Those Days

I'm in one of those moods where I just need to rap on the keyboard and rant. I really wanted to write a post about Sinulog and truly how moving an experience it is. But my Sinulog spirit has worn out and replaced by a hollow anticipation of work. The company hasn't "exactly" hired me yet, but I did such a good job during that work simulation test that—modesty aside—it would be foolish to let me go. I'm very confident about my skill set, and if they don't want me, I'm sure I could find another job in a heartbeat. The thing though is, I'm not really sure where I'm headed right now. Everything in my life—work, boys, friends—they're all a little surreal. I used to think that I know the different versions of myself when I'm with my different set of friends. Now I find myself confused, asking myself if this who I really am, if this is what I want people to see me as. And am I really afraid of stereotypes or am I actually obsessed with them that I try to fit in every category?

I just feel so cowardly right now. The first moment of inconvenience, the first sight of a glitch, and I'm running scared. I'm running away. Always have been. And what sucks is I'm not really going anywhere. I just don't want to stay in one place that I allow myself to be sucked into the illusion that I have somewhere good to go. To feed my ego, I have lie to myself that I can survive without my friends, but they can't do much without me. But I'm wrong. Everyone in my life would be happy without me. I'm just a passing, a memory that will stay alive but will also wither away. I have to admit that I'm not that important, not that smart, not that special.

To be honest, I really don't know why I can't let myself believe that people can genuinely care about me. When they try to get close, I always think of the day when they'll go cold and leave me wondering if we ever even had something to begin with. Friendship is something that is still unbelievably strange to me. I have so many people who smile with me in pictures and laugh with me over beer, but I always find myself drying my own tears and facing my own problems. No one ever asks if I'm okay and actually want to know the answer.

Or.

Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I'm just paranoid because I'm so extremely jealous of people who have best friends and boyfriends. Maybe I'm just sad because I still can't fucking convince myself to feel beautiful. And I'm trying. I have to try. Maybe my friends are all there if I just call them. And maybe it's just me, too damned proud to admit that I'm vulnerable and too cynical to believe that someone cares. And maybe it's the shallowness of it all—of love and life and everything that hangs in between. No one ever ones to dive deeper because we're afraid of drowning, of not knowing what those waters hold. Because reality isn't like the movies after all; things never turn out the way you expect them to. And you're almost always disappointed.

This post is pointless, and maybe that's why it's necessary for me to write this. I have to give myself the chance to enjoy the pointlessness of my life. I have to open myself to the people who make an effort to break my walls and see the wretchedness behind it. I am a mess; most people don't know that because all they see is a shrew who knows how to down a bottle and talk. But I am mostly an idiot. An idiot who is too proud.