Tuesday, August 23, 2016

Purposefully Yours

This ain't quarter-life crisis because I'm pretty sure I won't get past 60, much less get to 100. Nor is it mid-life crisis, because, well, this has been going on since I was 16. You could say I'm belaboring this confusion and I'm a whiny little bitch who should shut up. And you would be right. Like what I do with most things, I'm overthinking this. I know it, and I know I'm not doing myself any favor but truthfully, a part of me loves wild, stupefying incomprehension. Sure, I don't like it but damn, if I say I don't enjoy it.

Now, the problem with overthinking is one gets too involved in spaced-out, keep-everyone-out, private conversations with one's self. And when I say too involved, I mean, it pretty much takes all the time one has leaving very little to do anything else. Yeap, it's that simple and straightforward. Thinking a lot but not doing enough.

I can't say for certain why.

I did say a part of me loves the pain of overthinking. Of the options I have and the possibilities they bring. Maybe I like the Schrödinger's aspect of just thinking and leaving things as they are but doing squat about it. Because I could be anything I want until I act on it breaking this pitiful illusion-delusion I have. Perhaps because I like being stymied and getting stuck in this limbo, creating an appearance of insurmountable roadblocks that justify my inaction.

It could also be that I'm afraid of confirming I don't have it in me to do great. Like I've always believed myself to be capable of. I wanna blame the family and the environment I grew up in for having very low expectations from everyone that when I did decent with half-assed efforts, I was relegated to being that-guy-we-expect-more-from. Isn't that messed up? (Whoa, that is a good argument but that's a different conversation altogether.) Point is, they made me feel like I could do things, things that would make a real, tangible change. At one point, I wanted to be a lawyer, a forest ranger, a political scientist, a librarian, a community developer, an economist, a teacher. And I ended up being someone my 16-year old self would barely recognize. But I could only put the blame on someone else for too long.

Fuck if I don't say I'm not terrified of knowing there's not much else for me but to live life like this: wake up tired, get bored at work, go out with equally-bored people, buy stuff, wish for the year to be over as I cry myself to sleep, rinse and repeat. I want Santa to be real so bad to tell me "Yeap, you're bound to be just like that, a cynical jerk angry at himself and everyone else". That way, I don't have to burn through the supposed best years of my life with nothing to show for it.

My pining heart says I don't know what I want because I don't have you but hell, no. I don't have you because I don't know what I want and I don't want to drag you in this shitstorm. And shitstorms are bad. I remember saying to myself I'd die happy and content if I get to build a life with you. How romantic and sappy and awfully naive was that. And I'm tired of being a child.

Then there's my laziness. I swear it fucks me up more than anything else I said above.


Though if I'm being real honest, I'd say I've made some progress. I have a more concrete plan for the future. Y'know, adult vanilla stuff like get my own space in the city in two years instead of paying rent. Go back to school in the same year. Start traveling next year. Engage in community work. Get a house in the suburbs in another 5 years. Buy a small orchard and be a kickass farmer-husband. So it's not all bad.

I understand that life goals can be fluid - shifting as one goes along and experience what life has to offer, morphing as one's perspectives and character change. I guess I'm dissatisfied with the way my brain is wired. That I can't make peace with all these realizations I already recognize as truths. That I didn't get the chance to be purposeful as others were. I know it's wrong to measure yourself against others' progress because we all have different battles but my small brain is having a tough time letting go.

But at the end of it all, it is what it is and there's not much I can do about it. And if you can't do anything about it, don't overthink. Just make peace and move along. Take it from me, I wasted years and years and look where it got me.


Monday, March 21, 2016

Moving On, Kind Of

After some initial success post-breakup with J, I've been reduced to a moping broken-hearted sucker for the past couple of weeks now. What's worse is I'm enjoying the comfort it gives me. It's fun to write about anguish and pain and heartache because people can relate and fuck if I don't admit liking the thought that I'm not alone in this miserable shithole I dug for myself.

