In all honesty, sometimes I think "Why do I even bother?"

Sometimes I get caught up in my daydreams of having a lead role in a movie or TV series that I forget I'm just a two bit D-list actress aka glorified extra.

Sometimes I think I'm "friends" with the people I work with until I remember that it's a business after all.

So, just to think about it some more, I've realized that nothing has really changed. My disillusions of being somewhat better off than who I was when I was a kid are nothing but that - disillusions. I'm still the little girl with wild wavy hair and thick glasses who loves to read and discuss weird stuff that gets her ass kicked in school by the popular jocks, pretty popular girls and everyone else in between. I'm still the one willing to appease and please everyone just so I can be liked. It's so pathetic that even I want to kick myself in the ass.

Bleah.

Most of the time, I really don't get bothered by people teasing me about certain physical inadequacies I have. I often poke fun at myself anyway to be bothered by it. I may lack self esteem but I can definitely brush off certain comments and I'll never even give it a second thought.

Sometimes though, it catches me at a bad time and I just have to bite back. The following are real life conversations:

Scene 1
Her: Hay naku, wag ka nga! Maliit naman ang suso mo eh!
Me: Wag mong pakialaman ang maliit kong suso. Pinapakialaman ko ba ang maluwag mong pekpek?

Scene 2
Him: Bakit wala kang boobs?
Me: Kasi mas madaming utak ang binigay sa akin ng Diyos. Ikaw? Bakit kaya puro titi lang ang puede mong ipagmayabang?

Scene 3
Her: Parang ang laki ng boobs mo ngayon ah! Siguro maraming padding ang bra mo.
Me: Parang ang bango ng hininga mo ngayon ah! Siguro natuto ka nang mag toothbrush.

***

Sometimes I hate myself for being such a witty sarcastic bitch.

I've changed my name on Facebook. For those of you who can't keep up with my status changes (Yes, Del...I can hear you saying that I change it every hour...) the reason for such a change is that I've gotten to my tipping point when it comes to explaining to people - strangers, if you may, that I am indeed a woman. A REAL woman and not a "woman".

As I have stated previously, I sometimes love my name in all its masculinity but there are times that it just pisses the hell out of me that it makes me want to physically maim someone and render them incapable of even lifting a finger to scratch their own nose.

It also doesn't help that I am not endowed with breasts that are bigger than a cup A.

However, here's the clincher: I finish taping today and went over to Del's place for a little de-stressing activity. Going back, I took a cab to which the driver immediately says "Saan po tayo, bossing?" (Where to, bossing? Bossing is usually used as an urban lingo counterpart of "sir") I ignore that comment and tell him where I wanted to go. About 20 minutes later, he says "Tramo po ba tayo or Mia Road, chief?" (Do we take Mia Road or Tramo, chief? Again, chief is usually used for men) I tell him to take Mia road. About another 10 minutes pass and he goes "Lalampas po ba tayo ng Zapote, sir?" (Do we go beyond Zapote, sir?)

It was at that point that I looked at the rear view mirror just to check how I look like to him. I saw that I still had the same clothes as I had when I left Del's place: A green halter top, make up, dangling green sparkly earrings and jeans. I'm pretty sure I didn't look like a man. Then it dawned on me...the fucking driver probably thought I was a tranny! I was ready to give him a piece of my mind and a few choice words when I again realized that he was running through every pot hole and speed bump on the way like they were put there as an after thought. Either the driver was suffering from night blindness or he's just doing that on purpose because he's a freaking homophobic bat. Either way, he was grating on my nerves and he was starting to rearrange my internal organs. I started giving him a terse reminder if there was a speed bump or a pothole. "Speed Bump" I'd say, or "Butas" (Pot hole. I swear I was close to changing the word pot into another three letter word)

Oh, but the killer was when I finally got home. I finally paid the dude and was more than ecstatic to leave his vehicle when he said "Salamat, Kuya!" (Thank you, older brother!) The fucker was probably 14 years older than me!

I'm seriously starting to develop a complex here...

If you'll excuse me, I'll just cry myself to sleep while you laugh at my expense...

This? This is a nice picture. It's tastefully done and it's artistic. It's something I'm proud of and it's hot! So, when you post a comment on FB with a laugh attached to it, pertaining to the photograph, it irks me. It insults me and it annoys me. (Lolo, you're off the hook. We're good. Unfortunately, there are more troglodytes existing in the free world)

I've lived my entire life putting myself down on the looks department. I've been raised to think that I resemble a red hairy fruit rather than a human being. I've lived most of my life being compared to my cousins who were gifted with beautiful porcelain skin (as opposed to my dusky complexion, which, by the way, I do love now) or my friends who looked like hot celebrities.

