Where O Where is the Psychologist?

I need a psychologist.

Heck, I AM ONE.

But the creative writer in me and the thinking writer in me collide. One art - two divisions. I don't even know what's stronger! Nonetheless, I do believe (in one way or the other) that both are one. They do, after all, belong to the same art (am reiterating). So basically I can't be a psychologist to me per se if I don't even know what my main strength is.

BUT I AM TOO DEPRESSED!

All this talk about death depresses me. I'm not ready to die yet.

I haven't finished my novel yet!

And I haven't been able to transmute this hideously beautiful mess of a world into a total beautifully beautiful Utopia!

Oh, and Miss Emo keeps on multiplying. Sigh. Pathetic world.

I need a psychologist - one who thinks and speaks and writes EXACTLY like me.

Sadly there is none - at least, as of now.

Fantasy

Every night I dream of you,
Every day - I lose a breath or two.
Because your sober thoughts make me quiver
That magic makes me feel loved forever.
I know that you are miles away
And I can't even call during the day
I'm a fool, I lack strength to dial your number
Because you're the only one who makes me wonder
If my future is void, if my future is flowing
With your love, your joy, your longing
To you this may sound like a juvenile poem
That comes from a writer that's supposed to be honed
To you this may sound like the most fickle of art
But this simple thing beats from the bottom of my heart
I wrote love poems about no one in particular
When I was a kid, I mixed words and played with them in the dark
Yet this is such an overwhelming feeling,
One that I cannot describe without thinking.
I've never been in love with anybody else
Brain says this is stupid since I don't know you that well
So why does this feeling take over my veins?
Why do I love you, the night the day?
Puppy love, my common sense states
So why do I see you in my ensuing fate?
You are there, and we laugh
You make me change, and I adapt.
With every gust of the wind I feel you near
This is true love, my prince is here.
Why else would I be writing numerous words
If this feeling is nothing, just curd?
In my flight of fancy, you keep on enticing me
Somehow, if I reach out and so do you, it will be reality
I long for a slight touch, a strong hand to hold
Robust, fragments of you and I begin to unfold
How many times must I utter in my night visions -
That "I love you" is my strongest inhibition?
That "I love you too" will elevate our intuition?
That an assurance, even just a glance
Can melt me, and make my sentiments fire a dance
I love you
I know you,
You love me too.

Random

My favorite post ever. Click here.

You have no idea how enlightened I felt that day...

Realization and Strong Aversion: DRAMA

I was browsing through my blog archives because of hatred (Miss Emo), and I quietly stumbled upon this: http://basedonafictionalstory.blogspot.com/2008/05/what-life-what-friend-what-year-what.html . Suddenly, I feel amazed. What I said was right. To quote my own self: "I feel like something's so wrong. I feel like something's gonna fall apart soon." That was months ago. I should have listened to my OWN premonition. Crappy me. That's what happens when society and time force you to oppose your own gullible nature.

I really am perceptive!

Now, now. I won't be hasty. I won't feed ego.

I quote myself again: "I don't want drama."

Who does want drama? Nought one - especially me. I mean, I experienced inferno, purgatorio and paradiso all in ONE SCHOOL YEAR last year. So yes, I am in the position to abhor drama with every fiber of my being. So, instead of drama, I received "reality". Sometimes it's better dealing with reality than drama. Because, contrary to popular belief, reality is actually easier and a lot less complex than a terse, succint: "drama".

Drama is fake. And I hate fake.

Here is to quote myself again:

"This school year is gonna be full of "I Don'ts and I'm Nots"

1. I don't want drama
2. I'm not gonna cry and shed a single tear over something stupid and trifle (like a love story)
   
3. I'm not takin' much responsibilities - it's time to be...
4. I'm not gonna abuse technology and sleep with it (look what happened to me - cue sickness - w/in a span of 10 months)
5. I'm not gonna be able to (oh gasp) listen to my iPod for an hour anymore (cue stupid sickness)
6. I don't want sleepless nights anymore even though my system clock doesn't stop ticking - which means I'm insomniac
7. I'm not gonna flunk a freaking math test anymore - this I swear with heart, blood, head and paw
8. I'm not gonna waste time playing - time to really grow up"

I said it myself. Even though that's like three months ago or so. Look at number 2: I told myself I won't shed a tear. Oh, so true. I haven't shed a tear nor will I do so this year. Not over some stupid thing, at least. Btw, I violated number 5. Oh, and number 7 works real great. I was the only one who perfected a math test in my class - math class. Yes, even beating the MTAP people. See? This is what happens when you make a list during the summer! Heavens! Sorry, I ain't bragging. Simply beaming because...well, you know how it works when you're in a cream section. Crema de la crema. Crap de la crap.

