Saturday, May 14, 2011


Sige, okay lang
Sige, okay lang na maging kayo
Sige, okay lang na hanggang dito na lang tayo
Una'y nagligawan ng napakatagal
Yung tipong gabi-gabi'y dinarasal
Na sana'y ikaw ay wag lumisan
Ngayon akin ay pinagsisisihan

Sige, okay lang
Sige, okay lang na di mo na malaman
Malaman na mas higit pa sa pagkakaibigan
Ang pagmamahal na sayo'y aking nararamdaman
Sadyang malungkot ang handog ng ating tadhana
Kasiyahang mauuwi lang pala sa wala

Sana'y balang araw ay iyong matanto
Na ako pala'y naghintay dito
Naghintay na ikaw ay magtapat
Magtapat ng isang pagmamahalang dapat
Hayaan mong ngayon ako'y magliwaliw
Kaysa naman magwala sayo ng parang baliw

Sige, okay lang
Sige, okay lang talaga
Wala na rin naman akong magagawa
Siguro nga ay kasalanan ko din
Kasalanan ko na ikaw ay laging isipin
Kahit wari ko'y ito'y hihinto
Sa pagsara ko ng aking pinto

Sige, okay lang.

Monday, November 29, 2010


Impulsive. Random. Unplanned.

Those are the kind of blog posts I usually make here. Yes, just like teenage pregnancy, I've been making impulsive, random, and unplanned blog posts for INTROVERSION for the past 6 years. Though with this impulsiveness and randomness, I have zoomed my way up from zero into becoming my own hero. I used to suck at this blogging thing, with my superficial posts that revolve around my insignificant life as an introverted teenager. Fuck it, I went through the suicidal phase, had two douchebags for boyfriends, had a crush on my swimming coach's abs and package, hated my best friend for engaging in a taboo relationship, loathed how discriminating the world is for fatties like me. I did more whining and ranting about how fat I am and how the world can suck on its own balls rather than actually doing something about it. I did more sourgraping about how fun it is to do stuff alone rather than socializing and getting to know other types of people. I did more planning rather than pushing everything through.

Now I realize how stupid I have been for six goddamn years. But you know what? I wouldn't even know now how much stupidity I have in my system back then if it weren't for me looking back at these juvenile and normal mistakes. Yes, they make me cringe like fucking Jonas Brothers, but it is really better that way. Better to accept them, because you would really appreciate yourself much more now.

With this, INTROVERSION will be signing off before 2011 hits. No, the archives won't be burned or anything. Everything will stay intact. I guess it's just one of those things I have to change since I am starting to outgrow it. I mean, if I don't do something about it like the way I did to my Harry Potter fanatic days, it's just gonna be a one-liner in my memory vacuum. My blog means so much to me. I know it's just a small space in the information superhighway that I'm betting nobody really knows much about, but it has been witness to every freaking milestone in my life, be it an accomplishment or a mere downfall. It's like having an imaginary friend but less weirder and well, more blatant. I am in love with this blog forever.

So, yeah. By next year, I'll be rebranding this blog to make things more accurate my life-wise. It's up to you if you would like my teenage persona much better than what I am now. All I know is, I'm no introvert no more. I am the fucking VP of the promotions committee of my professional organization. Eat that, bitches!

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Random Update

I've been hitting the gym very frequently ever since mom enrolled me into one again last month. I wish I knew where I'm getting all the weird motivation from so I would stop wondering why amid the fact that God threw me off a jeepney last Wednesday, I managed to limp my way to a normal cardio workout this morning even if I have this swollen right ankle that looks like as if it houses a large amount of whatever liquid. Everybody's making fun of it and unusually, I am too. Insults would more often than not piss the fuck out of me but for reasons I don't want to dwell into, I insult myself with out-of-this-world commentaries too. Not that any of you would need to hear that or anything.

