Some of you don’t know me. Some of you think you know me. Some of you don’t really care. But, I think, the common thing here is that people think I’m someone--someone to read, to hate, to know, to solve, to ignore, to whatever. I could be anyone to you. But, see, that’s the thing. I’m not. I’m nothing.
I’m nobody who found a place to belong: nowhere.
You first met me on a rainy day, ranting about my folks and how they insist to drink or not to drink that freakin glass of milk.
"Drink the milk... don't you DARE drink the milk."
I was hurt and depressed and angry most of the time. It's like everyday is a bad day and it wasn’t the best day for new acquaintances. I was a year younger then, headstrong and naive. I was idealistic and impatient about life and I had way too many expectations for everything. I wanted love to happen to me and I wanted it to come with violins and roses and sweet kisses under the moonlight. Unfortunately, I learned, love doesn’t happen in two hours over popcorn and soda and a pink ticket stub. But, being bitter about it, won’t help it come any easier or faster or better. I learned that just because someone doesn’t like you that way, doesn’t mean you aren’t worth loving that way at all. Every teapot has its top, that’s all, and maybe the tops I found were just a little too different from me. I’ve met other tops and other pots, as well. It’s not as hopeless as I thought it was.
I’ve talked about myself once or twice all the time. No details, really, just random thoughts and such. So, yeah, I’m evasive. I just don’t feel comfortable giving so much of myself, as if I were some pre-processed meat product, chopped up and stuck on toothpicks. If you like this free sample, you can buy the whole package over there for just 99.95 pesos. It just didn’t feel right. I’m not selling myself here. I’m not an artist and this isn’t my art. I’m just a lost person baring his soul, and I can’t really give any more than I already have. You just read the promiscuous side of my existence here in my journal. But there's more, much more you can't believe it's actually me.
And, yes, I still want to be someone else. I want to be me. I haven’t been me in a really long time. That’s why…well. I gotta go.
Being here keeps me believing that it’s okay to be someone I’m not entirely am or that it’s okay to edit myself and delete some things i thought irrelevant so that I can be not me and still be me. The idea that a computer screen and a bunch of keys can make me this completely different person by not showing everything in other people’s eyes has spoiled me. It’s nice to escape once in awhile, but it can’t be a way of life, at least for me. And, as much as I’ve enjoyed the masquerade, eventually, the party has to end and the masks have to be shed and we all return to the stunning reality that people have faces and feelings and lives, sugar-coating is the least priority.
I’m nobody here. But, in the real world, I’m a boy trying his best to grow up without completely hurting himself. So, thank you, for welcoming me into your world and for listening awhile to the mindless nonsense that dribbled under a butch-ish name like
amputa. I hope you found some truth about the beast. And yeah, I am STILL not ashamed.
Take care of yourselves. We all have our glass slippers. We just have to figure out when to wear them.. and when it’s time to take them off.
It's just a 'quit while you're still alive' thing. Let my soul be. I'm ok. Okay seems to be a perpetual state of being. Right now I'm aspiring to mature from okay to generally happy. Daunting task, ain't it?
I'm leavin' on a jet plane. Literally. Singapura, here i come.
Kiko Escueta... now signin' off.
(And, wasn’t that just the most overly-dramatic goodbye you ever read? =P)
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If you're in Singapore, lemme know. =)