It’s been a good three months since I’ve known you. Being the self-confident ass that I am, with his truck load of insecurities, I told you I’ll stay until that day comes unwary of the level of psychological hardship such an attempt would bring. Nevertheless, I refuse to give up on this; I’ve come so far. We’re complete opposites I’m not going to lie. You’re more Asian than I am, despite me being born in the east with the slightest drop of Spanish blood and I’m more western than you are. Our tastes in music are in the completely different directions. You like mainstream K-pop and club music as I see it. I have an affair with indie music from Europe and an innate affinity for sadness. To be honest, I never really planned to fall for you this hard. As a matter of fact I was trying to resist every hint, but my efforts have all been in vain. Now, as I am writing this, I can hear my soul being shredded into bits as if I myself placed it inside my mom’s paper shredder that my little sister enjoys playing with. I have not the slightest idea what you think of me right now. I do seem like a cold heartless cut throat bitch on Tumblr, with a love affair with the skinny and pale and an overly emotional demeanor on the side. I’m far from your ideal guy, and I’m very well aware of that. Aside from me being Asian there’s nothing more on the your list that I believe I satisfy. On my side, I’ll tell you truthfully that you satisfy all the requirements I’ve put with a bit of over qualifications on the side. It’s like being served with the most succulent piece of Wagyu steak in a fancy Japanese restaurant and having another piece for free just because the chef thought so. You are without a doubt, everything I’ve ever asked for; I am not sure you feel the same though.

The last time I attempted something like this, I felt like my world was shattered to pieces it took me two years to pull through. I had to pick up the pieces and move on. I matured an awful lot. I lost weight, looked better, dressed better, and had a better sense of self. I wasn’t mature enough to handle it back then being too pushy and selfish back then. No wonder it failed miserably. But you, you are a far different case. I have never in my life felt something this intense I’m willing to put through any amount of shit just to be with you. And yes I am willing to wait this damn long. As of now, I know you like someone else, and it burns like hell inside me, but I’ll be alright. I’m not giving up until I get to drag my already rotting carcass there and tell you how I feel face to face — not in byte strings or string values. I know I will get through this, and it’s going to be all worth it in the end. I promise I’ll wait for that time when I sweep you off your feet because I know I can. I’m not giving up on you, and I pray that you do the same. I’ll stop worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. I’ll stop thinking about things that will most likely not happen. I’m telling you now, with all my heart, I truly love you.

Dear kind reader,

It’s not everyday that you decide to help yourself. In fact it’s not even common that you realize that something inside you has been torn and has to be patched right away else your soul will spill through the hole. I try to be a better person everyday when I walk along the campus sidewalks while dodging cracks believing they’d bring bad luck, but have I really been a better person? I use the term loosely to refer to a concept that neither I nor my friends could put into words. Human nature is way too complex that I’ve already gone to believe God wanted it to be indescribable. Have I really been a better person? Right now, I will confidently say yes.

I have got to be honest with you kind reader, that I’ve been bothered by the thought of dying (yes I said the d word) alone. I know it sounds like a whinny teenager desperate for a boyfriend, but it is true — the kind that sinks down to your bone marrow true. I’ve always said when I was young that I refuse to be married because it’s all icky-yucky that you have to kiss someone on the mouth for everyone to see, and get all mushy in bed when your kids wake up to ask you for a glass of milk. Of course now, I take all of those back thinking to myself: “I wanna kiss someone on the mouth for everyone to see and get all mushy in bed when my child wakes up to ask me for a glass of milk! Who in this hell hole doesn’t?”  After being completely oblivious (and disposing my trucks’ worth of denial) for the past 20 years, I’m begging myself to set itself free and unlock the shackles that should’ve been unlocked four years ago. This kind of enlightenment is long overdue, but now that I’ve had it, I’m enjoying every moment of it. You have to muster every particle of courage in your vortex of a heart to admit to yourself that something is wrong. I know it rubs off on the ego, but sometimes we let the ego prevent us from getting what we truly deserve; that’s a better life please and thank you. I had to map things out for me to see, and tell myself: “We’ll fix this. A new year’s coming to us; let’s start a new!” It is refreshing and rewarding at the same time to utter those sweet words to yourself. Sometimes you just have to pull yourself out of the muck you made yourself else you’ll feel like drowning in your own spit.

