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Chapitre 3
Monday, January 25, 2010
12:06 PM
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Dear No One, What's happened to Facebook? Did the people behind the most popular networking site (right now) take a leave of their senses? Hello? One of the biggest reasons I moved from Friendster in the first place was because there was a lot of nonsensical BS going around especially in the comments section. And take a look at what the FB cat brought in.   Apparently, there are new applications like this one wherein you can 'hit' a friend with a Johnny Depp (or a cute puppy) pillow (srsly). And remember how you can only pick a handful of friends to do things with at a given time before? Well, now you can surreptitiously hit all your friends with that JD pillow by just clicking one tiny little tick box! So friends can fill up your page with ludicrous thingy and more important profile updates are pushed further back! And you can do it everyday to be really annoying! And all those friends you hit with a JD pillow are going to hit all of their friends with one, too! Amazing!  Okay, now that I've gotten that chunk off my chest.. Meet *cough* Shayne Mae *cough* Cheeky. She's our program's SME. She's a nursing graduate, too, just like me!   And that's my super funny and maldita friend, *cough* Dimpy *cough* Dimple. ('D' for David, 'I' for India, 'M' for..)
That's Dimple's half-German best friend, Burgi. He's so guapo and so artistahin, Cheeky and I just had to pose as groupies because we aren't worthy. Oh, he's gay.
So we've been paying more frequent visits to Timezone lately. Hmm. And here, more friends~!!
..and even more, more friends~!!
In other news, the gang's going to meet up this Saturday night for good booze, good food, good froonds, and all that neat stuff. Nin, get your game on 'cause I'ma beat you at Wii and Karaoke! (Also in attendance: Sec E and F friends)
Chapitre 2
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
12:16 PM
2 comments
Dear No One, I've been doing a lot of thinking the past few days. We are of the same blood, but beyond that my Dad and I are completely incommensurable. But what has my Dad really done to me that could make me hate him so much? And it hit me, you know? Nothing. Daddy has never laid a finger at me. I was never yelled at. Okay, once, last year. Over the phone. But it was only because I was being difficult. I always was. I guess now that I really start poring over the catastrophic events of my life with Dad, he has never really wronged me. And yet it was I, his most dearest chip off the old block, who decided to turn against him. How could I have been so blind all these years? For so long I have ultimately believed there was no man more evil than my own father. Arrogant. Selfish. Loathing. My growing up years were spent in cut pieces here and there but never with my own family. I never really grew up with my Dad. He'd come visit for a few weeks each year. It was difficult, especially after Mom died. I was in my sophomore year of high school when I first learned things about him that he never disclosed of. Before that, my Daddy was Superman personified. He was my bestest friend. He was my everything. It was difficult getting his side of the all the stories sparked all about him. And even when I could, people would just say he was lying. And I believed them. Really. I succumbed to every hanging word said about him that tarnished the way I looked at him forever. So throughout many years later, I would grab at every creaking opportunity to mock or ridicule him. Every time I felt Ahia was being outweighed by his new wife and kid, I would talk over him and make him change his plans. I never backed out of what I thought was a fight with him. I always readied for his retaliation. But he never once showed that he was upset with me. It was like he completely understood me. And it only made me more angry. My eyes well up and my head hurts after much bawling each time I remember the two things Daddy told me before. I can't even begin to explain how much remorse I feel every time I remember those two things. Because he said them to me only once, but they stuck like glue. They'd had a different insinuation to me then. He'd said, "As a father, you have to understand your children." He also said that 'he knew me more than I knew myself'. ***** My Dad was leaving. For real this time. The plane tickets were proof of that. And I can't help feeling like it was all. my. fault. I panicked, but I tried real hard to suppress it. I went on with my silent treatment like I never noticed a thing. We had not spoken since my birthday last year, when I showcased my monstrosity in a fit of rage at him. I'd really done it. But nothing cuts deeper like a knife than the realization that you don't have much time left to make things right again. The pang of guilt is overwhelming. I had just one day left. He was just pulling a polo shirt over his head behind the bedroom door. He was going out. Again. Was he doing this on purpose? It was hard enough for me, spending the whole day yesterday to device a plan of action and he was acting like he meant to evade me until he'd gone. "Dy." I squeaked. He didn't even flinch. "Daddy." I said, a bit louder this time. He looked at me then. I couldn't even look him in the eye. I just ran to and threw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest, basking in his familiar scent. Just as quickly, he returned my embrace and pulled me tight, lightly kissing my forehead repeatedly- just like he used to when I was little. I began to cry as images began to hover my mind of all the horrible things I've done to him over the years. But he just tightened his embrace and tried to calm me down. We spent our last day together, nothing overly dramatic thereafter. We watched a bad DVD movie over chips. He'd left for a few hours to see if the water dispenser has been repaired. I'd sponsored our dinner. But that night while I was getting ready for work. And by getting ready, I mean piling on the mascara and doing my brows, I noticed that he was just observing me from his dim bedroom. I couldn't quite make out his expression. But I tried not to make a big deal out of it. A few minutes later, he got out to the living room and said he couldn't sleep. He took out some papers and a pen and made busy of himself. I continued to get ready. I was about to head out of the door when I decided to look back and ask, 'walk me out, Dad?' He got up almost immediately. I waited for him outside and as we began to walk towards the gate, I slipped my hand slowly into his. I had not done this for the longest time. We talked as we walked, mature and placid. And when we parted, I gave him one last hug and he kissed my forehead one last time. And that's when I really cried.
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