Regret

I am imagining myself five years from now.


 I am sitting at a train station somewhere in Europe, waiting to be transported to God-knows-where. I look at the strangers passing by and enjoy their strangeness. I catch myself and realize that I am the strange one here. I am like a shrub horribly mixed up with gigantic trees. I look like an Asian junior high school student lost in the metropolis and can't hope of asking help because she doesn't speak English. But I speak great English, probably better than most people here. Perhaps I'm in Belgium. Or Brussels.


I heave out a sigh and revel in the visible puff of air that comes out. It's cold, so it must be nearing winter or something. I search the faces before me, and I see him appear like the dream that he always was—fragile and susceptible to dissolution. A feeling creeps all over me, overriding the alien feeling one is wont to get when they are million miles away from home. I smile at the association and realize that I still love him after all this time. His cheeky, awkward self.


I want to remember memories that lovers remember when they're apart: walks while holding hands, kisses, gentle touches, the whole compendium of the clichéd and the romantic. But another feeling washes over me, something sharp and heavy and painful. I don't remember us ever being lovers. We were just friends, always just friends. I feel my eyes sting with tears, and I let them fall because I deserve it. I deserve to cry over our could-have-beens because it's partly my fault. 


The feeling ebbs and slowly fades, giving way to the numbness that has allowed me to be here and pretend that I'm happy being alone. The word that I don't want to say hangs on my lips, begging me desperately to let it go. I decide against recognizing it, but it's there. It's there when I eat in a restaurant by myself. It's there when I sit on a park bench and unintentionally observe lovers being lovers. It's there when I look at pictures and remember conversations over beer and cocktails. It's here now, sitting on my chest, suffocating me softly. I open my mouth and my tongue hesitantly slides against my palate. 


"Regret."


The train finally arrives, and I am back on a swivel chair, rapping on a keyboard.

My Writing in Retrospect

Reading my blog posts from way back in 2006 makes me cringe. I wrote just like a child—so immature and foolish. Who would blame me anyway? I was in high school, and my hormones were starting to realize what they're for, and I had every right to make disgusting blog updates about puppy love, bad days, and food. I can't believe how much profanity I used! I wrote in fuck whenever I had a want for the proper adjectives to make the proper purple patches. I wrote about my childish romantic feelings, which all seem so ridiculous and stupid to me now. I wrote in sticky keys. My ideas were a mess. My paragraphs were obese and visually appalling.

I can't really say I've improved much over the years. I still can't find the right adjectives to form the right purple patches. And I've sort of given up and have decided to be a follower of Wordsworth's "rural subject" and "plain language." I find that I like writing using simple words because then I don't have to pretend to be really good when I know that I'm really not. I'm not the type who can use the big words like lacuna or antidisestablishment. Even though they're at my disposal, I can't seem to bring out pinnacle or endemic when I need them. This sometimes makes me wonder if I really can write at all. I don't (or ever will) write in sticky keys anymore, and I have had training in copyediting, so my punctuations are more or less groomed. I have managed to trim down my paragraphs too to a sexier appearance.

But are my ideas really there? Am I present in my words? It sucks to admit that I don't have the answer to that. When I read other people my age, my words don't hold a candle to theirs. Mine seem too bland and just mediocre compared to theirs that contain long and difficult adjectives and lively expletives.

Someday

She feels the weight of the backpack as she walks steadily under the gaze of Persian pyramids, holding a map that points to nowhere in particular—perhaps to a noisy market or another crowded street. She looks at the strangers working around her and wonders about their life. How many kids do they have? Where do they live? What is their mother like? Do they like dogs?

She inhales the air thick with sweat, goat manure, and humdrum labor. And she exhales her freedom. Nobody here likes to speak English. Some Farsi words are too ancient and lenghty to pronounce all in one breath, so she doesn't speak at all, reveling in the homely boisterousness of the people's domestic routine.

Where would she go from here? Her steps are calculated, her fingers snapping subconsciously as they are wont to do when she gets nervous. It feels like summer. Maybe, maybe it is.