Basically, I hate a lot of things right now. I have a humongous heap of problems. So, you're asking, what's the difference - this year from last year?

The difference is: it's not drama anymore. It's REAL. Like, it stares at you. And, well, I don't love 5 anymore. I miss 1-5 badly. I was a bee back in 1-5 but people there were'nt bees, just a li'l immature. Unlike NOW.

I'm starting to rethink: maybe I should start being my old reclusive self again.

Or maybe that's a bad idea. I have the GUILD - my real love! I have Chinese Sec A and basically, I have a social empire - one that's not really going strong currently because of the Hyksos Dynasty (aka some people from 5 and some people from foreign lands).

Welll.....

Maybe I'm an asset.

Maybe I'm not.

Maybe you just lost me...

Maybe it's tough luck.

HmpF.

The more you make mistakes, the more you learn, the more truthful you are to human existence.

But what if, like in my definition of immaturity, you run from your problems - you run from these mistakes? Shield them with a weak shield that is created to last a quarter of a fragment of a lifetime only? What if your immaturity limits you to expressing how you really feel?

Immaturity is, after all, developed in the subconscious mind.

You disgust me. You purely disgust me. Whenever you come near, I feel like a polar magnet, one that negates your negativity. You disgust me.

Every moment you come near, I feel a sense of filth, of dirt. You are so dirty, I don't wanna go near you. You make me feel like you have SARS and when I come near you you will deliberately cause an epidemic of gigantic proportions.

You hide your darkness in a bubble of superficial lightness. You are so dang superficial to me.

Hmpf, plain, hardcore plastic.

You keep blaming the world, you keep hating it.

Has it ever occurred to you? The world does not revolve around you. Accept that. Deal with that. The world will not change for you. Besides, why should the world change for you? True, the world is a mess. But aren't you a bigger mess?

Why can you not control your emotions, your problems, your flaws FIRST before you trample with other people's businesses?

The fact that you cannot determine what your problems are is a proof that you aren't ready to deal with the problems that face the world you live in. Get your crap straight.

Why must the world kowtow to you, in the first place?

Who are you in the first place?

No one. Just a small negative, pessimistic voice amidst a rational, analytical, bright world.

Go fug yourself and die.

I've changed again. The world has changed again.

So what's the problem? Is it because you are left behind?


Hmpf. Don't expect me to come running to you and tell you what to do. I'm not that person. Find a piece of skin to leech on to. Not me.

Go fug yourself and die, disgusting creature.


Oh, PS. Since you wallow in selfish self-pity, you hate the world, right? Well, bad news, Miss Tough Luck, the world hates you back.

:) ^_^

Expect the unexpected, bitch.

FICTIONAL. Or Fact?

We used to be friends,

Now you live on the edge.

I used to tell you your stance,

Now you kill with a glance.


I hate you Miss Emo, I can't even force myself to continue that poem about you - just for you. I swear to God, I know for a fact that you can't control your emotions. I know for a fact that you just keep opening your mouth and never shutting it back. Shut your trap up. Well, at least, stop cursing. Swearing. Bad-mouthing other people.

You know my mantra? If you can't stand the heat, get out of the closet.


So go, get out of the damn closet. It's been two years already! Or maybe three! Yes, you've been hiding for three years. Time to come out.

Come out come out wherever you are!

NITM

It's currently 12 AM or so, I'm not supposed to be doing this - as usual, I'm supposed to be sleeping in my bed. Of course, when you are highly troubled like me - when you do not know how to ignore things - you ignore your sleep. Because basically, your brain doesn't want to rest. It just wants to keep going and going as if there's actually no limitation. Your brain thinks you're too smart.


Whatever the crap it is that I am talking about, can you ignore it?


I can't.


See, I'm talking crap.


I just feel like writing something, that's all. My eyes are drooping, I'm supposed to be in bed, resting my stupid ears.


