Emotional Masturbation

Emotional masturbation is not as bad or as sexually provocative as it sounds. It’s the act of resorting to external stimulation of sadness as an outlet of whatever internal disturbances one may have. Think of it as lubricant (no, not that kind of lubricant) for one’s tear ducts.

To some, it may appear as borderline masochism. I mean, one’s already probably as sad as one could get. Why make it worse by letting one be carried away by the nasty current brought about by the depressing atmosphere of say, Artificial Intelligence or Mystic River? Why not watch a candy colored movie with glittery ponies puking rainbows instead?

Though I see where that opinion’s coming from, I’d rather believe that emotional masturbation is a form of stress relief. There are times when unsolved problems and incoming predicaments pile up to the point that even one’s body is confused whether or not to display this negative emotion of melancholy. Those are the hard times when thinking alone of the next step is as stressful as executing it. A little way of escape may help, even if it’s only temporary.

Think of it as a water reservoir during a stormy season. Once it reaches the critical level, engineers signal for the release of a portion of the water contained within the dam; else the retaining walls and other structural members will submit into a devastating failure.

If emotional masturbation is a key to salvation, then go ahead. Indulge, but don’t be engulfed by it.


Letters from the Past

I received four e-mailed letters from my past self.

I can’t really call the past me. ‘stupid’. Had I been given a chance to relive most of my past experiences, then I would have faced them as they are. But yeah, the thought of writing to the future is cheesy alright and the messages, themselves, give me the creeps. So I probably wouldn’t attach them to this entry.

Reading them made me remember Ms. Aspilan, our Chemistry teacher. I’d recall my foolish attempts to show my affection towards her, only to be rejected whenever I crossed that hazy boundary between a student and a teacher. I’d recall the many times she broke my heart over class responsibilities and the similarly frequent times when she sent me on an adrenaline high.

At some point, she got mad at me big time. She yelled at me, and I cried as I felt my world torn into pieces (high school drama enduced by crazy hormones, as you know it); not to mention that she was scary as hell. It was only after two years when I found closure. After four years, I saw her when I picked up my yearbook from the Visitor’s Room. It was a pleasant reunion sealed with a warm hug.

What I’m saying is, I’m already at the Acceptance Stage of the Five Stages of Loss and Grief, (took me long enough, haha).

On Books and Happy Endings

I mentioned a few entries back that I had been reading “The Spectacular Now”. Well, last night, I got to finish it and boy, was I disappointed.

While I was reading the last paragraph of a certain chapter, I flipped over to the next page thinking that there was still a few more pages left to it. It didn’t seem finished, at least for me. But guess what? It’s one of those open – ended stories where the writer messes up the readers’ minds by entrusting with them (in this case, me) the task of concocting my own brew of the ending.

I was weirded out by the story’s conclusion so I searched for reviews of the book. I thought that maybe, I just didn’t get it. Maybe, there was this cryptic theme throughout the book that just wasn’t able to penetrate my thick skull or something. But it turns out that a lot praised the author for his “realistic” ending. And I’m like, what the fuck, man?!

There ought to be this rule, you know, that open – enders and tragic endings should not be equated with realistic endings. That’s borderline sadism! The world’s depressing enough. Opening a book to find a means of salvation, only to be burgeoned by the ugly reality of heart ache and of alcoholism, is not really my idea of stress relief. But to be honest, I like the way the writer described the emotions of the characters. I like the way he singled out the different meanings of a mere ‘yes’, and the manner with which he painted confrontations really vividly in my head.

But Sutter’s vision of himself really disturbed me. His parents were separated because his mother wanted a future his father wasn’t able to provide. As you can see, the latter was the happy – go – lucky type, and I quote from the book, that he’s the kind who wants “to live in the now”. Unfortunately, Sutter had been thinking that he was bound to suffer the same fate as his father so he goes ahead and breaks up with Aimee to ‘save her’.

That’s bull shit. People can change. I know we can. There just needs to be enough people to believe in that remote possibility. But it’s definitely feasible; more feasible than time travelling, at least.


I was reluctant to put down the book I had been reading. It was a cold morning and the idea of going out to eat didn’t seem appealing at all. But it was my cousin’s Christening so I got up and set my sentiments aside.

