The After-Credits

October 22, 2013. Tuesday.

Thanks God. 1st semester is finally over.

I am a student. I'm taking up Bachelor of Science in Tourism Management. I'm currently on my freshman year. And obviously, I'm done with my first semester this day. I just took my final exam on my Environmental Science, which is quite difficult, then proceed to enjoy my last day with my niece who is also on her first year as a college. And we being ourselves, we decided to go to a mall and just bond with each other, and also to grant ourselves a gift of time to enjoy after all the projects and reports and shits of our professors.

Thanks God. We're finally here at the mall.

Teenagers. Yeah, that's what we call our vain, sensitive, conceited, naive, and stupid selves. We roam around, just looking through the glass of nice shops because we don't have enough money to buy all we want. We came through the doors of Plains&Prints, Candie's, Oxygen, Penshoppe, and several other stores with nothing on our hands but our own bags. Then we decided to watch a movie. It's been a while. The last time I watched, I was with my family and we watched Iron Man 3. Now, we challenged ourselves to watch Carrie, the film-adaptation of the critically-acclaimed novel of Stephen King, the favorite author of my eldest brother. So we bought our tickets, ate our lunch, and entered the movie house.

Thanks God. The film was over.

The movie was thrilling. It was creepy and Tommy is such a babe. And we thought it would be awesome to be asked in a prom again. We giggled as Tommy the babe just flashed his cute smile and we were like, "Oh, take me home". We wanted to wait if there are some after-credits, because some thriller films have and we would love to see it in Carrie. Those are bits about the movie that were usually seen after the credits have ended. Insidious has one, the creepy old lady blowing off the candles. Something like that. But the movie house was already deserted so we went outside and did not wait for the after-credits anymore.

But that was the worst decision we ever made.

Please God. Let us be safe.

Two eyes looked down at my legs right after we took our seats in the jeepney. I caught him staring, looked to me, and turn his head away. I froze. I was alarmed. What the hell, I thought. My heart pounds at that moment but I shove it away in my head. I focused on paying our fair and waited for our change. With an Infinitea in my right hand and my bag with the open wallet on the other, the jeepney turned. I balanced myself to keep from sliding by parting my legs and squeezing my thighs. I looked as the guy looked again, down at my legs, and stare. He looked up and our eyes met. We both looked away and I felt like my heart throbbed harder. Shit, I exclaimed inwardly. After a few moments, the weird guy suddenly punched his thighs hard. Twice. Thrice. I looked away and bit my lip. Lord, please. Take us home. Please. Please. Please. I utter a silent prayer, eyes closed. I want to scream at my niece and tell her to be ready. My father always reminded me what to do when shit comes. Lahat naman pwedeng gamitin pang-self defense eh. Kung susuntok ka, mas maganda kung may pang-harang ka sa kamao mo. Hawakan mo ng mahigpit. Lighter. Mas maganda yun. Hawakan mo ng mahigpit yung lighter para may harang yung kamay mo kung sasapak ka. Para hindi mabali buto mo. I looked through my stuff and I found no lighter. I have an umbrella, a folding one. Lahat naman pwedeng gamitin pang-self defense eh, my father's voice echoed inside my head. I'm sure of what I will do if ever he do something to me, or to my niece. She looked at me, and I saw that there's also bothering her and that's when I knew. Pansin nya din, I said to myself. Then in a low voice, she spoke to me, baba na tayo. My head was already spinning and my heart beats incredibly fast. I glanced at the weird guy and I noticed his fingers. He's rubbing it on his thighs, like it's itching. He punched his chest, twice, then he gripped at the collar of his maroon shirt that was quite teared at it already. After that, he pulled his shirt, tearing them more apart. Like he was Clark Kent, tearing his shirt open for everyone to look at the S sprawled in his chest. Fuck, I swore inwardly. I looked at the other people around. I was beside a middle-aged woman with a child on her arms; next to her was a thin-looking guy, sitting at the end of the vehicle. At the other side of him was a fat lady listening to God-knows-what through her earphones; beside her was a couple - a pregnant woman and her husband holding an umbrella. They occupied the seat of the decent looking man who was in the jeep earlier beside the staring-at-my-legs-and-making-himself-a-human-punching-bag-and-transforming-into-a-werewolf-or-Spiderman guy who's really scaring the hell out of me already. So basically, there are four guys inside the jeep - the husband-looking, the thin-looking, the driver-looking (of course he is because HE IS THE FREAKING DRIVER!!!), and the maniac-looking man. I closed my eyes again and started to pray silently. Our Father, who art in heaven. Hallowed be Thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. I started the Holy Rosary even though I didn't bring my rosary with me. I felt something bumped my knees, and I looked at my niece beside me. She was looking intently at me, communicating with me through eyes. I whispered, wait lang. Basta ready ka lang. She stared at me and I know she's thinking what to do as well. I found the perfect place to alight and I said to her, para ka na. She hesitated at first, but she tapped her fingers at the top of the jeepney, and I said with a shaky voice, "Ma, para po."

