I feel in the air

(Earth mother goddess is in the house to give a forecast...)

2005 was the kind of year that I wanted to end prematurely. It was too stressful, too overwhelming, too out of hand. All of that crap caused a sticky entrance for 2006. 2006 began with anxiety, feelings of abandonment, a lot of breaking down, an embarassing injury, and an infection that is nothing short of terrorizing.

2007, however, feels different.

It feels as if 2007, from the point view of 2006 (and the years previuous), seemed an impossible year to happen. As if it's hard to grasp. Like a celebrity 10 people deep between you and a hand shake or an autograph. Elusive, is the word to describe this year, but it's here. And it feels fresh. Like the millenium party was supposed to happen 2 nights ago. Like Everyone's birthday should have been celebrated on that same night.

Whatever it is, this year will be more hopeful than the last, more fulfilling than that last, more amazing than the last.

At least I believe in that.

Intuition is when you approach home (which could be pretty much any place, your coffee shop, your actual house, or just any spot) and you feel an anxiety that you can't ignore.

Like approaching the Starbucks the other day, and I was feeling like utter crap. As sad as I can get as my day had barely begun. Then I see the gang, with one of them sitting in middle of the lot, crying.

Like climbing up to the house and feeling like turning around and walking back, or reluctantly coming home from a depressing walk at the mall. At the door, I am apprehended instead of welcomed. Apparently, I am guilty for ignoring a huge mess of newspapers on my way out. I was running late. And it was too windy for tidiness' sake. But the way I was accused was as if I've never done anything good in this household. Never baked cookies, never baked chocolate cake, never decorated the tree, never cooked pasta, never folded the laundry in precise neatness, never washed the dishes or cleaned the kitchen in my disctinct signature way. If love covers all sin, then I am not loved.

The crying friend I mentioned earlier was remarkable with being honest. She rarely acknowledges her feelings, which is a big thing; only she was able to begin because I wasn't there. She is disappointed in me, she said, for reasons that the rest of the gang finds unreasonable.

Anyway, she gave me two Christmas gifts, both of which I genuinely like. And everytime she mentions my sense of style, she gloats about how proud she is that she did buy the right stuff for me.

It uncannily makes me feel like I'm some mistress lavished with so much stuff. The way she nodded as she gloated, as I look back at that moment, makes me feel objectified. The same way I feel when men click on me for cybersex, only to have that feeling intensified after gratification. The same way my family rarely thanks me for anything. The same way ingrates demand for a change of grade. The same way my parents always see me as "the eldest." The same way our church sees us as "money."

I can easily say that I'm naked and listening to Sufjan Stevens. Not that there's anything kinky involved. But supposed I am...

There is no other way to listen to this guy. It's not just your ears enjoying it. His sound sinks into my skin and arrests my senses.

As if I'm aware of my own being and rebirth means unclothing myself in hopes that more skin will take it all in.

You can never get enough of a good thing.

Woes

Staunch commuter that I am, I took a bus to Ayala to have lunch with the best friend. We're the kind of friendship that feels like we're coming home whenever we meet. We are our own escape.

Mush aside, there was an initial depression that was too close for comfort, and it made itself known as the bus I was in rattled its course on the skyway: I felt myself j i g g l e.

It's worse than finding a strand white hair, a zit on my nose, a stain on my pants. I was j i g g l i n g. There is an excess of me hanging on to me, more to love but really, it's extra baggage. Like my borrowed JanSport on weekdays when a gluttony for books and notebooks unecessarily weigh my poor back.

Speaking of gluttony...Gluttony represents itself through a Starbucks promo card. Starbucks is a comfort zone. It has been since two months ago, as I made myself a permanent fixture in my own 'Buko on certain weekdays and the barristas either stopped asking for my name or adding a cup of water on the side of my peach and strawberry danish. It's all luxury, that, but to be honest, I'm spending too much for my own good.

Today, I was a little distraught when the best friend left. And I needed a little therapy.

Montage is such a nice place, and Lush is amazing. Good bye, 1000 Php.

But there is hope:

Rehearsals call for ridiculous amounts of dancing, making me expect that I shall stop worrying about my tightened clothes any time soon.

Employment opportunities look promising. At least I won't have to take so much work home. *shudder*

And more hope:

The love life is stable but a test of faith. A cousin indulged me of a dream about him years ago, ingniting faith, hope and love. While his name, place of origin and place of residence appears everywhere (even on the name tag of our server at Itallianis!), my complain to the Universe is that he isn't anywhere near me.

Faith must exude place, as it seems. God never said anything about having this guy as easy as the science of precipitation.

My goodness, this love story I'm in. It's literally a trip.

Awareness isn't vanity, and vanity isn't awareness

I guess I've reached a point where I'm comfortable with myself.

I find the things that people say about me are real.

I no longer cringe hearing my own recorded voice.

I find myself to be damn pretty without feeling the guilt of vanity.

I've settled at the fact that I have a calming effect on people.

It isn't arrogance. It's like I embody everything that I believe in, like I'm confident that anything I say will materialize, that what people will see is what they will surely get.

Being aware is not flaunting yourself or flaunting assets what don't exist just to compensate. Being aware is knowing. It's faith. It is confidence. It is also going forward without turning back in regret or in egotistic nostalgia.

The one with the boobs.

I recently found out that I was the ridicule of a certain click in the fifth grade because I jogged in gym class different. I jogged in such a way that my arms were bent and stuck to the sides of chest, thus improvising a bra for myself. I was laughed at in secret my people who for some reason gave me weird smirk everytime I'd say hi to them, even in high school. They weren't the queen bee types, but there was a bit of pretentiousness there. But one of them was the first to realize that I was "really nice."

So, in the fifth grade, I was one with the boobs.

Sadly, I grew into them. But not to an extent where one has to complain.

Highly Recommended

While it's one thing to do stuff or give stuff to people you love, it's another thing to give stuff to people you don't know.

On my way to an audition I was reluctant to go to because of a fever fluke, a child needs not to beckon for the can of pork and beans I intend to eat for lunch. I hand it to him, and he neither says thank you, nor does he smile. I don't know what that means, or if it's supposed to mean anything at all. But should it be allowed that a kid go hungry and cry himself into his afternoon and never wake because of hunger?

Statement

When you hold fast, you hold on to a promise as if your very life depends on it because you know it's yours. It's a fight to hold a promise down, to pin it to the ground, to not let it go. It's yours and you know it. You deserve it and it belongs to you. You can't afford to let go of that promise in spite of what people say, nor can you afford to give in to what other people think.

What people say about what you believe in or where you put your faith in is a reaction to to what they perceive as your own world, which is something that can't be argued against. What you believe in is unique to you and to you alone. This is what makes believers peculiar. In spite of the world, and in spite of the realities that limit the possible, you who hold on to your promise know better because there is more to God than a reality that is dictated by blinding boundaries.