bleak and pretty

It was about 2 am when we parted ways. While I was waiting for a ride, a foreign man mistook me for a prostitute.

I totally look like a hooker.

---

I wasn't “staying in” on a Saturday night. There were sights to be seen, music and words to be heard, corners to be explored. A friend to catch up with.

A couple bottles of beer to be chugged.

8pm. I listened to Ampalaya Monologues, in Commune, some place in Poblacion, Makati. Found out about it via Reddit. Asked an old time girlfriend to come with me.

Place was packed so we ended up sitting on the floor, in a corner.

Nothing extremely amazing about the performers. What stood out for me was a piece about a single mom, explaining to her kid about his/her deadbeat dad. It resonated on a personal level.

I just, well, bit my tongue. Couldn't help but think about my boyfriend's ex.

After the event, my friend and I grabbed some food at Filling Station, where I got a pretty nice picture.

The place was amazing. It was just like the restaurant in Pulp Fiction — servers in costume, vintage posters, life-size statues. Lights and more lights and decorations. They served “5-dollar milkshakes” too.

I had my second bottle of beer and a slice of lemon meringue pie. I loved it.

I had a phone conversation with my boyfriend while finishing said pie. It was a heated conversation. I was mad at him. The alcohol in my blood didn't make the anger any less inhibited.

Let me write about it next time.

Anyway.

After Filling Station, we walked around to see where else we could go.

We were at the heart of Makati's red light district. For the first time, I saw prostitutes standing by the streets. They looked fancy, coming out from movies, pretty faces, walking taboos.

We didn't check out a club; I thought it was scary, kinda like entering the gates of hell, haha. I'm just a surfer kid, let's be reminded of that. I'm a rural Maria Clara at heart.

Though a couple days ago, I was watching Magic Mike and wishing I could see male strippers onstage.

I wasn't sure if there were clubs like that in the part of Makati we were in.

So we skipped all that, and we went to a harmless sober corner to get some Chinese food. I got a taste of ridiculously good dumplings by Tien Ma. They called it Xiao Long Bao. I made a mental note to visit the place again because they served great food, and it wasn't as pricey as other restaurants.

(As I write this I realize I'm hungry.)

It was about 2 am when we parted ways. While I was waiting for a ride, a foreign man mistook me for a prostitute (I mean, really, sir, I'm wearing an Old Navy and I don't have any makeup and my hair isn't done).

I was like, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

Was being taken for a hooker an insult or a compliment? I don't know.

I got home past 2 am. I slept a little. I tried to do laundry the next day, but I ended up sleeping the whole day. I continued my laundry at around 10 pm.

I resumed my argument with my boyfriend via another phone call. I ended up crying — I don't know, bipolar meltdown, I guess?

I needed to smoke.

I went to a store in the middle of the night to buy a couple Marlboros and instant noodles. Walking home, I felt like some truly low-level poor person. A total plebian.

The first inhale of cigarette smoke, after about three months of not having any, felt weird. But I was relieved. It was like the embrace of an old friend. Everything was gonna be alright. Fuck trying to get pregnant. I'm so exhausted and frustrated and lonely. Thanks to my kitten I'm officially not living alone, and my hell has become a little easier to endure.

I took a shower and felt 10x better.

Made some pancakes. So I could eat something. I spent the rest of the night on Reddit and playing puzzle games.

I watched porn. Played more games. Thought about my life (the shithole I'm in), what I could've done with my 1000 pesos instead of spending it all on a Saturday night.

Convinced myself that I needed to spend the money, because if I didn't, I'd probably end up cutting myself again due to loneliness.

Or maybe I just needed an excuse to distract myself, hear other people's voice, go to some place where I'd be mistaken for a prostitute. Fill up my spirit with something vile and dangerous and not so funny, because that's better than being empty.

No regrets because the food was good. The beer was sweet.

In the morning, after all the fuss and the strange ups and downs of the weekend, I apologized to my boyfriend. I was being a bitch, for the countless-th time. I told him how much I missed him, how much I just wanted to feel his embrace.

That was all I ever needed.

But still, it was not so bad — I saw something new and tasted something new for the weekend. And in some way, I could still hear the voices of the spoken word performers, a reminder that I'm not the only tortured soul in this world.

We all feel. It's a gift and a curse.

