laurganism.com |

Something I wrote yesterday.

I am deliciously happy right now for reasons that aren’t particularly clear, and it’s scaring me a little. Okay, so maybe that statement isn’t very accurate. I’m fairly certain that this happiness thing isn’t just some bipolar mood swing (a disorder I don’t have, by the way. Though someone suggested it once. I didn’t know if that was meant to be an offhand comment or an insult). It isn’t an effect of the antidepressants either (which I forgot to take last night). I am, for once, genuinely happy with myself and where I am right now. Yes, Lauren is so happy with her life that she can’t bring herself to get angry at the loser guys who heckle at her and her female friends like street children on a rugby high (not rugby the game but rugby the chemical, a popular hallucinogen among street rats here). Nope, not this morning.

I think the true test of my happiness happened yesterday during a YM conversation with a high school friend. Well the fact that I’m talking to the (decent) people from my high school is already interesting enough. I don’t know what made me decide to stop being bitter about it, give them another chance, and restart our friendship (for the lack of a better term) with a clean slate. Anyway, so this high school friend of mine was telling me about another mutual friend who is now living the kind of life I thought I’d be living when I turn 21 — apartment in Manhattan, wild bartending job in the evening, a hot British boyfriend who’d fly me to his Manchester flat every so often. When I heard about that, I braced myself for the angst that was sure to follow. I have this bad tendency to compare myself to my peers and fall into depressive trap when it hits me that they’re doing something I’m not. Instead of self-pity and existential panic, however, I actually felt genuinely happy for her. I honestly can’t imagine myself being a bartender in New York. I bet none of the drinks I make would ever reach the customers. Besides, European guys are beyond weird.

There was a rather cute moment that happened between me and my parents before my dad brought me to work. I went crashing into the kitchen with my Torn-Beyond-Recognition jeans and my dad goes, “What happened to your pants?” I replied with a shrug and said I tore them myself with a pair of scissors. Before my dad could reply, my mom quips, “What are you asking her that for? You wore ripped-up jeans yourself when you were her age. She really is your daughter.” My dad laughs and calls my mother a punk, his term of endearment for her.

Good morning, everyone.

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.