three long weeks ago, vampire pests had made a merry feast out of me and consequently gave me dengue fever, which made me think how unlucky i was. there i was confined in a nondescript hospital room, anchored to a bottle of medicine and an encumbring stand, as nurses of every mood and level of competence disturbed my privacy, and made me feel nothing more than a bleeding pin cushion. never have i thought that i would contract dengue. i've always believed that it only happens to other people, but never will it happen to me. the illusion that comes with youth, that we are steadily indestructible, manifested itself in a manner that was the center of my protest for days. although, i already know i'm not indestructible. four glasses of gin and orange juice and i'm dead.

one year ago, i dim-wittedly assumed there was going to be a pattern concerning the deaths in the family. april 2006, our first grandmother died, and we were devastated. may 2007, our other grandmother died, and we were numb. during the wake i wondered, a year and a month later after the second death, if there was another person in the family  to be lowered to the ground on a plain morning. i know it's odd and partly morbid to think of such things, but when you're neck-deep in so much loss, it feels kind of necessary to think, and pretend to feel prepared for all the other losses that will leave you in a mound of tears and depression.

incidentally, and hilariously, my session with the fatal fever landed a year and a month later after the second death. as this forgotten theory materialized in my spinning head during a lazy afternoon snack, i thought no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no... really? my time to die? that's what you get when you try to go all clever and associate mathematics with human expiry dates.

as this blog entry clearly indicates, i am not dead. and it's already july, so maybe i'm already out of the woods. but i believe something in me is dying, or i have convinced myself to think so. there's something to be said about how one loses a chunk of himself when he loses things and people he loves to something else. in january i woke up mid-dawn after a disconcerting dream that involved a person standing on a promontory, looking out to a tugboat that slowly chased the setting sun. everything was basking in a morose orange light, and the person standing on the cliff felt something pulling at his chest and throat. and then i woke up, worried and sad.

going freudian on myself, it seemed obvious that the dream articulated what i have since then attempted to deny: that people are slowly leaving. friends with whom i've shared years' worth of lunches and dinners with have graduated and are now looking into working (or not). others are going to leave the country after college. close relatives are are planning to go abroad for work, following those who already have. the best people in my life are leaving, or have already left, to create new lives, and i'm hoping that my fear of getting left behind won't surface and that i'd be able to cope with the situation, because it still feels the way it did when i woke up after that dream.

woah! major. drama. moment.

but the good thing about everything is that there are people who stay, and that my virtue of humor (eherm) keeps me busy.

written on monday, june 20, 2008, 3:46 am, in the thick of insomnia.

after dinner tonight, my sister commented on how remarkably pale my complexion has become, even though i had spent a good amount of time earlier in the day walking around the subdivision trying to catch a few of the sun's rays. i thought this would make up for the tan i should've had this summer vacation. no one took me to the beach, just a trivia.

walking through the streets turned out to be a reacquainting event between me and the subdivision, and i immediately recalled times in my childhood when i would bike around for hours until i was covered in sweat and soot; when afternoon siestas were spent looking for the binatog or the ice cream vendor; when i kind of accidentally ran over a maya, and when ferocious neighborhood dogs would chase me tirelessly, my legs up in the air as i screamed maniacally at the likely rabies-infected canines running by my side, ready to tip me over and have me for merienda. (i hope i didn't misuse the semi-colon in this paragraph)

today i just saw roadkill frogs that totalled to fourteen, and countless magical surprises (dry dog feces) that littered the roads.

i don't think i'm pale, but i guess the reason why my skin color resembles fester adams' is because i don't go out as much, and just hole up in different parts of the house with a blank stare and drool dribbling from my mouth to my shirt. with so much time in my hands, i unbelievably managed to do nothing at all, except when i feel like i have to mold my brain again as it develops into mush every now and then.

i've read a few books, though: dana adam shapiro's the every boy, the first youngblood (which depressed all happy spirit in me), lies my yaya should have told me: rj ledesma's imaginary guide to whine and women by, duh, rj ledesma, and i love you, beth cooper by larry doyle (hilarious, but predictable). i'm currently reading on the road by jack kerouac, which i forgot i had, and is considered as the bible by ben gibbard (death cab for cutie frontman).

i've also been listening to the new death cab for cutie album, narrow stairs, which is a great album, but pales in comparison to the stellar ones, transatlanticism and plans, for me at least.

tv shows have been a lifesaver these past few weeks. i'm still in love with how i met your mother and robin scherbatsky, and her cute comedic timing. the soup and keeping up with the kardashians make me happy (does anyone else think that khloe kardashian is a man?). american idol bores me though, ever since michael johns was eliminated it's become a cheese fest of annoying stuff— brooke white's bumbling, syesha mercado's mickey mouse hair, jason castro's wasted face, david archuleta's incessant lip-licking, david cook's unusually large cranium. and paula abdul.

i hope david cook wins, though.