I dealt with it. I even made it work to my advantage - I became a self deprecating comedian. And for a while, it worked. Make a joke about my skin tone and my looks, get a couple of ha-ha and get paid for it. But, truth of the matter was, I wanted to be told that I wasn't ugly. I wanted someone to look at me with all sincerity (and not because he/she felt pity or obligation) and say "You're beautiful" and for me to actually believe it. (Trust me, it's hard. I'm cynical and I have major trust issues)

Then, recently, I realized that if I kept waiting for someone to do that to me then I'll never hear it at all. I had to look at myself in the mirror and appreciate what I have and learn how to love the skin I'm in. I had to believe that I'm beautiful, in my own right, through my own eyes.

And I did.

Now, since I'm my own self protector against Neanderthal displays of idiocy, I say this: "You want to try that comment again? This time, let's drop the whole negging thing or the juvenile display of misdirected bullying just to get the girl's attention because it's getting old, really fast. It's annoying and it makes you look like a degenerate, insecure, emasculated dick."

***

Why do men do that anyway? The whole negging thing? (Negging - verb. Mostly done by men to women who intimidate them. They put down the women, verbally abusing them and their positive qualities so they can have a rat's ass chance in hell to sleep with the woman) Did you seriously think that women - smart, beautiful, gorgeous women with a wicked sense of humor and a smashing personality - would sleep with you after you neg them? You see, in my world, that is a clear invitation of having your pansy ass handed to you on a platter.

Here's a thought: LISTEN TO WHAT YOUR MOMMA TAUGHT YOU!

Ever hear about this thing called "a compliment"? Try that. Or, try treating the girl right. Open doors, pull chairs, stay on the dangerous side when crossing the street, OFFER TO PAY, INSIST ON PAYING, take the girl home - all that stuff that most men today have forgotten.

Women, no matter how smart, successful, scary intelligent we are, crave for the basics. Treat us right and we don't have to go marching down the streets protesting or plotting in dark corners on the best way to cut your dick off.

***

So, want to try that again?

I think I've had enough practice and experience with the realm of unpretty for a good three decades now. I've pretty much got my expectations leveled and my ego and self-worth at bay. I know what I am and what I'm capable of. I know what I look like, what to expect and what not to expect from people.

Again, I'm not self-pitying nor am I asking for compliments. Puh-leaze. The only time I go fishing is for real fish. So, let whatever it is that you're thinking go.

However, when certain unmannered individuals who don't know the meaning of subtlety and discretion start pointing out the painfully obvious, I do have feelings that get hurt. Yes, I have feelings, thank you very fucking much.

Of course you find them pretty. I do too. But it's bad manners to single me out. Ask for all their names, everyone next to me and around me, except me. And the other chicks that aren't hot. (Read: fat, dark, curly and unpretty) Yeah. That's not cool. It's downright chauvinistic, sexist and archaic.

I used to be 99 pounds. I used to have a waist. I used to have better skin. I used to have youth.

I now weigh 120 pounds. I've got hips so wide they need tail lights. I have stretchmarks and I still don't have boobs. I deal with it everyday with a shrug, a grin and a sense of humor.

I can still lose the weight. I can have surgery for the rest. You, however, will always be an asshole and there's no cure for that.

Almost everyone knows my morbid fear of mascots and clowns. I hate them with a fury. It's not fear per se, I just don't like them and find no use for them. They're not even amusing.

I dislike frogs and toads. They're slimy and cold and toads give you warts.

I dislike crowds. I dislike closed spaces. I hate crowds in closed quarters.

I distrust compliments. I fear I may accept them one day.

I am deathly afraid that I can be more jaded and mistrusting and conflicting that I already am.

***

People must think I'm insane. I don't blame them. If I were looking at myself from another POV, I'd say I'm pretty screwed up - like two fries short of a happy meal screwed up. I'd think Fate and Destiny and the Powers That Be must have a sick sense of humor or have majorly fucked up the paperwork when they decided to give me children.

I don't deserve happiness. I don't deserve any positivity. I'm so afraid that one day I'd want them and even believe that I deserve them.

Fear isn't irrational, it's personal. And these fears are mine.

"That I Would Be Good"

that I would be good even if I did nothing
that I would be good even if I got the thumbs down
that I would be good if I got and stayed sick
that I would be good even if I gained ten pounds

that I would be fine even if I went bankrupt
that I would be good if I lost my hair and my youth
that I would be great if I was no longer queen
that I would be grand if I was not all knowing

that I would be loved even when I numb myself
that I would be good even when I am overwhelmed
that I would be loved even when I was fuming
that I would be good even if I was clingy

that I would be good even if I lost sanity
that I would be good
whether with or without you

Disclaimers aside, I'm truly not completely insane - I am just a wee bit crazy.

I believe I can handle most situations with proper class and calm. There are times when I act a bit out of character just for a laugh or two. I've never been written up as a nut job, the most I've had as a label is "slightly pickled and a few notches above crazy cool".

I, however, have a few psycho moments especially when a certain very sensitive nerve is hit.

***

I've long told anyone who'd care to listen that I have accepted how I look. I know I'm not the prettiest woman in the room nor did I win any consolation prize in a beauty contest. I absolutely understand the standards of beauty and how I could never come near it even with an expendable arm 70 feet long.

