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[closet-rapscallion]

Safe space

I’ve never really fantasized about buying myself my own place. Until today.

An edgy page on Facebook posted about how a lot of adult men choose to not buy bed frames for their mattresses.

I thought, me, too. I don’t think an elevated sleeping area is necessary. Less risk of dropping your phone. Easier for an alcoholic.

Everything will be white in my apartment. White sheets, a huge white body pillow, white comforter, white fleece blanket. If there’s gonna be some color, it’ll be in the minimal furniture. Touches of purple, of course. A nice digital clock on the wall that also tells the temperature and situation outside.

For lighting, I’d love that type that’s sorta hidden along the sides of the ceiling. It would have dimming settings. In the morning I won’t need them though, because if my place would have a non-negotiable, it would be floor to ceiling windows. So I’m thinking maybe Baguio would be the most ideal place to find a good spot. I’m also gonna have to make sure I buy that Jimny first then.

My bathing area will be huge. It’s just gonna be one big room, still all white, with a modest bath tub, a changing area slash closet that’s fully carpeted. A big mirror.

I won’t own a television. I’d buy a projector. Hence the main wall in the living area would be bare. At night my place will be a miniature cinema.

Another wall will be fully dedicated to a shelf for books and memorabilia.

A bar area is also a non-negotiable. Steady supply of vodka, tonic, red wine.

I’ll also have a nice marble kitchen top. It’ll have multiple purposes. Study area, work area, cooking area, eating area, sex area. I’ll disinfect it everyday after each activity, of course.

I’m not sure if I’ll keep a plant. Huge chance of it dying and uglying the place up.

The third non-negotiable will be an adopted cat. Preferably also white, but I won’t discriminate. I’ll know I want it when I see it.

I don’t think I’d want a separate room for my mattress-with-no-frame. I’d love my place to be just this one open space.

Oh but I’d love a balcony too. Or a whole roof! So maybe a stairway that would lead to another open space. My place would be a bungalow with modest everything but an expensive bathing srea, with a rooftop. Oh yes. A roof it is. I can put up a table there as well. Like the kitchen top, it’ll be for various activities.

This is actually exciting. My Taurus nature is loving all of this. I will never be stagnant and I’ll never settle, but this place would be cool. A safe, open space for me. Other humans are allowed to enter, but 80% of the time, this will be my sanctuary. My safe space.

[closet-rapscallion]

Midriff

—Life update, 12/03/2018

Decided to revive this account. Think I’ve lost almost half of my internet friends here since I was last active. Anyway, I’m going to write long sentences again and keep them all in one place.

Last Saturday, I wore a crop top. It wasn’t really a cropped top per se, because the cut wasn’t that high. It was one of those tops that only look like you’re slightly teasing, to the eyes of those who are, you know, willing to be on the end of some harmless tease. 

I‘ve always liked wearing that top because, I don’t know, I just felt powerful. And light. And, okay, sexy. But the last time I wore that, I was in a better shape. Last night I wore it and I didn’t think much about how much belly fat I’ve been allowing to grow around me. So I spent majority of the time covering it with my cardigan. Because I was conscious about how some eyes (belonging to people I was talking with) wander lower than where people usually (and should) fixate their eyes onto when they converse. 

Then it hit me. I’m surrounded by men. Men with tummies, too. Big tummies. And I don’t see any woman shifting their gaze lower when they talk to them. Why should I be bothered? But I was. And that sucked. I do not body shame these men, so why should I body shame myself? Why should I deprive myself of the comfort and peace of mind that these men (who I’m actually having an easy, okay time with, minus the body anxieties) are enjoying? It’s no longer my problem if they notice my belly and slightly get turned off by it. I know I’m not bothered when I’m by myself. Why should I be bothered when I’m with others? 