Thanks God, we're home.

I didn't even bother to look at the creepy guy after I said those words. I left my seat, walked with my head ducked in the jeepney silently screaming to my legs, lakad! Konti pa! Lakad!, and finally got out of the vehicle. I don't know if what I did was a walk or a run or a whatever. I just know that I never dared to look back at the jeepney. I just do what I do while I have my knees wobbling, my lips trembling, and my hands shaking. My head was pounding harder and I take shallow breaths as my heart beat in a rapid-fire rate. Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. That's all I was thinking at that moment, thanking the Lord for making us safe. My niece was behind me, having goosebumps all over and I was trembling like I'm in Alaska. I feel cold and swollen. Like my muscles will pop out of my body and veins will be cut like thread and my bones will be powdered. We stopped walking and waited for our selves to calm down. Adrenaline was heating our bodies like lightning burning up a tree. We were in a storm, and we survived. After a few minutes, my niece called up her boyfriend to tell him what happened. And I immediately thought about a guy I was in love with before, or shall I say 'the guy I'm still in love with', I think. I swat it away from my mind because I just had a terrible experience and I'm thinking about how pathetic I am for being in love with the same guy? My subconsious self glares and raise an eyebrow at me. At talagang ngayon mo pa talaga iisipin yung lalaking yon? Ay! Kalandi naman talaga. I cut her down. But deep inside me, I know, it's not right. I'm not envious about my niece because she has a boyfriend and I don't have. It's not right because it's over. I badly want it to be over. No matter how much I want him to protect me or comfort me through times like this with his girl-like soft hands and sultry voice, it can't be because what we had was done. It pains me to know that I can't have something like that again but I don't want to play the martyr role again. Or the foolish role. Even the assuming one, I don't want to anymore. Because I'm so broken about it and about what happened today that I feel my own self can't even self-destruct anymore. And right now, I feel like being Hazel Grace Lancaster - being a grenade. And I'm going to explode and shrapnels will damage everyone and I don't want that to happen. I don't want to be a grenade being blown just because of a fucking lunatic on a jeep or a fucking manwhore who has my heart ripped into shreds for the last 11 months. I just want to go home. I shake my head and just focused on getting home. We rode another jeepney, with many passengers, and got home safely. I rushed to my room, and crashed into the bed. Relief washed over me - for coming home seeing my father and brother watching Barry Manilow in Blu-Ray, singing Mandy along with two of the men of my life. As I lie in my bed, I hear them singing Oh, Mandy.. when you kiss me and stop me from shaking.. and I need.. you. And like a water splashed to my face, realization kicked in: I need him. But I can't have him. Sorrow crushed my soul, tears stream down my face. I curled in a ball and sob. I've never felt so scared and crestfallen. Scared to death because of what happened earlier; crestfallen as shit because I'm thoroughly exhausted from this love stunt. The desired after-credits came rolling, but it wasn't what we, I, expected. It came like a wrecking ball, crushing me. Over and over and over. And then I thought, be careful what you wish for. You just might get it.

The end of my semester was quite unforgettable. I was supposed to be joyed - not like this. I'm utterly fragmented to bits. But then, that's life. It's cruel, unfair, maddening bitch in red high-heeled pumps and Prada; but it's beautifully tragical, perfectly unruly, and amazingly heartbreaking boy-next-door with the sweet smile and haunting eyes beyond those unfairly long lashes. And you have no choice but to face it. Either you kick its ass or let it kick yours, that's your decision. Take it, stick it to your pipe and smoke it; or leave it, letting it spit filthy smog right on your goddamn face.

As Joseph Campbell once said, 

"Suddenly, you're ripped into being alive. And life is pain, and life is horror, but my god you're alive and it's spectacular."

And thanks God. I'm alive.

WRECK

"Don’t you ever say I just walked away.. I will always want you."


Yes. She can’t stop. She is a wrecking ball. But she is still a human being; a 20-year old superstar; a girl. She is still Miley Cyrus.

People tend to break. People has their limits. I bet you have yours as well. You do break, and I know you’ve been broken before. She has it too. The problem with society right now is when you change, they see the bad side of that change. They just see what they want to see; understand what they want to understand; feel what they want to feel. And they can’t see, understand, and feel what you’ve been through to change that way. Because they just see the surface, not the insides.


Whats happening to her is alarming. She’s too young to have that kind of image. But then, most people care about what she wears on awards’ shows or what she does in her music videos than what she’s going through.


I’m a fan. Of hers and of her ex. Of them together. That’s why when I heard about the called-off engagement, I was devastated. They look so good together and you can see that they’re in love with each other. I don’t know the reason why they part ways but it’s still saddening. 4 years is a long time and I thought they’re gonna have beautiful babies and grow old together. But then, people and things do change. So does he. So does she.