The reason I say this is not to get any kind of patronizing pity. It's for my own benefit. The more I accept it and take it as truth, the stronger I get against any kind of insult thrown my way. I feel better knowing this - I feel better knowing that what anyone could ever say about me isn't anything new to me.

What I hate and what gets to me (which I don't understand how, being a smart bitch and all) is when people exert so much effort to convince me that I am beautiful, that I am attractive and then, right when I'm in the throes of believing everything stated, tells me that I'm really not all that pretty. That's just plain cruel...

***

I know what I am. I know what I can do. I know what I look like. I know what I can bring to the table. I shouldn't need anyone else to tell me otherwise. I believed them because I thought they were sincere. I believed them because they were trying so hard to make me feel that what they were saying was true.

The best part of believe is the LIE.

***

I'm a smart and funny woman. I am charming and I have talent. I'm creative and resilient.

You fuckers are the ugly ones.

Karma is a bitch. I wouldn't wish what you did to me on you, but if it does come, I'll be there - front row with popcorn and a coke.

I hate stereotypes. I especially hate beauty stereotypes. It's so fucking laughable that it's become just pathetic.

Granted, I've made that argument in a previous post but for the love of CY Gabriel Wonder Soap, why do we suffer through this?

Women are deemed beautiful if they have fair skin - ghostly white, preferably. They should have long straight and shiny hair to be called breath taking. Mammary glands are prerequisite as well, preferably a size bigger than that of an A. It's negotiable, don't worry - depends on how good your oral expertise is.

Noses need to be button like, but with a bridge. Lips should be soft, sensuous and pouting. Lashes are like legs and should go on for miles.

That would be Heidi Klum and she's with Seal.

***

Going through postings of auditions just doesn't do much for my ego. One look at me and they cast me as the maid, the help, the prostitute (and not 'leaving las vegas' or 'monster' type of prostitute) or the prostitute turned maid.

I'm not even cast as the best friend. My looks hinder me from getting a prime role. People will argue that Tetchie Agbayani is dark skinned but she gets plum roles. Please see above paragraph and look under "mammary glands". Though I love her and I think she's a great actress, she got her break when she posed for Playboy. The search party is still out looking for my boobs.

People should stop fucking obsessing about facades. That skin will be too sensitive that you'll never know how to enjoy the beach again. Hair will thin and boobs will sag.

If you're wondering what that smell is, that's bitterness.

"I am alone in a hotel room tonight
I squeeze the sky out
but there's not a star appears
begin my studies with this paper and this pencil
and I'm working through the grammar of my fears..."

I love this line from the song "Language or the kiss" by the Indigo girls. I'm starting to think that they've made a pact with some devil to have that enviable gift of writing songs.

Literally, this is so me right now - well, it has been me for the past week.

***

The funny thing is, I've been known to be independent and I have the tendency to do things on my own. However, I've never felt like I was alone until now.

***

I felt this way when I was in Australia. I succumbed to depression, and allowed myself to be dragged to the cesspools of sorrow.

I feel like this now, but you have to add a few other ingredients to the mix - like confusion, frustration, aggravation and absolution.

***

I know this isn't like Australia. I know that this time around, I don't have angry white people planning their next witch hunt against me. I know that I have someone to talk to when I need to. I know that I'm coming back to something so beautiful that I welcome the longing and anticipation.

My kids will be tortured with lots of hugs and sloppy kisses. My hubby will...well, you know...

I still have a silver lining. I can see it shining.

You know how you've always been waiting for something, always been wanting it and then when it does happen, you don't know what to do?

I've always thought that I've got training manager potential. I can lead, I can delegate, I can commit and fulfill these commitments at the shortest time possible without having to sacrifice quality, thus making my team effective and efficient. I wasn't given an opportunity from the different companies I was with, call center wise.

I've resigned myself with the thought that maybe I had potential but that was just that - potential. Now, I've signed with Genpact as a training manager and I'm second guessing myself. Can I really do this? Do I really know how to be a manager? Can I really lead?

I can lead a pair of toddlers and a 4 year old. However, that's not really a good reference for leadership.

***

My former boss, Jericho, gave me a book about how leaders are not born nor are they created. Leaders, the book says, are called. Being a leader is a calling. So that's why the government officials we have are like that! I digress, sorry...

If being a leader is similar and parallel to that of a novice and a seminarian, does this mean I have to try to be spiritual?

***

I can do this.

I am an attractive, intelligent, successful woman.

The past is like a resort you visit when you want to take a break. You stay for a while, two weeks at most but you never want to stay there permanently. Well, maybe that's the incorrect analogy but you get what I say, right?

I can't shake the feeling that the only thing keeping me here, unresolved and unhappy, is my past. I can't let go of it. The thought of something constant and the comfort of having something familiar is what keeps me here.

Truth be told, I'm afraid of what's out there.

During times of desperation, I always say I can be a trainer again. However, that isn't what makes me happy. I can say I can go back to whatever freaking hole I've been to but that isn't the solution. I come back to the familiar because it's safe.

Moving forward, going beyond, taking risks - that's what I should be doing.