STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS, SOME THINGS I MISS.
I couldn’t think of a way to start this so I thought “Hey, maybe I should just type whatever comes to mind, for ten minutes, and leave it unedited.” This could work.
Today, I did something stupid and unearthed my old online journal accounts. There aren’t a lot left, as my old LJs have been deleted and purged. It’s a bit sad, really, especially when I remember my reasons for deleting them (and then proceeded to clean up my main LJ account). A clue: it involves a boy and some bitterness. And now, this place is in “danger” of deletion, spring cleaning, or maybe just stagnation. I never did confusion and disappointment well. But I tell myself: “No, Helga, you are not 17 anymore (nevermind that the boy and bitterness mentioned happened when I was 19 or 20, I forget, but it was beautiful while it lasted and that’s all I should remember) and this isn’t Livejournal.”
“Chin up,” I used to tell myself. And it used to work. (”Suck it up, you’re a pro”, too.) When you’re young and your biggest problem in the world is losing five pounds by the time bikini season begins, everything can be handled easily like ABC (sometimes with grace, sometimes with several proper stiff ones) and happiness can be beckoned back in a snap.
I really don’t know what I’m driving at. Lately, “I don’t know” seems to be my life’s theme and for once, not only am I not okay with it, I’m also okay with not being okay with it.
That’s my ten minutes. A lot of pauses, my fingers hovering above my keyboard. A lot of toggling, from this browser to change the song. A lot of wondering, if I’d lost my capability for reflection, for deep thought, for grand things.
Obviously, I am having issues. I’d like to keep things pretty and so I will try.
I miss words. Playing with words. Seeing how many words I can cram into one sentence and still keep its coherence. Not being shy to use certain words in certain contexts.
I miss those little wagers I used to hold with myself. If I can go through the week subsisting on strong coffee and cigarettes, he will love me. If I lose weight and fit into this pair of jeans from when I was a senior in high school, he will love me. If I can just resist the urge to talk to him, if I can just resist the urge to let him know that his indifference bothers me, I will win him over.
I miss being unforgiving and having the guts and the willpower to make a decision and stick to it.
I miss being fascinated by people. Perhaps this is not under my control because it’s possible that people have gotten less fascinating in the last few years or maybe there’s a lack of fascinating people this side of the world. But. I miss being wow-ed and rendered speechless (or breathless) by something that doesn’t consist of pixels and/or codes.
I miss playing Pokemon Yellow and drunken Free Cell. And winning!
I miss Katipunan Avenue. On a dreary post-rain gray weekday afternoon. In my uniform. In the rain. From my dorm room window. At 2am, stumbling home, drunk. Fuck— at 6pm, in my uniform, stumbling home, drunk.
Right now, a drink is what I need.
Hi, my name's Helga Weber and welcome to my personal site. I'm 23. My first socio-political scandal will happen at the age of 35 and will include men, sushi, an African country, and lots of money. My lover is the greatest. 