It was about 2 am when we decided to part ways. While I was waiting for a ride, a guy mistook me for a prostitute.

A souvenir from last Saturday night:

I wasn't “staying in” on a Saturday night. There were sights to be seen, music and words to be heard, and sights to be looked at. A friend to be seen.

A couple bottles of beer to be chugged.

8pm. I listened to Ampalaya Monologues, in Commune, some place in Poblacion, Makati. Found out about it via Reddit. Asked an old time girlfriend to come with me.

Place was packed so we ended up sitting on the floor, in a corner.

Nothing extremely amazing about the performers. What stood out for me was a piece about a single mom, explaining to her kid about his/her deadbeat dad. It resonated on a personal level.

I just, well, bit my tongue. Couldn't help but think about my boyfriend's ex.

After the event, my friend and I grabbed some food at Filling Station, where I got a pretty nice picture.

The place was amazing. It was just like the restaurant in Pulp Fiction — servers in costume, vintage posters, life-size statues. Lights and more lights and decorations. They served “5-dollar milkshakes” too.

I had my second bottle of beer and a slice of lemon meringue pie. I loved it.

I had a phone conversation with my boyfriend while finishing said pie. It was a heated conversation. I was mad at him. The alcohol in my blood didn't make the anger any less inhibited.

Let me write about it next time.

Anyway.

After Filling Station, we walked around to see where else we could go.

We were at the heart of Makati's red light district. For the first time, I saw prostitutes standing by the streets. They looked fancy, coming out from movies, pretty faces, walking taboos.

We didn't check out a club; I thought it was scary, kinda like entering the gates of hell, haha. I'm just a surfer kid, let's be reminded of that. I'm a rural Maria Clara at heart.

Though a couple days ago, I was watching Magic Mike and wishing I could see male strippers onstage.

I wasn't sure if there were clubs like that in the part of Makati we were in.

So we skipped all that, and we went to a harmless sober corner to get some Chinese food. I got a taste of ridiculously good dumplings by Tien Ma. They called it Xiao Long Bao. I made a mental note to visit the place again because they served great food, and it wasn't as pricey as other restaurants.

(As I write this I realize I'm hungry.)

It was about 2 am when we decided to part ways. While I was waiting for a ride, a black guy mistook me for a prostitute (I mean, really, sir, I'm wearing an Old Navy and I don't have any makeup and my hair isn't done).

I was like, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

Was being taken for a hooker an insult or a compliment? I don't know.

I got home past 2 am. I slept a little. I tried to do laundry the next day, but I ended up sleeping the whole day. I continued my laundry at around 10 pm.

I resumed my argument with my boyfriend via another phone call. I ended up crying — I don't know, bipolar meltdown, I guess?

I needed to smoke.

I went to a store in the middle of the night to buy a couple Marlboros and instant noodles. Walking home, I felt like some truly low-level poor person. A total plebian.

The first inhale of cigarette smoke, after about three months of not having any, felt weird. But I was relieved. It was like the embrace of an old friend. Everything was gonna be alright. Fuck trying to get pregnant. I'm so exhausted and frustrated and lonely. Thanks to my kitten I'm officially not living alone, and my hell has become a little easier to endure.

I took a shower and felt 10x better.

Made some pancakes. So I could eat something. I spent the rest of the night on Reddit and playing puzzle games.

I watched porn. Played more games. Thought about my life (the shithole I'm in), what I could've done with my 1000 pesos instead of spending it all on a Saturday night.

Convinced myself that I needed to spend the money, because if I didn't, I'd probably end up cutting myself again due to loneliness.

Or maybe I just needed an excuse to distract myself, hear other people's voice, go to some place where I'd be mistaken for a prostitute. Fill up my spirit with something vile and dangerous and not so funny, because that's better than being empty.

No regrets because the food was good. The beer was sweet.

In the morning, after all the fuss and the strange ups and downs of the weekend, I apologized to my boyfriend. I was being a bitch, for the countless-th time. I told him how much I missed him, how much I just wanted to feel his embrace.

That was all I ever needed.

But still, it was not so bad — I saw something new and tasted something new for the weekend. And in some way, I could still hear the voices of the spoken word performers, a reminder that I'm not the only tortured soul in this world.

We all feel. It's a gift and a curse.

