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People who ask me what high school I graduated from usually receive an ironic smile and a singsongy “Secret!” in response. I’ve been thinking about changing that policy because it’s a hassle to explain why I’m being so secretive. See, I was the token Weird Chick back in high school. The kid everybody picked on for the dumbest of reasons, the freak who couldn’t seem to fit in or be understood by anyone. I bet if you were in my place, you’d make a conscious effort to avoid being friends by association with anyone from your alma matter. Or maybe that’s just me.

A portrait of the freak as a young lady

I’m not completely unforgiving though. Lately I’ve been thinking about getting in touch with some people from high school–the few ones that are worth talking to anyway–mostly out of sheer curiosity but also because you can never have too many friends. Yesterday, I spoke to someone from my high school for the first time in years. And I don’t mean like we exchanged pleasantries over Friendster; we had an actual conversation about what we’ve been doing with our lives and where we are now. Then she dropped the bombshell and told me that there are certain individuals from our batch who still bitch about people from high school. Not too far down their shit list was Lauren Dado. According to them, may sarili akong mundo (I live in my own little world) at masyado akong show-off (and I am a big show-off). Overall, I am nothing but a loser. Yeah, I don’t get the logic either.

I was tempted to bring out the guns and wage an all-out bitch war, until I realized that there’s no glory in shooting down the spineless. Seriously, what kind of loser spends afternoons in Starbucks (without buying anything, mind you) bitching about people from high school? I’m not saying I haven’t done my share of people-bashing in a coffee shop, but not even in my lowest moments did I ever pick on old schoolmates I didn’t like. Talk about a preview of how the rest of their lives are going to turn out. I bet ten years from now, they still wouldn’t be able to afford a drink there because they chose to spend their twenties living in the glory days when their stupid little clique ruled the school, instead of getting off their sorry asses, getting a fucking job, and getting a life. Jesus. If I had to consort with characters like those to “fit in” and be “popular” for four stupid years, then by all fucking means I’m glad I was the biggest loser in high school. I’m glad I was the loneliest girl there.

I’d love to show off more pictures of me and my friends being happy
but there’s too many of those and not enough space

I don’t suppose I need to list down the reasons why I think they’re still picking on me after all these years, but I’ll do it anyway. I’m gorgeous, intelligent, and an excellent conversationalist. I have the sweetest, craziest groups of friends and a loving, stable family. I have a band that’s going to go places someday. My weekends are always packed and even when things are slow, I find ways to amuse myself and be happy. The love life doesn’t exist, but I’m perfectly fine with it. I don’t know about you, but being romantically unattached is far better than being the battered girlfriend of a guy whose face resembles watery dog turd. Seriously, I imagine people my age would make better life choices than that.

The last thing I want is to be a hypocrite and get stuck in the past like they are, so this will be the last time I’ll ever talk about high school (in my blog anyway). It’s sad and amusing to discover that after all these years, the same old people are still picking on me for reasons I don’t know. Well, whatever makes them happy. As for me, I see no point in being bitter about high school when I’ve got places to go, people to love, and a whole life ahead of me to live.

So now my best friend recently got boyfriended and I have conflicting emotions about it. Don’t get me wrong–I’m extremely happy for her. My fingers have been crossed ever since she told me that she was really into this guy because fuck, Cupid owes her big-time. And since I seem to be The Girl Who Can Help Resolve Romantic Dilemmas Of All Sorts (Except Her Own), I spent quite a while giving her advice and relationship pep talks like:

“You’ll never know if it will work out unless you give it a shot. Sure, there’s always the possibility that you might not be as compatible as you thought you’d be and I know you’ll be completely crushed if that happens. In which case I shall be here with a pack of tissues and my guitar. But in the instance that it does work out–it will be one of the most intense, beautiful, and enriching things you’ll ever experience in your life. The risk of heartbreak will be worth it.”

“Stop assuming things! Just because he said this and this doesn’t mean he’s not interested in you.”

“Whatever you do, do not make the same mistakes I did in my last relationship. Speak up if he does something that you don’t like. Make compromises. Don’t let him take over your life. And most importantly, don’t be afraid to break up with him if you really have to.”

On the other hand - and I’m not particularly proud to admit this - the more insensitive part of me is flailing about like a colic baby and screaming monologues. “NOOO! Why did you leave meee? We were supposed to spend our twenties being single and bitter together, then move to New York and waitress during the day and play in smoky bars at night! Who’s going to have bitter conversations with me about how men are nothing but giant assholes? Who’s going give happy couples the evil eye with me? Who’s going to be the drive-by shooter on the night we decide to assassinate every single guy that ever broke our hearts or screwed us over? Who’s going to read me Dorothy Parker’s poetry?”

The days before bourgeois suicide

I feel abandoned somewhat. I know it’s a silly thing to think because nothing really changed in terms of the way Kristel treats me. There are times, however, when I can’t help but feel like a helpless duckling in the rain. Perhaps it’s because the last six months felt as though I was in a relationship with her, in the sense that I let myself become emotionally dependent and used to her being there for me 24/7. We cried over boys together, angsted about life-after-college together, and kept each other sane. Hell, we even say “I love you” before signing off YM every evening.