This is not to say that I will continue to grow my belly. I intend to eat healthier. And I’m starting to! Again. Because this may sound mentally unhealthy but, I am much more confident, much more productive, much more effective, when I know I feel fit. So I am going to get rid of this belly. Again. But I refuse to do so just so I can wear a semi-crop top and not be conscious about judgy eyes. No. I will get fitter for me. And while I’m in that process, I will not stop myself from wearing a fucking crop top. Men can (and should) just choose to not look at it just like how I choose to not look at theirs. Then maybe we can have some good conversation. thxforcomingtomytedtalkbyeeee

[closet-rapscallion]

In Lust with Franticness

I'm probably part of the bottom 1% percentile when it comes to sweetness or romance, but behind this stone facade is a heart that falls in love too hard too quickly.

And it doesn't have to be a person in my case.

I fall in love with anything. The frantic 2-year-old pug in the park, the raindrops falling on the taxi window as classic love songs softly tune out the palpable noise of the city traffic, newly changed bed sheets, the serenity of reaching a peak and being closer to the clouds, the graffiti artist stamping 'why' everywhere, planning trips, impeccable playlists, kind strangers who pass on good energies, learning new things, re-learning old things... It doesn't have to be another person in my case.

And it's a beautiful thing—to not have to put the burden of being a source of joy on another soul.

But yes, it does get tiring. Perhaps what this crazy, childlike heart needs so it doesn't have to always have that nagging need to find new things to fall in love with, is to fall in love with herself.

-------- Hey there, it has been a gaping while. This was one of the notes iCloud salvaged when I lost my hardware to the impulsive hands of the streets again.

I forget a lot of things, but I remember where I wrote this. Inside a cab, just before Manila fully got out of bed, along that road in Pasay with the overlapping bridges, on my way back to Sampaloc, coming from somewhere—not exactly sure where or if I was with a friend or a stranger—this part I don't remember as vividly. But I do know that the sky was tearing up a little as it yawned that morning, and my gut is saying I was Somewhere joyful.

---------- November 7, 2016 I haven't been as well as I hoped I would be. I've been spending too much time on hot showers lately, and I've lost my tempo. But I think I'm ready to listen to the conductor again. I'm in great doubt whether I could outgrow this sluggishness, but I'm damn well sure I don't want to be stuck here and waste the rest of this crazy year. I'm going to fall in love as many times as I can this month and the next, before a new year dawns again and my painfully idealistic self takes over and attempts to hatch another plan to wipe the slate clean.

[closet-rapscallion]

Satin Jackets - You Make Me Feel Good

I dreamt of white walls today. You in your cotton tees. Lax but focused, immersed in the track you’re cooking, consumed by the Mona Lisa you’re about to create.

I’ve always been just a spectator. That has always been my only solid talent. Observing.

The intent lurker, absorbing unspoken insights, reading chapters only fellow lone wolves would go through the troubles of skimming through.

And I don’t mind being that for you.

You can take me far away from the ridiculous amount of trains in my head. Save me from forgetting to stand up from the tracks, just in time before an empty car hits.

You’d never let anything snap you out of your odyssey. The whole world can disintegrate back into separate grains of matter, and you still won’t be disturbed. But the world’s magic affects everyone––even us. Yes, even us. Unfortunately and fortunately.

So you swivel your chair and bob your pretty head at me. And we let the world’s magic save us both from ourselves.

White sheets, warm cheeks, soft please.

You’ll be my bag of gold, weighing me back down to Earth when I’ve gotten too far again in wander. And I’ll be your private plane, always ready for take off, whenever you please.

[closet-rapscallion]

At one of my favorite spaces on Earth (ft. my cellulites). Absorbing this. The words I've just read, the feelings it cleared up and reassured. Folk music is playing on the background. (One of the reasons why I love this place--they play songs on the gazebos and only few people go here.) It's been a year (maybe even two) since I reached the last page of a novel. And there couldn't have been a better time. Thank you for sharing Cody and Meg, Gayle. I'm taking the first step today.

