Let me fucking sleep

Dear Reader,

I'm thinking if I should start with "I can't sleep" but I think it's not gonna make sense to you and why should I tell you that, right? But, really, I can't fucking sleep. My mind is both flying away in the vacuum that is space and twisting with all the random stuff that comes up. I need to sleep but I can't. But, wait. Maybe you're wondering why I'm talking about all this, right? I'm wondering, too.

Maybe because it's 3 AM and I'm wide awake and I turned off my Facebook chat since there is literally no one who would be interested in chatting with me. Maybe because I thought of you, fairly in all randomness, and that I should talk about all the things that comes to mind. Maybe because I need time to pass by quickly. Maybe because I'm sad.

That's it. I'm sad.

I don't know what or why or when or how, but I'm sad. I can't sleep and I'm sad. I'm thinking of many things that make me sad. I'm thinking of many things that stop me from sleeping. I'm thinking of the time when I was happy and I'm thinking of the time when I was sound asleep. I'm thinking of all the memories that I can't touch and I'm thinking of her.

I'm thinking of her.

Why am I thinking of her?

Why am I still thinking of her?

It makes me sad. She makes me sad.

I gave her up. I gave up that fight a long time ago but I'm still thinking of her, staring at the what-ifs displayed in front of me like sunshine; the eternal sunshine that melts me every single day of unsleepiness. I still see her everyday. She smiles. I smile. I smile like that smile washes away all the hurt that her smile causes me. Why, I ask. Why am I still fucking smiling? I gave her up and I'm devastated. Why, I ask. Why did I give up?

Yes, yes. She was too far back then. Even now, really. She is soaring high like an eagle with a valid dream. Her dreams outshadow what desire I have for her. She is too far. She flies. She flies like a dreamer. I tried to catch up. Believe me I tried. I ran. She flew and I ran, my head watching her in the skies. But I stopped. I stopped running. I stopped catching up. She didn't even notice me. She is too fixated on her dreams up, up there. I was below, running, trying to catch up but she didn't see me. So I stopped running. I watched her fly as high as the eyes can see. Then I lost her.

I lost that beautiful eagle with a valid dream.

Now I can't sleep.

Now I'm sad.

I've been thinking, too. Why didn't I fly? It would be easy, right?

You see, I can't. Her dreams gave her wings. Those were really big dreams. Big, big dreams. I didn't dream big enough.

Yes, I'm a loser. I can't sleep and I'm sad and I'm a fucking loser. It's 3 AM and I can't sleep and I'm sad and I'm a fucking loser.

So I let her fly, goddamnit.

Let me sleep.

Let her fly.

Let me weep.

Please, let me. I just want to sleep.

And I just want to be fucking happy again.

A letter from a guy in the friendzone

It's cool, actually, you know, being a friend. It makes a lot of things easier. Way easier. Most guys would have a hard time just getting her to talk to you. You have to do all the stupid shit just to get her attention and when you do it gets even harder. You have to keep talking to maintain that attention. You have to be interesting.

Well, me, I don't. By the second she sees me, my day will be like listening to an audio book of a girl's diary. I don't need to do all the stupid shit just to get her attention. I don't have to maintain the attention she gives me because, well, she is always there.

And I'm always here.

This is what you get being in the zone. You'll be a sponge. She grows confident on the fact that you are always there and your ears will always listen to her stories (mostly about other people) and that she thinks you are happy (with the constant laughing on her jokes) and that's it. The friendzone is where bullets hit you the most in a crossfire. And here I am, happy being hit.

I am hit with the fact that this is the peak. There's no developing story. There's no sequel. I am just a steady happy story of a guy with a girl friend. Funny how that space (girl_friend) sums it all up. Funny, and sad.

I am also hit with the fact that anytime, any fucking time, I will become disposable. She will meet a guy and she will be in love with him. He doesn't even have to pass through this zone and that is just fucking sad. They go to date(s), assuming that he's an amazing guy than I am. She will talk about him more often, assuming that he's more interesting than I am. And the sad part is that she will talk about him to me. I'll be one battered sponge.

But this is what I do best. This is what guys in the friendzone do best: being a good friend. She will have her ups and downs and you have to be there flying and falling with her. The flights will be amazing and the falls will be hard. Though it's not true all the time.

You see, there are times when she's happy and you just can't feel it more than she does: like being in love with someone else. That will hurt. Her smiles will be like needles in your heart and you will hate your heart for feeling that way because you know that you have to be happy for her. But you will still feel hurt.

There are also times when she's sad and you feel twice as much pain as she does because you don't even want to see her frown for a second and there she is, crying on your shoulder while you plead for Cupid to just fucking transfer all her pain to you because you are just so good handling all of it.

