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After about a month of waiting, my care package from Roger in Norway finally finally arrived. I was growing worried they’d gotten lost in the mail due to the holiday rush, so I was incredibly relieved when my mom said she had gotten the notice.

The package contains a bunch of DVDs, chips (there was a bigger bag of chips in there, which I consumed with the help of Kristel and Ane), tea, cigarettes (fuck asthma), an old t-shirt of his (which is way too big, I love it), and a letter. Yes, an old-fashioned, hand-written love letter. I grew so disgustingly giddy and giggly when I read it over at Starbucks. A little part of me wanted to cry when I first read the letter–it was sweetness mixed with just the right amount of mush and humor–but I was in public and as a rule I never cry in front of people. I hate admitting that I’m a hopeless romantic, but I am. I AM!! I must have reread the letter about ten times today though, and each time I read it I have to repress the urge to run around with my arms open and scream, “He loves me! He really really loves me!” Perhaps I’ll be emo about the whole thing another day, I’m too busy being happy right now.

There’s a part two that should arrive in a few days, it contains chocolate and candy. Awww yeah

Ok, I’m lame and in love so I shall shut up now.

My mom also got the notice that the stuff I ordered from eBay arrived as well. Wahoo!!! Finally, I can get around to stretching my lobes again. I’ll be going home all the way to Makati for that purpose, I’ve been waiting so long for those damn tapers to arrive.

Sociologist Erving Goffman says that social interaction is a performance, the objective of which is to give audience an impression consistent with the desired goals of the actor.

Needless to say, my performance at the Blog Parteeh (blogparteeh07) was the most exhausting one I’ve done in a while.

I’m not a social being at all. I never go to large parties, even if it happens to be at a friends’ house. When I’m at very crowded places, like at the Cubao MRT station during rush hour, the cafeteria at shcool during lunch, or at Megamall during a sale, I experience social claustrophobia. It’s that panicky sensation that comes with being trapped amidst a sea of people, that sense of doom as I wait to be trampled on by the crowd or suffocate from the carbon dioxide of their breath. There are times when I feel like being sociable and making new friends but most of the time, I hate talking to strangers and I like keeping to myself.

If I had known that the Blog Parteeh was going to be a huge event instead of the small, intimate gathering I had imagined it to be, I wouldn’t have gone at all.

I showed up fashionably late and nearly ran back in the elevator when I saw how crowded the sixth floor was. I was expecting maybe thirty or forty people, but nothing like what I saw this evening. I’m used to being at crowded places of course, my school’s campus is way too small for the student population. But at least I’m not obligated to talk or be nice to any of them; I can just listen to my iPod, push my way through the halls, and go skulk off in a corner. It doesn’t work that way in social events though. You gotta be nice, talk to people, or at the very least, smile a lot and look like you’re having a good time. I could have easily just have been a total wallflower but I’m not a kid anymore. I had to live up to the expectations required for the role of the Normal, Sociable, Semi-Intelligent Twenty-Year Old Girl Who Happens To Be The First Blogger in the Philippines (Or So People Say).

I’m not sure how well my performance went because during the last hour of the party, I was still inwardly freaking out and throwing a mental tantrum that went something like this: I want a cigarette, I don’t wanna talk to people, I don’t wanna socialize, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna, I don’t wanna! It didn’t seem like anyone was completely repulsed by me so I guess all that smiling and randomly saying the first thing that came to mind must have worked. :p I felt a lot more comfortable at the after-party at Alexa’s Deli, though. And I was enjoying the company so much that I would’ve gone to Dencio’s afterwards if I didn’t start to feel worn down from the effort of sustaining my performance.

Socializing with strangers is completely different from being with friends because with the latter, I can be as weird and annoying as I want and they’re not going to hate me for it. It’s incredibly exhausting to present myself as a normal, desirable person. Which, sadly, is something I’m going to have to get used to once I start selling my soul to the demons of the corporate world. *sigh*

Technorati Tags: blogparteeh07

So this is what it’s like to get your heart broken.

It hurts like nothing I’ve felt before.

I’ve been screwed over, yes, but that’s entirely different. See, only assholes screw. At the very start of things, I know when the person I’m dealing with is a jerk and I can tell when his innate assholeness will bring me nothing but trouble later on.

But heartbreak…in order to get your heart broken, you first have to trust someone enough to allow yourself to be put in a vulnerable position. You take the risk of opening yourself up, aware of the possibility that your heart may get trampled on, but also of the chance that you will escape this limbo in one piece and live happily ever after with the man of your desires and your fantasies.

What hurts the most about getting your heart broken is not the pain per se, or the events that led up to the said heartbreak. It’s the rude awakening from the most peaceful sleep you’ve had in years, the disillusionment of watching a beautiful dream fade and fall apart to reveal the stark ugliness of the reality you live in. It’s the despair that comes with the knowledge that you have risked so much and revelaed the most sacred, intimate parts of yourself, only to fail to attain what you were after.

Tonight, I shall throw out any plans of getting any schoolwork done, smoke myself to an asthma attack, and drink myself to sleep.

Tomorrow, I will wake up a very bitter and jaded woman with the biggest eyebags on the planet.

EDIT: Bati na kami. :p And I have monster eyebags from all that crying. Wahoo.