What Makes You Happy?

On this random Monday afternoon, I came across a question that has haunted me all my life: what makes you happy?

Wise men say that happiness is a choice, a state of mind—slightly like freedom but a little more tangible. It can come from the strangest things, from the most random moments, and from people we've known all our lives but still sometimes feel like strangers.

I am happy when I write. When I am lost, and somewhere in that vertical axis of nothingness, I am found. I am happy when I get reconciled with ideas and when I discover the right words to bring them to life.

I am happy when I hear people laugh because it is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world.

I am happy when I hold someone's hand— to be reminded that I'm grounded and that I'm still here. I am happy when I am embraced and kissed.

I am happy when it rains and there is good music and coffee to keep you warm.

I am happy when I don't have to wake up very early in the morning.

I am happy when he's with me, even if we're just friends. Yes, I can be happy that at least we're friends.

I am happy when I am in the familiar presence of my family and friends.

I am happy with long and meaningful conversations.

I am happy in a four-walled classroom, in a vandalized chair, with theories that deconstruct the world around me.

I am happy when I get some time to think and immerse myself in the necessary pointlessness of life.

I am happy right now, with the miracle that is a new morning, a brand new chance to change and do something.

So be happy.

Thank You for the Music

I feel resolutely happy today. And I haven't felt like this in a very long time. So thank you, Rachmaninoff. Thank you, music, for bringing me back to myself.



It just makes you feel thankful and takes you back to why you're here in the first place. Everything exists for a reason. There are no coincidences, just miracles. Little touches of the divine. Something to let you know that it helps to smile every morning and remember that every day is special.

Thank you, God.

Downing the Bottle

I don't think I can put into words exactly how bad I feel right now. It's partly because of the embarrassing situations I have again managed to get myself into when I got drunk last Saturday night and because of the post-effects on my Sunday.

I'm above pretending to be drunk just to see how much people will make fun of me. I've proved that they will laugh at you but then take care you after. I actually like lasting longer in drinking sessions because the conversations take on really interesting turns, and I wouldn't miss out on that. But I can't help it if I get dizzy after three shots. I've always been a cheap drunk . . . and a bad one too.

I wouldn't have minded waking up yesterday with a major thumping headache; I've been in that sheet one too many times. But this time, this time, I missed something that I was looking forward to for three weeks with someone.

My 10-kilometer marathon with Hannah.

Thinking about it breaks my heart in pieces. The first thing I did when I woke up and found out that it was almost seven was cry. I had to cry. Drinking all that lethal combo of Gatorade and rhum wasn't worth missing the marathon. It just wasn't worth it.

Give Me Music

This is one of my favorite songs. It reminds me of so many things all at once.

Life News

Gained three pounds since last week.

I blame coffee and the nice old lady who knocks on our office door every 2:30 PM selling snacks that look too inviting to ignore. I usually buy two bananas, but they are dipped so generously in caramel that I might as well have bought two doughnuts. And it isn't only for the sake of eating that I indulge myself with an afternoon snack; it's mostly to ward off sleep—which took up a lot of my time at work last week. Thankfully, I was so well rested last weekend that I could probably stay up for one whole day.

Plus, I'm really broke (this doesn't stop me from eating though) from the theft last week and from that trip last weekend. It has me a little worried about that trip to Palawan. I'm thinking of pawning my class ring, but I honestly cringe at this idea. If all else fails, however, I guess I will have no choice.

I am currently in the state of pushing my lifestyle down a notch. No parties. No shopping. No movies. No pigging out in plush restaurants. No out-of-town trips. I realized that it feels strange and ironically enfeebling to stay in all day when you're so used to being out and about on Saturdays. It doesn't help either that on weekends I miss him very terribly. This will sound corny, but I truthfully feel more complete in his company. And my weekends, regardless whether they're awkward, silent, or generally confusing and painful (for my heart), are now irrevocably tied up to him, dependent on his invites and lack thereof. I've been so used to his company that I just can't enjoy being alone anymore. And it sucks because I don't like feeling lonely when I'm alone. Before we started going out on dates (I don't know what else you'd call being alone together for most of the day), when I'm at the mall and watching a movie by myself, I don't feel sad or pathetic; I feel independent and empowered. Now I feel aimless and deficient.