I know. It is sad. No matter how much you want to burst out the feeling of being broken for too long, you have to suck it all up. You are a sponge. Your job is to listen to her stories and suck all the pain all by yourself.

But you are a friend. You have to be a good one. You love her. I know you do and every single day of your life you wish for her to love you back but you know, as I know, that that part of your story is not written.

Yet.
I don't know.
And that's a good thing.
Right?

On The Imitation Game

The Imitation Game. Benedict Cumberbatch. Self-proclaimed film critics rant about the movie being historically incorrect. Alan Turing was a homosexual, yes. The producers used liberty to bend a good amount of details to let the story be more compelling. Now let's not shove that it was based on a true story. Yes, it was based on a true story, but that alone isn't quite the valid reason.

"Based on a true story" is not "A true story." The film's screenplay flashed "Based on a true story" because, funny, it is BASED on a true story. If it flashed "A true story" then you can rant all you want about Alan Turing being a Soviet spy. If that does not make sense to you then watch The Interview instead.

Heck, Legolas and Tauriel aren't even on The Hobbit book and you are so convinced that they are.

Flash Fiction | Barbero

"Kahit isang araw lang sa isang taon, Minda! Kahit isang araw lang, manahimik ka!"

Nalagot na. Parang hindi matatapos 'tong buhok ko.

"Ikaw ang manahimik tangina ka! Gago neto."

"Tangina, tangina, tangina."

Diyos ko po. Iba na ang pakiramdam ko rito. Kalahati pa ang nagugupit sa buhok ko.

"Kapal ng mukha mo, James! Umaasta kang parang ikaw lang ang nagtatrabaho para may ipanglamon sa mga anak natin, ah. Gago mo. Kung di ba naman tayo inisyuhan ng warning ni Kap eh baka napatay na kita ngayon hayop ka."

"Baka una kitang mapatay, tangina ka. Isasama ko na rin 'yung gago mong kabit!"

"Punyeta!"

Tumingin si James sa'kin. Ngumiti.

Suki na 'ko rito sa barber shop ni James. Kada buwan ang inspeksyon ng buhok ng mga lalaki sa paaralan kaya kada buwan akong napaparito. Magaling si James dahil hindi ko pa nasasabi ang gusto kong istilo ng buhok eh alam na niya. Meron ngang panahon na mas maganda pa ang istilo ng gupit niya kesa sa sinabi ko. Alam ni James kung ano ang mas bagay sa'kin. Kabisado na niya ang buhok ko.

Sa loob ng kanyang barber shop ay mayroong tindahan na naghahati sa espasyo sa loob. Si Minda ang nagbabantay dito, asawa niya. Tuwing nagpapagupit ako ay laging may hinanakit ang asawa niya na dinadaan sa walang katapusang pagpuputak. Putak dito, putak doon. Tangina rito, tangina roon. Gago ka, James dito, gago ka, James doon. 

"Pasensya na, Carl. Narinig mo pa 'to."

Walang imik na nag-aabang ang iba pang magpapagupit, ngunit alam kong nakikinig din sila sa away ng mag-asawa.

"Sinabi ko na sa'yo na linisin mo 'yung kanal sa 'tin para tuwing umuulan eh hindi umaapaw. Tingnan mo ang nangyari kahapon. Oh diba nakapasok sa loob ng marupok mong bahay ang tubig? Tangina at maruming tubig pa!"

"Carl, ano bang gagawin ko rito sa misis ko?"

Napailing ako.

"Pagod na pagod na kasi ako."

"At bakit maaga kang nagsara nung isang araw? Wala tayong utang, James? Wala tayong gastusin? Ba't parang hindi ka apektado, ha? Anong ginawa mo nung isang araw at maaga kang nagsara?"

Tumigil si James sa pagugupit sa buhok ko.

"Ikaw ang tatanungin ko, Minda. Na'san ka nung isang araw, ha? Wala ka buong araw, di ba? Anong karapatan mong tanungin ako kung bakit maaga akong nagsara na ikaw itong wala buong araw? Ha? Na'san ka? Sa kabit mong kulay uling?"

"Punyeta!"

Hinagis ni Minda ang isang karton ng katol patungo kay James. Natamaan sa ulo ang barbero. Bali-bali na ang mga katol na nasa sahig ngunit kinuha ito paisa-isa ni James.