[closet-rapscallion]

I should not have time for the people who treat me as an option. But, notice kindly that I said “should not.” I did not say “do not.” And that is what I should say. If I’m being quite honest, I’m sleepy. Very tired of being made optional to people who I make priorities. People who do not want to be priorities. People who tell me not to make them so, and people that I can’t help but care for. Do you honestly think that I want to be knocked down, walked over, told day in and day out that I do not matter to people, or otherwise ignored? Do you honestly think that I would choose that life for myself, if given the option? No. Who would? But I was never given the option. I love people in ways that transcend my ability to decide whether I want to or not. I do not choose to love a best friend who spits at my feet both figuratively and literally, or to love a boy who tells me that I do not matter to him and asks me to stop caring about him. I do not choose to be used and abused and left behind, or to be wanted only so long as it is convenient, and only so long as I remain unattached. I don’t want to love any of you. I have several in mind. I want to hate your guts, some of you, and others I just want to forget. I want to forget the many ways in which you made me feel, and forget that I mattered to you at some point in time. I want to stop feeling as empty as I do, as unwanted, unloved, unnecessary. I want to love people who love me like you all used to, who love me like I’ve always loved you. I want to deserve the same kind of love that makes me forgive you all, makes me take you all back, or want you to come back, or to miss me. I want to receive even a modicum of what I’ve always given you, and instead I get, “don’t.” Don’t love me. Don’t prioritize me. Don’t miss me. Don’t want me. Don’t think about me. Don’t wonder over me. Don’t remember me. I don’t want to, don’t you see that? But it isn’t up to me.

“and I just want to be loved.” 04.09.16 xx (via bee-the-poet)

Fuck

[closet-rapscallion]

Perpetual state of wander and wonder

You know it’s irreparable when you find yourself crying over the OST of a film you haven’t even seen yet, at 9 in the morning. You were supposed to catch your favorite band play at a place that’s right across where you live last night, but you fell asleep, in the most uncomfortable position imaginable. You planned on going out to see a film today, but it looks as though it’s going to be another weekend of zoning out and floating.

You know it’s beyond mending when you’ve been to and done so much in the past three months searching for that spark, attempting to live by your resolution to make this year The Year, but all this quest has ever done so far, is add more depth to that void that has been conquering your insides.

You know your love affair with Bliss is star-crossed when you’ve tried everything––reach peaks, go on spontaneous trips, see the artists who saved you from the big black dog, run miles, engage with the world––and yet there’s still that gap between you and her. And it seems as though you’ll always just be staring at each other on opposite ledges, waiting for someone else to build a bridge.

You begin to understand that maybe your life is really just this––a ceaseless series of forlorn events, too-early’s or too-late’s, miscalculated feelings, flubbed connections, unwritten poetry, finding beautifully devastating music to accompany your detachment with everything else.

You begin to let go and just.. go on with whatever is thrown at you. You stop planning. You stop expecting. You decide to never initiate anything ever again.

You begin to accept the void. That harrowing, motherfucking emptiness. That bottomless crater of everything and nothing. Of blank pages, forgotten alibis, clumsy promises, unspent passions, shunned confessions, meaningless mementos.

You climb down from your war horse.

You decide that today, you’ll be resting. And you open up to the possibility that this might take a while. And you open up to the idea that... it’s okay. It’s okay. You won’t build that bridge tonight, and that’s okay. She can wait for you. She will.

[closet-rapscallion]

Seven, eleven, driven vixen

It’s 4AM and I am still abuzz. It’s too late to take a nap, too early to start moving. The stupid dog is bugging me again, urging me to go down and have a smoke. My last stick was 14 nights ago. In a burrow that I will wholeheartedly set on fire, if my flat feet ever drag me there again. Which, for my poor soul’s sake and for the person who’ll be me in the afterlife, I hope won’t ever occur.

Yesterday I promised myself (and everyone who passively read my tweet, I guess) that February 21st is the day I’ll start mending.

Yet I find myself putting on some pants, pressing the down button adjacent to the elevator and walking towards the direction of 7 Eleven across our precious condominium.

I thought it would be a ghost town by now. But there are kids working on their thesis on the footsteps of the lobby. Or maybe they’re just binging Buzzfeed quickes with straight faces and furrowed brows, I don’t know, I’m too anxious to take a proper look.