I dunno. I was doing great for a while because I was busy. I listed the things I wanted and aimed to do. Learn a new language, work out, tick off MNL museums of my travel list, reconnect with friends, get better at my job. But lately, I'm losing motivation and focus. The only things I'm consistent with are learning Spanish (though I'm struggling learning it without regular practice) and getting better at my job (hey, I got promoted!). The rest just seems like work. The lazy guy in me just won't budge most days. And without things to preoccupy me, my mind wanders. A lot.

But it ends now. Much as I like to coop myself in my room, pine away like Echo holing herself in a cave after Narcissus' rejection and hoping to be the voice that answers back in the desert of all this emptiness, I can't. Well, I won't. There's not much point in grieving now. I had a good six months going seven down the drain doing just that. God knows I've wasted enough time agonizing and lamenting about this stinky, putrid corpse that is what I had with him. Heck, I decided to be done with it so why should I be mewling like a little bitch now?

I was told I should start going out so I can take my mind off of him. I'd gone out a couple of times. Talked to some guys who seem great. Some friends are even trying to set me up. But I'm just not romantically-inclined atm. And I don't want to get cozy with someone for a rebound fuck. My brain and penis just don't work that way.

This is another rant, really. I know what to do but I can't bring myself to do it. How in the world do I find that elusive drive? I know a lot of things and I'm well-equipped to anticipate ahead but I'm at a loss as to why I'm stuck again. I can only get stuck for so long though. So here's hoping I think of something soon enough before I start sinking.


Thursday, February 18, 2016

Of Losing and Finding

It has been half year since I got myself a half-wanted freedom. That sounded childish and bitter now, didn't it. But it is what is. I knew I wanted to get out of the relationship but I also foresaw what life without someone to romantically dote on and look after would be like - emptier than usual. Which is not bad since the less things one is preoccupied with, the more he can cram in his life to unempty it (nope, unempty is not a word).

And so unempty it I have been doing. With most fizzling before I could get to my third time such as going on solitary walks on weekends, visiting museums within the metro, working out and so on. This is mostly because I feel like just sleeping it off. I have some little successes here and there though. I think I'm getting better at Spanish (hurray for Latino porn!). I'm also getting more social that is I go out with friends I forgot going out with when I was still with J. I have been devouring a fuck ton of sitcoms, too; because I am not willing to commit to two-hour long flicks and the TV episodes make me feel like I'm not wasting as much time because they're chopped into 20-minutes runs. In moments of sudden clarity and motivation, I try to read at least a chapter or two of the books I've been trying to finish since the middle of last year (six books, at least). In my defense, they're all classics so they can get really tedious to plod on. Then there are TED videos and the courses I enrolled in Udemy.

I guess I'm still trying to find my groove back. It's a process I never had to go through before so I feel a little lost. Things used to fall into their rightful places quite easily and smoothly for me but somehow they won't anymore. I'm sure they eventually will but I still can't help losing sleep over it at times.


Then there's the issue of solitude. I'm pretty introverted bordering perturbingly-antisocial. And I don't mind being labeled and treated as one. I revel in my aloneness. But it can be lonesome when you find someone you can sincerely enjoy your solitude with and that someone is suddenly taken out of the picture. I know I asked for it and I totally deserve what I am feeling right now. To be perfectly frank, I've been actively looking around to find someone similar to J. Not in a romantic capacity, mind. And I lucked out in finding some people willing to put up with my neurotic tendencies. Thing is they often want to be more than what I'm currently in need of and can provide for. Which sucks donkey balls. They would offer to be friends, sure, but I feel like I'll be stringing them along and I really dislike the idea. I am no longer 24 after all to afford such silly games.


I know how sucky I am as a person. I used to think that I wasn't that bad. Heck, I would proudly claim before that I was a good catch. I'm smarter than most people. I don't look half-bad. I have the height and the shoe size (And you know what they say about men with big shoes. They have big feet, dummy!). I'm hella funny and I'm good in bed. Kidding. I wanna say I'm not sure anymore but I am certain that I'm nowhere near the guy I swore I was. This is not self-deprecation by any means but an honest opinion of myself. I know I could be better. I am meant for better things if only I can rekindle the the fire in that torch I used to carry around.

The flame must have died from too much running. So slow down I should. Maybe find a matchstick, some friction, then perhaps, a spark.

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