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There are a lot of things that I am not sure about, things that are arbitrary and confusing--but there is one thing that I am sure of right now.

I'm sick.

For some reason, I really didn't grew out of my asthma and it is mostly triggered by my allergies to dust and some irritating smells (like strong perfume). So here I am once again, breathing like a cat with its larynx undergoing surgery. It's not a pretty sight, I tell you. Whenever my asthma acts up, apart from the fact that I can't breathe very well, my back hurts a lot. I tend to hunch my shoulders whenever I walk because straightening up hurts a lot.

And God, it hurts so much more when I cry. Please make it stop.

[weeping]

It takes a lot of courage to face one's fears.

Everyone has their own defense mechanism. Mine is to inwardly scream. And then overthink. And then confront the problem. But for some reason, I think I should be doing something else. Like...

I don't know.

Sometimes I need a push. From someone else? Nah. More like from myself. I need to push myself into believing that I am strong enough. I am not giving myself the push I need, though.

Oh dear.

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I think I need to push... someone. Into not doing something I don't want this person to do. I don't know what to do about it. I am trying. I swear. I am trying to stop this person from doing something that I don't want this person to do. I am frightened. I don't want this to happened. Vertigo sweeps me away and then I collapse into nothingness. When I snap back to reality, I realize a numbness has overcome me and I couldn't think, nor much even speak. I wasn't given the opportunity to.

This person is such a good friend. I don't know how to stop it.

I am so sorry. I am. I am. I am. Please. Someone help...

***

Once upon a time--there was a little girl. I know some things about her, but I don't know her name. So, I apologize, dear Reader--but you won't know her name either.

She was a good little girl, I suppose. Or perhaps we can say that she tried to be a good little girl. Of course, I don't think the King and the Queen noticed. They locked her up in the highest tower, and told her that she needed to be a good little girl before they feed her or ever let her out again. She tried to be a good little girl, but--I don't think the King and Queen considered that she was being a good little girl. It wasn't good enough for them.

In fact, I suppose... that it wasn't good enough.

This little girl, she loved books. If there was one thing that can at least take her mind off the miserable things in life, it was books. The highest tower in the castle was the library, so even though this little girl was locked up and hungry, at least... at least there were some books to read.

One day, this little girl looked out the window and saw a little bird resting on the windowsill. There was nothing special about this little bird--except.

Except that it could fly. It could fly. Away. From everything.

This little girl smiled. It wasn't just the King and the Queen. It was everything around her. It was... nothing. Nothing was around her.

And then she jumped out the window, soaring. Soaring. Soaring. Soaring.

I am so sorry.

***

A Note on Eating One's Feelings

Except for the barking of a puppy and the trickling of the overflowing water in the DPWH tank, it's a particularly quiet Sunday afternoon today.

It makes me think of things.

Take the notion of eating one's feelings.

According to HelpGuide.Org, binge eating disorder is characterized by
compulsive overeating in which people consume huge amounts of food while feeling out of control and powerless to stop.


I, admittedly, eat my feelings most of the time. It's interesting--and largely satisfying. Usually I do it with a friend, so that I won't be just eating my feelings, but I'll be talking them out, too. My comfort foods are ice cream, pizza and chicken. Other people like eating fries. Some eat rice. Some, well, I don't know, but they eat whatever they like to and I have no problem with that.

Some people say I need professional help. Some say I just need to control myself. Some say it's okay, since I don't do it all the time. Some say that I just need another outlet. Like screaming. Maybe I'll go for a killing spree.

To be truthful, I don't want to do this anymore. But I do it. And for heaven's sake, I don't know when it'll stop.


I don't think that it's so quiet anymore.

Book Hunt

As I was browsing bookstore websites in search for a new book, I came across a rather annoying conclusion: vampire books are now a main hit.

Not that I have anything against the whole theme, but it has become a fad, much to my chagrin. Vampire books here, vampire books there -- all because of Twilight by Stephanie Meyer. I have read the four books in the series and although I can pretty much say that she seems to be a rather phenomenal writer to the teens of the world, I only like books 1 and 4. The beginning and the end, thankfully. And I have no idea why this book ought to overshadow Harry Potter -- while Stephanie Meyer seems to be this phenomenal writer, I don't think they ought to compare her books to J.K Rowling's.

Really, now.

But anyway, I've seen some interesting books I would like to get my hands on.

  • Remember Me? by Sophie Kinsella
  • The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch
  • The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga
  • Predictably Irrational: The Hidden Forces that Affect Our Decisions by Dan Ariely
  • The Book Thief by Markus Zusak
  • The Mysterious Benedict Society by Trenton Lee Stewart, and --
  • The Tales of Beedle the Bard by J.K Rowling
Interesting, indeed.