Pink Plastic Flowers Decay

Everything went by in a blur, and I mistook that blur for something people liked to call time passing by.

Dear Fucking diary,

I'm feeling fucking stupid today.  The whole week, actually, if you like hearing tragicomedy stories, which I presume anyone who loves watching soap operas does.  

I felt like this week started and ended like it couldn't and shouldn't have happened at all.  Everything went by in a blur, and I mistook that blur for something people liked to call time passing by.  It felt like it was all a beginning and by the time curtain call came, I hadn't even said my first line.  At least that's what it felt like.

Last Thursday, I was talking to my friend, Cat, about trying to avoid this guy (let's just call him P, which stands for a lot of things about him, like Prick, for example) and then seeing him almost every minute in a day.  I told her it was tragically funny in a way, since all I was really trying to do was avoid him, so that I could forget him.  But no, deux ex machina isn't working--or if it is, it's working over time over nothing that could result into anything substantial, except self-proclamation of a need for mental medication and a straight jacket, perhaps, although I really wouldn't call that substantial.  The thing is, I've seen more of him these last two weeks than I've seen him the whole of last sem.  I should really take my advice, see:  "The more you try to avoid it, the more it will show up on you."  Then I told Cat that I wished I could just finally see him with a real girlfriend this time, so that I'd know I really have no chance. And I was also, rather sadistically, curious, about what I'd feel once I am faced with that reality.

You know it's true when they say, be careful what you wished for.

Just yesterday I saw him, with this small girl--I mean, small, as in less tall than me--and this girl is standing beside him, really close, while he sat at his new tambayan, which happened to be too close to where I'm usually at these days.  Not that I'm assuming, you see. Or am I?  That's not the important part anyway.  The thing is, I just stared at him the whole time I saw him with the girl, and it looked like he was staring back, as if trying to find any signs that my self-reservation would betray my face.  For crying out loud! I felt numb, not knowing what to think, really?  What the fuck, is that his fucking girlfriend? Well, if my eyes are not betraying me, she's like as tall as my thumb.  That was all I could think of.

Then I got locked out of the dorm.  Accumulated yet another violation.  To hell with stupid rules like that.  Even the metrocom let young people come back home during the martial law.  Woah, I shouldn't joke about that.

Last night was this onset of turmoil.  I finally realized that I wasn't functioning well.  Dammit.  I couldn't focus on my mass org, and couldn't do the jobs they wanted me to do properly, I wasn't participating in class, even my so-called love life is a mess.  The problem here is focus.  I just can't seem to start something and end it with a bang.  I needed some sort of feeling people call 'accomplishment.'  I felt like each of my days then started like they haven't even begun at all.  

So I talked about it with Cat again, and she told me if I wasn't ready to face such big responsibilities, I should lie-lo.  Which is something I would do.  I needed to fix this 'state of turmoil' and fix myself before I can do well in anything.

The thing is, with activists, the group I'm with now, the academics is not a very important thing.  Well, it is important, but they'd rather go to rallies than attend a class.  And that's something I cannot accept for myself.  I really want to be able to graduate.  I'm sure by the time I graduate, I'd go full time serving the people.  Because sometimes it seems kind of stupid to let your grades slack when that education is actually what we're fighting for.

*Yawn* I needed to get that in writing.  I still need to write a poem about that.  As for now, I guess I'll just watch my 'pink plastic flowers' decay.  Because I know now, what didn't seem real the last time I wrote that poem has now been guaranteed unreal.  And it would be stupid to dwell on it.

Kannika