Love isn't sacred. Relationships are work. Bastards exist. Marriage is an institution. People divorce. Innocent children get caught in the middle. Good relationships are just like well-paying jobs that you can commit to till retirement.

Raised in a Christian household, as a child, I didn't have any concept of atheism. People with no religion, really? People had to have a religion, whether it's Catholicism, Protestantism, Islam, Hindu, or anything else, right?

I eventually learned about it. I was fourteen when I stumbled upon “atheist quotes” on the internet. It helped me define what I truly believed in, and what I wanted to practice (or not practice) as an adult.

Now imagine the same awakening, only this time — very, very late at 24 — I'm getting my eyes opened to the realities of divorce, marriage, blended families, and step-families.

I grew up watching Disney. My dad was an evangelical minister; I was always at his weddings. I always thought I'd get married – in high school I'd stay up late at night figuring out what kind of wedding gown I'd be wearing someday. I didn't even have a boyfriend back then.

I thought you were supposed to fall in love and get married and live happily ever after, like Cinderella.

Then my parents' marriage started to break down. Dad became abusive, once punching me in the face, breaking plates and yelling all over the house. My mom packed bags and was ready to leave many times, but never brought herself to do so. I remember asking her to just leave dad, but she never found the guts to do so.

It was a traumatic time in my life, those early teen years. But I was too young to really learn anything.

I met my first boyfriend on Facebook. Yes, cringey. I know. I dumped him after several weeks of dating.

Then I fell in “love” again. And again. And again. At some point I ended cohabiting with a man, but I never thought of him as my husband. Towards the end of our relationship he became a mere roommate who shared rent, bills, and half of my bed.

I did ask him, one rainy night, while we were sitting at Seattle's Best, “Do you even plan to marry me someday?”

Yes, I wanted marriage. No, he didn't give me good news.

Looking back, I should've broken up with him right then and there, rather than let my sour feelings grow like cancer, until I had become so sick and emaciated and not even sure of who I was anymore.

And I still haven't learned shit.

I kept holding on to the grand vision of marriage and romance and living happily ever after. Being completely owned by a person and completely owning another. Sacred commitment. Exclusivity. Forever. Unconditional love. It might take many trials and a long list of exes, but I'll get there.

And just like the child who thought that nobody could exist without a religion, I failed to see practical reality – romance and relationships are the least absolute things on earth. Love isn't sacred. Relationships are work. Bastards exist. Marriage is an institution. People divorce. Innocent children get caught in the middle. Good relationships are just like well-paying jobs that you can commit to till retirement.

It's been all around me, all this time: my parents' dysfunctional marriage, a cousin who has two kids with different fathers, colleagues who were single parents, dating a cheating husband. And yet it stared to all sink in when I dated a guy who has kids from previous relationships.

It just shattered everything that I thought about relationships. I gave up the dream that I had as a kid. I had to grow a heart.

Being in a relationship isn't just about creating a nest and building your own world and life together. Sometimes it's about opening your heart and making yourself a part of something else.

It's not about going for your ideals, but going for it regardless of imperfection. Regardless of the struggle. No matter how certain the possibility of failure is.

I thought you meet a prince, fall in love, and live happily ever after.

But it's more like: meet a regular person, accept their flaws, renounce your comforts, and try to see the beauty in each day.

It's not about searching for what's perfect and making it yours, forever.

It's when you find something imperfect and see for how long you could hold on.

We all stumble and fall, on behalf of those who have been divorced, remarried, hating on their step-family, unable to start a family, or trapped in a loveless marriage. It's okay. Life isn't a fairy tale.

Not everyone has to have a fairy tale, just like not everyone has to have a narrative of salvation and spiritual awakening.

At some point, you just figure out what you believe in, and don't believe in.

I'm doing a great job, not posting genuine, heartfelt thoughts on Facebook. It's all in here. All I have on Facebook are a few pretty pictures for stalkers to see. All the “nice surface” hey-i'm-better-than-you bull crap.

