deaf, blind, and nose-dead

We are what we are. People don’t change. Maybe I’m meant to be lonely. Perpetually.  How upsetting.

It’s still the season to be jolly and I’m in a somber mood. I should be ecstatic. I’ve got what any girl could ask for. I got everything on my Christmas ’08 Wishlist (except the Gucci heart tattoo bag) but I still feel empty. There’s a void that even a brand new Series 3 Beemer couldn’t fill. I’m surrounded by family and friends I’ve known forever, have a boyfriend, and still feel “unfilled”.  It’s not the usual bout of loneliness.

Jasmine and I have been friends since we were 13 years old. We’re still good friends. We see each other every Saturday or any day in between when she doesn’t have work. Our lives are so fucked up, the saying “we are victims of the reality we create” couldn’t be truer. Our dilemmas are frivolous compared to the global economic crunch, ecological ruin, and matters of life and death. So used to the Dubai lifestyle that our paranoid brains concoct mortifying scenarios when the topic of marriage, or rather our shilly-shally attitude towards it is brought up. Bina-bargain na kami ng mga magulang namin. We talk about it incessantly. From school girl crushes to dangerous liaisons, the theme hasn’t evolved much.

I’m not really in a position to speak for her but I’m bored.  There has to be more than this kind of life. I’m not being tetchy, I’m lucky to be where I am and with what I have. I just need to fill this unfilled nothingness.

It’s somewhat interesting.

It all started when I got a call from a very familiar number on my roaming line. A number all too familiar that I may still be reciting it in my sleep. I didn’t take the call. I just stared at my “ooh-so-sosi-phone”. I could have been hypnotized by the periodic blinking, vibrating, and the rhythmic buzzing sound on my bedside table, but I as sure as hell wasn’t mulling over taking it or not. I knew I shouldn’t, wouldn’t take it. Curiosity couldn’t get the better of me. That’s how certain I was.

A day after that, I became disoriented and impassive. The “can’t eat, can’t sleep, over the fence” kind of astray; the worst kind.  I just went back to being senseless; relatively and figuratively – dim witted, inane, and just plain not feeling anything. Not even the biting winter cold. Which explains being nose-dead due to a Christmas cold I caught smoking fag (fag: the colloquial English term for ciggies not that malevolent thought in your head) after fag on the terrace. It has nothing to do about the wretched caller. It’s just me. One missed call and everything goes kaput. Like I need to refocus and relearn everything in the last 13 months.

Of course, “defunct-abbey” prolly has something to do with my moleskine notebook being stolen – in church – while I was lighting candles. Who does that?? Steal a journal (and my grey winter gloves) in church, a few days short of Christmas?! That’s where I keep all my blog ideas and light bulb jiffies. Granted, a moleskine is “the legendary notebook used by Van Gogh, Picasso, Hemingway, and Chatwin” (or so they claim), but I’m cynical if anyone can make a buck out of a tattered squared notebook, my handwriting being illegible and my musings not exactly brilliant.

To add to being dim witted and inane, I’ve realized that I am also inept. Being so, I spent the 24th and the 25th utterly smashed. Raspberry Vodka Cruiser is only AED 5 in here so I thought I’d take advantage. My dada got me 50 bottles thinking that it’ll tide me over until after the New Year. Big mistake. That, and I felt terrible to have lost my notebook. A lot of precious time went into those scribbles and doodles.

I feel terrible. I feel like a giant piñata waiting for the candies to get whacked out of me —  all over again. I’d hate to get to the end of the story and see that the prince has ridden off into the sunset with the wrong princess — among other things.

This is going to sound out of place after my assiduous seething, but I really do wish that we all have a very happy new year. *fingers crossed*

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