Ever since she got together with her boyfriend though, it feels as though we just broke up and we’re in that awkward stage where we’re trying to “be just friends”. And trust me, it’s very awkward. These days I can’t even look at her and her boyfriend because they’re so sweet around each other, merely glancing at them could potentially give me diabetes. Me no want diabeetus.

I’m being incredibly irrational, of course, so I’ll chalk this up to the initial panic that comes with change. Of course she’s not abandoning me. I know her and she’s not the type to leave her friends and the band to go chasing after love. Still….things just aren’t the same anymore, you know? I know that boyfriend or no, she’ll always be there for me. We work in the same place, for Christ’s sakes, so there’s really no escaping my frantic requests for a cigarette break. Still, I can’t shake off the feeling that I lost something I can’t quite name.

We were doing the shotgun cigarette trick here.
It’s not what you think it is.

I hope I didn’t come across sounding like a bitter ex-girlfriend because I’m not. Abandonment issues aside, I’m rooting for them all the way because I can see that what they have is a really good thing. I’ve never seen Kristel so happy before.

I can still remember the day when everything stopped being simple and started being complicated. It was the day, or a few days after, I broke up with the ex. Before that day, my life was in order. Everything was in black and white. People were either smart or dumb. Women were either sluts or virgins. Men were either assholes or gentlemen.

I’m starting to realize that the world isn’t as simple as that, that there are a lot of gray areas in everything and people are more complex and can’t be boxed into categories A, B, or C.

God knows I did everything I could to make today a good day, or at least an okay day. But I saw the traffic this morning and no matter how many cheerful songs I played on my iPod, I knew I was going to go through a depressive spell sometime today. I was running a little late this morning, but not late enough to actually be late and get fined an hour’s worth of my salary. The fifteen-minute difference meant far more cars on the road than I’m used to and I started getting depressed over the traffic. The traffic, for fuck’s sake. It’s such a stupid yuppie bourgeois thing to get all stressed over, but I never used to think this way about traffic. I was thinking about how all these people on the road probably work in Makati and left early so that they could avoid the headache of rush hour and actually get to the office on time. Except two million other people have the same brilliant idea so the traffic is still the same no matter what time it is. And that thought really got me down, for some reason. Life’s shitty enough without people being assholes on the road and everyone trying to get to work at the same time.

It used to be that going to work was something I looked forward to because the friends I’m making there are wonderful people and the workload isn’t even all that bad. Seriously, it’s a fucking comedy show everyday, and how many people can say that about their jobs? But no thanks to some stupid drama, the thought of work tomorrow makes want to throw up. I wish my cubicle were in a more inaccessible place so I can just sneak in and out of the room without being seen or seeing anyone. I dread having to wake up every morning to do the same old same old and for what? Yeah I have vague plans of taking a cross-country trip in the US maybe after a year of working, but what’s going to keep me going until then? The band? What band? We’re making songs yeah but where is this going to get us? It’s been two months since we had an actual rehearsal and though I scheduled one for tomorrow, I have this sinking feeling in my stomach that someone is going to back out and I swear to God if that happens I’ll snap, throw an embarrassing hissy fit, then quit. I’m sick of being the band nazi, I’m sick of being the one who has to get things moving. I’m sick of doing everything and getting nowhere.

The point I’m trying to make out of all this is that today was one of those days where I realized that shit, I’m not a kid anymore. I’m waking up to the real world everyday and I don’t like what I see. Everything I used to take for granted, like parking fees and foot spas, suddenly costs way too much. The money I make is never enough to buy me all the stuff I want, and I’m not even sure why I want all that stuff in the first place. Sometimes I think that maybe parents should never read children fairy tales with happy endings because it’s such a fucking shock to discover that there is such a thing as Prince Charming, but he’s so fucking charming that all the Prince Charmings in all fairy tales are one and the same guy. But then again, maybe all that happy-ending propaganda is good for something because if it weren’t, I bet kids as young as eight would start swinging from their bedroom windows. They’re not old enough to know just how shitty life gets. Maybe I’m not old enough to know how shitty life gets. Maybe this is all just a prologue.

I’m told that I think too much about stuff like this and that’s why I get depressed. But nobody’s going to teach me this shit and if I don’t think about any of this, I’ll just go through life without knowing anything. Ignorance may be bliss, sure, but I’ll just feel like I lived for nothing if I just go through the motions without examining my life as Socrates says.

Oh, I know that in a couple of years or so I’ll eventually snap out of this angst or growing pains or whatever you call it. I’ll get my head back on straight and life will be simple again. Then I’ll laugh at everything I ever wrote and I’ll be business-minded enough to condense all these angst-ridden entries into a book that I can market to depressed 21-year olds. I just wish there was some way I can fast-forward the next four or so years of my life and move on to the part where I’m mature and happy, or as close to happy as anyone can get.

This moment of angst was brought to you by Thom Yorke and the rest of Radiohead.

No alarms and no surprises,
no alarms and no surprises,
no alarms and no surprises please.