unfinished insurance business

Mika woke up and realized he's dead. The Grim Reaper then showed up looking purple and bloated, scratch that, in a form of a purple balloon. Having enjoyed Life in Cartoon Motion, GR (Grim's nickname) thought that the least he could do is to make Mika's journey to the other side a bearable experience. Secretly though, he was a fan. And the reason behind the singer's death is for him to enjoy Mika's falsetto- live. GR loves live music. Ever wonder why Jim Morrison, Joey Ramone and the likes died? Now you know. He tied himself to Mika and flew him up in the air.

Up above the atmosphere Mika felt good. Floating felt just like sex minus the sweat or marijuana. He couldn't distinguish. And he didn't care. But just when he thought death felt so damn good, he remembered his life insurance. It wasn't fully paid. He wasn't satisfied with the services offered by his current insurance company. He wanted to get a new one but it was already late. He was halfway there. But the whole thought made him feel uneasy. He didn't want to die without a life insurance that promises to Reduce Premiums , makes him Save Money on Insurance and offers Cheap Smoker Insurance Rates . He didn't want to die unless he gets an insurance.

Suddenly, the whole floating experience got excruciatingly painful like some post-op without his morphine. He told GR he couldn't continue because of some unfinished business. It pained GR but he couldn't let his new-fangled singer down. He didn't want to be selfish. He knew how it felt. He didn't have insurance either. And so he gave in. He gave Mika's life back but made him promise to call him whenever he felt like dying. Mika Agreed.

The next morning, Mika woke up with a new idea for his My Happy Ending video.

Motivate me

Two years ago, never did it occur to me that my motivations for taking up nursing would falter. Last time I checked, it was all sturdy. But lately, you would come up to me, express your oohs and ahhs because I chose to take up such a noble profession. I then savored your admiration for a second, smiled back at you and said the uttered the words, “If you only knew” at the back of my head. Secretly, I harbored dreams of green bucks, earning, saving, spending and earning them again to finance my education- by which I mean creative writing and photography, probably change my citizenship and join Survivor, try my luck in Hollywood. Or maybe do porn. My parents would have been so not proud.

But those motivations are clearly blasted off like some misplaced Buddhas in Afghanistan, having been failed at pharmacology, taking it up again this semester and, you stepping into every shoes of all the people I'm being introduced to, saying your oohs and ahhs every time I said that I'm taking up nursing. But, no. Those admirations don't help like it used to. You are no longer helping. Yes, I liked the admiration. But I don't care about what you think. And stop smiling.

This is hard to say, but I'm not sure If I want to be where I am right now. Some kids would take my slot in a heartbeat any minute I opt out. The problem is, it's too damn late. If everything pans out right, I could be graduating really soon. My parents would then be proud of me. And I will no linger be eaten up by guilt knowing that all this time my folks think highly of me and have already spent a lot.

Until I can build some kind of a better structure for my motivation, like helping the sick and the needy without doing colossal damages on my pursue of material comfort or when I finally get over your admiration, I'm good to go. But for now, I need to study. And tomorrow, I'll deal with my issues.

fill in the blank

I wish I were a multiple choice question. At least I'd have an answer. Because next year, I'll be celebrating my 2nd decade of existence on earth and I still don't know what I really want. This thought just keeps on building up like a pile of crap and all i do is bottle it up.
I'm thinking of doing Crystal Meth to find that solace and answer I'm looking for but I know I shouldn't unless I ant to unleash the mentally ill person in me.
I'm taking up nursing all for the wrong reasons. Sometimes, I think of committing suicide but I couldn't break my parents' heart. They've already invested a lot on me. I should have done it years ago when I didn't owe them that much.
I'd do anything to be dj or be on Globe Trekker... a tour guide or just simply write or just bum around.
I flunked pharmacology because of my plain stupidity. I took for granted stuffs I should have given attention to because I thought I was gonna get laid. Heck, I didn't even get a kiss. Lately, I think I'm falling and it sucks! No matter how I try to keep the door shut, love has a habit of coming back.
I wish I'd be given answers to choose from. But no, all I got is a blank and I have no idea on what to put on that void. I don't know. I just don't know.