I just..... I HATE THE MISS EMO. She can't control her emotions!

Can she not find a different outlet? Is she too much of an irrational jester to hide human nature and act as if it does not exist? I hate her. I hate her. I can name a million reasons why. But right now I can only think of one:

I hate her 'cause she hates me back.


NITM.

I Have Bigger Problems to Worry About...

...like my exams for tomorrow. And my literally bleeding ear. And the fact that I, well, ......


(oh, ellipsis)


But instead, I worry about this:

....


To better explain, expound, elaborate, I'll write a few fictional paragraphs. And yes, you can consider this a short story. But no, the events are not what you call factual. Ask the feeling for the gist, why don't ya.

Oh btw, the main character is not ME. The main character might even be a SHE or a HE-SHE.


She sits in the chair, hating the world for what it couldn't do for her. That is, make her feel loved. Useful. Unlike a dust bunny under an eon-old bed. She read a passage - the one from life. The one that no one frequently reads. The one that she will only choose to love. And while reading this passage, she pondered and thought.

She's reclusive, truth be told. And sometimes the recluse makes her so isolated from time and its pace. Yes, her pace is slower than time. Yes, her pace is not moving at all. Just steady. Just slowly trying, hoping to make the world turn back its axis. And undo her past mistakes. Un-hate the people that she hates and has hated. But she's smart enough to know that it will never happen.

This makes her angry, this makes her hate the world more. But out of all the darkness, the devils and the diabolical, she chooses to hate another girl. This girl is a girl who, normally, possesses higher sense. Knowledge. But is, like everyone else, flawed. So why did she hate her so much? Because this girl's ability to reason - rationality and superiority - intimidates her? Perhaps. Nonetheless, we may never know. Or maybe because she is insecure of the attention that this girl stirs? She is, after all, void of understanding herself. She believes this girl desires power. Grandeur - she even glanced a meaningful glance at her friend when the Girl She Hates admitted honestly that she desired power. But who does not?

Miss Emo believes she does not.

That was two days ago. Here's RIGHT now:

Is Miss Emo honest enough to admit that she is blind? That she is irrational? That she should not, by any means, try to mingle, trample, get into other people's lives because she per se cannot control her own? Is it obvious to Miss Emo that she hates the world mainly because she hates who she is? That she wants to change it badly but she subconsciously refuses to want change - because she is reclusive, abandoned, psychologically imbalanced and broken? Does she want war with the Girl She Hates? Does she even KNOW the Girl She Hates?

So many questions, so little of a brain to answer them.


Miss Emo believes that the Girl She Hates should die tonight. In fact, she wants to be the one to be the bringer of the death. She hates the Girl She Hates. Ever since last year. Ever since two years ago. Why? Because the Girl She Hates has a personality that is different from hers. A personality that is rarely found in the hallways of the school. The Girl She Hates is different. The Girl She Hates is unique. So is Miss Emo. Is that why they clash? Miss Emo's DISABILITY to comprehend that not all things can go her way and the Girl's eccentric, loud nature? Truly, does Miss Emo have the right to ignite a war because she hates a person's attitude, characteristics, personality? No. But she does have the right to hate the Girl She Hates.

Does Miss Emo have the right to brag and bitch?

No.


Does Miss Emo have the right to make it look like the Girl She Hates is the bearer of the torch to blame out of all this? No. But whatever this rift is, 50% of the problem lies in Miss Emo. And the rest lies in the Girl She Hates.

But if you ask me, the simple - biased - narrator, I say, blame 99% on Miss Emo. She started it all in the first place, right? She couldn't bear the burden no more. She couldn't pour all her hatred into the world. She had to pour it into the girl.


She still sits on her chair, teeth clenched, fists tightened into a ball of rushing blood, eyes forcefully vanished, heart seething. She hates the Girl She Hates. She hates her, she wants to kill her. She can't take it anymore.

She raises her clenched fists, ready to aim.

Aim where? At who?

Better watch out, Miss Emo. She has forgotten who the Girl She Hates is. And how this Girl plays her game. Don't raise fists, Miss Emo.

The Girl already pulled the silver trigger.

Where does the bullet aim?

At who?