Going back to my considerable weight increase (considerable because it's not easy losing it again dammit), I am subscribing to Fr. Rex's homily last Sunday, at least those that I remember.

1. More walk, less ride.

Would do it willingly if the office is but a walking distance. Unfortunately, it's two-rides far, so I'm applying this advice on other circumstances. I love walking anyway, so shouldn't be hard.

2. More deeds, less words.

Hmn, I'm really more of a words kind of person, so I'm not sure how I'll go around this. Probably, shut the hell up when you don't need to speak. Or don't make promises (especially to yourself) that you won't fight for to keep.

3. More chewing, less eating.

This is good advice! See, according to this book I've read, taking twice the time to eat your food makes you full twice as fast. I'm a fast-eater, so I tend to eat more to get satisfied. I tried that this lunch. It's a little hard when you're feeling ravenous, but getting yourself distracted, for instance texting or watching TV, will help make you chew your food longer, and hence make you feel full sooner.

4. More prayers, less worries.

This one's my favorite. I felt really awful last Sunday missing church because I was feeling lazy. I've also noticed that my prayers aren't that solemn or long anymore. It's like I'm giving God words out of a template. Sometimes, I'm ashamed to admit, I just resort to "Our Father" or "Glory Be." I know it's not really wrong if you mean it, but God deserves more than a pre-made prayer. He deserves something personal and heartfelt. When I'm tired, my heart falls asleep before it can begin to open itself to prayer. But I'm always praying—when I talk to myself (to God, really), I guess that's some sort of prayer. And it does lessen your worries because you know that you don't have to face them by yourself.

Now I feel awful cursing. Oh but I guess I'm allowed to some degree of profanity.

Get your ass back to work, bitch!

Stop Smiling!

He talked to me again today. No, actually, he made a joke that I didn't even hear. I know I should have laughed anyway, but I was so caught off guard that I just stared at him like a clueless dork (I was wearing my glasses) and half-murmured, "Huh?"

And he said, half-laughing, "That was a joke." And I just half-chuckled because I wouldn't want to be over-responsive like last time when he said "good morning" quietly and I practically screamed my good morning back. That was embarrassing!

He's quite tall too! When we were struggling to fit ourselves in the narrow pathway of the kitchen, he towered over me with his probably almost 6-feet height. Oh, but his voice! And that childlike, weirdly familiar laugh!

Okay, I have to stop smiling. Stop smiling, I say! And get your ass back to work.

Endless Morning

Just beyond
the thunder
is a slow pluck of a
guitar string
and a finger
heavily pressed
against the black
keys of an old
piano.
I sit there
remembering
a little girl
who once danced
in the rain
and her dog
whose fur
licked sunshine.

Compared to Rocks and Mountains

“What are men compared to rocks and mountains?”

It was Elizabeth (Pride and Prejudice) who said this, and I knew then that she was right. Nature gives you a different kind of romance that is more peaceful, more pure, and more profound. It’s a love that transcends the physical and is almost paranormal—like somehow you’ve been touched by something divine.

This weekend, my friends and I went to a remote village to try their new adventure park. It was quite far from the city; we felt like we passed around ten mountains or so. But when we got there, the seemingly endless road trip was well worth listening to annoying kids sing Justin Bieber songs and narrate their life story to friends who were obviously not interested.

The whole park was, according to our very friendly guide, 133 hectares wide and is owned by a Chinese family whom we had the pleasure of meeting that day (such a lovely lot). They offer several activities that satiate adrenaline and adventure highs that some of us are wont to look for after being stuck in constancy for so long—a price that comes with living in the city. The adventure rates and packages are quite reasonable as well, so it was a perfect getaway.

