as i write and will ramble about my mundane life experiences for the past few days in the next few paragraphs, my parents are on their way to korea — and they will be staying there for a week or so.

and with this, i should be ecstatic; i should be looking forward to more intensive tanduay sessions with a bunch of people whose instincts are dictated by, and whose sole purpose of existence for the time being is, this perverted need: alcohol. my friends who are also battered by the uncertainty of the future; by the inconsistencies of fate; and by the deception of temporary bliss.

i should be — but fact is, i am not.

for once in my life, i want to be invisible — to be in a room where no one notices me, or they choose to ignore me — and for once in my life, i long to be somewhere where i am not expected to be enviously happy nor pathetically optimistic, brimming with feigned bliss and affection, a superficial and lethargically-conjured poster boy for makulay ang buhay sa sinabawang gulay.

i want to be miserable, and i want people not to care — or at least be happy for me and my misery. i want to be in a crowd which looks at me and senses that i am in a bad place, an awful place, but they are not compelled, nor do they force themselves, to reach out and say, with a deceptively ingenuine heart buried deep under the willed, pathetic show of concern and gesture: i know what you are going through — you will be okay.

fact is, you do not know what i am going through — and i will not be okay anytime soon, not now, not tomorrow, not ever.

deep and turbulent currents of doubt and despair brew inside my mind — and for once, i want to wallow in MY misery, and i want people to understand that like their individual shit, i too, am hard to understand.