Above is the list of the things I want to retain or change when the clock strikes 00.00 at 12-31-10. It’s now longer than that when I last checked myself. Perhaps maturity is another term they use for those instances when you discover something new about yourself. Ironic but true — you are your biggest and fattest (but not too plump) stranger. Just remember, you might be fat but you’re as gorgeous as Beth Ditto.

aldouswright

It’s been a while! Everything’s doing fine now; I’ve had help from Eat Pray Love don’t blame me. The moment I finished the book, my spirit leaped as if it were some wild kangaroo in Australia saying: “No wonder this book sold! I’m a 20 year-old who’s soul has been divorced multiple times already, and I can relate.” Yes I am a hopeless romantic, one of the worst kinds even. Helping someone like me would feel as if you’re trying to pull out a white whale out of the Pacific. I’m crazy when I dip my hand into depression, my whole body follows without any second thought; it’s as if my mind commanded my body to go and take a dip! Let’s just say I’m in control of myself right now and was able to find another amazing artist.

Not alot of people would appreciate “folk” music, as they call it. Laura Marling is an indie singer-songwriter from Hampshire England (another Brit I know I’m crazy about them) known for her poetic lyrics and melodies. Check her history here. Thanks to my new favorite show, Later with Jools Holland (which made me completely dread the fact that I’m still stuck here), I’m expanding my music library which mostly composed of James Morrison and Adele this past few months — 6 months to be exact. Here’s her live performance on Jool’s Holland’s show. Close your eyes and listen to the lyrics. Now let your mind wonder into her world as she sucks you into her void of woe.

Sincerely,

aldouswright

Please accept my apologies for not being able to update you with the current state of affairs in my life. I’ve through an awful lot of depression lately, and I have decided to go against it. If I continue to be passive and let it get the best of me I wouldn’t be able to go on with my life. Dear reader, I’ve been thinking about this for quite sometime already. Despite my fear of being away from all of the amenities I have at home and the unknown, I have decided to fly myself to New York. I’ve already told my Mom about my plans; she was hesitant but supportive. I believe I’ve told you how I ended up in the course that I am in now. Yes I have to be honest, it’s not something I’d like to do for the rest of my life; it doesn’t fuel my burning heart at all. I’ve been overly pragmatic, and it was just then that I’ve decided to stop, but that can’t happen in just a matter of seconds unless I’m Cinderella’s fairy godmother with her magic wand. I have decided to use whatever I’ve learned from this course to fuel my own passion, journalism. Yes I know it’s like using oil to water the plants, but I assure you I will chase my dreams. I am still afraid of starving for days though, but I’d love that feeling ’cause I’ve never felt that before! I will start counting down days and of course try not to be that spoiled anymore. I’ll keep this one short and ’til the next post.

It’s over, and it didn’t end nicely. I was ready for it to end nicely. It felt like a plane flying through turbulence that got back on track and  ended up landing face first; it landed and turned into a conflagration,  a gigantic bonfire filled with dreams that will never again be heard of. It hurts kind reader. I feel like I was stabbed multiple times on my back with me knowing. It ended abruptly, and I was completely clueless. You would ask me, am I glad it ended? A part of me smiles and grins, but a larger part of me hurts as if he were run down by car while walking down the street. It was so fast my mind wasn’t able to process the thought. It took me a couple of minutes before I admitted to myself that it is over, and that it can never be put back to the way it was before. I had to fool myself for 2 weeks, sacrificing sanity and productivity. I tried and failed miserably.

