Reading Between The Lines of What Is and What's Not

It’s been over a week since he texted me saying he missed me. Not only had he shook me up, but it also rattled the cage of our fragile relationship… if there was any.

I don’t know where I stood with him and I never did.

We rarely spoke to each other and when we do, it’s such an awkward interaction to be considered as friendship. On special occasions, he’d tell me he misses me, but that’s it, he just misses me and he never does anything about it. 

The funny thing is, he’s so much like a ghost. He comes around every now and then and just disappears in thin air leaving me hanging. 

I was finally okay, I was doing good without having him crossing my mind on a daily basis. I was finally able to listen to songs without him burning at the back of my mind. And it’s like he does it on purpose, when I’m THIS close to completely letting go, he comes around and ruins everything that took so much time and acceptance.

But the fact that he said he missed me didn't bother me as much as I thought it would. I grew numb and just like my fingers, my heart has calluses that even he can’t get through anymore. He just brought frustration and confusion most of the time as he sends mixed signals. Knowing him, there’s a lot more where that came from.

Sure, the things he says linger in my mind more than I would like to admit, but mostly it’s just because out of curiosity.

What I don’t get is, what does he expect to happen? What does he expect from me?

Was he simply trying to tell me he just misses me and my presence? Or was that a code for something else? 

When he sends the messages, I often wonder what he thinks of. Does he know that it will hit me with as much force as a baseball bat? And what does he get from it? At this point, I’m pretty much convinced that his words are rehearsed and worn out from all of the other girls that’s heard them too. 

And maybe that’s what feels wrong about it, that it doesn’t feel like it belongs to me. Like I share those words with somebody else.

Or maybe he’s just the kind of guy that does that for fun. “OH MAN, JUST TALKED TO MY EX TOTALLY TRICKED HER INTO THINKING THAT I STILL GIVE A SHIT ABOUT HER LOL #ThrowbackThursday”

Because I am and possibly forever will be a pussy, I can never muster the courage to directly ask what he wants to happen. 

I never learn.

With unmeant words come heartache. 

The things he says are as about as confusing as Trigonometry, but I’ll have to start learning how to read between the lines of what actually is and what’s not. Or maybe not even bother to read them at all and train my reflexes to immediately push out any thought of him or any emotional attachments.

Sometimes, as much as you want to be with someone, you have to consider other things too. In my case,

• He does not give a fuck
• He will never give a fuck
• He toys with my emotions
• He is frustrating
• He is an undeserving little shit

So there we have it.

In conclusion, this problem has been ages ago. And frankly, I’ve come to the point where “The Girl Who Will Be Waiting Forever” will no longer take another second of this fuckery. Into the trash bin you go, feelings.

And for what it’s worth, nobody deserves to be someone’s past time.

The Horror of Public Transport

Don't get me wrong, I love being in a crowded place. It actually makes me feel normal... and not alone.

Just as long as we're not squished together inside a bus that smells like a mixture of morning breath and sweaty gym socks... with peanuts.

I'm fully aware that I have to start embracing the whole idea of being human sandwiches everyday for the rest of my college days, but there's something so repelling about touching skin that's not your skin. Skin that you don't even know if is washed. Skin that secretes salty sweat. Unsavory.

Being a claustrophobic individual makes all of this harder than it should be. I'm the type of person who considers my personal bubble as something sacred. And you shall not breathe nor move the air inside my bubble, you should not touch anything that's inside my bubble, nor should you reach in my personal bubble. That's a line you wouldn't wanna cross, buddy, especially during nature's monthly visit or I will throw you over the border of Mexico with my bare hands.

Now that that's cleared (English is so weird I just used "that" twice contiguously and it still made sense), I just wanna point out the little things that cause me the biggest pain on public transport.

First of all, you get free lap dances whether you like it or not. The problem with getting from point A to point B in a crowded, not to mention moving bus, is that nobody cares what they're doing just as long as they get to point B. They don't care if they accidentally or purposely rub their goodies on your butt or your lap or whatever part of your body happens to be exposed to this tragic moment of your commuting life. If it isn't obvious yet, yes, I'm talking about middle-aged men who think girls don't notice it when they grab the opportunity to grind their manhood on what our momma gave us.

It's creepy. It's wrong. And I can live my whole life without having to know what your hoo-ha feels like, thank you very much.

Be prepared with the various smells that trail behind people who leave, by the way. Sometimes it's pleasant, but for the most part, it's agonizing to my nose. If my nose could speak, it would just be saying a chain of swear words. The smell of other people's clothes rubbing on my clothes isn't so appetizing.

It isn't just the passengers' interesting variety of scents, but it's the smell of the bus itself. There's a funky scent in the air that just makes my tummy turn. Like I said, a mixture of saliva, peanuts and sweaty gym socks. Don't ask how I came to this conclusion because I smell everything. Which is another downside of dealing with public transportation everyday.

Moving on, there are just people you come across with everyday who don't give a shit. Whenever I'm on public transport, I try not to piss anyone off while making myself as comfortable as possible, but some people are just downright asking for it. Yes, I'm referring to you sassy old women who think they can get away with everything just because they're old! I don't care if you're as old as my mom, or my aunt, or hell, my grandmother. Whatever your age is, my rules are simple: if you're gonna act like a bitch, I'm gonna treat you like a bitch. Be nice or I'll fucking slap the dentures out of you.

These women literally just use their huge asses to throw people out of their way. Guess we already know one of the advantages of being old.

Another thing, being slapped by backpacks first thing in the morning isn't the best way to start a hormonal teenager's day. Namely, mine. Oh, you're backpack is so cool! Look at that, it's Jansport! I conveniently noticed because you just literally rubbed it on my face. Don't be fooled by those flowery backpacks, they might look harmless but they're the worst kind of public transport juggernauts. They're capable of mass destruction. Who knows what they have in there? A bowling bowl? Their dad's golf trophy? A human arm?

If you're taller than the average Filipino and are towering over me, you better not breathe down my neck, my arm, my face. Basically, just don't breathe on me. Don't breathe my air 'cause I certainly don't wanna breathe yours. I don't wanna inhale your carbon dioxide, dude. We're not that intimate.

And before I got to experience going on public buses on a daily basis, I refused to believe chivalry is dead. But I stand corrected.

I literally stand corrected 'cause there aren't any more available seats and I'm just watching this muscular dude in his mid-20's who look more than capable of standing for one whole hour while fighting inertia, sit there and watch as the women struggle for balance.

I'm not being sexist here or whatever 'cause guys have the right to sit down too and they probably came from a long way, but it's so rare for guys to offer a seat to a lady who might be biting down the agony of  cramps from menstruation.

And when I do see a guy or have a guy offer his seat to me, I just wanna grab him by the shoulders, look him in the eye and whisper "God bless your kind soul." It really means a lot. Honestly. It's a big deal. Incredibly. Wow. Just. I.

I think I basically covered everything about the cons of dealing with the different kinds of douchebags you'll meet on public transport. Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of good people too, the ones like me suffering from their ignorance.

Dear person-who's-always-always-on-public-transport,

        Things will get better... the moment you get off the bus stop.

Now I just have to sound like I'm convincing you more than I'm convincing myself.

Just please, be nice. Do everyone a favor and don't be a douchebag. Also, do everyone a favor and throw the nearest douchebag into the busy traffic of Taft.... haha, just kidding.

Or am I???????!?!??!?