I am very insecure.

There are days when I over-analyze this insecurity. As with every insecurity, there are varying degrees. I admit I am insecure with my sister when it comes to her intelligence. But, needless to say I am proud that intelligence runs in the family. I am insecure that my twin is smart, and has read more than a hundred books than me. But I do not bear grudges against it. These are a good type of insecurity where it drives you to become a better person.

But there are those insecurities which eat me up. The kind which makes you feel irritated and pissed and which drives you to do better. So why do I do what I do?  Because insecurity drives me to become a better person. It makes me want to comb my hair in the morning, and brush longer at night. It makes me want to take more photos and learn more photoshop. I do what I do because I do not want to sorely lose.

This is the secret:

There is this girl I do not like. Someone particular, out of the many girls I do not like. I hated her in a lot of ways than you can imagine. Because she bad mouthed me and my mother when my mother had a stroke, because she spreads stories, because her boyfriend tells lies. Because, because. Oh, because.

There. I can move on now. And I have forgiven. Sabi nga:

Always forgive your enemies, nothing annoys them so much.

The word insecurity must have a verb attached to it. Like flight which has flying, to perfect as to perfection. Because insecurity sometimes demands an action from the one whom the feeling is extracted from. In fact, sometimes I believe insecurity sometimes is a deliberate act. Like when you keep on scratching your wounds by checking out old photos, or new ones. This is insecurity.

Today I saw your photos. I would like to tell you how bad they are, but they are not. My friends tell me that you are not pretty. I would like to believe them. I intend to believe them, in fact that is why I keep on looking at your photos to convince myself of that fact. But I sincerely do not see that. Blame it on the fact that I am terrible at remembering faces.

You make me want to comb my hair because I think my hair is better. You make me want to smile more because I know I smile more infectiously. But I can not shake this, not you, not yet. I do not know when. All I know is that I wanna be good at this.

Dear World,

<rant> I'm frustrated at the fact that even after five months of ownership of my camera I still can't take a decent photo. I wanna learn photography. I sincerely do. But I don't think I have the talent for it. I know I can do macro. Which is something everyone can do, provided they have a camera with a macro function. I do not want to be a known photographer. I just want great photos so that when I look back at all my memories, I can see all the precision and color and emotion in that one beautiful photograph.

I seriously need a life beyond sitting in front of a PC for x number of hours a day, seven days a week. I want to learn to take better photos! </rant>

Note to self:

• Dave Hill
• Jim Fiscus
• Jasmine Star
• Amelia Lyons
• Ryan Brenizer
• selective coloring
• clone shots
• High Speed Photography, perhaps
• Time Lapse

I just want my memories to be as beautiful as I remembered them, in colors that say: "this was a perfect day."

Dear, LJ friends, don't mind this entry. If you do, please leave a comment directing me to a beautiful photostream or photoshop or any tutorial which could help. Much love. ♥

    no matter how fast i try to run away from his pasts, the truth is

 sometimes, they find a way to catch-up or to stare me in the face one random morning devoid of any decent sleep nor rest.
    Like this photograph I took of a reply in a forum. It escapes me now, how and why I got there. But I am there, staring at an almost white screen where his name is highlighted in orange. What I can remember is the feeling of a sting, of a girl named Kaye who goes up to Baguio to be able to see him. The way I do now.

    And I am bent, afraid, that by some twisted turn of fate, I will--also--be a forgotten memory.

    I admit: I am an occasionally insecure school girl. But I do have a life, It's just that I hope, he's always in it.

In truth, all of us have ghosts:

ghosts from all the failed relationships under our belts, ghosts from today's one true love, ghosts from incompetencies at work, ghosts from high school, ghosts from misdeeds last, last Christmas.

In whatever form, these ghosts, try to haunt us. They occasionally knock outside our doors, or bother us in that silence the moment before we actually fall asleep.

These are the ghosts that make us clutch on our pillows tighter, or hide under our sheets hoping tomorrow, they wouldn't be around. (images are under the cut, so as to be courteous to my dial-up friends)

( So tonight, in the spirit of the season (Christmas) and ghosts, I shall write to you about the ghosts of my Christmases )

They were in the parking lot, tongue tied and stupefied and slaves to liquor. One of them was taken, the other was not. It was one of the most hurtful images I have ever encountered in that city. Seeing the-boy-I -hold-out-my-heart-for kissing somebody else's girl. I was almost devastated.

What was my ghost? THE IMAGE OF THEM LIP-LOCKED.

If anybody asks, what really, really happened, I will never, never really know. Besides, assuming that I did, it was never my secret or ghost to share.

Maybe you've heard it already: All I know is that, I was in a bus to Manila. And then a friend texted me and told me that the boy i love is up on the stage, drunk and was looking for me. So I went down the bus and went back to UP, and came looking for him-who-was-looking-for-me. There was a riot in the Victory terminal and outside UP, somebody was killed. And I feigned fear, all to stay longer and try to find him.

But there he WAS: kissing another girl. (for one, I shouldn't have been jealous, we were not together yet--it was complicated.) I never really hated her

This is a ghost, that occasionally haunt me. Especially near the UP Pasiklaban season. Because had I arrived earlier, or wasn't on a bus yet. or had I arrived a little later: I wouldn't have seen that ghost that is to haunt me until this Christmas.


A Ghost from this Christmas Present:


She once proposed love to him. She told him things the likes that silly, infatuated girls say. That they should be together. But the boy i love said no. They used to share "a past" or whatever you call two people who (once or twice) interlocked lips because of severe (or not so severe) drunkenness. And because of  "the past" she proposed to him, once or twice around Christmas break.

What was my Ghost? THE IDEA THAT SHE IS AROUND.

When I heard about it, I wanted to chop her head off, or that was too brutal, maybe just give her a piece of my mind. And tell her that just because you shared a couple or so kisses, and then some, it doesn't make for a claim to be in love. It was just a kiss. What are you, 12?

I never really liked her. Never. Really. Because she occasionally sends him messages inviting him to review Physics with her, invitations to their "org bonding" aka getting soused over Red Horse or GSM Blue. And she wrote silly things like "We went through a lot"  on that birthday card I made him.

I think she is NOT pretty. Or as my brother liked to call it, she is one step back ugly. Yes, she's tall, she might have a few "beauty queen" titles, but I don't think it entitles her to an instant ticket to anyone's affection/attraction. Because there should be more. Like substance and a little eloquence and maybe charm and wit, and whatever other things, she may have quite a lack of.

I occasionally get insecure about her being around. She happens to be just a stone's throw away, while I am a six hour bus ride away. I'm not concerned about him, just concerned about her. I think I hate her. Although I have to be sure.

A Ghost of MY Christmas Future:

The Law, enough said.

What is my Ghost? THE UNCERTAINTY.</div>

So tell me about it, what are the ghosts you have?