bleak and pretty


I'm letting someone come in to my life right now. It's a little scary.

I've been in this situation too many times, and it's been awful for the most part — yet I'm telling myself that there is really nothing to be afraid of.

There might always be pain down the road; it's inevitable. But I've survived it countless and I'm still alive. I shouldn't be afraid to get hurt now. I must be more confident that I'll get through it, as I have in the past.

Pain is a catalyst for moving forward. We should welcome it. For there's no greater driving force than the pain when it comes to change.

If I ever find myself in a painful situation, I'll welcome it. I'll recognize that I did my best in good faith. There's nothing to blame, life is just randomly bleak and pretty as it is.

I look forward to seeing my life blossom as it should.


Today a thought came to my mind: Normal just doesn't suit me.

I look back at my previous relationships and realize that I've always been trying and expecting them to fit a certain mold. What is considered appropriate. Romantic. “Healthy”. In the right direction.

And they all have “failed”. I think that what I'm looking for is something personalized and custom — with a formation and a set of rules that is tailored just for me and my significant other, whoever he/she is, if there ever will be any.

Breaking it down

Completely deconstructing here, I can even further break down the concept of a significant other. How significant, what kind of significance, what degree of relatedness (if any) would it imply? Sounds interesting. Like, it doesn't necessarily have to be that he/she's on paper as a spouse or something. Maybe we don't even need to have any sort of announced relatedness. And yet we can say that we're together and each other's significant other. We can even imply the same thing without using the words “significant other” and “relationship”.

Normal isn't for everyone. That kind of a normal relationship, which is supposed to progress and grow and develop into a rootcrop or something else might not just be for me. Functioning normally is something I'm just might not be wired to do. (Hint: I'm bipolar and not being a good patient, too.)

Everyone's supposed to develop a sort of attachment and to cultivate successful relationships, while I'm wired to drift and to pull away, to desire the uninterested, to seek the unavailable. While others crave consistency and regularity, it makes me feel dull and bored. Commitment is something that might be choking me and burning me out just by the thought of it. My paranoia is an imagined plane where one of my feet will always be on.

How does this make me feel? That I'm perhaps condemned to walk a path less recognized, even considered aberrational? What if loving relationships for me can only be in the form of a feigned intimacy with a fuck buddy? What if I'll really never have a husband/wife and kids? How does it feel to realize that my kind of life will never be portraited in popular culture as normal and proper?

Here's what I will say:

I am relieved. All along, I've thought that something was wrong with me or that I was cursed or something. Now I realize that I'm just walking a different path, a much different, considerably abnormal path, and there's nothing wrong with that. It's ok to be different; normal isn't for everyone. My “failures” aren't weaknesses or illnesses; they're just what happens in my life. As far as I know, I'm doing my best and I'm striving to make myself happy by living a meaningful life.

*And it just so happens that it's the norm to groom and comb your hair, get in healthy relationships, be a happy single person (who says I can't despair or be needy or get in trouble with cheating bastards), and be a nice person. And it also just so happens that what's normal doesn't apply to me.*

I don't intend to justify all the shit and trouble I've done and been through – we all do shit so I guess that's normal – I'm just sayin it's not a world of normal for everyone.

Carry on, twisted, evil, bad, weirdo creeps!

#pretty #stoned

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San Juan, LU

Northshore beach in San Juan, La Union.

It has been a year since I stood on a surfboard in San Juan, La Union. I remember asking myself, “Why the fuck am I doing this,” as I lie on my belly while my surf instructor pushed me against harsh, breaking waves.

I wasn't any good; I was never the sporty type. I didn't even know how to swim. Some people learn to surf and ride a board on their first try and clearly I wasn't one of them. I think I managed to ride once or twice during that one-hour session. I was a total sporting failure - up till now - but I found something beautiful on that Saturday that I was going to keep in my heart indefinitely: a love for the ocean, a love for falling and endlessly trying, a love for travelling, and a love for hot, semi-naked people.



I had a dream about a very large wave creeping up behind me. Weird because I was inside a car – I didn't even know how to drive – and what were the odds that I'd find myself in a parking lot on an actual shore? And that the swells were what – 30 feet?

Today I received news that waves were back in Real. I was supposed to get surf lessons in a wavepool tomorrow, but my goddamned coach was going to Real. Because waves. Because salty surf.

Normally, I would go without a second thought – waves are life – but it just didn't feel right this time.

Tinge of doubt = No, no.


Yesterday, the 25th, was my birthday. I'd been waiting on it for weeks and planned ahead (but all the plans didn't go as planned) to make sure it would be a symbolic, memorable occasion.

Now that the day had passed, I could say that it was as good as it could be. There was dinner, there was dancing, there was cuddling, and there was – more importantly – laughter.

As a gift to myself, I'll be launching another creative attempt and become a CEO of a new writing company.

I'll write about what's in my soul.



I remember from my pre-teens that I wrote about “becoming a writer” as an ambition. When a teacher asked us to write a formal composition on the subject, I wrote away my dreams to write pieces that would be displayed as New York Times bestsellers and touch people's lives. I wrote a lot at the time – from personal journals, short stories in my notebooks, to articles for our school paper.


my mind is in a bad place right now. i feel disoriented regarding what i want, what i'm actually doing, and what i need to do. this feeling has been going on for more than a week now, and it doesn't help that the surf is off-season and i don't have a diversion/escape/release except for marijuana.

fuckin flat


I am frustrated at myself. My body is giving away. I am bloated from too much sugar and I haven't done any physical exercise in more than a week. I haven't written anything significant (not counting the extra freelance work) and I don't feel productive enough.


According to forecast it was supposed to be flat, but when I visited this weekend, we got shoulder high and head high waves.

You really can never really tell the weather or predict the future.