#anywayys i have so little energy today i feel super bad

[s-ccaam-era-crepe]

clothing shopping is the mind killer </3

[kawaas]

Thoughts from another boring ass day.

12.30.19

It’s 2 days before the start of a new decade, and 4 before I come zooming back to reality. 

These thoughts usually end up in my Moleskine... I got partially through, and my hand is tired. 

Who am I even talking to? Anywayy...

1. What a waste. Seriously, what a waste. 

Yes I know I’m sick and yes I know it’s like my second time through feeling crappy while I’ve been in the Philippines but I’m trying to work through it and still maximize the time I have here and all that other shit, but man. this being stuck in the house thing fucking sucks. Why? You don’t end up even resting at the house. 

I’ve worked through worse than this. A lot worse. Yes, I can firmly say that I would’ve recovered faster from illness faster if I just rested for 2 days, but there’s work to be done. There are things to be done. Then there’s the weekend to rest. There’s the last of the vacation to rest and recover. 

So tomorrow’s already going to be another rest day for me. Everyone decided this for me. I’m not a fucking child. Do one or the fucking other but after 4 fucking days and everyone’s off on their own thing and I’m kinda just... here. I rested specifically for this day and it was snatched away just so. 

“It’s not like you won’t ever be back home again...”

Which brings us to...

2. I think I’ve been really fucking foolish about how much I wanted this place to be “home”

“I’m going home. Back to the Philippines, for Christmas." I was so excited since the school year has also been pretty shit (and not something I’m super looking forward to coming back to tbh, but that’s neither here nor there.) My thoughts go back to January 2018, where I remember having a blast and it being a pretty fun perfect time. My memories wandered back to 2008, 10 years ago, where I was here last for Christmas. The energy, excitement, and just being in a country that wholeheartedly embraces Christmas for what it is. 

I longed to experience that again.

Yet, through all this, I guess I’ve only ever remembered the good.

Here’s a hard to swallow pill: This place has not ever been “home” to me.

That’s not to say this is a bad place to be. No, far from. Everything that I’ve described wanting to see is definitely here in some way shape or form, but, really, what the fuck is “home” anyway? I’ve always been one to believe that home is anywhere that you can let yourself be the most vulnerable, as those around you (even if “those” just ends up being four walls and a bed), provide you with a sense of trust, security, and comfort. 

This is not that place. This place might just be the exact opposite. 

In this place not only do I have to wear my show face, but I also have to wear it for 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. There’s really no rest in that (remember, no resting in this house), and letting me slink back into true introversion. If I can’t do that here, for sure this place can’t be called home. When I’ve drank a little too much, every single person knew, and even my dad was making fun of me to my cousins (GOD I’M STILL SO FUCKING MAD AT HIM FOR THAT AS I WRITE THIS SENTENCE). The little things I fuck up or try to at least be okay at while being here are nitpicked beyond oblivion, whether it’s intentional or not. God I try hard. Why do I have to fucking try so hard to just be laughed at?

Am I trying too hard to try and belong here? From agreeing to speak, to not actually seeing Isha walk down the aisle (ahh.... that’s another side story I don’t even feel like talking about)

This. Is. Not. My. Home.

Even having a high ass fever and (I guess) a kidney/bladder infection is grounds to be laughed at, like... dude, what the fuck.

That’s not what the fuck home is.

And guess what, even 

So why the fuck was I calling this home in the first place? Because it’s glamourous for a Filipino-American to call the Philippines? 

Newsflash, You’re American as much (if not more than) you are Filipino. Deal.

Onward. 

3. Dude, does this family even like me?

Okay. Pause. I know my Lola loves me. That’s actually the major reason why I decided to come. Its’ Lola’s birthday. Isha’s wedding (which... I don’t think I’ll ever feel like talking about) became more and more of a side focus the closer this trip became.

If they don’t like me then shit I don’t have to be here. Aunties and Uncles aside, the generation I belong to, the generation I am expected to connect the most with, is the generation indeed that I’m unsure of. 

So I’m quiet. Quieter than before because you know what, I’m a fucking quiet person unless I’m comfortable, and they’ve all given me a reason to feel really fucking uncomfortable. 

Here’s me bracing for all the jokes and “nakabiro” that I can’t drink because I have a UTI, something that typically only women get. 

All this leads to an uncomfortable thought -

4. Maybe J had a point. 

Fuck the fake family, right? 

I had made the assertion that we would always have a connection due to the blood we share, however, even as I learn about how deeply complex our family can get, one lesson stands out above the others -

Blood can create a connection and initiate a bond between peoples, but that connection varies depending on how you nurture the relationship.

How many of those connections are truly real, and how many are forced? Maybe a better question I should ask is... how many of these connections am I forcing upon other people?

I don’t belong here. Why do I desire deep connections with these family members?

By now I should know who really is there and is not there, and not wasting energy on those that... don’t really desire (or deserve) it.

Maybe... I really miss my family. The ones I truly took for granted. 

This one’s for you, next time you ask me how I’m doing. I doubt I’ll have gotten over this.

And I doubt I’ll be jumping at the chance to come “home” again.

5. I really hope the Niners get their shit together and win today.

That’s all.