We did trekking, caving, zipline, and horseback riding. I had the most fun during the zipline and horseback riding. I’ve always wanted to ride a horse and see if it feels good like the movies make it appear. The truth is it hurt! I couldn’t feel my legs for three minutes after I dismounted. I think it was probably because my legs are too short; my feet didn’t even reach the frickin’ stirrup! But all was well.

I also discovered when we were walking toward the cave and during the caving activity and especially during the zipline that I wasn’t that afraid of heights. My stomach turned a couple of knots of course, but I wasn’t dizzy or nauseous like I’d normally feel when I’m climbing a high staircase. I think my fear of falling isn’t triggered because I know that when I fall, I’m going to land on soft ground. In contrast, if I fall on a staircase, I’d hit my head on concrete and get brain damage or die.

The weather was cooperative too. The sun would be smoldering for one second and be covered by nimbus clouds the next. It never rained on us, which was great (but then I secretly hoped it would). Ah, how the air smelled good! It just makes you want to roll on the grass until gravity takes you somewhere nice.

We got home that day with little cuts from the grasses but with memories that we bragged to everyone on Facebook.

On Sunday, Hannah and I joined an eco-marathon whose proceeds are going to a team of engineering students who will be building a car that doesn't run on petroleum. We ran the whole six kilometers; it was so much fun! And I'm sure my body appreciated the sweat (which was offset by the pounds of food I ate after *groan*).

But the best thing about this weekend was the part where I walked drenched in the morning rain. I felt so beautiful—like I was meeting nature for the first time after being separated for who-knows-how-long, like meeting an old friend. The streets were empty too, so I was at liberty to smile and close my eyes without having to fear about people thinking I'm some kind of wet lunatic. I got home that morning feeling a special kind of happiness, the kind that words will never be able to describes, the kind that only God can give. It's the happiness of knowing that God is there, holding me with the rain, whispering to me through the wind, loving me by opening my eyes to the beauty that he made just for me to behold.

What are men compared to rocks and mountains? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

Hasta la Vista

I am alarmed at the rate of madness my mind has been running on these past couple of days. I want to try everything! I just booked a flight to Palawan for god's sake, and I don't even know how I'm going to save money for that trip! But the feeling is majestic--yes, that can only be the word to describe it. For the first time in my life,I made a decision that was just me. I didn't even gave myself room to rationalize my choice; I just frickin' made it! And it feels wonderful.

I don't know why I'm suddenly feeling the urgency to live my life this year. I want to learn a language, travel, meet new people, fall in love and be hurt again. And even though I don't really have the money to do all those things, I feel as if it doesn't matter as much as my willingness and enthusiasm does. I'm high on freedom, on life, and on the things that are waiting for me in places I've never been.

They say March is the month of growing things. So I'm going to grow in the best possible way I can--in places that will not hold the certainty that comes with comfort and with people I will just have to trust.

Wish me luck then.

A Rose for a Thought

Today I asked my workmate LJ if I could have the rose that someone she probably didn't like gave her on Valentines. I feel a strong attachment to that blooming huge rose and those white rosebuds. Even if they aren't mine, I'll make sure they live until they outgrow their beauty. I love flowers. If I had a garden, I would spend whole day planting.

Wardrobe Malfunction

My portable closet has been falling on me for a week. I told it to wait until I get my next paycheck, but it really collapsed for real this morning. I sneaked in looking for used closets yesterday while working but found they were way beyond my wage capacity.

I fought myself against asking Mom for money, but I don't really have much choice. Moreover, it's Valentines and I need to do something (like shopping for another portable closet) to distract myself from feeling a little lonely seeing all those happy couples.

Someone always manages to give me flowers on Valentines, but I won't raise my hopes today. I'll probably buy junkfood later and enjoy the Leverkusen-Barcelona game on YouTube.

I meant what I said that I'm not bitter today, that I am happy despite the things that are missing in my life. But when everything reminds you of that deficiency, I guess it's normal to feel a tad bit sad. All singletons earned that right, just like couples can bury themselves into each other's neck today without fear of being judged.

Oh well, I guess happy Valentines then.

