I’m not a slacker, I’m just smarter than you


Disclaimer: There are a lot of lazy people in the world. This is about the rest of us who are getting bad rep.

I’m spontaneous. Some people think that’s a flaw. I think it’s brilliant. And FYI: Planning and spontaneity are not mutually exclusive. At a moment’s notice I’m ready for a summer road trip. Movies? Sure! Coffee tonight? Why not? We can be there in a couple of hours. I’m basically up for anything at anytime.

Now while I may spend the majority of my days egotistically thinking I’m super awesome and rare, I would hedge my bets that there are lots of lovely ladies out there just like me. Ladies who have careers, ladies who have friends, ladies who have goals, dreams and priorities. Frankly, Ladies who have shit to do — AND YET — ladies who have time to go out. Like I have time to go out. Ladies like me, who are available. And not because we’re bummers. Or losers. Weak or sad.

We’re just simply smarter than you. Allow me to elaborate.

The biggest complaint I hear from people (when I’m trying to hang out, or when they’re trying to hang out) is that they’re busy. They’re tired. They’ve just got so much going on *stifles eye roll* But here’s the thing of the thing: There are a lot of hours in the day. There are a lot of days in a week and weeks in a month. Our lives are fucking filled with time. So why can’t these people find any of it? I honestly couldn’t tell. It baffles me to no end.

Logic tells me that fun, y’know, is fun. Experience tells me that fun is awesome. And since you can never have too much awesome in your life, logic tells me that you would want to squeeze every drop you can of it into your life. I mean honestly. Now sometimes things don’t work out and schedules collide, and other times there simply aren’t any plans to be made. And that leaves all that lovely room for spontaneity.

I know that people often want to leave their options open. They don’t want to commit to a plan, or a person, or an idea for the weekend. And that’s fine. Go ahead and wrap yourself up in your issues. It could very well work out awesomely for you. I’m not saying I have all the answers. I’m just offering an alternative perspective. A reason he doesn’t answer your texts. A reason he cuts ties after three weeks without connecting for a date. So like I said, I don’t know all the answers. Not by a long shot. But I do know about smart chicks. And I know about awesomeness. And I know about having the most fun possible. So with all those said, I leave you with this:

I beg you. Next time you meet someone who only wants to make advance plans with you, or calls you on a Tuesday to make plans for the same night, try to remember: While it is possible she’s just bored or clingy, it’s just as likely that she’s awesome…and quite simply smarter than you. So get that brain power up. Step it up a notch, get your shit together and get the most out of your life. Or don’t. I mean, do what you want. But don’t be shocked when you call on a Saturday and she’s busy. And the best thing that might have ever happened to your stressful week, who might know the solutions to your problem, is booked solid.

Cogitations, Love

You’ll fall in love with every person you date, until you meet the right one…
and you fall into life.

My Life Minus the Typographical Errors

Life, Soliloquies

Words, by far, are what I consider the best weapon I have against the fiendish villains of real life. There are several reasons why I blog. First, life has what I like to call “dead air”. Sometimes, we have nothing to do but sit on a couch and wait ’til our backs ache — we stare at the television, forcing ourselves to watch all those doggone awful shows; or maybe torture our eyes through our computer or phone screens all day. To sum it all up, life reaches a boring point. And to make the spare time productive, I write.

Second, my major is not English, and I am not required to write but writing wouldn’t make me less of a multimedia arts major, so I choose to write.

Third, writing is better than having doing drugs, or swimming in a pool of alcohol, or partying until dawn breaks. Writing doesn’t kill time. Rather, it makes the time livelier.

And fourth, my camera can’t capture all my good-for-writing experiences, so I use my pen (keyboard), my paper (computer), and my words to do the shots. Besides, while I may not be too bad at photography, I am a humble woman of the pen-and-paper activity. With passion as the initial capital, I am trying hard to develop the kiosk of writing prowess I have with me.

I check my blog site unfailingly. I don’t know why. Maybe I am just a bit narcissistic when it comes to my “masterpieces”, or maybe, it just really feels good to reminisce and appreciate how well I was able to capture the moments using my own version of a fifteen-megapixel camera. I care about people viewing my site. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have made my blog site open for everyone to see. I would be pleased to know that the readers have somehow been entertained, or at least intrigued by my posts. But I would be even more pleased to see that the readers have been touched by what some others consider as mere trash. So to my “co-writers”, let us not be intimidated by those who appreciate in the inconvenient way. We’re still alive. We might be famous when we die.

Just another “Could have been”

Short Stories

Our love story started out very wrong. Everything was wrong — the setting, the timing, the people involved, the anticipated outcome, the situation — it was a jungle of wrongness. And yet, we went in, holding nothing but each other’s hands. Frail, but we thought was enough.

However, the other side of the story convinced us that maybe, it’s not really wrong. Maybe it has just been tagged “wrong” because majority of the people do not agree with it, or because it’s against the norms of the society. But we couldn’t care less about the people, nor about the norms of the society. Who dictates the right things, anyway? And so we went on. We were never afraid to go on.

Now this is how we were.

The moment we open our eyes from whether a nap or a deep sleep, there is a slight hesitation of whether we’ll go back to sleep and continue our dreams of each other, or we’ll wake up and embrace the sweetest reality of having each other. Choosing the former ends us up wanting each other even more. Picking up the latter ends us up with the same thing. We’re stuck. We both love being stuck with each other like that. And we could have been stuck with each other like that forever.

