My head hurts like crazy. I haven’t written in two days and I still can’t. huhu.
Golf Course of Action
Myra, Ji, and I trespassed on someone’s land last Tuesday, for all the good it did to us. It was the Golf Course. To be honest, none of us felt we were doing something wrong. LOL. Irrelevant, but I just feel the need to explain. There was a guard who saw us entering. He must have been staying there for hours that he did not give a shit who went in and who he had to ask membership shit from. I felt sorry for him honestly but I’m grateful he didn’t give a fuck, so why should we?
Photo Caption: Happiness is jumping off a cliff and surviving. HURR
If ever this happens, it will be the most horrid thing I will ever deal with.
By the way, this whole thing took place when typhoon Glenda was having fun in the Philippines because it is more fun in the Philippines. And I am not funny.
If the photograph isn’t enough proof, let me say it. We were crazy about the place. Literally crazy Myra and Ji had to do Kung Fu poses on the bridge. No, scratch that. We were insane.
Ji with his I-just-said-something-really-funny face and Myra with her polite face. HAHA
This one is rather funny. Like, how about a cheesy photograph. Just one photograph just to get over it. HAHAHAHA /birolang.
The main reason why we were in the golf course was I wanted to take photographs with the grass on the background. Sad to say, someone (not Myra nor JI) tweaked my camera settings and it made it harder to properly edit the photos.
After that, we did what seemed to have become a routine: Breakfast at Sunset.
Another part of our Tuesday routine is doing things that are not part of the itinerary. This time, we checked out a photo exhibit nearby. I forgot who the photographer was but the photos were elegant yet fun. I appreciated it.
Tuesdays are always insanely productive. Thank godness Baguio never runs out of great places to offer.
It’s Thursday. And on Thursday nights, we congregate and have what we like to call Victims Anonymous circle time. It’s kind of a private joke we have which you will understand later on. So tonight you are invited to one of our sessions.
Moderator: You guys know the drill. Who wants to go first?
Drug addict looks stoned, anxiety is shaking in her seat, multiple personality looks pained like her head is about to explode.
Bipolar: Hi, I’m bipolar.
Everyone else: Hi, bipolar.
Bipolar: I am a victim of suicide. Everyday was a struggle to be alive. There were months that felt endlessly gray. And then suddenly, blindingly white, but only for a moment then it would turn to black and blacker until it became pitch black. I hated those. I would rather remain in the gray. It’s hard to gauge what I would feel about anything because sometimes the smallest things could trigger me into falling into that blackhole and sometimes there was no trigger at all. There would be no warning. Like I’d just be walking on the streets and suddenly I fall into this manhole. And then I’d be stuck there. And sometimes it would feel like I would never be able to get out of there. And sometimes that wouldn’t bother me anymore. I’d rather die in that hole than keep on living a life that gave me no rest. It’s very tiring to live like you’re on a tightrope trying to balance yourself. Sometimes you just want to let yourself fall, you know? I just got so tired.
Bipolar takes a deep breath, panting, as if she ran a marathon. Then goes quiet.
Drug addict: Hi, I’m drug addict.
Everyone else: Hi, drug addict.
Drug addict: I am a victim of suicide. My first hit of drugs was supposed to be harmless fun. I was a kid who didn’t know any better. An adolescent who was going through the typical teen angst of not belonging, the situation at home with the family was far from peaceful with my father being an alcoholic and my mother being terminally depressed and my older brother being an addict himself. But when I took that first hit, everything sort of fell away. I got addicted to that feeling of being far, floating above everything, in touch with my deepest thoughts and could make sense of them in a way I could never have reached during my normal state. It was like I could literally untangle the knots of my thoughts and express them in a way I’ve never been able to do. And I felt like nothing could hurt me because I was too far from everything. It became my escape. The drugs brought me to this special place that I could only reach when I took it. And being without it, became more painful and painful, the smallest grazes and scrapes were magnified and I didn’t like the agony of feeling anything. I had to get my fix or else my body would convulse and shake and my mind, oh fuck my mind felt like it was going to explode. Until they deprived me of it. The thing is that wouldn’t have happened if someone just intervened before it got out of hand. But no one noticed what was happening until it was too late. I was too far gone before anyone started paying attention. Suddenly everyone cared about my family situation. And if my brother hadn’t been driven crazy by the drugs and killed himself and my dad and mom, no one would have even noticed that I was going in the same direction. And they also didn’t notice that the gun my brother used was missing…
He trails off. And someone else picks up where he left off.