Too Much Information Can Kill You

I got killed last night because I knew too much. I'm just probably too hard on myself. My practice teaching didn't really suck that much. In fact, I think I did well. I had audience rapport going on in there, backed up with eloquence and slight confidence. I have every right to brag! It even came to a point wherein my classmates were drawn towards me. Problem is I got so overwhelme d with all the attention that I ended up dropping useless information all over the place. Those infos kept on falling like bombs over Baghdad. I ended up not finishing my topic!

I think I'll have minus points for poor time management. Ma'am Dean probably thought I was trying too hard to impress. I thought i'd do good making the whole thing like Mo's Good Times on radio. I think I'm paranoid. I think so much, don't I? Maybe if she din't expressed how she'd wait for my performance a week ago, I wouldn't be feeling like this. To be commended for having the gift of gab by s omeone I look up to and respect so much was all I ever wanted but that whole incident just totally jinxed it. That was way too much pressure!

Well maybe I did try too hard to impress. I got an F for the midterms! But I swear I didn't read those stuffs for the sake that I could drop references come practice teaching. I knew most of it way before I was assigned to do the topics. I read too much useless information that in the end it remained still as futile as hell.

Funny how the only thing that made me think highly of myself was the same thing that pulled me down. I may know a lot but in the end it didn't matter... because sometimes, too much information can kill you. I should know. I just got killed last night.

blinded by the white light

I'm sorry but am I the only one who thinks that the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombing served the Japs right? You can call me an insensitive prick, or even worse, throw tomatoes at me by saying that. Hon, I know my history. I know Japan attacked Peal Harbor. I know the Americans retaliated. I also know that the Japanese back then were self-serving, egoistic, ultra nationalistic freaks. they were so cocky they got a big pile of dirt in return. So Shinzo, heed my warning. Unless you acknowledge the fact that some horny chinky-eyed soldiers of yours ravaged women all across Southeast Asia, You're going down.
My religion professor once asked the class if we believed in karma. All those that raised hands were no longer Christians unless we renounce karma. We did. That was plain bull. I mean, when did Christianity become based on that criterion?
When we do things, there are reactions. A DUI stint means 23 days of jail time. When one becomes fidgety, he smokes and when he gets horny, Lord knows what he does. It's that simple. When one mops the emergency room, he gets an unexpected DR case. When one attacks a harbor, he gets bombed in return. That's the natural order of things. Some call it Newton. I call that karma.

Prozac for Everyone

When our class brainstormed for our pharmacology project proposal, nothing came up but a website and a documentary. I suggested a Free Prozac for Everyone Campaign but nobody took me seriously, like they always did by the way. Well, yeah, I wasn't serious. Actually, I was thinking more of pushing through that documentary with less documentary and more indie short film kind of vibe and upload it on youtube but they shunned my opinion. again. I was serious that time- and near genius! But tarpaulin it is.
How about accepting things for a change? I asked myself. Instead of pulling a Simple Plan whine on how the world sucks, why not try to pull an Alanis and rock that hand in my Pocket optimism? Uh, no thank you. Moreover this isn't about that project. I couldn't care less about that thing. I've never been the academics kind of guy anyway.
This is more about the things I just have to accept because I couldn't do anything about it. Kind of like the effect of fascism imposed way back in this country. Take Ma'am *e**** for example. She abused me verbally. She made me feel stupid and got me all misty (secretly, of course) and I couldn't counter that unless I want to get booted off the College of Nursing. It's not like her temper or "accidentally" pricking of some students with syringes or her (citation needed) favoring of fellow Chinese girls will give her the boot. I'm just an ant against an ant bully and all I could ever do is blog about it. Words of Sarah Silverman from the 2007 movie awards, "She needs structure. She needs someone who could take some time to tell her that she's one rude little pig." should have been made for her.
Then there are my house mates. Until now, I'm still wondering if they were taught of as kids the word cleanliness because their spoiled food always remain in the fridge for months, theirs dishes left unwashed on the sink and clothes whether clean or not, scattered everywhere. I live in a pigpen in plain english. Too bad I don't do other people's dirty work. I'm proud to be squeamish. Hey, if you found out that your underwear was used by your house mate, who wouldn't be?
Last is the weather. Last weekend, I found myself walking to the other slide of the landslide and did all that only a few hours after my minor toe operation. Hey, that is no ordinary feat when you have to traverse mud, rocks, water and kilometers of queueing vehicles. I could only pray for my wound not to get infected.
How's that for an experience. So can you blame me if I think I need Prozac?

shh...shut up.