We were friends. I tell him he’s stupid if he was. He’ll tell me I’m an idiot if I was. When I fail, he cheers me up. I do the same thing with him. We play games. We draw. We make faces. We laugh like there’s no tomorrow. We finish each other’s sentences. We race to the top of the stairs, and when we do that, I always win because he always lets me. But, at the same time, we were lovers. Our love for each other was something no man could ever doubt. We were deeply in love — so deep, Bonnie and Clyde would be jealous. We were both friends and lovers. And we could have been friends and lovers forever.

He’s my angel. Likewise, I am his angel. We were each other’s angels. And we could have been each others angels forever.

But the trigger has been pulled, and one night, we came up with a mutual decision that maybe we should just set our love aside and just focus on each other’s lives — SEPARATELY. It’s tough. But we were in a jungle of uncertainty, right? We can either find each other’s way out and be able to make it out bruised, or we can stay inside and die. I remember he once told me, “Sometimes, you don’t need to have a brain. You just need to have the heart for it.” Well, maybe that’s the reason why even though we’re both smart enough, still, we were unable to come up with a third option — and that is to stay inside the jungle and try our best to survive together.

So that’s the end of our love story. I waved goodbye. And though he has all the powers in the world to stop me from leaving, he never did.


Short Stories

I could have not waved goodbye.

He could have stopped me from leaving.

Then maybe we could have been together, still.

But then again, this is just another “could have been.”



So today I added emoji support here 😆 This just might be what my drab, lifeless blog needs👌

A 5-Minute Forever

Short Stories

A little past ten in the evening, and there we are, walking along the almost depleted foyers of a once mundane place that soon became of utmost importance to me. We were at the south, and we’re heading to the other side of the parking lot, which made me consider that we will be together for at least 5 more minutes. Each step we took brought us closer to the estimated 5-minute time, and for the first time in my life, I prayed that some form of an impairment will strike us instantly, so as to prolong our time together.

We were about half a meter away from each other — a safe distance for friends, I assumed. I brought with me the perfect eyesights for each eye, and so I was able to take a good look at him, a secret one. He was about 5’9″, with a body same as that of the boy next door, and the face of an angel. He had a well-waxed hair, which made me think that if I had it muddled, I would at once be cursed by him. But that, of course seemed impossible — angels don’t curse. His voice need not be questioned. It was as soft as his face, as gentle as his laughter, as warm as his smiles, and as comforting as his stare. His stare. I avoided nothing but his semi-chinked eyes, for I had been told once, that a mere contact of my gaze to another’s can make me fall in love. I took it as a warning.

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There was a girl named Sam

Short Stories

There was a girl named Sam and she was beautiful. She was all the zestfulness of the sun and the mysterious beauty of the rain. Her hair casually flipping over her shoulder, the sound of her gentle muffled laughter. She lived “the” life – carefree, fun, free. She seldom talked about herself and that vagueness added a bit of a thrill to those who seek to know her more. She was mysterious, and beautiful. She had friends and family who all loved her. She got all the things she wanted — after all, she deserved everything.

How she gently pressed her napkin onto her lips, the tinkles of her porcelain cup clinking against the saucer as she set them down, and how she crooked her little finger while sipping her tea. Oh the elegance and the glamour. She exuded purity. She was perfect.

Except that she never really was.

Let me tell you the real story…

There was a girl named Sam and she tried to look beautiful. She was the nasty heat of the sun and the icky wetness of the rain. Her recently made-up hair which she could just have possibly precisely placed over her shoulder, the sound of her evil, loud laughter. She failed at life – always anxious, ever ignorant. She seldom talked about herself and she stayed vague because the last thing she wanted to happen is for people to discover that she was not who she claimed she was. She was vile and manipulative and pretentious and shameless. She had no friends who truly loved her. She got everything she wanted (to show off) — after all, that’s what she lived for.

How she tried to get to the top of the tree, even if all the branches and twigs broke as she climbed. How she claimed all her glory through secrets and lies. Oh the glitz and the pretentiousness. She was fake. She was a mess.

She died miserable.

The end.

Twelve Hours and After

Love, Soliloquies

Decided to publish this five-year-old draft today, just because

For the next twelve hours…
you will be with me, and I will be with you,
and we will worry about nothing but the cold night,
which eventually will be not so cold after all,
for I will be warmed by your embrace, and together,
we will rock ourselves to sleep.
The blues are freezing, yet we will stand in the middle,
unmindful of the chills.
You will hold me and would not let go,
and we will watch the water steam.

For the next twelve hours…
I will lock myself with you,
and we will do nothing but savor the moments,
and make sure that each scene was captured,
so that I can go back to them from time to time,
and from time to time means more often than always.
And though forbidden, I will be with you –
as much as you want me, as much as I want you.
As much as they’re hating,
and as long as we don’t care.

For the next twelve hours…
you will clench your limbs with mine,
and we will dance ’til we’re sober,
we will tango though we can’t,
we will sing ’til sunrise,
we will look at the evening sky,
we will close our eyes and whisper,
“We will never fall apart.”,
we will have our lips entwined,
our hands gently clasped,
our hearts joined together,
our minds merged as one.

The extreme will happen in the next twelve hours,
for after that, when the sun starts shining,
we will be back to reality.
You with her.
Me alone.
Us together.