"Kita mula sa barber shop ang ginamit mong kapital sa tindahan mong 'yan, Minda. Ang kita ko ang pinanggagastos sa mga bata, sa pagkain natin, sa mga damit nila at mga damit mo, sa kuryente, sa tubig, sa mga burloloy mo. Saan napupunta ang kita sa tindahan mo? Ni minsan ba nag-abot ka sa'kin ng pera para pambili man lang ng pagkain ng mga anak mo? Ni minsan ba humingi ako sa'yo? Ano?"

Pumasok si James sa tindahan dala-dala ang karton ng katol.

"Ano ba ang gagawin ko para manahimik ka, ha?"

"Hangga't nabubuhay kang gago ka hindi talaga ako matatahimik! Punyeta 'tong buhay na 'to!"

Lumabas si James sa tindahan at nagpatuloy sa pagupit sa buhok ko.

"Carl," napatawa si James. "Tanginang buhay talaga. Lord, kahit kalahati sa isang araw lang ho, sana manahimik ang asawa ko."

"Manalangin ka ng mas specific, kuya James," sabwat ko.

"Tama, tama. Lord, hindi ko po pinapanalangin na sana mamatay na ang asawa ko. Gusto ko lang na sana maputulan ng dila ang punyetang 'to."

"Tumahimik kang tangina ka!" bulyaw ni Minda.

"Kahit isang araw lang ho, maputulan ng dila 'to, okay na sa'kin 'yun. Kahit isang araw lang na tahimik at walang gulo. Walang asawang putak nang putak."

Hinagis ni Minda ang isang bote ng Tanduay na muntikan nang matama sa ulo ulit ni James ngunit nakailag ito. Natapon ang bote sa kalye at narinig ang banal na KRAAKSSH.

"Tangina ka! Gago ka! Gago ka!"

"Carl, ayoko na."

"Ano na gagawin mo, kuya James?"

"Gago ka! Gago! Gago!"

"Suko na 'ko."

"Paputol po banda rito, ito po. 'Yan. Tapos po, kuya, ano na po?"

"Gago ka! Tangina! Pisti!"

"Bahala na."

Tumigil si James, inilagay ang panggupit sa mesa malapit sa 'kin. Napabuntong-hininga ito. Kinuha niya ang gunting at ang pulbo.

Anong gagawin niya? Di pa tapos ang gupit ko.

Lumakad siya papasok ng tindahan. Nakatingin lahat sa kanya.

Nakatayo siya sa harapan ni Minda, na nakaupo at nagte-text.

"Minda."

"Gago, ano?!" Tumingin si Minda sa kanya.

Winisik ni James ang pulbo sa mukha ng asawa.

Dalawang beses.

Tatlo.

Apat.

"Puta! Puta!" sigaw ni Minda.

Sinaksak niya ang asawa sa leeg.

Dalawang beses.

Tatlo.

Apat.

"Puta!" Sigaw ng lalaki sa likod ko. Tumingin ako sa labas at nakitang nagsitakbuhan na silang lahat.

Tangina, James. Ang buhok ko, hindi pa tapos.

Let me tell you why I don't want to hang out with people

Let me tell you why I don't want to hang out with people.

Nothing sucks more than watching every word that comes out of your mouth so your precious friend will not get offended. Let's be real, humans are oversensitive motherfucking bastards. One glitch of what you say will affect how they treat you afterwards. Now don't tell me friends won't mind. Friends mind the most. That's the cause of friendship wars in the first place. If John says, in a spontaneous flow of a conversation with Dick, says how a dick his boss is, and Dick gets offended on the fact that his name is being used as a reference to a batshit boss, then John is fucking screwed.

"Hey, John. What did you just say?"
"Huh? Ah--nevermind."
"No, you said something that involves my name."
"Of course everything we talk about involves your name."
"Oh now we're talking. So you're saying I'm a dick?"
"No I'm saying we're boys and we're always talking about dicks and stuff."
"No we're not."
"Yes we are. Remember, five minutes ago, you talked about how little Johnson at the office had a boner in front of you and you said, and I quote 'What a little cutesy dick he has'? Right? Even with a boner? That it's cute? And why the hell would Johnson do a boner in front of you? What are you? A stripper or something?"
"Take that back you bitch."

Then they fight. Not with their dicks, of course.

And I don't really want to listen to dramas. People are being full of themselves that they still believe that the world revolves around them and every little detail of their lives should be told to the next person that coincidentally has ears.

"Oh man my nostrils just got stressed yesterday because of sneezing. Have you ever had colds?"

But they will not wait for you to reply to that question.

"I had colds, man, and it's the shittiest feeling ever. Ever. You know when you sneeze every five goddamned seconds and it's fucking stressing you out? You experienced that shit?"

Still they will not wait for you to speak up.

"Yeah, it sucks, man. Really, really."

Like, fuck your colds, dude. Shut the fuck up.