Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Diary of a Zombie Insomniac, Part IV
I like writing at night. Many I know said the same thing.There's something about the combination of darkness, silence and insomnia that seems to make the expression of one's thoughts clearer, as if your muse just took your pair of foggy glasses and wiped them clean with a flicker of her pristine white t-shirt.
The eyebags suck, though. They make people think you're some quasi-goth who wears those patches of darkened skin as badges to authorize their demented view on life. That, or a druggie of some sort.
Sunday, April 09, 2006
Puedo escribir los versos mas tristes esta noche...
From my entire high school and up to this point in college life, I've lived with one sin: Envy. An envy for the problems that seemed to forever besiege everybody except me, for in finding solutions to these preblems they emerged stronger and wiser people, having learned from experience, the best teacher.I used to tell people that my biggest problem was not having problems, though whether I really believed it to be true or to be just another histrionic attempt is another story altogether.
I learned something last night, though. I learned that though problems may bring forth stronger, wiser people, the fact that problems are what they are remains, and that there is the ever-present risk of failure.
Learning that one friend works to pay for his/her tuition while another has a stalker that never seemed to understand the idea of an ended relationship, even to the point of following my friend all the way to Boracay (the rich bastard), in a way, makes me feel lucky I don't get hit with problems with similar magnitude.
I guess I'll just have to be content with my silences coming from problems that never existed, with admiring her from afar, a sniper with a broken finger.
