Stay. Then go.

April has been pretty lame thus far. My weight loss efforts have been unsuccessful, I find myself bored almost every single day, and a person who's beginning to hold a special place in my heart is leaving. The last bit has led me to believe that long distance relationships (in general, not necessarily of the romantic variety) love me and won't ever leave me alone.

What's funny is that I think I also secretly enjoy the drama that comes with being far away from certain special people in my life. My friendship with my Spanish girls is as precious as it is because of those two months together in Los Angeles that we can never ever duplicate. Not with the exact same people at least. My infatuation with a classmate was as sweet as it was because I knew I had nothing to lose. I could humiliate myself and be stupid and it wouldn't matter. We weren't living in our real worlds. Those two months were a fantasy. Do I actively search for relationships like the ones I have now? I'd like to think that I don't because if I do, then that's just sad.

When I got back, the sense of home revealed itself to me and then I thought, was that it? The first month was fun because I got to play the balikbayan in front of my family and friends (silly because I wasn't gone that long in the first place). I found myself converting everything to dollars and thinking how cheap everything was, much to my mother's dismay. I reunited with my best friends for a beach trip and everything was exciting to me. I felt incredibly empowered by the two months of independence I just had and expected some sort of respect from my parents for it. Like they owed me because I survived two months on my own and did not even get into any trouble. In short, I was delusional! My living situation in Los Angeles was incredibly convenient that for me to have gotten in trouble under those circumstances would've just been dead crazy. Also, I had the time of my life. It was the other way around and had always been. I owed my parents for being fantastic and supportive of my impractical endeavors in life (including my career choices and my expenditures).

I eventually went back to earth, stopped converting pesos to dollars, and started cursing in Tagalog again. Then, extreme boredom. I guess I expected too many great things to happen in my life that I ended up getting really, really frustrated that nothing was happening at all. It's good to be a positive thinker, but I overdid it. I'm being brutally honest with myself right now and it's stinging a little.

I guess what I'm trying to say is that sometimes we get caught up in the hype (especially when extremely great things are happening) that once it ends, we die a little bit inside too. I'm going to admit it here, in this blog, that I am still trying to pick myself up after those two months of carefree living. Oakwood Apartments was our utopia. Now listen, this is real life right here and I have a lot of things to do. At the same time, a part of me will always feel like I'm in a Woody Allen film. I just haven't figured out yet if I'm playing Annie Hall or Alvy Singer.

I listened to this while writing. Yeah, I love drama in my life. Can you blame me?

(I feel like I'm betraying myself by writing this stupid blog entry. I've promised myself many times in the past that I would try my best to keep this drama-free and professional. However, I find no satisfaction in writing on my Livejournal things that I secretly want the person involved to read. So, be free! This is still a blog, after all.)