Succinctus.

“Tonight people will come home welcomed by their families, squealing kids, some will be welcomed by their dogs, people asking about their day. Tonight, the stars will come out from their daytime hiding places and among them slightly brighter from the rest, will be my wing tip, as I watch over.”

Those were the last lines of a movie that is about to change my life. There have been very few films that have truly captivated what reality is at its truest sense. I believe that some qualities of a good film may be compromised for the sake of art, but the mix of it all just seems very rare to make quite the cut in delivering a message.

Tonight was nothing special, so much so any more significant than the rest of my days. I just watched a film that I think is about to change the way I start to live, and the way I see things. I can’t even fathom as to where this subtle, yet sheer determination to change is coming from but I knew that the moment the credits started rolling, I had to document this profound moment of my history.

Up in the Air.

Its script was genius and intellectual. Perhaps it strikes me as an individual because I understand the characters very much that I embody the emotions they’ve portrayed.

“Imagine a back pack, put all the little things that mattered to you, ALL of it. Starting with the little things in your drawer – the people you’ve shared secrets with, those you’ve been intimate – your special mementos. Now put them all in there, and put it on…

Do you feel the straps on your shoulders?

….

Now try to move.

…

It’s difficult isn’t it?”

I am not alone in living a life where it seems like there’s always a heavy burden of self-inflicted pressures on your shoulder. I was too busy trying to figure out meaning and what seemed to be a biological obligation to find true love.

I’ve moved in inexcusable speeds because I’ve sidetracked, for many, many times to just stop and see that dying alone is something universal, and that we’re never lectured by those who have because, duh – they’re dead. And those that actually see either live in denial or just fail to publish what is to them, horrid.

This movie isn’t a love story.

I used to think 500 days of summer wasn’t a love story, but this – rea-hee-heely isn’t a love story. At all.

Zilch.

All this time I’ve been screaming to the world, how proud I am of being romantic. That I bear the scars of a wounded soldier of love and that my heart is held on together by strips of scotch tape, and Elmer’s glue, and maybe even a little rice because both my parents are of Asian descent.

I used to think it is of conventional chivalry to cushion other people’s blows in a relationship to please them, and that sacrifices of martyrdom manifestations were necessary as part of compromise.

What a shitload of bullshit.

Yeah I can use shit twice. Lol.

(Calming down)

I write this with no bitterness, but with the zeal of having to drive your very own existentialism. A world with no pain is impossible, otherwise you’d never live at all. But, what’s possible is living a life less of it.

“A prick is spontaneous, they’re unpredictable, and fun to be with. We all fall for them. And then we get surprised that they’re pricks.”

Ever wondered how some assholes in your lives just never get the cosmic karma they deserve and no matter how much you curse them, they never die? They can very well be the pricks that live lives better than yours – and you hated them because they weren’t the convention you seek.

Tell me, how is that feud any different from battles in politics, sexual differences, religion, divorce cases, relationships? Etc. Etc.

We’ve always held the peace we so long for. We just don’t see it because we all let others connect ourselves to them.

“Having company makes you happy.” “How many happy moments have you had ALONE?”

I never said anything about being in your own cocoon of self banishment. People will always be around to talk to. It really isn’t that bad to be single. I was a fool for believing a partner was all I needed to jumpstart a new beginning since I’ve quit my job.

I just typed this madness unstoppably that the keys on my keyboard have pressed themselves a little further down. (Or maybe not because my keys are kick-ass macintosh. lol) The fogs to the road Im about to take are clear, my man. I think I just re-created my universe. :)

Pornication.

There are days in your life where you just don't friggin' care about the stuff that's supposed to matter anymore.

If I were to ponder on why such fleeting phases come to exist, in modern vernacular, my head would literally implode, and little pieces of brain matter would slowly squeeze out of my orifices like leche flan through a number 3 sieve.

I notice that I get my thunder to type my thoughts in notes of time. I wouldn't want to be repetitive so I'd just say it's wee morning. Just about the time where the real action happens on a Saturday night except that it's a Monday and I can't even view porn because my little brother is, in the meantime, sleeping in my room.

Of why I bother to such obscene, tacky alternative form of entertainment? - Egads, ask the millions who also describe it obscene and tacky and those who say it's funnier more than it's arousing. You'd never get a straight answer. ;) Because they fuckin' watch it too.

I may have been single for a time a little too long. Not by choice, I say, shamelessly. God knows how I've tried and braved the dating scene like Dante Alighieri through the circles.

The sex is accessible, but the thought alone that it is - takes all the thrill out of it. Like a blindsiding billion euros in your possession and you've no idea what to do with it right away.

Maybe the good side to that attitude is that you may be deluded that you're content. Considering how man can never EVER be content until he draws his last breath. Only the fools are. Many fools have died happily.

I can't wait to be one of them. Romance will forever be my crack.

A wise friend once told me that true Happiness lies in a life well-lived of its beholder. I couldn't agree more. I look back when I was 9 years old and there was a point where all I cared about was my gameboy and the games my relatives would buy me on special occasions. To me, then, it was the only form of true love.

It wasn't until movies like My girl (where McCaulay Culkin starred and kissed a girl for the first time but died in the end) and Fern Gully (don't ask!) were created and totally fucked up my perfectly sane system of emotional homeostasis.