school begins monday, and i'm worried that i'll probably feel all glum and grumpy that i'll become a bit lonelier while the campus pushes all these unfamilar faces at me. college freshmen should be shot with all their unnecessary newbie giddiness. i miss people already.

oh well, at least i have an unbridled appetite.

an abundance of sleepless nights has finally paid off in that i now have a few things to write about here in this rip van winkle of a blog. i hadn't realized my last update was march 30, so now i feel a bit guilty for not writing. but the moment's over. anyway, when i stay up all night trying to sleep (is this an irony?) i tend to think about all kinds of weird things, like is the standing mirror in front of me really just a mirror, or a silhouette of a ghost who has come back to haunt me because i stepped on her grave at the cemetery? or did i really close the refrigerator door after i had a glass of milk before i climbed into bed? or about how me and my friend from grade school had a huge fight about a sheet of lyrics to a song we no longer remember.

when my brain has coursed through a multitude of topics, i realize that i sometimes stop at these:

1) why is yakult packed in the tiniest of bottles?

i love yakult. i believe it is one of the best inventions in history. i find happines in buying a couple of six-packs from the grocery, freezing them at home, and taking them out when they're icy cold. i admit i feel giddy when i flap open the top and let the sweet, tangy liquid linger on my lips and inside my mouth. but four seconds later, i discover sadness at the bottom of the bottle. then i realize that the world is unfair, or at least the japanese company that manufactures it. then i grab another tiny bottle to satisfy myself. how can something so good be contained in such a lilliputian receptacle? i guess it depends on our daily dietary allowance for live lactobacillus casei. but who cares? i can only hope they would sell the big bottles here the way they do in other countries.

2) do vampires naturally have a good set of teeth with perfectly protruding canines? what if when they were bitten when they had buck teeth with cavities? do they develop into a gleaming, perfect set anyone would admire? or do vampires pick people who they know have good teeth? these questions lead me to ask myself: are there british vampires? i'm not sure about them, but what if there are? british people are known for really ugly, yellowing teeth.

i think the answer to this is that there are no british vampires because of natural selection. british vampires' teeth are yellow and brittle, so when they bite into their victims' necks, they crack and break into a million pieces, so they can't drink blood. therefore, they die out ouf thirst and hunger, and so the lineage of british vampires is wiped out of the face of the world.

3) why are most male american tourists here in the philippines accompanied by old and ugly filipinas? my friends and i have pondered about this many a time upon seeing them litter streets and malls, and the answer to our question is: we don't know. it is a mystery greater than the relationship between jesus and mary magdalene. it feels funny when you see them standing out in a crowd, with the oldfatshortugly filipina's arm locked tight with the giganticfathairy american's arm. well, if their relationship helps in the country's revenue, then i have nothing to complain about. except that they look weird.

i'd rather not post a picture of an example here because that would hurt.

4) do real couples really kiss in the morning?

do you remember the last movie or tv show you've seen that had a scene involving a man and a woman waking up in bed and, upon seeing each other, kissing? morning breath is about the worst thing the human body produces. and these couples do not retract with a disgusted smirk or throw up in each other's mouths. maybe it's just a simulacra *wink* of how couples should act that the media produces. but if you ask me, it's gross, and not romantic at all.

so there, two months worth of not writing anything, and years of insomnia. :D

i. am. pooped. really, i am. i am like a wedge of lemon that has been sheared of the rind and squeezed until the seeds have popped out. ah, there's a metaphor the literature department will adore.

i have two days to pull the best five-page essay out of my ass, but as of now, only prune juice-flavored excrement is the best i can do. i'm so exhausted of ideas about what to write for thesis, and i'm not even doing thesis yet. argh. argh.

on a crappier note, i have this nagging confusion between which video is hilariously worse. lisa d'amato from america's next top model and heidi montag of the hills each has a craptastic music video. as if their reality shows don't have enough crap to go around.

although heidi montag has a hot body, watch out for her crazy hands. and how lisa d'amato sings "do you like what you see?", and the rest of the video.

if you cut me open, that is what i am. not because i am particularly constipated, but because i have shitty ideas for essays that have more use inside the toilet than on paper.

i hate not having a mind of a critic. my essays are usually light and easy to read because i'm also full of gas, and i fart my way into writing. some people can write so effortlessly and (un)consciously produce works that have "significant philosophical truths about the nature of life and humanity." i, on the other hand, can't. this gets me worried just thinking about doing thesis and thesis defense next term. i was thinking if i can't squeak through the grilling part of the defense, i'll act like i'm having serious convulsions in front of my panel. *sigh* if only i could burp the alphabet for my defense, i'd wing it. bring on the softdrinks.

p.s.

i am now sick of that leona lewis song. i want to cut open a leona lewis cd and break it with my bare, strong hands. geeky-looking people have muscles motor skills, too.

p.p.s.

i want to go to the beach.