THE LONER
My posts are supposed to be funny. I created this blog basically just to make fun of myself, to conjure all my misadventures in life though worth to be snail-mailed to Maalala Mo Kaya. I dunno if you laugh your hearts out on them. I created this blog just to cream out my tickle zones to alphabet. Or maybe I was assuming too much. Hmm, I guess I am right. I assume too much.
My apologies for posting again after 48 years. You know, I was busy dealing with people whose sexualities are questionable… just read on.
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I never had a best friend. Ever.
(I told you I’m not friendly. K? ^_^)
I told Juice one time (Oh great. Now I’m pretending to be one tangibly close friend of Juice who has now mesmerizing her unforgettable moments in a place called Disneyland HK, I so envy her I wanna sell my soul to her. Lol) on one of her (tribute to her bestfriend–hey, her ‘living’ bez) posts.
Friendship is one hard to deal with. For me, it’s like the spaghetti you order in a fastfood where you decide whether to scoop it up at swoop it into your throat or to roll it using your fork and chew it before the sauce explodes into your mouth. Or you just omit the fastfood thing and eat the spaghetti bought in some shanty carinderia in your neighborhood since spaghetti is so delicious, I want to add more condiments in my next order. You get my point?
And once you liked the spaghetti, you crave for other recipes, and return where you bought the spaghetti in the first place, aiming for some promo of discounts or cheap freebies in the likes of stuff toys, kiddie ballpens that run out of ink after 5 uses–practically useless, etc, and then once you liked it, you make that fastfood or carinderia a routine. Confident that it’ll never sneak Hepatitis into your digestive track and look like Tweety Bird. Or nothing’s gonna change because you looked like Tweety Bird since my birth.
I always love to eat. But I don’t overdue myself with some similar cravings everyday with the same recipe I should eat. It just makes my stomach upset.
Same thing with befriending people.
I am not so sure, but I can’t trust anyone with full confidence. In fact, I have never ever disclosed even to my closest friends about the names of people brought to existence in my memory because of premature academic infatuation. Neither initials nor any single clue. Ever.
Skeletons remained skeletons. And I am patient enough to have it fossilized for a thousand years.
But I know how to have a best friend. I know that I am capable to have one. But I always think otherwise. Perhaps, I just can’t give all my trust to anybody.
Trust just obscures the demarcation line between my professional well-being and the casualness of the context of our text messaging. Like, hey, I am your friend. I can kiss your ass and do nothing, not worrying about the hell of your failures because I fail too. So let’s bark and smuggle the beans in hell with Dante.
It just ruins everything. Obligating, I guess provides a little bit of trust, but not the trust which I fully depend everything to someone.
You know this feeling that you want everything to be done by yourself and if you have someone to do it for you, when you’re not satisfied with his work, you don’t complain and instead mumble by yourself, blaming his failure to yourself by trusting him?
Trusting your family members is different. It’s a mutual responsibility.
I can’t clearly define what having a bestfriend is.
….
But I think I know what having a bestfriend looks like.
Now the weird part of the scenario…
Ok. I live in this apartment with 2 boys, 2 gays, and 4 girls. But it doesn’t have something to do with my inquiry.
Do bestfriends, male or female, kiss and hug and kiss under the blanket?
I don’t know if I am the only one who thinks awkwardly. But when I see these girls or boys during sleeptime, or even within the most ordinary hours of our weekdays inside our apartment, they were like, oh you’re my best friend, I can kiss you and hug you intimately and err, I don’t know what they are doing under the ‘kumot’ but I sense hito and talakitok (fish variety).
Should they?
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