Eating disorder: Hi, I’m eating disorder.
Everyone else: Hi, eating disorder.
Eating disorder: I am I victim of suicide. I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror without cringing and wanting to tear my flesh or my eyes out. I was so disgusted with my body. I would look at skinny girls and look at my fat thighs and it would be enough to punish myself and starve myself because I had to look like that. I had to look like that or else people would fucking laugh at me and point and fucking say I was fat and I couldn’t fucking look at fries without wanting to vomit the same way that I would feel when I catch my reflection in the mirror and see those chubby cheeks and fat arms and a stomach of a whale and I just felt like a pig for eating anything so I stopped eating until I couldn’t not stop eating because it didn’t feel like I was making the slightest bit of difference to my weight even if the scales say I’m down to 80 lbs I would still look in the mirror and see a pregnant lady on her last term with a swollen belly and face and thighs and toes and fingers and I just… I just couldn’t live with myself anymore.., I was too disgusted…
She still looks sickened. And then alcoholic looks like he just realizes where he is and looks around and notices everyone is looking at him because it’s noticeable how he jerked awake. So he figures he should probably go for it.
Alcohlic: Hi, I’m alcoholic.
Everyone else: Hi, alchoholic.
Alcoholic: I am a victim of suicide. But it’s hard for me to remember much of anything from my life… I drank my way to my deathbed… I was never sober… Ever since my family left me and I lost my job, I had nothing else to live for. So I drank and drank to fill the emptiness inside me… It was easier to forget my worthless life when the alcohol started blurring all my thoughts and sensations. I don’t even remember why my family left me or why I lost my job… I knew I was doing everything I could. But I was painfully slow and dumb but I tried my best. I really did. My whole life all I heard were the words “useless, stupid, loser, pathetic”. So one day I woke up and I was alone… And no one cared about me. And the alcohol made me numb and dulled my senses and that was enough for me until… it wasn’t anymore. I didn’t want to keep on living that way because it couldn’t be called living anyway…
Drug addict is crying because he knows alcoholic’s pain. And then multiple personality looks like she’s going to explode so she shouts, more than speaks, her introduction.
Multiple personality: Hi, we’re multiple personality!
Everyone else: Hi, multiple personality.
Multiple personality: Shhh, quiet. It’s our turn. Okay. I’m a victim of suicide. Wait what? Yes, yes we are. We drank that shitload of pills and drowned ourselves. We did? Didn’t we just jump off the building? No, that’s what you wanted to do but you were outnumbered. We all agreed it would be too messy. Sssh, we have to focus. Everyone is listening. Please shut the fuck up first. Okay. So. Um, well I was born this way. Of course everyone with a mental illness was born that way. Whatever. Uhm, just yeah, it’s just hard to live one life for so many people. There are too many contradictions. It’s like every step, every word, every move has to be argued about and I can’t keep up with the world turning around me while listening to all these voices. And it’s just literally insane. How could anyone expect me to live like a normal human being when I’m actually a lot of human beings inside my head? How many are we? 4? No, 5. Oh, no 6. Fuck it, the numbers aren’t important. Just it gets too loud and sometimes I just want to shrink and disappear because I can’t cope. I can’t cope with life. We. just. Fucking. Can’t. Okay.
Others look utterly confused, some sort of sad but no one says anything. Finally, encouraged by the outburst of multiple personality. Rape also sort of shouts.
Rape victim: Hi, I’m rape victim!
Everyone else: Hi, rape victim.
