one convenient, quiet place.

who is this jackass with his passive aggressive blog? this tool with his iphone, lacoste shoes, and j. crew university coat with thinsulate? who is this person who stopped caring about others' needs, about making the world a better place? who's this smug, confused asshole who thinks he's better than everyone, but also thinks everyone is better than him? who is this person who is never happy with anything, never satisfied with all that he's been given? who is this individual who takes it all for granted?

he isn't me. and maybe that's why he's been feeling sick, why he's been trying to tell himself to wake up, wake up already. he hasn't used his brain in a while. he hasn't solved a math problem in years, hasn't had a conversation about something not tv, music, or film related in months. that's why all his blog entries lately have been boring, why they've all been about...nothing. he doesn't know how to do anything these days but fall asleep and look at the internet.

at a cathedral in manila, he sat at a pew by himself. his parents were looking at other things - statues and tourist displays - but he just sat there, and he relished the quiet. church was good for that. he sat there and thought about why people went to church. and for a moment, he liked it. it was the one place where all the major things in life could and probably would happen. baptism, marriage, death - all in one convenient, quiet place.

there was another tme. he was standing outside another chapel, somewhere in boracay, and it began to rain a little bit. just a little drizzle started, and everyone moved in towards the church's entrance. he stood there, next to a wall, and he listened to the priest. it was in tagalog, so he couldn't understand the homily. everything else was textbook mass. music played in the church, and it sounded sad, something like old radiohead b-sides. they even sang "the lord's prayer," and it was hauntingly sad, beautiful. it was the most beautiful thing he'd heard in a while.

he was sitting at the back of the bus, and they were headed back to the airport in kalibo. he set his ipod to snow patrol's eyes open, and he started thinking about the past, about how things used to be. it was a good thing he had his sunglasses on because he started to cry. he didn't want to cry, but he couldn't help it. his cousin, sitting next to him, was asleep, so it was okay. he got away with it. during the whole trip, everyone knew something was wrong with him, and his crying would only confirm it. so he didn't want them to see. he didn't want them to see him that way.

a few weeks back, he was at the vacaville outlets with his parents. he spent over $100 on clothes to make himself feel better, and it helped, if only for a short while. his parents went to harry and david to buy snacks, and he sat at a bench whilst trying to read a michael chabon novel. they bought some snacks, and then his mother decided she wanted to go to coldwater creek. he waited in the car for her, and when she returned, she looked at him through the car window. she looked surprised and saddened, and she asked him why he was crying. he wasn't crying then. he didn't know what she was talking about.

but he was older now, and as he aged, he found it more difficult to make friends. he wasn't so much angry anymore. maybe the boys who roughed him up before just wanted to be his friend. maybe that was just their way of showing it. they didn't know how to act any different. maybe if he'd just told girls in his past how he felt about them, they might've felt the same way. maybe if he'd just been open about things and he didn't bottle them up so goddamn much, he'd be okay with who he was, where he was going.

who the hell is this guy.

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