Drop a Heart

I guess I'm wont to admit that I expected this year's Valentines to see some kind of improvement. If going on five unplanned awkward dates that end up in me trying desperately to convince myself not to read too much into it counts as an improvement, then I guess I must have done something right. Or maybe not.

My girl friends and I watched Something Borrowed yesterday, and I hated myself for clinging to that hope that I might be reading him right after all, that somehow at some point, he might have felt the same way for me. I am just so tired of waiting and hoping and pathetically expecting more from this complicated thing between us and being disappointed every time.

I hate that I feel happy when people mistake us for a couple. I hate it even more when he becomes all defensive and immediately corrects them with "We're just friends." It sucks to be "just his friend." It's fucking heartbreaking.

But I have learned to be absolutely casual around him, to act unbelievably platonic and loud when we talk because I know somehow that the silence will sound haunting, and it will create some sort of awkward distance between us.

In short, I will spend this Valentines as I always do—alone with some plausible excuse to ward off people, especially myself, from feeling sorry for me. But underneath those layers of being too fucking smart, being happy, being okay with being single, being afraid of relationships, being "just" a friend—I am vulnerable like all other girls really are. I want to be able to blush and be disgustingly sweet in public places. Because the truth is I don't really hate seeing couples being couples on Valentines. I don't hate seeing girls bringing bouquets and chocolate boxes. In fact, I revel in those sights. I love the gooey looks and the soft kisses and the gentle touching of hands.

Though it makes me want to have someone to call special even more, it also reminds me that someday, somehow, it will be my turn to have something as special as the reason why Valentines, and all other things in a philosophical perspective, exists.

Coffee Stains

Thank God it’s Friday. Really, really thank God.

I need to catch up on some sleep. My body is not yet used to waking up deliciously early in the morning, and it still wants to sleep late at night. It might be a contributing factor why I’m still not yet completely well. I just consumed three rolls of tissue (none of them Kleenex, I might add), and I wake up in the middle of the night thankful that it’s still in the middle of the night and I don’t have to really wake up yet—and disappointed that I even woke up in the first place. It’s been like this since Monday. No straight sleep.

My fruit diet never includes coffee, but I’m almost always sleepy at nine in the morning—at work no less. And I can’t afford to recklessly doze off because 1) my boss has made it a habit to pass by my station every 30 minutes, 2) I have to maintain the good and “timely” work that my client says I’ve been doing, and 3) we’re just five in the office and I’m sure my workmates will notice if I unconsciously bang my head against the computer monitor.

They also gave me a mug, which I’m sure was a freebie from the tissue company. (Because it has “smooth bathroom tissue” magnanimously splattered on its front.) It looks outrageously boring, but it does a good job of keeping me alive and warm. And I like how the coffee stains look splashed against its dirty-white roundness.

I’m glad I don’t have to say “it’s just another day at work.” They give me different things to do every day, so I am kept at suspense until I open my mail. It has been a good—more than good—first week.

Now back to work, woman!

Marked Fragile

There are times when I like being sick—usually when I’m at home and can sleep whenever I want as long as I want. I find however that I never get sick during these times. I get sick on my first day on the job, on the Christmas party, on Sinulog. I get sick when no one’s there to take care of me and make sure I’m drinking my medicine and getting enough sleep.

I hate nursing myself basically because I don’t want to nurse myself. I feel so weak and ugly and disgusting when I’m sick, and I don’t like being all those things.

This weekend, Aya and I had to go to the emergency room from food poisoning. We were throwing up every five minutes. I had probably vomited all the food I’d eaten during that day that when I threw up the last few times, nothing came out but violent spurts of air that seemed to drain my stomach of its contents. I tried swallowing pills, but I vomited them too. Mom called and told us we should just go to the hospital. When the lab results came out, we discovered that nothing was wrong with us. Doctor said we just probably ate something bad and asked us not to eat cold and spoiled food. Noted!