Rape victim: I am a victim of suicide. But you see that’s not entirely true. Because I wouldn’t have killed myself if that motherfuckingcuntdemonasshole didn’t fucking rape me! Just because I was wearing a halter top doesn’t mean I wanted his filthy paws all over my back. Just because I said yes to drinks that doesn’t fucking mean I said yes to sex. I didn’t want his fucking filthy dick inside me. I didn’t want any part of him touching my skin. Why would people blame the rape on me? I was a victim. Just because I drank too much and got drunk that makes it my fault? Did that give him the right to fuck me without my consent? There is something terribly fucked up with society’s take on rape that they have the nerve to blame it on the female. As if the male can’t think and tell himself that no this is wrong she doesn’t want this so I should just walk away and leave her in peace. As if the male can’t control his urges and be a decent human being and keep his cock zipped. Why does the blame have to be on us? Why can’t we wear something revealing just because it makes us feel beautiful and not be asking for sex? Why why why? Why do people take advantage? It’s sick. It’s really really really sick. And I didn’t want to live in a sick world where I was being punished for something I didn’t do.
She seethes in anger. And everyone gives her time to calm herself down. Then everyone is quiet while anxiety fidgets in her chair as if she were sitting on bugs.
Anxiety: Um, um, uh, Hi. I’m Anxiety.
Everyone elsel: Hi, anxiety.
Anxiety: I’m a victim—of—uh—uhm—suicide. And I can’t. Sorry. Let me t-ttt-try again laaa-ate-eer…
Gay straightens up.
Gay: Hi, I’m gay.
Everyone else: Hi, gay.
Gay: I’m a victim of suicide. It didn’t feel good being bullied for what I was. And what was I? I was a normal boy who just happened to like boys. I never understood why my preference had to make me less of a human being. After all I peed, I slept, I ate just like everybody else. Why does my preference have to define me? Why did I have to be treated and looked at differently? It was so hard to be insulted by everyone else. But the hardest thing? Was being insulted by my own family. The pain of not being loved by my own family was insurmountable. Isn’t their love supposed to be unconditional? But why, when it comes to me, did there have to be conditions? Why couldn’t they accept me as their son, as their brother? My whole life, everyone around me made me feel unwelcome, like an alien in my own planet. So what else was left for me to do? Nothing. I could never make them accept me. I could never make them understand me. I could never make them love me.
He is in tears and sobbing as silently as he can. Finally anxiety timidly raises her hand.
Anxiety: Hi, I-I-I’m an-an-anxie-ty.
Everyone else: Hi, anxiety.
Anxiety: *deep breathing* Okay, I’m re-re-aaa-ddy. *deep breath* As I was saying earlier, I am a victim of suicide. I don’t know but my heart always felt weak and fragile and that anything could make it stop beating. I was afraid of everything. People mostly. So I couldn’t—I couldn’t really go out in society that much. But of course people won’t accept that as a valid reason so they force you to go to school and as if that didn’t almost kill me I was also being forced to work but my poor heart couldn’t take the abuse anymore because being at school weak—-weak—ened it so—-so much. *deep breaths* I mean I couldn’t go a day without having a panic attack worrying if my teachers would call on me and I humiliate myself in front of the whole class or worrying that the bullies might see me and target me for their next prank. And and and just just just my heart was tired you see? It couldn’t take anymore fear. I just couldn’t take…anything…anymore… I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t do anything for myself. I just wanted to hide in my room everyday for the rest of my life. There was nothing more I could do…
She slumps back in her seat and fans herself and looks as if she got the wind knocked out of her. There was only one left. And she knows this.
Depressed: Hi, I’m depressed.
Everyone else: Hi, depressed.
Depressed: I am a victim of suicide. People usually mistake sadness for depression. They don’t know what depression means. Sadness is just a feeling that fades through time. Depression never leaves. For those of us who are depressed, it’s like living under this perpetual rain cloud in the middle of a storm or a hurricane and our vision is cloudy and dark and we can’t see the end of it. We do everything we can to survive, board the windows and doors, take cover under the roof, cower in a corner, cry and cry and cry without being heard because it’s like everyone is outside of that catastrophe and you’re the only one trapped in it and they can’t hear you screaming and they don’t know you’re drowning and you just want to break through the deadly winds but you’re powerless against it and when the calamity is over you’re alone in a desolate place where everything is lifeless and it’s too late to save you because you too are slowly dying without sustenance because every living thing has been killed in the disaster and everything becomes meaningless and pointless why even bother to fight the hunger or the thirst when there’s nothing left to live for. Death was inevitable.
She stares off into space, and keeps silent. Everyone was silent for a while. Until they sort of wake up from wherever they drifted off to.
