I am me. I am myself. I am this person, this body, this mind. These actions, such as this instance of typing on a keyboard, form my identity. I’ve lived for 23 years, writing the story of my life as I go along.
You don’t know me.
But you think you do. You think of a lot of things. It’s probably all you can do with your life. All right, go ahead and think of me. Analyze my actions, my decisions, my feelings. Are you getting to the truth of it already? Try harder. Maybe you need to look through a bunch of books for some reference.
It’s not my style to wage war on the Internet. It’s simply cowardly and pathetic. I’d rather you and me break each other’s jaw until someone gets knocked out. It’s about paralyzing the other party, anyway. Think about it. It’s all about stepping on another person to feel the power surging in your veins. If we were kickboxers, we’d settle this in the ring. If we were tennis players, we’d go on the lawn to sort this out. But we’re professional complainers, so I’ll excuse myself just this once. I’m going to play this game of word war.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, you don’t know me.
You know some things about me, but not all. You probably know why I’m here and not there, but how could you know what I had to go through to get from here to there? How could you possibly understand what fuels me, what I had to give up, how I dream and how I plan to get from here to there? You can’t know that because you don’t live my life. All in all, you’re stupid when it comes to my life.
Anyone can say I’ve made mistakes. Clearly, I am not living the perfect life. Anyone can scratch their head at the things I have to say, think me foolish for them, judge my manhood from them. I won’t let anyone put their dirty hands on my life, however.
Be silent because I don’t need you. Who are you to tell people I am wrong? What is your stake at this game?
Do you think you can influence my actions one bit by opening your holy mouth and saying your holy words? No. In the first place, I’ve already thought about all that you had to say. I’m not dumb. I may be dumber than you but I am not dumb.
What’s creepy about you is why you keep on clinging to our story — to the point where you’re so convinced that you must be a major character in it, to actually say your lines and judge me.
Keep your opinion to yourself, please, so you won’t look retarded in the eyes of eternity. You have no idea of the difference in our burdens and sacrifices. If you had an inkling of it, you would laugh at your own estimation of my identity.
I give everything to love. I’d throw myself into the fire for it. I’d let the gods and people like yourself laugh your asses off ’til the end of time, but I won’t regret my actions. I’ve done it before.
You think I’m irrational? You think I’m mad? Well, yes, I am irrational and mad. I am me and I give everything to love.
It’s not about technical things like who f*cked whom and when. Love doesn’t hinge on f*cking, which probably sounds impossible to love-deprived f*cks like you. I’ve loved so much without giving a f*ck on whether I’d be f*cking the woman tomorrow or not. F*ck f*cking.
This is all about who inspires me to do the things I do. It’s been about that ever since I started to like and to love people. I’d do the same thing over and over again regardless of how many f*cks get tallied on the record book.
And let’s talk about careers, too.
The first point I want to get across is that I don’t care about money and recognitions, and the right way of carving a career, as much as you think.
My first job was being a transcriptionist. Did you know that? I was a cum laude from UP but I picked being a transcriptionist because it was the first one that I saw on JobStreet. I earned peanuts from that job but I stayed ’til the end, anyway — until I was laid off. I picked the job because I don’t care about careers and all that sh*t.
That didn’t mean, however, that I starved myself because I didn’t care about money. Moreover, that didn’t mean I starved my family who’s relying on me just because I didn’t care about money. For me, I just wanted to earn enough so I could read the books I wanted to read, bring food on the table, and send people to school. Just enough for everybody to get by.
I didn’t aim high. I didn’t pressure myself to achieve recognitions, except maybe on a rare month when the Eraserheads reunited for a night. Aside from that rare moment, I let hungry wolves kill each other for the dangling meat in front of me.
All of that, however, has changed now.
Now I’m aiming high to get somewhere, somewhere far away from here where I can chase her. Now I’m giving everything I’ve got to have something. The pair of wings I need to fly is expensive. I do this all because love is making me feverish once again.
That doesn’t mean however, that I’m planning on starving myself because I care too much about love. Moreover, that doesn’t mean that I’d let her starve because I care too much about love. I also don’t plan on starving my family because I care too much about love. For me, as long as we could get by without compromising the short period of time that we have left — it’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s perfect.
The only voice that I want to hear is hers.
She’s the one who should say that I am wrong.
She’s the one who should say that I’m not man enough.
She’s the one who should say that I’m a fool.
She’s the one who should say that I made wrong decisions.
She’s the one who should say that it’s all my fault.
She’s my judge.
Because I love her and all my actions are driven by her image, she’s earned the right to judge my identity, who I’ve become after 23 years of my life. I’d accept that judgement and set myself free or go to the gallows for my beheading. Rest assured that when I look up to the sky seconds before that ax falls on my neck, she will be the one who will fill up my eyes and not you.