I could spit on a stranger.

After almost three months of not posting here and hiding out somewhere in Multiply, I’ve finally decided to get out of my shell and post here again. WordPress is inevitable, there’s just a lot of things that I need to say here. Well, not exactly here–oh whatever. As you may have noticed, I changed everything. I don’t watch many movies right now because, I don’t know exactly. It’s not that I lost touch with films… Gee, I can’t really explain myself right now.

Somehow something changed inside me during the past three months of my WordPress absence. In order to fill you in, let me summarize it into six little words: “I fucked up with her again.” Please don’t take this in a literal way because the last time I checked, I’m still a virgin (hooray!–not).

During the last month, I met up with her again–Stef that is. Flirted a little bit with her and became a major cause of her and his boyfriend’s break-up. After that came my short stint with depression (which lasted for oh… three days?) and then some deep soul searching.

Which is where I am going to begin again. I think it’s time to reflect on who am I as a person and what the hell do I really want in a relationship. My self-destructive nature has to be controlled and I just need to vent out a little bit here. I know I did something bad and I hurt her again for the nth time. But I figured that if I don’t fix myself first, then I can never be with her. Ever.

In the first place, I never really wanted to be with her. She was just–psh–I have to admit, an idea. I liked the idea of being with someone, but I didn’t really liked her per se.

Somehow, the books that I’ve been reading, the music that I’ve been listening to, and the films that I’ve been seeing shaped this ideal girl that I had in mind. This quirky little Unicorn-loving litfreak who knows how painful Daniel Johnston’s songs are; someone who agrees that the film adaptation of Fight Club had the better ending; someone who would read me American Psycho while I sleep; and will agree that Pavement’s Spit on a Stranger would be the theme song of our long-winding love story. Somehow, I believe that that certain girl is somewhere out there waiting for me. I know that I’m stuffing cheese up your asses, but believe me… this is my idea of venting out–being a sick hopeless romantic fuck.

—————-

As a sort of “Welcome, back!” gesture from me, here are the final words of Alvy Singer from Woody Allen’s Annie Hall which would somehow show the gist of the direction that this blog would now follow:

I thought of that old joke, y’know, the, this… this guy goes to a psychiatrist and says, “Doc, uh, my brother’s crazy; he thinks he’s a chicken.” And, uh, the doctor says, “Well, why don’t you turn him in?” The guy says, “I would, but I need the eggs.” Well, I guess that’s pretty much now how I feel about relationships; y’know, they’re totally irrational, and crazy, and absurd, and… but, uh, I guess we keep goin’ through it because, uh, most of us… need the eggs.

Goddamn, how I need those eggs.