My cousin, Hanna, went along with us. She’s quite the loquacious one but I appreciate her effort to fill every silence with stories about her duties and other academic escapades when she was still taking up Nursing. They were relatable since back in high school, I had been into science (God, I miss our Biology classes). She also mentioned that certain sicknesses required varying room temperatures and that the location of the egress is crucial, plus a whole lot of trivial things.. It’s actually cool since I may be able to use her stories to give me a better idea on how to arrange the spaces in the hospital once we get to design one in our class.

When we arrived at the reception, we were eager to see how our week – old cousin would look like. He was like a newborn kitten who’s really tiny and vulnerable. His face was only as big as my palm. And I was really afraid to carry him since I might crush his bones if I held him the wrong way. But he was cute, nevertheless.


So to my cousin Calix, I’m sharing with you an excerpt from Sir Chua’s blog.

“Before you begin that brand-spanking-new life, a few reminders:

1. Always have respect and understanding.
2. It’s only broken unless someone notices it.
3. Don’t believe everything you see on tv. Except for a few cartoons and Discovery channel.
4. The grass is always greener over the septic tank.
5. Save. Save. Save.
6. Professional wrestling is fake.
7. There is no such thing as too much cheese.
8. Never, never take up architecture unless you really, really love it.
9. Avoid breaking boys’ hearts, ok? It’s a bit painful.

True, life does not come with an instruction manual. But it doesn’t mean we can’t make up the rules.”

Subtle Change

My favorite couple in the world has split up.

They’re high school sweethearts and I kind of hoped they would make it through college. They’re the mature type of couple with a minimalistic approach in displaying public attention compared to other teeny bopper couples spread in the wild. Nevertheless, you still get the vibe that they’re really into each other.

There even came to a point that seeing them together made me feel happy. It made me believe in love despite reality happening on the other parts of the world at the same time. (Cheesy shit, I know. Kill me now.)

But things went downhill and at an abrupt pace at that. I didn’t even know where it came from. It got me questioning a lot of things. Are men that afraid of stability? It’s as if every time circumstances get too comfortable, they look for indecent ways of spicing up their relationship. Even with the application of distorted logic, I can’t figure out a sound reason for this type of social phenomenon.

I’ve also been reading this book called The Spectacular Now (all for the love of Miles Teller). There’s a part of the narrative wherein Sutter breakdowns a list of all his ex girlfriends and why they became mere exes. And it all boiled down to the same thing, the girls change quite opposite to how they were during the early part of their relationships. It’s like that laughter triggered when a guy cracks a joke. It may be hilarious at first but when cracked over and over again, it becomes more annoying than funny.

So I considered the fact that maybe she’s the one in the wrong? Maybe their relationship caused her to change subtly over time. The little changes accumulated to form a big one and he probably didn’t like that change. Still, even with that explanation, I still can’t see how cheating could rationalize everything.

I know condemning the male species won’t be of any help. And there’s probably a whole lot more to relationships that I don’t know at the moment. But can’t they just mutate into having a specific gene for fidelity?



It’s disturbing to find happiness in the misery of others.

Just this afternoon, I showed a picture of my crush’s girlfriend to the people over at Elijah’s house. They roared with laughter as Aja sheepishly commented, “mukha siyang oompa loompa.”

It’s THIS kind of oompa loompa.

Oompa Loompa

And yes, I did feel a slight ego boost because of that remark. It’s really low, I know, but I’ll leave it at that.

It Doesn’t Mean Anything

I thought I saw you at the SURP library yesterday, sitting at one of the carrels by the sun shaded window. You were shrouded by your own bubble of iPod music while burying your face under a site planning book. I felt my heart leap, if only for a fraction of a second, only to be dragged back into the reality that meeting you in such place is remotely impossible.

I’m well aware that this nostalgia is utter bull shit. I’m using you, yet again, to make myself feel things I haven’t felt in a long while. I’ve had my own share of limerence, but they all ended up either half – baked and bland, or altogether non – existent.

But I had for you may be deemed as the most unadulterated love I could ever yield. I willingly threw logic out of the window, and put myself out in the open, vulnerable to a wide array of emotions.

Somehow, I still dream of our next encounter. It would be a celluloid moment, having people walk in slow motion as our eyes meet. There won’t be any verbal discourse, only a few seconds of soul – piercing stares, just like the old times.

And that would, perhaps, be the ultimate closure.