So here's the Oyen routine goes: I do 20-25 minutes of treading, 15 minutes at the ellipticals, and if I am still hyped up I would go for a 15-minute cycling craze, which does occur a lot. I rest for a few minutes then I proceed with my strength training that consists of total abdominal crunches, obliques crunches, chest presses, and chest inclines. For the life of me, I don't know why I am doing this. You know, workout so hard and stuff. I am in no hurry to slim down as I have a.) no boyfriend who's pressuring me to be as hot as Katy Perry, b.) have a good group of friends who appreciate my fats as they come handy during those dull moments when everyone's in dire need of something to laugh at, and c.) every man I seem to date seems to think that my body's right for me and surprisingly, some are even finding me sexy.

The world gets more fucked up as the apocalypse approaches. Shame.

I've been dating a damn lot too since the breakup. I'm not exactly looking for another scumbag to spend useless days with under the influence of what is popularly known as "love", but seriously, I just need people to talk to. New people who doesn't have issues the same as mine because I've spent so much time with those kind already. I'm keeping my old friends, but I'm feeling that weird need to expand my social horizon as I always get this feeling that my circle is limited to my college and high school schoolmates only. Where 's the fun in that?

Nobody would even take that as a wild guess because I'm not even that type of person to begin with. I'm not unequivocally pretty as my extreme obesity is hindering me from being so. Bullshit discrimination. But after dating and getting to know various men plus my deadly daily workouts, I kinda just realized the other day that hey, I am fucking pretty. These men get so aroused by my facial features that they overlook my humongous arms and thighs. And obviously I work the other way around as I blab about nothing but my fat parts. I should kill myself.

Saturday, October 16, 2010


The cold gush of air brought about by the rusty air condition unit of her dormitory made its way through the thin bars above the wooden door of her room. She was wrapped in that big red comforter as the darkness almost eats her restless and longing soul. If it weren't for the sound that punching the keys of the keypad of her old phone made, one would've thought that the room is empty. The sound provided her more than the company she needed for the blank afternoon; it was comfort too, at the same time.

Later that night he fetched her from the wallows of despair that have held her captive since she got her heart broken. She smiled as he gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. It's all some part of a script, she thought. I'm about to bid farewell to my grandeur with this person I barely know.

Knowing this person is just there.
Knowing this person won't commit.
Knowing that love doesn't have to exist.
Knowing that she won't get hurt at all costs.

I'm ready.

Saturday, October 09, 2010

Issue for My Tissue

For the past few weeks I've been moping about my feelings, which sucks because this blog is starting to be like a tissue I've been using to wipe my imaginary tears that I wish weren't imaginary in the first place so I could actually write something sensible. I don't get it, really. I watch the 6:30 news every single night. And if that isn't enough I also watch the 9pm news on both QTV and Studio 23. Why the hell am I being so apathetic again? It's like these news are useless facts that came out of a reporter's script, and I'm obviously blocking my mind to absorb any of it.

Yeah well thanks to my bible study teacher who opened up an issue on our last lecture, I think I'm back on the business. I hope.

I have an issue for my dirty tissue. The Reproductive Health Bill. Ain't that just a candy in my big ol' mouth. Actually, I've never would have realized that I have so many stuff to say about it if it weren't for last Wednesday's TREDTRI class. So, get this. For the start of that day's lecture, my professor flashed a picture of a person that I am very familiar of. This person is starting to become one of those few people that I admire because they're witty and while they're at it, they inject humor to their stands as if it's freaking heroin. It was Carlos Celdran, that famous tourist guide and a well-known advocate of the RH bill. We all know what he did. It was all over the internet, for Christ's sake.

