41

 2nd cup of black coffee with condensed milk.

Suddenly placed on the night shift on the eve of my birthday.

I am 41.

I am not afraid of age. I may feel unloveable now, but I have this innate confidence that I look way better than most guys my age. But if I can lose this hump of a belly, I’ll be way better than those in their 30s.

Cringeworthy? I am sorry, but it is true.

Having a good job with cars and extra money is another story; that’s where I always lose.

I never understood why I felt so unspecial, especially on my birthday.

I know it has something to do with my parents, but I am already 41, and I still feel that no one really cares about my existence.

Being a type 4 with a double Pisces sign is a bad combo- you crave attention and uniqueness.

I thought I had both. Guess it is all in my head.

My daughter was here this weekend. Helped me get through the days. I always wonder if she loves me just because it is required. How about my youngest – does she think about me or want to brag that her parents are artists? I know I am demanding and reading too much of their actions. They’re teenagers, for God’s sake.

But I don’t want them to feel what I feel about my parents.

Even though I am separated from the wife, I know I have been more open and communicative with them than with my parents. 

At least I’m trying. 

Cause I love them. They dont know that I still crash and cry after I scold them.  I hope they can feel me trying.

Where the fuck is contentment and peace?

 

Hello March 2023

 You know you are traumatized when you are worried to express yourself fully here. This has been a journal where I can ramble and let my negativity go wild without anyone calling me a sad boi.

I am sad.

Saw my kid cry over someone who was diagnosed with cancer. I felt bad that all I can think about is she didn't cry when I was confined for a mild stroke. Is it reality or impostor syndrome that I am not really as important to my children as I think I am? Shouldn't go down this rabbit hole. Shouldn't. I can't afford to. Scary.

I am broke. 

Kid needs impacted tooth surgery money. Need to send the monthly allowance. I owe a couple of friends money. Record collection is getting thinner as I am selling them one by one- in pain. I have a number of debts I need to settle with the ex-wife. Bills that kept piling up.

It is nor that I am not trying. I am actually. Life is just hard. And even if I earn 30k a month. Turns out it is not enough as I pay for my bills and settle my responsibilities. 

One will argue I chose this life. Well I didn't. But it happened and I accepted it. You may say that is the bare minimum but nope. It is a heavy load. 

An acquaintance just bought a new guitar just because she likes the color and I am bummed out. Where does she get the money.  Not even working for God's sake. These privileged kids can afford to focus on music 100% even without talents and that makes me sad and frustrated.

I know I'm just spewing projectiles here but let me. I am negative and I am going insane.

I just hope people will quote my songs and cry in my funeral. I know I wouldn't know but I believe in the idea of "soul." So probably I'll know. 

It is my birthday month. 

Just want to get away, treat myself to good food, watch a lot of gigs, get crazy and fuck around, go record shopping and may e change my wardrobe. But NO. 

I CANT AFFORD TO. 

Iriga 2022

 5 a.m.

Woke up after less than 2 hours of sleep because of a suicide dream.

Kids are on the top bed in my old room in iriga. I lie in my thin solo bed on the floor.

Had a milo and ful medammes with bread.

Cried over a prayer through a Bible app.

I am trying to be conscious and be more present with my kids. I haven't been messaging anyone, even ignoring long convos with friends.

 I notice that I am now a little off...not used to touchiness, which I need to initiate. The kids need hugs. I need hugs. 

I also need to talk to Art more than just laugh over silly jokes (but I hope those laughters will create fond memories).

I hope Dylan also feel that I care a lot about her thoughts even if I playfully debate her over scenarios.

I want to be happy. 

Hope I am doing the right thing.

I want to be remembered 

not only for songs, 

but for little moments of joy. 

Falling Out of Grace

 This is what having a relationship with a narcissist feels like:

You are left wanting. You adjust to her own time. You can't really move because without her even saying it, all action is upon her approval.

She makes you believe that the "secret world" you created with her is better than reality— making you feel like the toxicity is part of the deal. She makes sure noone will hear your cries for help—as nobody knows.

You convince yourself that despite all clues pointing to her lies and infidelity, and she can't even give you a proper excuse, you'll hold on. You defy reason. 

She'll bombard you with sweet gestures. She'll clutch her nails on you. She'll disguised obsession with love. Your addiction is her drug. 

She'll keep you guessing, as you swing with her moods. Everything is a push-pull catastrophe.

She is the criteria you need to please. She is the only standard that is all-knowing and right. 

She'll push you to your worst, so there'll be evidence that she might be innocent. But oh, innocence is the farthest thing from her. She knows what she is capable of.

And lastly, she'll justify with pride that she can't be hurt and that you put yourself in that position. She will deny gaslighting you. She will deny your existence. She will make you the villain.

Good Place

Had my first therapy session today. It didn't help the way I was hoping to. The therapist talked a lot, trying to relate to what an artist is going through and missing the big picture. I guess I should deal with this on my own.

 Took a lot for me to book a session. The first one canceled because of a technical difficulty, without even considering the courage I have to muster just to be there.

I feel ugly and inadequate. 94 kgs and can't find the determination to lose more. I need to go down to 70kgs to be healthy. Not to mention, I am losing a lot of hair. Scares me.

I found that coffee is the only thing I look forward to every day. I don't know if that is a sad thing.

I have gigs lined up, but that is me trying to push myself. I haven't done 2 sets for years and doing it alone in front of a mainstream night market crowd is scary. Let's see.

I'm going to Baler this weekend to play without my friends tagging along. Hoping to meet strangers that can inspire me. 

Captive Audience

 My mommy cat Rangu has been extra clingy. She's always hanging out beside me or leaning on my right shoulder. I wonder what it feels like to have someone warm to be in her place. I can sleep around, but I know the difference of real human company.

Cried twice today. Did not wail. Just teary-eyed over a sermon from Elevation Church, and now, the decision to take another benadryl pill just to sleep. 

I crave for peace of mind, but I am quite convinced that it will take this lifetime to even feel that. My mind gets scrambled just thinking of the possibility — and this is not even an exaggeration.

I have been jealous of the success of others.

I have been envious of the warmth of friends who are always available.

I have been angry over people who easily earns money and are born to privileged homes.

I have been depressed over the fact that I have nothing --- all just fleeting hints of possible joy.

I was never depressed about turning 40. I am quite confident actually that I look good in this age. I have been receiving genuine awe that I don't look my age and I cling to those compliments because those are all I have.

And my cats.

Sugar for a Pill

 I found that hanging out with musicians somehow takes away the loneliness. Though I still doubt their intentions of even keeping me company, it is better than nothing.

2nd day of the Shoegaze Festival.

Someone mentioned Washington Drama Club. Got jealous of performers tonight. I do want their applause. I do deserve a captive audience — at least a chance to let them listen.

The problem is like fireflies, I can't capture the burst of creative ideas and put them in a jar. Just one angkas ride away and puff, it is all dead and gone.

I should read more, but I have trouble even finishing netflix series that I resort to rewatching Seinfeld to calm my anxious mind. Boy, that guy is getting richer by my streams.

4:51 am and two malings later, I am writing this in hope that I can sleep without any lonely thought floating across my tired brain.

Soon enough, that benadryl pill will work its magic. 

I need money. I can't seem to have enough to buy happiness.