I failed to forget that a gay like me will fall for a woman like her. And as I lay their lying, I forget to notice that I was not sleeping in my bedroom, but in my sister's, not until I woke up early in the morning.     

    

I Don't Give A Damn!

Warning: if you were able to read that dirty word above, and are not used to read obscene and dirty words, please don't dare to read this blog! This contains some words that you might not consider reading.

I don't give a damn to those people who won't accept me of who I am or for what I am!

I know that we all came from the different walks of life. Some of us came from tycoons of intellectual abilities who are sometimes neglected by people because they possess the highest standards when it comes to the real word. Some of us came from the lowest class of individuals that if will not end up satisfied and changed with new acquaintances, will end up curling on their room, cold and socially dead because they have no one to run into. Some of us may be so flexible and possess a lot of capabilities and are not just mentally but socially aware of the recent situations others are facing, but at the end of everything, stays on the coldest room, hugging his Mickey Mouse pillow, letting the little mouse soak wet with tears of frustrations because he was not able to accomplish some task and the likes.   

But honestly, who cares about that? Who gives a damn f*cking care about that? Who gives even an ample serious and honest time for you if all other people are also busy with their own prejudiced priorities in life?

I have been existing for more than 18 pissed-full years in this frustrating world. I have gone through a lot of social casualties like setting of a bridge because one of my long lost closest friends was not able to come at my place on my birthday party but spent his time somewhere else. I have known a lot of people that shaped me most to what I am now (not the gay thing). I have been to many places that created a deep impact in my beliefs (f*ck it!) that caused hostile environment among us.

Lately, because of the demand of net surfing and the availability of such, I learned about this certain organization or something (I don't really know the correct term, but let's just call them that way) that made my ear and consciousness aroused. I'm referring to the illuminati.   

After spending a lot of time and jeopardizing some of my priorities, I got hooked up on the principles and the fundamentals of the organization, and I somewhat search on the significance of their symbols and hand signals. But f*ck! I am not one of them. I am not f*cking one of them like many people are thinking.

Then came another religion issue. To be honest, I am not a religious man. I can't even go to church regularly like any other saints or sinners do. I do not even know some of the basics of religion. But come on! Does that affect my belief in God if I listen or am aware of this shitty antichrist organizations in the world? Does that make me a f*cking illuminati if I read and search about them? I don't f*cking think so.

I respect those people who firmly believes in things like faith and the likes. But what is the use of respect if they themselves never respect you? What is the use of respect if they themselves spend a lot of time with their faith, but never spare even an ample time with people who needs their acceptance? 

Who cares by the way? What the hell cares if you know these things? How the hell can you be one of them if you are just aware that they do exist? I just can't help but feel mad about this things. One of my fellows told me to just stop, like never listen to gaga songs. Seriously? Are we practicing autocracy here? Hypocrites! You only know gaga as an evil woman, but still listen to all those artists that are all so f*cked up antichrists!    

I thought my only problem is the fact that I belong to the third sex, facing problems like you will never be accepted in their world will be spared due to the sophisticated minds of people. I never feel accepted for Juan's sake! I never feel free to do the things normal gay people do! I never feel free to be who I am! I always feel controlled by the people whom I thought deserves the respect. I always feel far from the real world, like I was living in my own fantasy, away from the prejudiced and biased lair that ever existed.

You may not accept me right now, or won't even accept me tomorrow. But for f*ck's sake! I don't give a damn!

  

I Should Have Known Myself That Much

I was just sitting on the blue monoblock chair inside the university student publication office, trying to think of something productive. But I ended up facing the flat screen desktop computer, reading some of my old feature articles, still hoping to find something worthwhile. I did not.

A little bit agitated, I tried to disturb my inner thoughts, stood up, sang my favorite gaga songs in a vibrato mode and sat down gain, not minding my co-staffer who was doing a revision of an article that she needed to comply with. I never imagined until then that I was already disturbing her. And most of all,I never imagined until then that I was doing that everytime I am in the publication office. That gave me an idea.    

      

I went to Google and encoded the term multiple personality disorder in the search box, a disorder that I wanted to write for my next features article, pressed enter and eagerly waited for the logged connection which happen almost all the time. I scrolled on the results and opened each link one by one on another tabs. One tab was about the history, others talked about the symptoms and the likes, still related to the disorder, but what made me shiver was the tab where you have to answer a set of questions, 50 at most, and identify your personality disorder. I did.

I typed my age and my gender with my damp calloused fingers. I thought about the privacy of this link, but still continued after knowing that everything will be private. Guided by my drive to at least have an intuition of what I might be suffering, I answered each question honestly, religiously even, like it was a midterm exam in one or our major subjects. I crumpled my nerves and a prickle of sweat started to fall on my left cherry cheek, although the already old, sometimes not functioning air conditioner was on.

The office slowly became busy with the staffers, some stayed inside to savor the icy cold prick that caresses their parched tan skin, and some were doing their assigned task, scratching their heads when thinking something.  

Thrilled, I continued to read and click on the box of my choice, feeling hands and eyes at the back of me. I felt a tap on my shoulder but I never dared to look at him until I finished answering the test. With cold fingers, I pressed the submit button and waited for the result. I wished that the connection will be slower than usual.

I am suffering from Histrionic personality disorder according to the 70% rate that I got. Woah! My subconscious exclaimed. I got more fuzzed than usual, scared even to know that my fingers trembled, and I immediately clicked the other tab that I have opened a while ago. I tried to hide the smirk in my physique, letting myself believe that that was nothing but a ridiculous result.

Uncontended, I typed the same term in the search box, scrolled the results found, and opened another testing site, and did the same. What have I found out? The same! I also am suffering from the same personality disorder as I scrolled on the results.

At first, I could not somehow believe that those results are true, perhaps because I believe that I am a well fitted person, out-going and free. But the truth struck me like a lightning from the sky, only that that lightning comes from within me. I told myself, after that scenario, that I maybe normal as to my personal looks, but I might also be that someone who still needs to cope with things up, and know himself more.