I admit, the whole act of it was pretty unorthodox. I can't say that the Church deserved that huge bitch slap Mr. Celdran gave them right smack in their faces, because it was too much. But on the other side of the coin, he was right. The church needs to stop meddling with state issues, and for the life of me, I do not know what century they are living. We were taught by our hypocrite religion teacher way back in high school that overpopulation isn't even real because nobody sets the limit for the number of people that should live in a particular piece of land. But overpopulation is not even my main point here. Sure, let them fight over its existence , but how can you ignore those poor fetuses that gets thrown away in places God knows where? Without proper knowledge of how the whole sex thing goes, people will keep on fucking each other because it feels so damn good. And it's bad enough that more often than not, these fornications would result to unwanted pregnancies and consequently, abortion. Sad, sad, world.

Had a woman been equipped with suffice information that the men have the master key for their doors and would spare no second of standing and walking it off just as she would usually expect, she would at least have a notion to carry a condom around. Mind you, the whole idea of it isn't comparable to acting like a slut. It's being safe. It's being smart. It's exercising that freedom to choose if she wants to procreate with this man or not. Not all men would respect a woman's decision if she wants to make love or not. God, it's 2010 already. They should've at least got a clue when porn erupted years ago. What did they think rape and incest were all about? Man asking out a woman to take a jaunt in the prairie and sing songs with those von Trapp kids?

All I wish for is that the Church would finally adapt to the modern ways. A condom isn't gonna kill anybody; it's supposed to save women from having abortion prior to unwanted conception, or both parties from STDs. Providing sex education to the young isn't gonna make them fornicate; it's supposed to give them information about the whole act of it (sex) and thus diminish misleading knowledge they would often get from pornography. This would then minimize teenage pregnancies that frequently resulted from the youth's experimentation of how would it feel if they do it. God wouldn't have given us wisdom in the first place if we aren't allowed to decide for the betterment of ourselves, of other people, and maybe, for the whole nation.


Sunday, October 03, 2010

A Letter to John Mayer

So before I start this crap, let me remind you that I am in no way doing this just so I can get John Mayer's attention nor anybody's attention. I just kinda thought of making one to you know, let my fuck-life-i-wasn't-able-to-watch-the-concert sorrow drown beneath words, instead of juvenile tears and about five hours of nothing but John Mayer's arousing voice. Mentally arousing, I mean.

Here it goes.

Dear Mr. Mayer,

I thought of doing this while I was walking my way down to 7-Eleven, with a black menthol cig locked between my fore and middle finger, and my iPhone on my left hand, tapping the next song area with my big thumb to find something that will empathize with me, at least for the lonesome night. And then the first few strums and beats of Half of My Heart came through my green earphones, and consequently made its way to my junkie head. Instead of using my thumb to tap my way out of this song, I used it to press the lockscreen button. I placed my phone to the left front pocket of my jeans that made me feel sexy, and concentrated on my thoughts as the song approaches its chorus and I push the doors of 7-Eleven open.

Oh, half of my heart's got a grip on the situation
Half of my heart takes time

Today's a Wednesday, and you're coming on Friday to sing in front of screaming girls (and most likely homosexuals, too) who paid so much because a. you're a pretty boy, and/or b. you're damn funny. Yes, I do tend to make very hasty generalizations a lot, but that's because I know a damn lot too. I grab the plastic wrapper and open the door of that glass case where they store the buns and the hotdogs.

Half of my heart's got a right mind to tell you that
I can't keep loving you

The lyrics right there and then nailed through my system, and as an effect I placed the bun sliced-side down, which I of course only noticed when I grabbed the hotdog that I wanted and kept on shoving it into the bun. The old man right beside me looked at me and had this weird and funny expression on his face, as if I just crapped all over the place. I mussitated a quick sorry and fixed my sandwich up. I don't really know what the hell happened; it's as if there was a sudden glitch. Like I suddenly downgraded from a gigahertz to a kilohertz, and all because of two stupid lines. I made my way to the cashier as the second verse closes on yet another two lethal lines.

Lonely was the song I sang, 'til the day you came
Showing me a better way and all that my love can bring

Seriously, I don't know how the hell you can write lyrics that can be so darn meaningful, it almost fucking hurts everytime one hears it. This time, I'm the one who's hurting. And it's not even because of my former boyfriend. God, I've moved on ages from that.