I tried once in my life dear reader and failed. This is my second attempt and again it tumbled and broke my soul into tiny little bite-sized pieced. I’ll close my doors to the possibility once again. I’m already finding it harder to trust people now than before. I don’t when will my doors be open again. Perhaps they will never be open again ’cause it just wasn’t meant to be. I need a box of Kleenex and a cup of tea please.

Sincerely,

aldouswright

Dear kind reader,

The environment outside my window is shining bright as the sun continuous to smile at the leaves and the leaves continue to smile back at the sun. My brother continues to play his early birthday gift that he bought yesterday, and I continue to let my head soar to the skies. I smile and say to myself: “Today, tomorrow and the next tomorrow will be like today; a day better than yesterday.” The light inside our room is dim and blues music continues to play on the earphones I stuck to my ears. The scene is so perfect it resembles a fancy coffee shop.

Adele, a young talent aged 22, continues to soothe my soul with her distinctive jazz-blues voice. I’ve had her on my iPod 2 years ago liking her quirkiness. 2 years after, I’m loving her and understanding why she is so deserving of the 2009 Grammy. Many artists in my generation are synthesized to the point of incomprehension. I realized that when I tried to compare music from the past to the present. Adele is beyond this generation, fusing together styles from the past with the music of today. I’m an old soul stuck in a 20-year-old body I have to admit that, but I find her voice to be of the kind that everyone will at least appreciate if they don’t like it. The girl symbolizes music not sex, with her beautiful soothing voice. A true artist expressing her soul through her beautiful instrument. You have to admit it; talent still exists in the world and they are yet to be discovered.

Dear kind reader I understand how stressful life is and how deep the lines in your face are. Life does have its way of making things feel lighter, and this is one of them. Do sit down, brew a cup of joe or tea and relax. Listen to Adele and let your mind soar to the skies in a dim lighted room and a fresh smelling cup of caffeine. Do take it lightly though you might palpitate. You might want to smile today. The sun is and so should you.

Sincerely,

aldouswright

Dear Mom,

I was sitting on the latter part of the jeepney a while ago. I had my eyes on the beautiful urban scenery that was slowly unfolding in front of me. It was dirty and dusty with suffocating black smoke coming in at every direction that I put my eyes on, nevertheless, its beauty shun through. Seeing the people on the road with their umbrellas and rain coats, holding each others hands and smiling as the street lights illuminate every feature on their beautiful happy faces.

McDonalds was in front of me as I was looking out. I remembered how happy I was when you first bought me my Happy Meal, with the hard carton box with the M-shaped handle and the hard plastic toy inside. I had my mind wander, and reminisce how happy I was when I knew nothing and felt stupid. I was really happy. I remember how I started to jump right next to the table, and then ask you if I could play in the little indoor playground, then you’d tell be to be careful. You’d catch me as I was going down the slide and yell at me when I’m on top of the little children’s castle. I was really happy.

My dearest mom, I still remember the day when you gave me my first spanking in grandmother’s house. I still remember how you yelled at me for not being good at math back when I was in nursery, so I tried my best to unlock my potential and I did just that a year later. I made you happy when I gave you my first perfect exam in the first grade. The smile on your face was much more beautiful than Mona Lisa’s; it was God’s masterpiece that can’t be replicated by any painter in the world. It made me happy just to see you smile like that and tell me that I did good. I was happy, very happy. I also remember the time you first introduced me to your boss when you bought me with you to your office for the first time. You were proud of me because I can already speak English, at that age. “How are you?”, your boss asked. “I’m fine mister, thank you!”, I replied back. You smiled at me and so did your office mates. I was happy, very happy.

