Every time I think about you, I always wonder if you do what I do and I do what you do. I am immersed in this illusion that you are the one for me only that we haven’t met yet, that right time destiny has set.

Every time I take a sip of iced coffee, I imagine you lifting your cup of hot coffee in the morning.
When I eat my breakfast of eggs, bacon and garlic fried rice, I imagine yours would be a bowl of cereal.
On my way to work, waiting for a cab I imagine you jogging on around the park listening to your music.
At work, while typing some paperworks you could be writing a poem or a new song. While making a presentation you could be doodling a wacky cartoon. 
During lunch, as I eat with my coworkers coming up with jokes you could be in a group just like me, but instead of telling jokes your the one is likely to laugh.
When I pick a pen, you might pick a pencil. When I drink a bottle of tea, you might be opening a can of soda. 
While cooking dinner, you could be buying yours. I imagine both of us eating in front of the television. Washing the dishes, you throwing the paper box. Getting ready to bed.
I wonder and think about you until I fall asleep. While you think about her as you text her “Good Night”
…. Waking me up from my daydream of you. Breaking my heart with the reality until I can sleep. Hoping that I can dream of the same daydream.
Maybe in another life, EJ…..
It is possible.

Dying Twice

I died twice in my dream last night. It was both caused by car accident. I tried to remember as much because this dream is a first and a bit weird.

Well don’t really have a beginning or we just don’t know how it began. The first accident happened at night. After I was distributing some sort of money and products with two persons at the front seat of the car. I know these two were people I either respect or were strangers since they ask me to do the distributing at the back seat window and I obliged. I also know we were of the same age since i didn’t use honorifics. I knew I died in this dream. I just know.

The second death I remember more because, well it was later and just moments before waking up. I was on a trip with my friends in celebration of us passing our licensure exams. We were running beyond the speed limit of the highway and suddenly jumped off the highway, tumbling across huge pile of rocks. We were all dead. I visit my own wake. I saw myself in the casket, my cheeks badly deformed and my legs deformed. The gray suit i wore was something I bought just two months ago(yes in the real world) and it is badly wrinkled and too big for the casket. On my way out they played some of my voice recordings which were familira to me……but haven’t actually made in the real world and at this point I’m afraid to make one.
Then I woke up in our old House, accepting I might be a ghost. My parents arrived looking like they came from a burial. I kissed them and they had no reaction. I poured a pale of water on the floor and to my surprise my mother hugged me.
They knew I was there. They can see and touch me like i was alive. But I really died.

I was more stunned to see myself in the casket than actually dying. Weird.

I don’t know what this means but it was a dream and good plot for a story.

World problem

“The problem of the world is that the intelligent people are full of doubts, while the stupid ones are full of confidence.” – Charles Bukowski

A quote I’ve read twice this week. Almost agreed with it until this brilliant brain brain of mine popped a question……”Who decide who is intelligent and who is stupid?”


Even if we have an intelligent person in front of us full of confidence telling us something from what we believed in, basing it from the quote, he or she can be deemed stupid by society. A person full of doubts on a particular solution to a problem should never be deemed as intelligent without offering an alternative solution.

If only we can realize that we don’t know what is right or what is true. We can enumarate what is wrong and think of the rest as being right or the other way around. But in the end we all of those were based on the preferences of the majority but that doesn’t mean it’s universally right.

I really admire people in history who have proven everyone wrong.

Because they know they can be right or wrong.

They can be stupid or intelligent.

Or they can be both.

The Wingman

Wingman- a person who takes the friend of the target girl

A good friend indeed.

But I have another idea of a wingman. Mind you it would be far from a romantic or dating aspect. It’s more of a friendship matter. My idea of a wingman is like this…..
A wingman is someone like me. I friend or had been a friend of someone who excel, different, talented, unbelievably smart or popular. I am a friend or, the sad part, had been a friend. I recently realized that I always have a friend who achieve achieved something or get recognised for something. Yes, I admit there is the green monster of envy creeping behind me but when I look back at it, I always remember how my friend worked hard for it and compared to my efforts, theirs are really worth the recognition. I just find it amazing that I have and had all these friends who are successful at our age.

In elementary, my random seatmate turns out to become my best friend and she would later become the batch salutatorian (mind you I also got an outsanding award). In high school, my group of friends are what you call the straight A students until senior year of course. And turns out that my friend from elementary is the class valedictorian and my new friend from high school is the salutatorian. In college, my group of friends are also recognised to part of the nerdy, reliable or responsible group. And you guessed it… friend from elementary graduated as a Magna Cum Laude, my friend from high school and a 2 new friends from college graduated as Cum Laude.

In the national licensure board exams……3 of my friends are topnotchers.

I am happy for them……but I wonder when will MY moment come. My friend from elementary I gave her my loyalty when people only used her for her brains. I saw what she needed, a friend whom she can discuss her crazy ideas, obsessions and an escape to her strict parents. My friend from high school, I exposed her to the world- literally, she was born in a conservative family that even watching cinemas is a sin. I saw how others take advantage of her helping hand, taking responsibilities too much for her. I provided her help, every time she is too stubborn to refuse a request. My friend in college is someone who is often misunderstood. She is smart but cannot teach and for that most people find her a snob. She is quite picky with friends, having inner circles within group of friends, a favorite among others. I gave her privacy, a professional yet friendly air between us. We can insult each other for one minute but after that we can talk about our thesis. And lastly the friend I made after college…..I gave her understanding. She suffered from manic depression and I suffered from cyclothymia……and we sort of get each other.

I am a wingman. A support to the protagonist. A friend before success. A friend to those who were destined to be great.

Sometimes I feel like a Lucky charm. I was in their past, but being with them in future remains uncertain. Some will keep me, some will have more like me or worst, some will lose me.

Little did I know my friends were my success. I became part of their lives before they got wherever they are. I was there when they needed me. I gave them help when they needed it. Even if others will not believe me when I point at their picture and say that is my friend, I don’t care because I know the person behind that picture knows I became their friend and that is good enought for me.

I were your wings before you had your own. Now that you can fly, soar high until you reach your limit. Don’t look back.

I won’t be there because……

I know I will not be a wingman…..forever.


2 years ago I was diagnosed with Cyclothymia. It’s a mood disorder characterized by ups and downs similar to Bipolar disorder BUT milder. My psychiatrist said that it might be brought about by my introverted-ness, being an only child since I had no problems with my family (probably it was too perfect that it sort of felt wrong), my tendency to be secretive and the final blow was my academic stress.

Anyway, I took some meds for a year. My psychiatrist was cautious and adviced me to take strictly follow her prescribed dosage otherwise it might cause dependence and or progress to Bipolar. After a year or so I stopped the meds and have some left just in case it strikes again.

Why am I suddenly posting this? I don’t know I just thought about it…..

Probably I remember the feeling of academic stress because…..

In 24 hours, I’ll be taking my licensure examination.