.... D'OH

I'm supposed to be doin' something else right now - I rarely lose stuff to do, basically...but the clicking of the keys here on my keyboard is actually music to my ears. It makes me feel like I'm the editor-in-chief of Seventeen, a la Atoosa Rubenstein. It makes me wonder about my future. Obviously, fantasy beats reality anytime. How I wish I could live THAT life. The Atoosa life. The Hollywood life.

Sadly, I don't EVEN live in a super-well-industrialized country. I mean, I love the Philippines, for real. But I just wish it had more spice and mystery like the US (even though I hate to admit this), ITALY, Spain...and France. And Portugal (calling all Christiano Ronaldo fanatics!). Even if I get into a Philippine mag, I'm not gonna be dealing with the Lindsay Lohans, the David Beckhams, the Poshes, the Maroon 5s and the Rihannas. I'm gonna be dealing with the celebrities that I don't like. Heck, I can't even name a super famous contemporary Filipino artist.

This post suddenly reminds me of my diary. This is how things are in my diary, actually. I'd better call it a journal. Diary sounds too childish.

I did this out of boredom.


LOVE,

Me

The Life of an Overachieving Perfectionist

-terminated-

OMG The Person's a Total Genius!

Shocking. I just took a Brain Test in Tickle (they've renovated) and the result is:

Right-brained

Most right-brained people like you are flexible in many realms of their lives. Whether picking up on the nuances of musical concerto, appreciating the subtle details in a work of art, or seeing the world from a different perspective, right-brained people are creative, imaginative, and attuned to their surroundings.

People probably see your thinking process as boundless, and that might translate to your physical surroundings as well. Some people think of you as messier than others. It's not that you're disorganized, it's just that you might use different systems to organize (by theme, by subject, by color). Straight alphabetization and rigidly ordered folders are not typical of right-brained behavior.

You are also more intuitive than many. When it comes to reading literature, you probably prefer creative writing or fiction over nonfiction. And when it comes to doing math, you might find you enjoy geometry more than other forms like algebra.

Every bit of word in that psychoanalysis is every bit of the truth!
What shocks me is the mighty power of psychology. See? The course I deem to take is a genius.

Noise Pollution! Hail to the D-E-A-F

I believe that I wrote a post somewhere in my blogosphere history that discussed the conflicts and the antics of a much neglected societal problem. That is, Noise Pollution. Caps on the initials, my friends.

Caps on the initials, I reiterate.

For one, I have an ear problem. An ear problem or two. Or three. You get the point, I mean, if you know my "sickness" whatsoever. Let's make it plural, more elaborate. My SICKNESSES. They ALL involve the ear. I'm not blaming my sacred iPod nor am I blaming my overflowing iTunes library. I blame the bedmaned noise itself - the ugly, fugly noise. I don't wanna be misleading, but lemme tell ya this: sometimes the noise-maker is the NOISE itself and vice versa. So, if you're a noise-maker, go fug and donate a million bucks to charity for the deaf. Or for people like me.

Currently, though, my ear begins to feel its "sickness". Because of the noise.

I can't stand it.

I can't face it.

I can't dare listen to it.

I can't live with it.

I can't die with it.

I can't do anything with it.

I can't do anything FOR it.

I can't think clearly with it.

I can't fix my loose holes with it.

I can't friggin' deal with it.

I can't .... TYPE with it screamin' in the background.

Oh, the noise.

I can't HEAR MYSELF THINK when I'm WITH it.

It's not even MUSIC! It's a SAVAGE BEAST THAT GNAWS THROUGH YOUR AUDITORY CANAL AND MAKES YOUR BRAIN CELLS MURDER YOUR OWN BRAIN.

Eventually, when your brain is dead, you won't be able to listen to your sweet, dear, beloved, decadent, heavenly iPod.

And then you die a tragic death.

Noise.

Hummmph. Freaking crappiness, I cannot stand it.

I'm too useful to die a noise death.

Fictio Auto

My blog is named Fictional Autobiography for a reason, you dickhead.

Buzz off if you're just gonna eff with it.

Yes, I said buzz off. Before I make you cry. Like what SHE and SHE did when we were sophomores.


That's why I hate giving my URL and my opinions to dickheads and nutjobs like you.

Epiphany

Now I know. Life is all about waiting. It's all about waiting for this...and that. I've been subconsciously waiting for an epiphany. Something that might signal, I don't know, a beacon of light, I guess. And now I finally have it here with me. Right by my side. And tell you what, after writing this post, I will surrender....to the light. I will step into the light.