Dearest mom, a lot of things have happened years after. I don’t want to take you through it again, because the simple sight of you crying crushes my heart into little pieces that I could no longer pick and put back again. I’d stay up late to study just to bring those little cards and stars that made you proud of me. I was happy every time I brought a bunch of them home to you. I grew up, and I brought you something better than a piece of paper. I brought you a piece of gold on a yard of ribbon. We went up on stage, you placed it on my neck, and I was happy. I did it twice mom, and I’m praying to God now that I could do it one more time just to be happy again, but the odds are against me. It crushes my heart to tell you this, but I’m borderline hopeless already that I’ll be able to do one more time.

Mom, I love you so much I sacrificed my happiness just to make you happy. I never told you I wanted to be in another course because I didn’t want to burden you anymore. I wanted to talk to people, you wanted me to talk to computers. I wanted to be write for the people, but you wanted me write letters to machines. You’ve given me 14 years worth of education already, and I don’t want to lengthen it anymore. I continued, convinced myself and moved on. I’m already in my final stretch, and I’m regretting that I continued, but then I remember how proud you will be when I finish, so I keep it all in me. I lived my college life for you. ”Let it rot and disappear,” I’d tell myself, but the pain of not being able to live my life the way I want to still burns in me. It’s burnt my soul for four years, but I endured it because I wanted you to be happy. I just wished that you would’ve given me just enough understanding and love when I told you I’m not into girls. I wanted you to be happy, so I played along, but the pain inside me started to burn like wild-fire. It started from my heart and slowly spread throughout my body through my veins. It’s painful. I can’t go out the house without putting a mask on. A mask of stern and stoicism covers my face everyday, the moment I step out of our door. I don’t have to wear Daisy Dukes and miniskirts. I don’t have to wear stilettos. I don’t have to have a high-pitched voice and long straight hair. I just want to be able to love the one I want. I had to slowly erase the smile that ornamented my face when I was young to keep yours. I don’t mind honestly, but you would’ve at least given me the chance to draw back a smirk on my face. To this day, I still pray to God to give me the ability to redraw that smile that made me the little boy with pin straight hair in a red shirt and denim overalls.

Mom, I’ve grown enough now. Come April this coming year, I’ll be done with college then I’d be free, but that’s a question I’d still ask myself. Will I set myself free? Mom, I love you too much to do that. I’d still work and plan with you in mind. I just wish you would’ve given enough love to feel that I am not your personal investment, and you’ve figured out earlier than last year that love does not equate to 2 feet Transformers and transistors encased in aluminum. I’ve got enough cash now to buy my own now. Despite my expanding wardrobe, I still could not put back the shimmer in my eyes that I had when I was a toddler. The shimmer in my eyes that made me realize how lucky I was to be loved by people; the shimmer that made me realize my soul was bigger than an elephant.

The light in the room I’m writing in now is bright. The light hits my legs and I see them together with the shine on my toenails with their colorless nail polish that signifies my membership in this family. Tears come out and I wipe them as I continue to type this letter. I feel like a kid who lost his balloon to the wind; rivers flowing through his eyes and ooze dripping through his nose like droplets of water coming out of a broken faucet. I feel like a kid, but without the innocence and the happiness that make him a “kid”. Mom, you rarely see me vulnerable, because I know how much you loathe that. I’ve always been headstrong and strong-willed no matter what group I was in, but the pain that erased the smile right of my face is eating me up. I try to get another pencil to draw it back on my face, but the size of the pencil I am currently holding cannot hold against the pain that is erasing every line I am drawing. I try to stretch my hands outwards as it continuously erases the smile that I am drawing. I try to catch it and put it back on, but the wind is too strong. The bits of erased charcoal fly with the wind and into the nothingness that we’re living in. I’m still trying to draw my smile back on though.

Dear mom, I’m really wishing that you’d get know me more. You think you do, but unfortunately, it just isn’t the case. I’m really hoping it’s not too late for us, because the thread that ties you to me is slowly thinning out as we move farther and farther from each other. I will always be your son, and I will always love you. I just hope that you’d love me as much as I love you.

Sincerely,

aldouswright

Let me be honest with you. I’m afraid of living and dying alone.

