Thoughts in an unproductive day.

 I’ve spent this free day on, how laymen would describe it, nothing. Just laying on the bed watching One Piece while eating Chips Ahoy. Some time earlier, went on YouTube and did some karaoke. Being with myself is fun. Being with others isn’t.
 
What’s bothering me is my impulses to open my real life Facebook account once in a while. Well, I love Facebook because it’s where I get updates from the pages I love: science pages, trivias, anime, those sort of things. And in Facebook, I’d know if we have to do something at school– we have our own group for announcements. I always have this constant fear of not knowing. When you get left behind, no one bothers to pick you up. Well, it should be my problem; it is my responsibility as a student to be updated in the first place. But still…
 
The problem arises when I see updates from people I know. Classmates, batchmates, you know the lot. It’s just that, they always post about good things, you know what I mean? They’re always doing this and that, they’re at here and there, taking fucking happy pictures of themselves on an exponential frequency compared to me.
 
Yes, I can’t help it but compare my life to others.
 
We’re in the same age group, same local area, same school. But it’s like, the world’s in a party, and I– I’m at home, enjoying what I’m doing all by myself in the solitude of my room. I admit, if I went out with my current group (people I hang out in school with), I might find it fun. But my interest is just…well, let’s say they can’t satisfy it.
 
I wish to write truthfully in this journal. And I will do so, despite sounding like a douchbag. For the sake of my sanity.
 
I want to hang out with intellectuals. Not necessarily because I am saying I am one. It’s just… aren’t you tired of dealing with the same pointless things over and over? I’m irritated with hanging out with the girls constantly talking about who’s the prettiest man around, or talking about how fat they are despite being so damn skinny, or dragging me around in boutiques and looking at clothes they can’t afford which I find quite boring. Don’t get me wrong– I don’t hate them or anything.

The guys aren’t helping as much, either. They now have their own cult and are out of reach. Except for those moments I get when Jorge or MJ stick around during breaks and play with their PSPs. On the surface they seem so superficial and air-headed, but I feel we have this mutual understanding and respect for each other. Especially MJ, who changed a lot since transferring to my school. I knew the changes he made was so he could fit in. Well, not necessarily fit in– it’s to avoid the attention from the unthoughtful people around him on why is he so ‘mysterious’, ‘serious’, and ‘quiet’ all the time. I think of him like the ‘Sasuke’ of our class, now being less obvious about it because the attention is so annoying. Well, I would’ve approached him before. But I didn’t want the attention directed to myself, so…
 
Long, unrelated paragraph there. Where was I.
 
Yes, I want someone smart to argue with. Even just for once in a while. Maybe because I miss being around Gene– the greatest friend I’ve ever had. We would talk about lots of nerdy things and always find something to laugh at. We also talk about senseless matters; he’s normal too, you know. Sometimes, we talk about religion, down to what we believe about life. Introspective things. I miss that.
 
I miss it because I haven’t opened up to anyone in my current class. If I did, I’d be openly badmouthing the generals in the classroom and might have gotten myself a wonderful gang to laugh with. But I can’t. I needed the generals. They run and facilitate the important stuff happening around in school. If I’m not in good terms with them, I’ll have a hard time getting around. I wanted to save myself the trouble.
 
Ah, thinking back, how did I even get to be friends with Gene and Luther in the first place? I find it so hard to remember how, exactly.
 
I’m pretty sure it started with me asking them, Do you have a PS1? A Gameboy? Yeah, I play those games too.
 
That’s how I got around in my first year in high school. I was still recovering from the hell of the last year of elementary school, and I was still vulnerable when I got out. Well, I transferred schools just before I graduated. I was an alien to the graduating class, of course. Everywhere I looked, I saw everyone already had their own group. Everywhere I looked, I saw the same stereotype I hated about both boys and girls. I previously came from a somewhat prestigious school, so being transferred to this one was quite shocking and depressing.
 
I was happy when I got to first year since there were transferees. Aliens, like me. I wondered if I can find the right ones from these strangers. And I did– Gene, Luther, and Chrysler. All transferees… I am thankful to them to this day. If it weren’t for them, I might have literally lost my sanity from the loneliness of having no one to openly talk with. They were mindful and empathetic just as I am. I loved the reciprocity. I loved the constant feedback we give each other. I loved how our talks, no matter how empty they maybe sometimes, still had content for me. 
 
I was glad having experienced being real.
But then, college struck.
We went to our separate ways.
 
I honestly thought about enrolling in the same course and college one of them would decide to go to just for the sake of being with at least one of them. But my father had something else in mind– my future was already planned out. I was not to choose for my own. Once again, I was sad. The fear of having no one to be with came back. I was deprived of my safety blanket.
 
You say we can always be with each other. Meet up, communicate with technology… But no. It’s different. Different. Too different. I wanted to be with them every day, close to me. Or else, I’d forget how to talk to them, and we’d slowly become strangers as time passed by. 
 
As I am now in my final year in college, one remained– Luther. And this time, our relationship is somehow one-sided, as I see it. He made efforts to be with me. Texted me when he wanted to see a movie, when he wanted to just hang out at the mall, texted me when he needed something… I was confused. I wanted to know what I meant to him. I feel like crying about it, since he is one of the best remnants of my past. I didn’t want to tarnish my memories any more than I had just to feel better and move on.
 
I had thoughts about him merely using me when he had no one else to turn to. Isn’t that supposed to be a good thing? Being the last person to be depended upon when things aren’t working right? And yet I take it in a different light. He’s using me. I hate what my logic says, because well, I still don’t know the whole story. On how he is in his current life. What if he is just as empty as me? So vulnerableand in denial that he won’t admit that he needs me. If I was wrong and he was being genuine all this time, I’d condemn myself for being so distrusting. But what if my suspicions were right? I am then played a fool. Ah, the feeling of wanting to cry. My throat narrows in a familiar fashion, the feeling when you suppress an emotional outbreak. But I don’t want to cry. It’s not cool. Kidding. I just don’t want to, that’s all.
 
I wish I were brave. No. I am brave. Just that… I am scared of the consequences that come with being brave. That’s why I suppress it. And in the long run, I’ll think myself a coward, because I’d have forgotten what it’s like to be brave after having kept it in for so long.
 
I wish to face Luther, and hear his true thoughts. I know that when I ask, he’ll give me the answers that I want to hear. But I, I want to hear the hurtful things. Not because I’m a masochist, but because I think that hearing something painful would then confirm it to be the truth. I am complicated. But actually, no. Just easily misunderstood.
 
———–*****———–
 
Oh. I’ve written a lot. I wonder if I’ll ever have the interest of reading this entry in the future. Writing something so long and in such a random order won’t help spark an interest at all. I wish that all these could help me sort out my thoughts in the least, and aid my future self into fixing my current wrongs through analyzing my entries.
 
What I know now is, I want to love myself. Accept what kind of bastard I may be, and work on things from there. I don’t want to shun myself and hide behind smiles anymore. When I’m angry, I’ll frown with as many facial muscles as I can. That’s just my mind talking. What I’m saying is, I want to know and accept who I am. I admit that I don’t know myself too well. That makes me anxious about the next step to take, since my foundation is uncertain. But. I’ll do it one step at a time, mindful of whatever it is I have to tackle on the way.
 
Ah. I write too much. Product of doing nothing for a whole day, I suppose.
I’m so awesome, I make boredom exciting and meaningful.