Then Sunday came and I woke up with a sore throat. I knew what that meant. I probably gargled at least a glass of salt solution; it still persisted. Come Monday and my nose is starting to congest. Tuesday and I'm weak. Now I'm with a fever, a flu, and a cough. Hopefully this doesn't progress to asthma because then I'll be coughing like it's the end of the world. I wouldn't want that. My cousins who will be studying wouldn't want that. My workmates who will be working wouldn't want that.

Curse this weak, weak body! I hate feeling so fragile!

Whistle While You Work

It's only been two days, but I feel so comfortable at my new workplace already. I don't feel intimidated or pressured or threatened. I feel relaxed, appreciated, and secure. I guess this is the reason why I didn't last very long with Xlibris. When I was still there, I felt like I had to overcome mountains every day without really knowing why, without ever pausing to check if I'm still all right, if I can still go on. But here, I feel taken care of. My boss checks on my progress every once in a while, and not the kind that has you stiffened scared like an idiot. He monitors me like a child, looking into my work and asking if I have problems. He guides me step-by-step into the process, as if teaching me how to walk. And I'm slowly standing up. My work environment feels so wide, feels like it has so much room for me to learn and grow. This is the kind of environment where I thrive—where I know I will rise and be great.

And that was exactly what this job has given me: an opportunity. I'm the first and only person working on this projet for now, and I feel so privileged that they chose me to define the standards. I haven't been assigned to the real deal yet but so far the feedback has been good on my performance. My bosses say they expect a lot from me, and I'm in a place where I know and am willing to meet and exceed their expectations.

On my first talk with the COO, he asked for my commitment. I hesitated because I didn't know if I could live up to my word if I gave it. But I chose to believe in myself and said yes. And I'm glad I did. I feel so positive about my work that I don't mind waking up very early in the morning. I could definitely last here for two years—maybe even more. Let's cross our fingers and see!

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.

The Beginning of the End

I don't want to think that the world will end this year. But if it's God's will, then so be it. I'm not very confident that I'll be one of the lucky people on judgment day, but 2011 was such a special year that I don't have that kind of fear that makes you want to be violently religious all of a sudden. I doubt religion can save me later, but my faith has always done miracles for me. And I believe in goodness and love and family. I've had these things and more. I have the best family in the world. I've done things that have made myself and the people who matter to me proud. I've been on a date. I can die happily anytime.

I can't begin to describe how special and wonderful this year's Christmas and New Year have been. I've never felt closer to my family in these past few weeks than ever before. I'm so in love with every one of them—my cousins and uncles and aunts and nieces and nephews. I'm more open to my mom and my stepdad. I've had pretty funny conversations over beer with my friends. Mishy even visited. 2011 was one of the best years in my life. And for this I'll be forever grateful.

But this post is my perfunctory New Year's resolution post. So I shan't dally no longer.

1. Never lie (if you can help it).
2. Often laugh.
3. Always love.

I doubt I'll get to keep number 1. I've already broken it in fact, thus the parenthetical element. I've always been a good liar, and I've gotten even better at it. It's just always been a part of me that it's practically impossible to get away. Because lying is what makes people listen to me. I tell them what they want to hear, and they almost all the time love me for it. I'm not really proud of it, but sometimes it helps. It helps me cope. So I will try NOT to lie if I can help it. If there's really no reason to say something that isn't true, then I'll shut up.

I love laughing. It's one of the things that remind you why life is beautiful.

I'm sure I'll keep number 3 until the world ends. Oh yes, pun intended. I guess the real point to number three is not just say I love people but more importantly show them. I'm also extending this resolution to myself. I need to get over my insecurities about being pretty. I need to give myself a chance to think and feel beautiful. I want to respect myself more because in the end, that's all I'm going to have.

People change, and the things that people want change. I change ever so easily that sometimes I'm confused about who I really am and what I really want. I guess I'll try and get along with the idea of constancy and that need to have and feel something familiar every day. I don't always have to change; sometimes I just have to make do with what I am for the moment. I realize this now.

Twenty-twelve, I pray you be good to me and everybody else. Whether or not you're the beginning of the end, we will welcome you with courage and prayer as you come and pass. Here's to another fruitful year! :-)