I’ve convinced myself back when I was young that I was indeed going to die alone with a dog, a maid and a butler. The classy monochrome family picture, much like those in the Victorian era, hanging by the salon will contain only four subjects: me, my dog Morgan, my maid  Maria and my butler Chives. It was the perfect family portrait for me. Two people who swore and gave their lives to serve me and a loyal pet that I could cuddle with when Maria and Chives go back to see their families during Christmas. It was a perfect picture placed inside a perfect black wooden frame with clean lines, just as I liked it. The simple thought of it sends shivers down my spine and into the tip of my tail bone like the picture of a lover, stripped to his undies, being mauled by hounds during World War 2.

Winter comes and its piercing cold wind will strikes through my glass window. The temperature drops to the negatives and I’m wrapped in three layers of fabric. I’m alone inside a dim lighted room, with a study table and a rack full of books in front of it. They are my only companions aside from Morgan. I wish either Chives or Maria were with me, but I’m too kind to let them stay over the holidays without their families. I give Morgan a hug, he licks me in the face and a droplet of water runs down the sides of my face. The thought of it haunts me; sends shivers down my spine and into the tip of my tail bone much like a picture of the twins being experimented on during World War 2.

I brew a cup of green tea and listen to some jazz as I wait for it to boil. I look through the nearly opaque glass window as the view is covered white by a blanket of snow. The temperature is already at the negatives and so is the mood inside the house. The water boils, I pour it into the teacup and blow on it a bit to cool it down. I take a sip and reminisce how my grandmother told me how happy and glowing I was when I was 5 years old. I look at the mirror again and I see the lines defining my face: deep worried lines at the sides of my nose and even deeper mournful lines under my eyes. I close my eyes a for a moment then water starts to run from my eyes to my nose through the lines defining my face. “What is life again?”, I’d ask myself, and think of the answer until the clock strikes 12. The thought of it haunts me, sending shivers down my spine and down to the tip of my tail bone like a picture of the gas chambers used by German doctors in World War 2.

Summer comes. The birds will be chirping and the land will be in the wonderful contrast of colors it was in before winter. I’ll be sitting in my humble abode’s terrace facing the lake with my dog, and a cup of English tea to my left on a small black solid minimalistic coffee table. The sun sets and its rays caress my face, every pore on my old face smiling and glowing. I’d start writing my thoughts on my Moleskine, then I’d browse through a few pages of Vogue. A couple of minutes later, everything stops. The magnificent view of the setting sun fades into the horizon together with my consciousness. My dog Morgan breaks the silence that saturates my terrace. Maria, my maid, rushes into the room panicking. She puts me in her arms and cries. Chives, my butler, stutters on the phone. This sad picture, painted in cold dark hues, will fill the very last page of my Moleskine. The thought of it haunts me, sending shivers down my spine like a picture of the Bombing of Hiroshima during World War 2.

Yes kind reader, I am afraid. I am very afraid of dying alone and living alone. People have never seen me vulnerable. I always had something nice and positive to say. I have always had my pearly whites out ornamenting my long scared face. I’ve always been the “let’s-make-miracles-happen-guy”. But deep inside, my soul has been sucked clean; colorless, lifeless. The feeling sends shivers through my spine to the tip of my tail bone and through my veins to every point on my body like a picture of the piles of burnt mutilated corpses of my kind found after World War 2.

I am still human kind reader. Weak and still trying to make sense out of things. I fear being alone the most dear reader, for they make me experience the horror of the World War 2. The burning feeling of acid when it comes in contact with human skin, the shortage of breath brought by suffocation in gas tanks, and the piercing burning pain that goes through your body everytime the German doctor pokes his syringe into your eye for his experiments, shake my soul and bring tears out of my eyes. Dear reader, I expose myself to you as weak and vulnerable normal human being who cries, and prays to God that tomorrow will be a better day. Being alone is what I fear the most, and I hope dear reader you keep this as a secret.