All: So I killed myself.
Drug addict: Because there was no other way to escape.
Rape victim: Because I couldn’t stand the recurring nightmares I was having awake or asleep which left me feeling like ants were crawling on my skin and eating me alive.
Gay: Because I got tired of hearing insults thrown my way.
Bipolar: Because I couldn’t fight my highs and lows anymore.
Depressed: Because everything was meaningless and pointless.
Anxiety: Because my heart couldn’t take the palpitations being caused by every little thing.
Eating Disorder: Because I couldn’t eat another bite to save my life.
Multiple personality: Because all the voices in my head shouted at the same time that there was no more hope for me.
Alcoholic: Because my thirst couldn’t be quenched anymore.
All: Because no one accepted us enough to give us the help we needed before it was too late.
Bipolar: No one understands that being mentally ill is just as bad as cancer.
Gay: We didn’t choose this okay? Why would anyone choose this kind of life? Thinking that anyone would choose this is the most foolish idea that one could ever conceive.
Multiple personality: Society looks down on us and ridicules us for our sickness rather than helping us.
Depressed: There is no cure for our sickness, but maybe, not all of us had to die by suicide.
Rape victim: Maybe some of us could have died comfortably on our own beds.
Anxiety: If only people would understand that we can’t function normally in society. If only people took the time to at least try to understand what we were going through.
Bipolar: Science and all those doctors all try to dissect us but to what cause?
Drug addict: No one will ever understand us.
Gay: No one will ever accept us for what we are. And no one will ever love us enough to set us free.
Anxiety: Free to just exist the way we can, which is to say not be demanded to work in an office or forced to live up to what society dictates as living.
Eating disorder: Instead of supporting us, you all had to bully us and say harsh words and discriminate us.
Alcoholic: Who wouldn’t crack from all the pressure?
Depressed: Who in any world could live up to fight that day by day?
All: We were pushed over the edge. We were defeated in our own battles. The truth is, we didn’t kill ourselves. Society did.
At the end of the day,
I can’t bear to watch you
stare at others
with want and desire
then have you look at me and say,
“but it’s you I love.”
At the end of the day,
I can’t kiss those lips
that you lick every time
someone more attractive
than I am passes by,
then have you kiss me and say,
“but it’s you I love.”
At the end of the day,
I can’t touch the skin
that burns with the longing
for someone else,
then have you hold me and say,
“but it’s you I love.”
At the end of the day,
I’m tired of feeling
inadequate, like I’m just
someone you’re settling for.
I know I’m not
the best of the bunch
but God damn it,
I want you to make me
feel perfect for you,
like your eyes
are locked on me,
like your lips
can only taste mine,
and like your skin
can only bloom with my touch,
like no one else exists
in your world
but it’s only fair,
because you’re the only one
who matters to me,
and I’m tired of trying
to make you jealous
because you do it so
“This is your life -
a straight line.
My life, on the other hand,
winds and undulates
like a threaded needle,
desperately trying to
weave myself into you,
but all I do
is end up in knots.
Here’s the hardest part:
your life moves
in a definite direction -
and I’m left behind,
tangled in the same strings
I created to try
to catch up to you,
and what’s more frustrating
is that you keep telling
me to never leave you,
but in truth,
I’m the one
who’s always left behind.”
“You have the same effect on me
as the sun on a day at the beach.
Almost immediately, my skin
turns pink when you kiss me,
and everything feels tender
and sensitive to the touch.
How I love to bask in your love,
for you can turn me into different
colors that even rainbows envy
what you can do to me.”
“I’ve surrounded myself
with trees in forests
that look like pages
torn out of a fairytale.
I’ve been to cities with
by neon lights,
I’ve climbed their rooftops
and seen sunsets from there,
just as I’ve climbed
snow peaked mountain tops-
the view is still the same.
I’ve swam in rivers
and lakes and seas,
but their waters are never
as clear as your eyes.
I’ve traveled the world
but no sight
can take my breath away
like you do,
and every place,
no matter how dense
with people or culture,
feels empty without you.”
Something to beach about (Day 3)
At 8am, nothing is more heavenly than coffee by the beach, even better than the previous day’s buffet with a beach view. All that was missing was a cigarette, which I had none. Dammit.