I should really thank them though, because seeing them woke the big A up, fueling him to take the wheel, ceasing my tongue from uttering “half pack” and “menthol” to the counter guy at the fairly convenient store.

I step out with a bottle of Fit n Right instead. (And a random bottle of alcohol spray --because I can only say fuck off to one compulsion tonight.)

I walk towards the Ministop on the other block, to test if my willpower is really on winning mode this Monday morning. The store isn’t selling any cigarettes, it turns out.

I step out with a tuna and egg sandwich instead.

And now I’m here, after two months (!!) of quiet. I’m writing again.

So thank you, random college kids at the footsteps of University Tower II. Thank you, anxiety. Thank you, tobacco averse Ministop.

----

I honestly think I’ll break my clean streak this week. But some wise-ass told me two weeks ago that I should never “live in the past or future”. And right now, in the present, I find myself able to fend one dementor off. And that’s a big fucking win for me.

[closet-rapscallion]

Almost there (at Mount Talamitam)

[closet-rapscallion]

[closet-rapscallion]

Holy shit. This is beautiful.

[closet-rapscallion]

I JUST FINISHED THE SOPRANOS

AND

WHAT

THE

FUCK

WHAT THE FUCKING

FUCK

I MEAN, I’VE HEARD IT WAS A “CLIFFHANGER”

BUT WHAT THE FUUUUCCCCCK

[closet-rapscallion]

November 21, 2015 Still not over this. Sam is an angel. (at Mall of Asia Arena)

[closet-rapscallion]

(The Sopranos Season 6, 2006-2007)

Swaying with the wind and occasionally catching a glimpse of the sun ––Life update 11/2015

So yeah. Another year is about to end. Things have been a bit better since my last life update:

I’ve found a new outlet to pour a portion of my unspent passion into – I’m currently a part-time/contributing writer for a start-up health blog for women, Health Begins With Her. (Do check us out!)

I passed the second part of the Certified Management Accountant exam! After months of neutral everything, I needed that big W.

I finally opened up to someone about my intention to transfer to another job/company. And I’m really convinced that it’s the right choice. Not right away ofcourse; I intend to finish my 6-month probationary run. But after that, I think I need to move on. Either take up a Master’s degree, retry my luck in law school, or apply at a development bank.

I think I’m starting to like Justin Bieber.

Currently quite active on Zomato. One of the perks of working in Makati – lots of lovely food stops for mid-work/after-work relief. The city’s rich restaurant lineup almost makes up for all the stress it causes with its traffic jams and general toxicity. Almost. (If anyone’s reading, let’s follow each other hehe)

Had another haircut. I think I’m getting addicted to it. I might go for a full bob before the year ends. Who knows.

Missed the deadline for registration for the upcoming national elections, because on the day I planned to go with a friend, I caught a bad case of intestinal infection which resulted to me being bedridden for almost 4 days straight. Awful. To be honest, I’m only 50% sad about it. (50% okay with it because I don’t think I’m informed enough to decide who among the candidates are trustworthy and competent.)

Had the pleasure of experiencing my first yoga session. It was like my body and mind went through an internal exfoliation of some sorts. It was lovely. I’d love to do it again.

Currently on the last season of The Sopranos. I’m trying to slow down my pace because I really don’t want it to end yet. Tony Soprano has been a solid late-night-escapism companion in the past few months. I’ll miss him dearly.

[closet-rapscallion]

It hurts until it doesn’t. You think it’s going to break you, but it won’t. You may not sleep as well at night, but you will be fine. Numb… but numb and fine are the same.

Scandal (via we-the-dreamers)

[closet-rapscallion]

I was watching alone but I swear this scene made me stand up and shout yeeEEEESSSSSSSS PREACH

… because you’re a man.

[closet-rapscallion]

Brazen

It hits

real hard. And while it is not your core it razes, it burns everything else Every muscle, every pore, every fucking atom of your entirety.

What good is a core without a body anyway?