Sincerely,

aldouswright

Dear kind reader,

I am listening to Amy right now. A lot of my friends find her weird, but I say she’s pure talent feeling so much pain. Of course I heard of Amy Winehouse when “Rehab” hit the waves way back. I was so digging the old Motown sound, but not the whole album, that was until I grew up to be 20 and everything inside my head flipped and mixed into some concoction that I;m having now. I just had to have her album, and luckily I did have a copy of it inside my already dusty CD rack. She’s no Whitney Houston I have to agree, but her voice is way too intoxicating to just let go. I was telling this joke that no wonder she’s hung on drugs her music is intoxicating. Honestly, if she comes back to her senses,which I hope she does, I’d totally buy her CD. No one wins 5 Grammys out of 6 nominations in one night on their first album. Amy I wish the best for you, come back into the studio and breathe don’t sing. You can read the yellow pages for us and we’re pretty sure it’s going to sound unbelievable. I’d like to paste here a quote from YouTube:

“real person real pain in a world of fake talent”

-pinfold1000

It’s hard to find people like her nowadays who sound like themselves on either live or recorded performances.

On a lighter note, don’t you just find him cute? He’s Paolo Nutini, not really my type of singer, nevertheless he is still cute. He’s another soul-slash-blues singer from the west. You might want to check him out if you like easy listening type of music; those kinds that you’d here in Starbucks when all you want to do is hang out and be lazy.

I’d like to apologize for the total randomness of this post and the e lack of cohesiveness. Do take care of yourselves and I shall be off emptying my wallet at Fred Perry. I’ll have more on that on the next post.

Sincerely,

aldouswright

Dear kind reader,

I would like to apologize for not updating this blog. My mind has become so stale I can already smell it as it comes out through the holes in my ears. A few good things and a couple of bad things have happened in the past 4 months. I can’t believe it’s already September. To those who are not familiar with the academic year schedule in the Philippines, the year starts at June then the first semester ends at October. This means I’ve got less than a month left to position myself for graduation and define myself as an individual ready for employment. Let me run you through the plethora of things that are going on in my mind. Please stop from reading now ’cause I’m telling you, this is going to be as long as the Titanic film.

First off, I’d like to discuss about academics. I’ve been able to ground myself already; put my feet on the ground and feel the surface of it with my bare feet. I’ve been able to assess it already, and yes I’ve been able to adapt to the system, although it took me two years to do so. I’m enjoying myself, continuously expanding my mind, learning more about the subject matter, how futile learning really is and how dumb I really am, and of course life. The university has let me lose in its forest like campus with every kind of plant animal and people in it. It’s been such a fun ride, and I have a lot of things to be thankful for, my professors included, but lately I’ve been having trouble threading the path inside this forest. Today marks the day that I get my lowest score in an exam. Truth be told, I have never failed an exam my entire life, and I’m not going to fail this subject now. My response to it, as with any problem that came to me, is positive. I’ve worked hard, and I’ve even ditched a whole day’s worth of idle time to study. Unfortunately, it was all in vain because it was even lower than the previous. I am learning that I have to admit, but it doesn’t seem to add up with my test scores. You know, I just want to slap myself now and cry. I forgot, add to the burden our thesis that’s going somewhere, somewhere my team and I are still not sure.

Second, I’ve been trying to map out the path that I’ll be threading in 2 years time, if I do graduate ’cause as of now I’m so unsure if I really am going to leave the university come April. I’m torn between teaching in the university to get a scholarship for my master’s degree, and work in the industry to fend for myself and fund for my degree. The catch is this, I’ve not been able to check the terms of the university with their scholarship grants, but surely I will not get enough funds to satiate my lifestyle. I’ve seen one of our professor’s paycheck and trust me you’d want to get him to a psychiatrist for therapy for choosing teaching as a profession, but of course the satisfaction is there, and it’ll drown you ’til elation. It’ll also keep as sharp as a Japanese sword; you can’t teach something you don’t understand completely. I’ve proven that numerous times. I value my intellect and wisdom more than anything else.

