The Things I Do For Love

I’m not allowing myself to drift aimlessly. I have a sense of purpose with or without you. And it’s to myself. 

All the faggoty acoustic shit I’ve been listening to…goodness, what’s happening to me? 

I’m not helpless.

I understand I may be a klutz, I may ask for help when I need it. But I don’t need to be looked down on. At least I’m not lying to myself, pretending I don’t I need any help when I do. I may have pride, but my ability to let it down makes up for it. I may not know much, but I know enough to learn and make my own way. 

I seriously haven’t fucked up as many times in my life as I have this semester. See? I even fucked up that last sentence. I’m actually really stressed out and I understand everyone’s on the same boat but I’m not one of the lucky ones that can pull an A or B out of their shiny, bleached assholes. Goodness, I’m just nowhere near perfect. 

I don’t want my life occupation to be a hobo. 

Ways to Love Myself Eight Days a Week

This list will probably grow. But here’s my starting point. 

1) Got a problem? Pray about it. 

2) Laugh off embarrassment. 

3) Stop being shy or self conscious. 

4) Say what you feel with confidence. 

5) Don’t dwell on past mistakes or things outside your control. 

6) Always remember that you are HUMAN. 

7) Do not stifle your talents.

8) Learn how to be yourself BY YOURSELF. 

Here’s my list. What’s YOURS?

I feel so entirely fatigued. I thought that I found my moment of rest, only to see a longer stretch of road ahead of me. Thoughts plague me every day. Epiphanies and realizations come and go so quickly I can’t decide on a plan of action. But I must move. I need to start somewhere.   

I’m not so proud to admit this, but I actually broke down during work on Saturday. I guess it happens to everyone. I didn’t imagine that it would be so hard balancing school and work together. Now, my schedule is less hectic with Wednesdays off but I still feel overwhelmed. I feel jealous of all those privileged kids who live on the coat tails of their mommy and daddy’s money. But I suppose I’ll learn a great deal of patience and time management from this. 

Roots

Recently, I met a long lost second cousin of mine. Her name is Hazel. I wasn’t expecting her to be far away in age range but at the same time, she acted young enough. She’s a lieutenant in the army in the Philippines and was commissioned to compete in chess tournaments in the United States by the governor of her town. She also plays guitar and her brother knows every band I know in the Philippines, personally.   

I was surprised at how easily I took to her. I spilled nearly my entire life story in thirty minutes while we were waiting for my mom at pathmark. Most of which, was about my decaying love life. She also was a victim of unrequited love. But what can you do? At thirty, I suppose I could just say - that’s life. 

My father’s side was a sort of mystery to me. Many of my first cousins from his side are either shy or intimidated by me because I was from the United States or “English speaking”. I didn’t expect us to click at all. But I suppose it’s better to get to know your family first by the roots.