That's what social media is supposed to be – a collection of things that represent an idealized, shallow self-image (i.e., bastardized version of reality) derivative of a collective ideal.

my kitten is the most angelic furry death machine.

she doesn't attack and bite unless she's looking for play time, or waking me up because i've been sleeping the entire day.

most of the time, she curls up and sleeps beside me.

she hates it when i'm using my phone.

she goes crazy when i food prep. she eats what i eat. yes, she eats pancakes.

my kitten would wake up in the middle of the night when i have to get up and pee. she watches the bathroom door for me.

my boyfriend does that, too.

my kitten licks me, grooms me, kisses me, and sometimes smothers me.

i like it when she plays with her toy and shows me her belly.

i call her “kitty” and she always responds with a “meow”.

we're best buddies.

i'm coming up to something. i wanna get wild. i wanna drink and have fun and feel alive.

staying at home for the weekend feels like a goddamn chore.

last year, i went to the beach like every weekend.

(i have flight tickets for my surf trip, a month from now. but it's so hard to wait.)

tomorrow i'm meeting with a long time friend over late lunch. i'm probably gonna hear about her whine about her successful life and personal failures.

i also asked a former flame out. it's not gonna be anything romantic or what, we're just going to meet as people who've known each other for almost a decade.

i'll always admire him.

and next week – next week! – i'm looking to go to a spoken word / poetry event and maybe hang with some hippie crowd. i'll probably be alone.

i asked my brother to go drinking with me tomorrow.

i might go to a show with my cousin later.

maybe i'm getting hypomanic.

1. Money
2. Reddit

Like srsly, I have 2 monitor screens and I'm doing work on one, Reddit on the other.

Yes, we're not supposed to browse non work-related sites.

There's a whole lot of beauty and meaning in life, waiting to be uncovered.

I got my period like, two days ago.

If I wasn't with my mom, siblings, and not coming home to an adorable kitten, I would probably be crying, torturing myself, asking the heavens, “Why couldn't I get pregnant when we've been trying so hard for the past four months?”

Now I'm pretty certain that I'd been taking birth control for nothing.

But, hey, four months isn't a big deal. Some couples try for years before successfully starting a family. And they say you're supposed to try for like, a whole year, before you can be diagnosed with infertility.

One year, okay, easy-peasy — except my partner and I live 500 miles apart.

I don't even feel him anymore.

It sucks when your love language is physical touch and quality time. How do you find room for expression in a long-distance relationship? We don't even manage to talk on the phone for stretches of hours anymore. Yesterday, we barely talked. I spent half the day at a dental clinic with my mom, took a few hours nap, then came home to my apartment only to go back to work.

I called but he wasn't picking up, twice.

I was like, “What are you up to? Are you guys drinking again?”

No response. Nada. Not even a “goodnight” on Messenger.

I kind of just assumed that he fell asleep on me, or maybe he's mad. Maybe they're really drinking or doing some “guy things”. Or doesn't want to talk. Or has forsaken me.

And I'll be like:

Fuck you, you fucking fuck. I'm not going to give you a call tomorrow or send you any message, any update, or anything. You don't fucking deserve my attention! How dare you not answer my calls or leave a message! You didn't even fucking say goodnight — where the hell is your time for me and our relationship!

Sigh. There's many ways to fuck up a relationship, yet there's only one way to pull it through – patience.

And by being patient, you have to give someone the benefit of the doubt and believe that their interest is for your own good — even if what's happening shows otherwise and you're confused as hell.

So I'm just hoping that he did fall asleep perhaps waiting for my call, that he wasn't wasted or anything, that he wasn't doing something that would make my blood boil.

After all, the reason he was where he was last night was me – I had asked him to transport my surf board to the spot we'll be surfing in July.

(okay, 180-degree turn here)

My toes are gonna be hitting the sand again, and I'll be doing what I'm living for.

I should be excited. My upcoming surf trip means that I have to hit the gym asap, eat better, practice swimming, and make sure that I can still paddle out and catch a wave.

All in all, get my shit together. Be in top shape. Focus on skincare.

I shouldn't be sulking because of calls that weren't answered and messages that weren't sent. There's a whole lot of beauty and meaning in life, waiting to be uncovered. I have the cuddliest kitten in the world. The nicest apartment I've lived in for years. And I can eat a cheesecake or sushi or baked salmon pretty much whenever I want.

And it doesn't matter whether I'm having mild cramps because of my period, a little sleep deprived, or still waiting for all my big plans to happen.

I'm awesome because I have this big spirit that never fails in the midst of tragedy.