Ze Possession of Ze Green-eyed Monster

“All I want is love but all I have are love… handles.” Such was the thought that ran through my head as I was checking myself in the mirror this morning, cramming on what to wear for tomorrow’s , or rather later’s (pardon me for breaking the no-possessive-form-is-allowed-for-inanimate-objects rule) Cebu beachscapade in the pursuit to be one with the whale sharks. Oh, Bing the Butanding, be kind, don’t look at my flabs; instead, look at my soul.

Now that I don’t plan on sleeping to make sure I don’t miss my flight, I’ve delighted in surfing the intarweb to kill time (Yes, I still have NOT packed and yet I insist on surfing. Gahhh). Lo and behold, this lack of sleep has awakened that bitch of a deadly sin that starts with a letter-J. (I will not have it, I will not fully admit to feeling it by way of not mentioning it. Nietzchean frame of thought, for the win!). It hurts. Seeing the both of you together hurts. And up until now, you’re still oblivious, so oblivious that I like you. You’re so amazing that I can’t even bring myself to talk to you in person. What gives?

I’ve oddly been getting a lot of love-related advice this week. This is in consideration of the fact that I’ve not been as chatty as I normally am. Over coffee, my boss asked me questions such as: Why don’t you still have a boyfriend? What do you like in a guy? Who do you like? In retrospect, I think I was able to answer aforementioned questions with flying colors. But then she went on to give me this piece of advice: If you like someone, make him notice you. Use your sex as a gender (footnote: this is an inside joke). Not long after, as I was coordinating with one of my colleagues in the other floor, she went on to ask me if I had a boyfriend. Again, after answering the usuals, she goes on to give these tips: You want a boyfriend? Flaunt your boobs. While you’re standing, make a pose. Lick your lips.

Define contrast. And yes, thank you Lord for giving me concerned officemates. For the meantime, I shall use all these pieces of advice for entertainment rather than for heeding.

…But even if and when I do muster the courage to talk to you and move my pawn across the chess table, I now find out that you have her. You’ve had her, you lost her, but the fact remains that you have her again. Other people’s deprecating comments about her to make me feel better, to give me hope, to encourage me to believe that there is hope — none of these will cut it. Her mind is beautiful. Her blog is gahhhh. I struggled to type intelligible words in my laptop after reading hers. So epic, so witty. I could never compete with her hipsterdom.

Define pathetic me. Yes, writing this post has made me lose my appetite for dinner. Give or take a few hours and I’ll probably have enough motivation to have breakfast before going to the airport and actually start living. In the meantime, I’ll be cheerfully going on with the beautiful chaos that is my life. La dida, dida.

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