In my perspective, she is a specter of a girl who’s trapped in a 20-year old body who’s so broken she just chose to change and lost herself in the middle of the road without company. She’s alone. And it’s dreadful. Because if she’s not alone, she wouldn’t be in this position in the first place. She would’ve been much happier and much her.


It’s sad to say that she is a wrecking ball. To me, she’s not. She was wrecked by one. I just pray that she may find her lost self again. I want the Miley I fell in love with on The Last Song. I want the Miley who inspired many teenage girls like me with The Climb. I want the Miley I sang Best of Both Worlds along with in Hannah Montana.



If you read this, I don’t want you to change. I’m asking you to pick up the pieces and start again. If you think that being who you are today makes you happy, don’t listen to the haters. I don’t care about you licking hammers and grinding over hanging balls on your music videos. You are still you. I still see you like the picture above. Beautiful and free.
 



Remember what you said on your song:
Remember only God can judge ya
Forget the haters cause somebody loves ya

And I’m that somebody, Miley. Kick-ass.

RED

“And it was like slow motion; standing there in my party dress in red lipstick with no one to impress.” – Taylor Swift

I always believed you have to make an impression for you to be noticed; to see what it all looks like from the dance floor; to try not to be a wallflower. As Bill said to Charlie on The Perks of Being a Wallflower, you need to ‘participate’.
I still believe in that now. But in my 16 years of existence, I guess I learned something again. I realized that sometimes, it’s okay to be a wallflower; that it’s okay to just see things – feel and understand them; that it’s okay just to express and not to impress. Simplicity is what I keep.
Today, I’m already 16; 16 but feeling 22. In a good way, though. I’m in college, I have great friends, I have an amazing family, and I have God. What more could I ask for, right?
But in those 16 years, sometimes it’s also okay to try something new. After all, ‘variety is the spice of life’, as Christian Grey once taught me. So because today is my day and I’m already 16, I’m going to be a little bit ambitious. A little bit of a dreamer, I prefer and fulfill these dreams of mine in the future. Or should I wish I could.

I dream of having a nice, cozy place with a lot of books and records and photographs on the wall.
I dream of having my own walk-in closet full of band tees, dresses, Converse, Ray Ban’s, and stuffs.
I dream of having latte with long-time-no-see friends and still feel great just being with them after ages of not seeing each other.
I dream of recording all my bedroom-floor-made songs from my amateur song-writing skills in a very bad day and have an album and people with taste will buy it.
I dream of bumping into a long-gone enemy from high school and have a nice chat and say ‘Hi’ without being awkward and at rage.
I dream if writing a bad-ass romantic-comedy-drama novel that will surely put Nicholas Sparks or John Green on their knees just to get their spots back on New York Times Best-Selling Authors.
I dream of meeting a real gazzilionaire Christian Grey or a sexy Travis Maddox on a Harley or an angel like Patch or a Shadowhunter like Jace or a band frontman like Adam Wilde and I’ll be like Ana or Abby or Nora or Clary or Mia. Just one, I’ll be good.
I dream of being able to travel around the world and see it from a different view that no one else had.
I dream of meeting someone who will make my hear melt and not bleed at the same time like before; who will look at me straight in my eyes and tell me they love me; who will make me feel beautiful in spite of a bad hair day.
I dream of being the person I want to be. And I want to be the person who inspires people; who fixes everything that can still be revived; who connect to others and give them hope; who understands things and say what she really want to say and not be afraid about it; who shows everyone that she is her; who forgives but not forgets; who lets go of the things that may make her happy but damned in the end; who looks before she falls.
I dream not just to be a person, but a woman with a personality that shines even through the darkest of alleys and corners of this boulevard of broken dreams.

Before, I can’t see anything ahead. Everything’s blur and foggy. But now, even though the road’s still the same, I am still moving. And I can see a tiny light of my future at the end of the road in a bright, burning red. It’s too bright I have to wear shades. B-)
Maybe leaving behind the person who you were in the past is hard to let go. And maybe being the person you want to be is too expensive or impossible to achieve. We’ll never know, right?  But this I can assure you: It’s easier to be the person who you are today. Do not be afraid to show the world who you are and what you can do. Do not pretend. If they love you, appreciate it and thank them. And if they don’t like the real you and hate you, screw them and say, “Whatever you say, bitches.”

So, this is me. The girl in red lipstick on that picture above is me. I may not have a 24-inch waistline or perfect eyebrows and well-toned skin or pointed nose and a perfect personality; at least, I have myself. I’m real and I don’t need to please anyone.

If I want to sing, I’ll sing; if I want to smash your face, I’ll smash your face; and if I want to wear a red lipstick because I’m already 16, I’ll wear a red lipstick and you’re gonna shut your mouth and say nothing about it because this is who I am today and I don’t give a shit. And I wouldn’t change it for you, honey.

Hi! My first post on my blog. ❤ this would be it. Hahaha! Let's just chill tonight. Peace y'all! ✌