As it was our last day, we just had to make the most of it. So we jumped right into the water after breakfast, featuring more beach volleyball, sandcastle building, and surfing.
Is that a second swimming attire? Who even does that. Ugh.
My cousins are experts at handstands. (And there I am, flopping.) Here’s where some pseudo sibling rivalry comes in. They’re my closest relatives, almost like my brothers growing up. They inherited the brains, the athleticism, the height, musical talent, and even writing skills.
All I got was the good looks and fair skin. huehuehue
It’s a good thing little Aubrey keeps my mom occupied. She’s the youngest in the clan, so she gets all the attention, especially my mom’s. Though if I were her age, I’d totally get jealous of her, then I’d throw a fit. Hahaha. hashtagonlychildproblems
Time moved so quickly and everyone just enjoyed whatever was left of the day. I didn’t even take that many pictures after lunch any more.
We had to check out by 6pm. Time to say good bye to P&M Final Option Beach Resort. Don’t let the name fool you. The accommodations were really good, and the staff was extra friendly. Make this one of your first options when staying at San Juan, La Union.
…and everyone went home at least two shades darker.
“Your name is fossilized
on my heart, and
it will take ages before
it erodes and weathers
into fragments until
there will be nothing
left for me to feel.
But the time it would
take to get over you
is the same amount
of time that carbon
can turn into diamonds,
so I’m hoping that
my heart would become
more beautiful and
more worthy of love than
the way you left it.”
Something to beach about (Day 2)
Eight in the morning is the earliest I’ve woken up in the past two months. But I guess in a place and on a day like this, there’s no sleeping in. Who’d want to miss a Sunday-special-breakfast-buffet-with-a-view? Not me.
I wanted to try everything, but my appetite had decreased significantly during the summer. I cry.
After breakfast, we headed straight for the beach before the sun reached its peak. Oddly, I was lazy today and didn’t swim as much as the others did. I was even too lazy to take photographs.
Thank god for free wifi.
There came a time when I really felt like smoking. It’s hard to resist the urge when my uncles blow puffs at my face. So I took my camera and pretended to go on a little photowalk, but really I ran to the nearest store to buy a cigarette. I did manage to get a few shots along the way. I call that multitasking.
There was a guy walking around and selling paintings. They looked nice, and though I wanted to support the starving artist (I mean that figuratively of course, and I didn’t know if he actually did paint them himself), I didn’t have any means of bringing one of those home. They’re lovely though. I wish I could paint like that.
Here I am, awkwardly bringing along a tripod and taking selfies while everyone’s enjoying the water and playing beach volleyball.
Sunsets and silhouettes. Perfect combination.
I don’t know. I really wasn’t in the mood the whole day. Two days in, and I was already missing my friends back home. (Thanks for the stolen shot, cous.)
“It’s not enough that you know
how much you love me.
You can’t be secure
with just that,
because heaven knows
how my memory falters
without you to remind me.
No one has ever
passed a test without
writing down the answers.
Knowledge can only
do so much, but wisdom,
putting knowledge into action-
that gets you far,
so show me.”
Something to beach about (Day 1)
First off, let me begin with my frustration that my memory card/camera screwed up and most of the pictures I’ve taken got deleted. But anyway, here’s what I managed to salvage.
San Juan, La Union. We don’t go the beach that often, even if it’s just a two to three our drive from the city. But when we do, the whole family comes along, though we’re not that huge of a clan.
We couldn’t wait to get in the water, especially since the sun was not that high up any more.
My little cousin is one of my favorite people right now. She’s too cute (despite her occasional brattitude, get it? derp.).
Among my cousins, I am the least athletic. Though I sometimes try to join in, I stick to my specialty - being the observer, just that.
But they’re game with being my photograph subjects, so it’s fair.
I’ve forgotten how amazing the sky could be from the sea. By sunset, we were called back to get ready for dinner.
After a hefty Filipino meal, while the rest of my relatives went to pick up my other relatives, my cousin and I went night swimming, and we had the pool all to ourselves.
But the pool was only open until 11pm. By that time, the relatives had returned, so we just stayed in the hotel room and watched TV til bed time. May bukas pa naman eh.