It was, simply

It could have been a metaphor for something like

Maybe if you try too hard, you end up on the ground. Hurt and alone, and with a whole lot of noise blaring around you. If you wait for something so specific, so improbable, and then put all your strength into it, you end up with nothing. Nothing but pain.

but I'm sure it's not.

Or it could have been a sign. A sign of things to come. I will get hurt with the things I love the most.

but I'm sure it's not.

It was, simply, my knee snapping as I danced to Girls' Generation's latest hit The Boys. And me falling to the ground with the girls still screaming in my ears.

I'm a Carrie, for sure.

It's unfortunate that the only time I write here is when I'm feeling upset over something Yohan-related.

I've always had this dilemma in all my relationships. I feel upset over something, something that's not easily fixable, and I can't get over it. So I give myself two options: 1) suck it up and 2) break up. I usually go with option number 2, but evidently, I've been going with number 1 more often in this relationship than I have in all my other relationships. Combined.

And he tries, I'm sure he does. It's not all his fault, really. We're just two different people, and we have to get over our differences to make this work. And we do. We actually do. I just wish that the differences reveal themselves not so often and frequent. Give me some time to get used to things I don't like, please.

I've been watching Sex and the City the past week. Idek anymore.

Fellatio during class? I wish.

I kept running my hands through my hair, parting and gathering. I never did grow out of that incriminating habit of sticking to one. Except now. I cocked my head left and right, letting my hair fall to the side, strands cascading over each other. I shifted in my seat and focused on one thing, tuning everything else out. That single voice that's been trying to make me listen to it for the past hour or so. The shuffling of papers as everyone else pretended to read. I shifted in my seat, adjusting myself. The middle of the day and I feel like this. Typical.

I ran the tip of my tongue over my canine. I have just one, in-between the incisors and the molars, on the right side. My mouth felt empty. At that moment, and a couple before it, I yearned for him inside me. I wanted him in my mouth. As soon as that thought came to me, nothing else was significant.

Just the head would be nice, but the whole thing would be exquisite. It really is magical how a few simple sucks and strokes could get him clenching his whole body. And the taste just before he erupts... Divine.

Alas, I couldn't comfort myself. I couldn't escape. Fortunately, in a little over 36 hours, I'll be with him. And I can suck him all I want.

Philippine Literature: A History and Anthology

Dati, dala ko 'tong librong 'to araw-araw. Kitang-kita ang mga sugat sa binding nito, ebidensya ng madalas na pagbuklat. May isang pahina, kalahati na lang ang nakakabit. Masyadong mabilis ang paglipat, kaya napunit. Sa pahina ng mga nilalaman, makikita ang maraming sulat at highlight. May mga check at crossed-out na entry, simbolo na tapos nang basahin at aralin. Natapos ang subject at nakapasa ako.

Kaya ngayon, patungan na lang siya ng bentilador.

You're disgusting.

You're like 300 lbs of fat stuffed in a bag of skin that can only contain 250 lbs. Your lips are horrendous, and your tongue is so fat that when you sleep, it sticks out and it looks like you have 3 lips. You stink. I mean, really. Anything you touch for an extended amount of time reeks like mold and shit. You don't wash after a whole day outside. You breathe through your mouth. You chew with your mouth open, and we can see and hear everything you're chewing.

And those are just the physical stuff.

Better half.

I think I now understand where the term "better half" comes from. When people referred to their partners as their "better half," it always confused me. Better half of what? The relationship? If he's the better half, then you're what? Just the good one? The bad one?

Yohan and I are different from each other. Physically, I am a taller-than-average, rosy-cheeked, fair-skinned, fat half-Chinese boy with abnormally soft hair. He is your typically-tall, moreno-ish, curly-haired, skinny, doe-eyed boy. My toes clump together, like I've been wearing shoes too small since I could wear shoes. His toes are spread apart, like he doesn't use footwear at home. His eyelashes are obvious, mine need mascara. His nails grow forward and out, like the symbol for Mac's airport, mine grow to the sides and under, causing stuff to grow out of the sides of my toes.. Even the way we think is different. Where I panic, he relaxes. Where I condemn, he appreciates. Where I am reluctant, he is enthusiastic. Where I plan, he is spontaneous. 

Despite our differences, we make things work (for the most part haha). His laid-back attitude diminishes my constant buzz of panic and paranoia. My near-OCD nudges him to be more in-tune and organized. Ish.

He also hates it when I use ish.

Not ourselves.

Who knows us best? Not ourselves. For you to truly know who you are, you'd have to stand at the end of your life and review everything you ever did. Look at how you acted, and how your actions affected others. Listen to what you said, and find out how others heard you. Dive into your own thoughts, and analyze how these affected how you acted, and how you spoke. 

And them? Do they know you? To some extent, of course. But most of who you are, and what you are, is lost in your attempt to be. 

To be what? What are you trying to be? And more importantly, were you successful in being? You were trying to be what you thought you should be, and what you thought people thought you should be. In the process, you realized that you should stop trying and just let yourself be. 

And then you ask yourself again: Who am I?

So you go through life, attempting to figure out who you are. When you get to the end, you still haven't figured out who you are. So you review everything you ever did.