This light helped me realize who I truly must trust. Who I truly need to be. WHAT I truly need to be. . . and what I NEED to do. If I could just elaborate here the vivid details... If I could just spill out everything in this blog without hurting a creature. A human being. I'd do it now. If only I had such a low EQ score. But no, I have a high comprehension on social drawbacks and social situations. But if, for once, I could just pour my heart out into something or somewhere without jeopardizing myself and other people.... If, for once, I pretend to be ignorant of peoples' feelings...

I can't do it of course. That's basically what makes me Catherine. Catherine Tan.

Yet, it must be noted here that beneath all this soot, I love myself. I love myself so much. Not like Narcissus. But I love myself enough. Enough to be able to...do this. Whatever this is. (Sheesh, too much ellipsis).

You know what else the light tells me? That I've grown 10 times stronger than my freshman self. Than my old, old self.

Thanks to my friends from my Chinese class and my friends from Writers' Guild. Heck, the whole Guild itself. I owe a life to them. And to YPZhuang, PLYao, EMTan, JMKho from...somewhere out there.

Now, time to step into that light....

If I Were Queen of the World...

I'd


Make


It


Perfect.



I'd


Build


Utopia.


I'd


Care


About


All


of


You.

My Heart is on My Sleeves

It's been so long since I last posted, that's the evident truth. Another evident truth is, that I may actually be in Stage 2 of self-actualization. Perhaps, I'm gonna need to babble in this post to expound.

Sorry, Fictio Auto, you're not updated with my life anymore. Tsk Tsk Tsk. Actually, 50% of the people who became part of my life last school year ain't updated with my life anymore. Tsk Tsk Tsk. I don't really know what happened, but it just sort of did.

You see, I'm the kind of person who likes variety (yes, a la LL). And in this variety, I want change. I want heaps of change. I want peoples' eyes to be open to the world of diversity! I mean, if you wanna be really good, you can't just sit there and watch the world rotate in its axis. You're supposed to MOVE with it, nutjob! For all you know the world keeps rotating and you're just there sitting in your arse, laughing your arse off with your friends, staring at ME who's workin' my arse off trying to move the world with my own little voice, my own little force. So basically, those who sit, laugh arses off and watch me work my arse off are outta my life. By hook or by crook.

That sounds mean, eh? Well, it's just frank.

This is actually nice, getting to know my self.

But the negative side is, the 50% who sit, laugh and stare; and equally don't know me are left in the poor fray. I want to include them in my life. And I'm 100% sure that they want me to be in theirs - as they say so - but it's gonna take more than my little voice to do so.

I just keep getting sick and tired of the same things. The same WRONG things. The same immature things. The same overrated things. So sick of it all.

I want to hear new laughter. I want to hear the music of their guffaws for good reasons. For mature reasons. Nobody's moving. We're all supposed to mature together. But what's happening, exactly? Devolution of the human teenagers? Such flaws. So many flaws, so little time.

I've tried my hand at what I do best - helping. Psychoanalyzing each and every individual. Does it work? Yes! But does it work effective immediately? NO! Besides, 50% of the 50% are using me for academic, intellectual reasons. Some friends you are!

A tiny flame in my head burst my bubble. According to this flame, what I aim for is impossible. For real, I extinguished that damn flame the minute it ignited. Seriously. My friends - my long-time friends since first year (Cha, Mollie, Camille - just to name a staggering few) are still here. With me. Updated. Not sitting, laughing and staring. But they're moving with me.

And hopefully that would go the same way with my other friends who, unfortunately have marauded into the limbo of oblivion.

Wake up! You're 20,000 leagues under this loamy soil!

Stockpiled Aphorisms 1

"My love for history started with my love for a man."
- Me

"I'm good at proving (cue Geom) because I'm good at writing (cue essays)."
- Me

"Change for the worse, when combined with time becomes PAIN."
- Me

"Being in a ship is being in jail, with the chance of being drowned."
- Samuel Johnson

"I wonder what language truck drivers are using, now that everyone is using theirs?"
- Beryl Pfizer

"He who can govern a woman can govern a nation."
- Honor de Balzac

"You can have it all. But you can't have it all at once."
- Oprah Winfrey

"Touch my body!"
- Mariah Carey