I made my way out of the convenience store, now with a Big Gulp on my left hand and the right gripping the sandwich firmly. Why I am acting so absurdly is beyond my knowledge, and it's bad enough that I can't skip the rest of the song because my two hands are busy. I can't put an object somewhere for ten seconds without fearing that someone will take it. They don't call Manila crazy for nothing, you know.

You will hate that I never gave more to you than half of my heart
But I can't stop loving you

I can feel the soft bun wrapping itself to the hotdog as my grip tightens. Why the hell am I reacting so violently? Is it because I won't be able to watch your concert? I've loved you ever since I was in grade school, and your album Room for Squares stayed constantly inside my then music companion, the discman. I went through my awkward adolescent years listening to your songs and though I cannot say that Neon specifically helped me to cope up with the pubic hair appearing all over the place, it greatly improved my taste in music and in men. I'm not gonna go through the details, but you can contact me personally if you're that interested to know.

Is it because I'm stuck in this sick denial phase? I wish I know. How the hell do you even know, Mr. Mayer? I bet you don't know. It's sad that this is just a sickass world that leaves us with questions nobody can't answer. Unless..

Unless you would grab that chance to let it all in and find the answer.

But would you, Mr. Mayer? Nah, I don't think so. In fact, I don't even think that you can relate to me at all. I just thought of writing this letter to you because lately, I've been spending way too much time thinking what the fuck happened to that other half of my heart. Is it waiting for this other boy I am very very very much into, or is it still reserved for this boy that I've been loathing for the past few weeks? The stupid questions just pile up like trash for Christ's sake.

But hey, while I wait for that moment when you finally google your name and go through the thousands of pages and see this shit, I will light another cig and smoke my way out of this misery. I though that being morbidly obese won't give me man problems because no one would ever commit the gruesome mistake of even touching me, but once again, life proved me wrong. I hope it still does for the coming years. Things are being way too predictable already, like a boring sketch in Saturday Night Live.

Oh, and by the way, I commend you for deleting your twitter account. Though I found your tweets quite amusing as they were very witty, it was nice to know that there are still celebrities that aren't hungry for all that internet attention. That was very cool of you, Mr. Mayer.

I bid you goodbye, and thank you for the time. I'm sorry if this letter just revolved on the only thing that's bothering me right now. I'm pretty sure I bored you to death. And just like your song, this will all make perfect sense someday.


Friday, September 24, 2010


I hate it when there's nothing new to do. I borrowed leisure books from the library last week, thinking that I'll be busy with something before I actually do get busy with schoolworks next week. I'm really interested in graphic designing and figuring out how the human memory works. It just tickles my interest, you know, aside from weed and its effect on me, of course. I read the graphic design history book a week ago and the little texts made me lose my interest to the topic, thus making me very bored which consequently makes me want to smoke and play poker, either with someone inferior to me poker-wise, or with 8 computer-simulated idiots in 3D poker.

Unfortunately, that's how fucking unproductive my week went by.

If I'm not playing Rockband with my boys up at Sherwood, I'm either playing poker or sitting at the lobby stairs of my dorm building, taking long drags and giving strange looks to people who sometimes stare at me for reasons I don't really want to know. School's a trash. It's like my whole life suddenly took a 180-degree turn where there is now less time spent on school than any other place I can think of. Often times I find myself spending more time in the bathroom, pretending that the small shower cubicle of our dormitory is a big tub that can never be filled. Sad.

Oh, and I chugged down three Sleepasil capsules this week because my insomnia is making a great comeback. It's pretty good; made me look prettier on a totally useless and random day. What I love about is the absence of that groggy feeling you get after a sleepless/oversleeped night. Aaaand yes, my eyebags are less darker and baggier now. Thank God for Sleepasil.

Anyways, I'm out. Believe it or not, I actually have to do something tonight.