Working in the industry is worth while if you like what you’re doing. My professors usually tell me it’ll bore me to death, and judging from my experience when we visited one of the biggest and most renowned IT offices in the world, I just don’t want to go back there. The presentation experience in that office also completely took the living daylights out of me. Me and my team worked day and night for one whole week for that, and the score was borderline passing and exactly mediocre. No satisfaction there, just pure stress and emotional trauma, but you get paid twice, even trice the amount the government pays our university professors. It’ll be able to cope up with my overly indulgent lifestyle, that I am sure. I forgot I still have to support one of my siblings’ education which I totally hate. Can they just let me be? I’ll be able to fund for my own master’s degree meaning there won’t be any catch; no one’s going to care if I don’t get high grades in some theoretical subject even if I nearly burned eyes from studying overnight everyday, but it’ll take time. Studying in the United States requires millions of pesos which some not so perfect guy like me can’t earn in a year. So let’s have the million dollar question on the board! Industry or academe? Life passion or pragmatism?

Third, I’d like to talk about myself. I’ve been able to find more of the pieces of myself this week so let’s toast to that. I’ve been listening to a lot of jazz, blues and soul lately, which I enjoy. With that I’d like to congratulate myself and confidently announce to the world I am an emotional person. I’ve been looking for minimalist shops lately, and have been planning the wardrobe change that I’ll be doing after I get to buy my machine in two weeks time. I’ve had a pair of custom-made slacks with me with the cut I love, and I plan to have it reproduced solely for me by my tailor in different textiles, but only in one color. Obviously it’s black. I know how I want to look like after graduation; I know what my aura is supposed to feel like when I graduate. I simply know what role I’m supposed to fit after graduation, and that’s good! Now the questions is, where do I fit in? (See paragraphs above)

Fourth, I’d like to talk about my now. I’ve been coping up with stress through yoga. I’ve been improving slowly. I can already do full yoga mudra. I didn’t really know I could do it, until my yoga professor told how to do it properly. I’ve been able to carry myself literally too. Try it! Cross your legs or do lotus then carry yourself with your arms. Now I feel I’ve got strength despite my size 0 model arms. I’ve been so dedicated to my practice that I’ve already considered going to India to just steam off and find enlightenment once again. My soul has been totally drained of color this semester and I badly need to get a retreat or something close to that for a month or so. I’ve also been imagining what life would be, had I been single ’til my dog barks and my breath stops. It was so serene, peaceful and beautiful but lonely. Ok I admit I’ve been through tough times in the past trying to do the thing young adults do to ensure they don’t live alone, but I think I’m ready to try it one more time. Yes, I’ve talking to someone for only I know how long, and I hope it turns out good, or even better. More on that if something does happen.

I can’t believe it’s already September! I’ve got more or less a month left to fix my life and have plans laid out and ready for execution. I need to make up my mind before April comes, because surely these decisions will affect me until I black out and my dog starts barking at me with my maids worrying. I’m going to feel its reppurcussions run through my veinous arms everyday gushing in a an angry to my brain. In a few days time, I’ll be dropping the teen suffix in my age. I’m afraid of getting old, but what I can do about that anyway? I’ve been breathing, sleeping, drinking and living for 20 years, and I know I’ve got so much to be thankful for that computer memory couldn’t store my list. If you dear reader reached this epilogue of this new entry of mine, I thank you. Telling myself I am not stressed is probably the worst denial I’ve done. I mean what kind of stress makes you write 7 paragraphs and 1,346 words? I can’t believe it’s September! It’s to ready your bank accounts for Christmas shopping! Ok it’s already 1,410 words crap. 1428 now.

Sincerely,

Aldous

PS: I’ve also been learning French, et c’est tellement amusant! Listen to Amy Winehouse again for me please? She might be hung on coke now, but she’s really good.

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