…On Boredom, Alcohol, and Clingyness…

Office days suck. After Ondoy ravaged the metro, I came back expecting heavy backlog. But I had none of it. I was even able not to go to work for 3 days last week (well, Monday was somewhat reasonable, as cars still can’t go through our village’s gate). Now, I come in the office to sleep, actually, occasionally play solitaire, mostly go on Facebook, probably read the ebooks sent to me, and maybe (if boredom strikes so badly) play Dissidia. I leave at every chance I might get, but don’t have anywhere to go to.

I’ve been saying I need a better job, but I guess having this lazy atmosphere kinda pulls me back from looking for a new job. After all, where do you get paid for sitting around all day and just occasionally get overworked?

 

I plan on finishing my contract (which ends on Dec 31 of this year) and not accept any more extensions so that I may be pressured to look for a new job. Well, if they take me in as a regular employee or if the Singapore team decides they can train me, then I would gladly oblige.

What sucks is that since days have become so uneventful, I can’t even blog about something. I would have wanted to write something fun or random, but I can’t even think of any random thing to take a stab at. So I guess emo blog it is (half of it, anyway).

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On Alcohol

I have come to realize that I am not an alcoholic. Yes, I can drink, I may ask you to drink out, but I think drinking is merely symbolic for me. My not wanting to be alone has drawn me to invite people out for coffee, beer (or cocktails that make your shit green), dinner, or even ice cream. It’s an excuse to be with other people, but gives the other person a definite plan of what’s to be expected when we see each other, and none of that awkward what-do-we-do-now discussions as soon as we meet up.

I realize that if I was an alcoholic, I’d want to drown all my worries away with alcohol. But knowing full well that alcohol can’t really take it all away (as it all comes back to you as soon as you recover from a hangover), it’s not the first thing that actually comes to my mind when I’m having problems. Blogging would probably be the first (as the height of emotions inspire me to blabber continuously, even carelessly), and company would follow as a close second. Company would dictate what comfort activity follows; drinking buddies would want to drink buckets of beer or whatnot, coffee lovers would like to have caffeine be our alcohol, and those not really as close but are actually as concerned could be invited for dinner or ice cream. But knowing I can manage to turn down my cousins' constant offers last week (I adhered to their request 2/5 times), I think I can enjoy going out even if there's no alcohol involved. If I were an alcoholic, invitations like those are never turned down.

However, I could be mistaken for an alcoholic, because drinking would be my choice of poison. I have my reasons though.

 

1. It gives one a feeling of euphoria, and for the time being, the table in which one sits is the only world there is. It doesn’t matter if you’re shouting at each other’s faces, it’s just fun.

 

2 It gives such a confidence boost that you’d accept almost any dare that comes to you. Heck, if there was a fight that broke, you’d be sure as hell one won’t back down even if the opponent’s bigger, especially if the asshole did something to your peers who have done nothing to wrong him. (Well, at least, I know I would.)

 

3. Three, it’s always fun to watch your drinking mates wasted and saying stuff they wouldn’t remember they even said. Extra fun if drinkmate puked. Super fun if drinkmate puked on another drinkmate. Not cool if you get puked on. Waaaaayyy uncool if you’re all riding your car.

With your world reduced to what’s in front of you, people laughing at the dumbest jokes, and friends talking in a manner they normally don’t, drinking with friends can be a really fun experience. No matter how therapeutic/economical ice cream, food, coffee or blogging can be, none compares to the mindless fun drinking alcohol can offer.

 

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On Being Clingy

I hate the feeling of being an afterthought. You know, the last person you’d get to think of inviting (“Nakakulong na si Bantay? Tsk. Ah! Si Volt, malamang pwede!”), that person who’s needed more for what he can do rather than his company (“Di tayo kasya sa kotse eh. Text nyo si Volt, mei kotse yun”), that person whom you wouldn’t have noticed missing (*after 2 hours and 3 buckets of beer* “Si Volt pala, tinext nyo?”).

It’s probably partly my fault. I’ve been unavailable for so long that people have gotten used to inviting me late, since I’ve turned them down one time too many before. But somehow, it sucks to think that your function has exceeded your being.

One time, commuting with Imon to take Ella home, I had a feeling of peace. Closing my eyes with my earphones on, listening to my music, it felt simple, peaceful. I remember those times back then of commuting with Che from UST to Quiapo to Pasig, then to Cainta. It was difficult at times, but back then, I felt I was needed for me, which was kind of sweet, really. She’d have that feeling of security just by holding my hand as we walk through the Quiapo underpass. Then she’d feel comfortable sleeping by leaning on my shoulder. Then the car made life easier to travel. After a while, I felt needed only for the purpose of taking her home without hassles, not because she needed me, as there were no more shoulder-leaning or hand-holding while walking on a potentially dangerous place. Her cellphone had more attention than I did. [I write with what I felt, not what she wanted me to feel. Before you judge her, know her side. Otherwise, shut up.]

Yes, there are also times when the car makes life easier and sweet as well, especially if you’re driving an automatic. A long drive from, say, Valenzuela to Robinson’s Ermita is something you’d wish wouldn’t end, so that you’d have more time to hold hands until it sweats, and more time to look at the shy smiles that come your way while driving through traffic. But that’s another story.

The thing that I’ve come to realize is, that I’ve become dispensable. Like the rest of the human race, it’s something that I’ve got to deal with. The world wouldn’t stop when I die, it’s no different from not being in one’s life; it would still go on even if you’re out of his/her life.

It’s pathetic, really, to cling on to things/people/habits, because it’s only torturing myself remembering what’s no more. But somehow, it’s having those things that make me remember the good times, seeing the people make me remember how much fun we had with each other, and exercising the habits make me feel secure, like holding another’s hand, and it makes me feel that I’m not entirely alone.

Much as I’d want to move along with my life, I appear to be clinging on to my past. But personally, I think I’m moving along fine. Yeah, there’s a bit of bitterness along the way for humor and half-meant sadness, but overall, I think I’m good. After all, you don’t forget about addition and subtraction you learned in 3^rd grade when you study multiplication and division in 4^th grade. You add to what you know, not forget what you already have after you’ve learned something better. (Note: Fine, mathematics probably isn’t the best example I could give, considering my expertise on the subject, but that’s it’s the most fitting analogy I could think of.)

Right now, I’d settle being an afterthought, probably. I would’ve wanted to have a best friend, as being a pseudo-best friend doesn’t feel quite the same (especially if you thought you weren’t just an afterthought to him/her… oh, that’s assuming. My bad.), but I guess it’s difficult to find one at this day and age when everyone seems to have someone. Being an afterthought may suck, but at the end of the day, you were part of a list. It may have been a long list and you’re at the end of it, but at least you were part of something.

Who knows? Maybe this harsh new reality for me (it is harsh for the mushy person in me who emo’s it up every once in a while) is just like the long commute I went through from way back: difficult, yet sweet and honest.