Of course, the early pressures of Filipino culture where older women, relative or otherwise, about a thousand times your age ask you about who your crush is at school weren’t helpful at all. Like Wiley Coyote wondering how Roadrunner would ever actually taste, I got curious -- next thing I knew, I was wondering why my dad kept Penthouse magazines at the top cabinet and why a naked girl makes my peepee hard when she's for no reason holding a billiard stick between her legs.

Of course now, it's the Men that makes my peepee harder.

*snicker*

I'm gay for no reason. It's like you were born for a reason you make up as you go along. Should you squeeze an answer out of me, I don't know -- I'd probably tell you that menstruation isn't really that beautiful at all. And say "Iw, blood."

Don't get me wrong, I'm a fuckin' feminist. I love women. Without girls, I'd be the loneliest man alive. Understanding women has probably become the only religion I will ever believe in. Living the best of both of worlds is power of Godly proportions.

Yesterday, I've gone out with the 7th guy since I quit about 2 and a half months ago. I figured I had all the time time to date but I’ve foolishly forgotten how difficult it is to actually find that connection with somebody else.

After many failures, last night was different. 'Tis true, time and again proven, that the less you go neurotic over something, the lesser its chances of failing. My thoughts last night, pre-datum, were completely, and surprisingly neutral, perhaps even MATURE in my rarest moments - I didn't care about whether he'd like me back or not, whether or not he'd think I'm fat - or if he'd think I'd look horrible naked.

I was so cool, it felt like I was unstoppable and I don't feel like that all the time. The date went smoothly as frozen yogurt would slowly melt in my mouth on a hot summer day. A good movie, the subtle awkward romantic stares, and a refreshing attitude – all as not planned to be, but beautiful.

It was a late movie that showed midnight. Walking back to the parking light in Greenbelt, when the stores and lights are all out by 2 a.m., while walking, he reached for my hand and I've never felt such magic in the longest time. It was a pleasant surprise and I held on firmly, instinctively not letting go until the feeling goes away.

He held my hand, kissed my shoulder and kept on staring at me telling me how I glowed in the cinema because I am fair in complexion. I was only pale because I was in isolation the entire holy week. But hey, glowing’s good.

I dropped him off his place, but I never had the chance to kiss him goodbye because the security guards of his building kept on staring at us like we were about to pounce on him from within my car. (He wishes.)

I drove back home with a smiling face and an infatuated demeanor. He texted and said he wished he’d invited me inside so he could’ve hugged me. Indulging in it was euphoric. A little too much, even that I started thinking of the next place I’d take him to.

The next day we got into talking and all that was well, in all its glorious infatuation was about to face its imminent departure. Through talking more, I’ve realized he wouldn’t be somebody who is at all understanding of what a relationship is. Today’s the 3^rd day and I continue to realize that his conceit and his hyperactive sexual appetite slowly made my adoration towards him fade slowly. Freakin’ phone sex.

It’s disappointing, but then again typical that I continue to count the failures because of my inaccurate interpretations. I’ll forever be mad when it comes to that.

This time I want to stop caring again. The preoccupations I’ve set for myself are all to commence at signal. Photoraphy, Porn, Playstation, and Pritong food – the cubic P’s that’ll drive my sanity at ease. Maybe this time magic happens again. Fleeting or Forever, it’s still magic and I’d take whatever piece I’m bound to get. ;)

The madness starts here.

tick, tock.

8:32 pm marks the start of this atrocity.

Thirty minutes before that, among millions of other souls in this week-long display of holy hypocrisy and acquired banality, I was in search for meaning --- scouring through facebook news and on a posting frenzy like a maniac high on chocolate.

Technology truly degrades the way of life. Confucius must be hella pissed.

A seed of mozzarella, and one sick piece of cheeseball, Pads (theycallmeshoti) posted a bitchin' music video about DOTA and the jologity it's supposed to define. Ha ha! Then again, there's no such thing. I've learned that it does not mean Duel Of The Asians because apparently it's international. Who fuckin' knew? (lol)

Then, he naively shared his cheesy side I've never thought he's had. Of pixie dust, peter pan, and tinkerbells, he redirected myself to his blog and all that cheese, romantic fuckery, of iconic references, and dating idiosyncrasies was inspiration enough to finally make a blog of my own.

Since the advent of networking sites, it was hard having to write on solid rock having to switch all the time. From Friendster, to Multiply, and now, Facebook - my being obsessive-compulsive thought it inadequate that I write in scattered fragments.This time, I'm sticking to this like a tuko on human skin.

2 dvd series done. 4 good movies. Sex at 2 in the afternoon.

By jove, I've a cornucopia of crap to write about. And my name and title's up there which means I can say whatever I want without any conventions around to shove, not even a smidge of stereotype down my throat.

Do that, and I'll fuck you in half.

Been stuck at home the whole week because the gods have punished me by putting all trustworthy mechanics on vacation in what is supposed to be a week of holiness, hence my car can't be fixed because I'm not a technopath. Plus, 17 more days and I will have been unemployed for 3 months.

The beauty of all this fuckery is that I can start fresh when I'm ready. This blogsite couldn't have been formed in more perfect timing.

At quarter life crisis and past that, my obscure reputation of being a manwhore, of sandwiches and food and music, plus my passion of love and all other beautiful things, If you choose to read what I've to share ---

This is going to be one awesome roller coaster of a ride, baby doll. ;)