If there's one thing I realized yesterday, aside from how bad that June 3 went, is that I'm not the quiet person I always thought I was. It was like having thinking-you-were-Kurt Cobain-only-to-find-out-you're-Mo Twister moment. Scary, huh? And it ain't funny by the way. More like a horror movie to me.

It started last saturday. I was asked by someone who works in the library to shhh. I could only utter a yeah, whatever in return. I swear I wasn't noisy. I was just talking.
Yesterday, another shhh came from someone in a form of a cheap, self-righteous skank. The nerve! Go work in another corner you whore. You ain't getting caned by me I tell you. Try to study and come back when you're finally smart to me doing that Belinda Bright shh...she walks by night pose. I might avail your services. That''ll happen after a hundred years, right? I swear I wasn't noisy! I was just talking. If she had the authority, I wouldn't be fussing about it right now. But, no, she didn't. So another yeah,whatever from me.

Later that day, I finally got what I asked for. During pharmacology, the level 4 coordinator had a speech concerning male-to-female chit chats and how she hated it. She was referring to me! That was embarrassing, considering I didn't really know a thing in pharmacology. My bad. Well, at least that day taught me something new about myself.

I'm back.

And I'm back! Oh yeah. And unfortunately so is everything else.

So can you imagine the horror seeing Mischa Barton wearing the totally antibutt crack high-waisted mom jeans? Misch, I tell you, if it weren't for my slight lack off height, we could have been together producing the most mind-blowing orgasms ever known to man. But those jeans? For God's sake! You ended our purely sexual relation before it even started. Damn those inches! I hate people who make me feel short. And you don't look hot on those.

If this semester would teach me anything, it would probably how to survive school living like a zombie. We've had 2 meeting for NCM but I'm already a book behind. Now it feels like I haven't got a time for anything. So no more weekend breathers anymore. I don't even have time to breathe.

Last summer I officially quit 'em Marlboros when I gave my last pack to Katrina Lim (hehe Kat). And yesterday I've had one stick- the first one after that quit. Hey, I was tensed! Besides it was just one stick. And it's menthol. And, and... Ok. I'm so ashamed of myself. To add more to that, It has been three consecutive nights of Tanduay. My issue.

And last but not the least, 2 of my former crushes came back to my life. Had it been the other told me her feelings for me years ago while the other met up with me years before instead of, like, recently, I could have been the luckiest dork on earth right now. I shouldn't have been drinking rhum. But no, everything came back late and the feelings are just no longer there.

And I'm back. Oh yeah. Down to that spiral again.

not dead. yet.

I really thought I was going to die last Sunday. I had a feeling that that day was IT. It was then I also realized how scared I am to leave some people behind. Yes I do care! I may look like a sociopath but I do have those things you call emotions. It's not like I kill people without feeling any guilt. Heck, I even weeped when Dr. Izzie "freaking hot" Stevens went desperada just so Denny's heart transplant would push through! And in 50 first dates too... but that may be too much information.
I don't know how Kurt did it but the last time I checked, I already got pass through that angsty grunge kid phase. That is so 90's. Peter Parker and Seth Cohen are now proving that the antijock socially awkward type is the new antisocial depressive. Suicide's not for me. Look Kurty here became a rockstar, an icon, and a hero to those poor guys who suddenly woke up getting married to someone like Courtney Love. And I'm still, well, me. I think I'm going to be a nurse. I don't know.
In the middle of last last week, some emotions surged in. This was one of those few times when my numbness falters and I started to show signs of being at least remotely human. I usually go home when this happens. Then I come back numb again. That's the cycle.
And so I went home for what I call a weekend breather. I was supposed to die! My bus was supposed to crash somewhere in the jungles of Bukidnon. But death didn't come. It didn't happen. Praise God for that!

Besides, I'm not ready. Yet.

how to become a hero

Whenever I feel down all I have to do is think about Milo Ventimiglia's character in Heroes in the hopes that knowing someone famous having the profession I'm doomed to have would do any good. Yeah, actually it does. Wonders, even. For a while its inspiring to see a hospice nurse is considered a hero. Then boom. Gravity pulls you back in and next thing I know, I tell myself that Peter Petrelli's a fake,pure-fiction, self-indulgent,self-righteous ass. A little like me. Bummer.