This Weekend

Friday after Work

I get a text message from someone inviting me for a sumptuous dinner of baked veal. In my mind I scream a screeching NO! I do not plan to see or talk to anyone this weekend. It was hell week at work the past days. As such, I feel no need to have any meaningful conversations nor shallow chit chats with any goddamn red blooded creature this weekend. I once again want to be nothing but alone. I need it, I think. So instinctively, I respond with a very polite “I’ll see if I can make it but I am currently preoccupied.” I will never make it. Instead, I spend the whole evening at the YMCA trying to make weight lifting happen and submerging myself in some good ‘ole chlorinated pool water, my favourite stress buster. I am glad I am back in trying to work-out. Most of all, I am glad to be back in the pool where I know I truly belong. Afterwards, I have hearty doses of Pall Mall, my new choice for cancer stick brand which makes me think how funny my lifestyle has become these days. I come to the pool to keep my lungs in check. Swimming is the best way to build superior lungs. Which afterwards, I balance off by slowly burning them. Lol.

Saturday Morning

I am glad I wake myself up at 10 am. God knows it has been so long since I got my self out of dreamland at this hour of the morning. I normally end-up waking up much earlier. Body clock functions become routinary against your will during the weekend. I hate it when I see myself up by 7 am on a goddamn Saturday morning. That is cruel and normal. Which I abhore. I think of ways to make this Saturday interesting while keeping my promise of being completely isolated from the rest of humanity. Again, I feel I need to be alone. I am a loner. A proud one. Well not so proud but I accept I am. I believe acceptance is a virtue, yo. Your shit, my shit kind of shit.

My friend Brenna whom I recently renamed Brenda out of her own liking apparently sent me messages last night. They look to me like drunk messages. I respond back saying exactly that. And I am correct. She was drunk and was apparently looking for someone to talk to. We have nice conversations over the internet on mostly about her semi-wild existence in Sillicon Valley where she is based. She tells me lots of her little adventures about boys and whatnot. I stay amused most of the time. We have a short chat and I disappear. I need to go out. It is pleasantly beautiful outside. The last days of fall, my favourite season.

I find myself at Long and McQuade on Main Street a few hours after leaving my house. I feel extreme joy whenever I see myself surrounded by these ultra wonderful musical instruments. Truth be told, I believe I missed-out on my real calling. I should have been a musician. I feel a genuine, organic happiness whenever I sit on a piano to play or strum guitar strings. Today I plan to use one of the pianos on display on the second floor of the building to perfect a piece that I tried to learn a few days prior when after work I found myself stress busting my mind here too. A Step You Can’t Take Back by Kiera Knigthley is a song that I find a certain fondness for. And today, I learn it. I am glad my piano aptitude had never disappeared. They say it is like learning to ride a bike, it never goes away which I learned is quite true. So after a few minutes of tinkering the black and white keys of this beautiful baby grand that I am currently being mesmerized with, I finish. I leave with glee. Which is further enhanced by this cancer stick that I am now enjoying.

It is 3 pm when I leave Long and McQuade. I need to catch a movie at Fifth Avenue Theatre along Burrard. I have always wanted to see the movie Birdman as soon as I saw that scene where Emma Stone was looking out the window of a New York building. I have a super duper wonderful crush on Emma. At night I sometimes find myself googling her name and watching cute videos of her on Youtube. Has anyone seen her Jimmy Fallon video of her doing a wonderful job karaoke lip syncing? I cannot believe someone as pretty could be so out of this world goofy. In my books those two qualities must at all times go together and in reality they rarely do. It is either you are goofy but not so pretty, and pretty but not goofy. Tina Fey was not the pretty type when she started her career and she’s goofy. Amy Phoeler is pretty but not the kind of pretty that would be deemed to play damsels in stress on superhero movies and she’s uber goofy. All in all, the acting was wonderful in Birdman. Emma was fantastic along with the rest of the cast but the movie lacked charm.

After the movie and some cancer sticks, I am at the YMCA, again. I am a loser. I do not have any life. But who cares. I love the pool. I love the adrenaline of swimming my heart out and busting all of the stress inside my body. It is a great and soothing activity. But boring for many.

At night I find myself inside a Starbucks on Robson. I finally find the prettiest Starbucks in all of downtown Vancouver. I am reading tonight. I bought this book last night at Chapters in Metrotown. It is a novel about a surly book shop owner. Wonderful first few chapters. I couldn’t put it down last night after buying it but I wish to save time on it. I feel this is a book that I will have a relationship with. Like my bible or something. All the characters define me which I always find is the perfect formula for me to like a book. Narcissistic much? Maybe not. Anyone would have to develop a certain understanding of something to be able to say they like it anyway. And with stories, I find it easier for me to get engaged to it that way.

Sunday Morning

I do not have real plans today, really. I should be staying home you know but I realize and accept now that since moving to Vancouver, I have developed myself into a non-fan of the home body lifestyle. I just cannot find myself staying home anymore. In days of loner pasts, it used to be such a thrill to find myself channel surfing while staying under sheets and eating junk. That was the pinnacle of my days then. I used to love it. But I guess living in Vancouver made me different in many ways. I always now feel the need to go out. It is an outdoorsy kind of town anyway so maybe that is why. So without any showering and cleaning-up of any type I put on a sweater and a puffy jacket and my Levi’s, grab my gym bag and out the door I am. Not before answering a few messages from some friends though including Brenna/Brenda who must still be nursing a hangover. And from that girl that I want to become my girlfriend. My letter to her hasn’t arrived yet but she says she is looking forward to reading it. I look forward the same. She is down with chicken pox which makes me feel real bad. But there are worse things in the world so I am sure she’ll be fine in a few days.

I am at Topman after hopping off the train at Granville Station. I am looking for yet another sweater. I can never have enough sweaters. I am a sweater and jacket fanatic. I like the feeling of bundling up with garments that will make you stay warm. That is probably why I can never live back in Manila. How can I bundle up there really? Vancouver is where it’s at when it comes to nice fall/winter wardrobe. Thank god I live here. I try on a nice navy blue wool sweater. I do not understand why I always am attracted to the blue shirts. But I never question it. I am not into fashion anyway. But I find the need to buy clothing though. And blue is something that makes me feel normal, wallflower-ish. God knows I try to mix it up sometimes by wearing the occasional yellow or red but I always never fail to stick to blue at all means. So after trying-out this nifty looking sweater, I buy it without looking at the price tag. The cashier rings it and it comes down to $78.00. Damn. This must be a worth it blue shirt, I think to myself.

Then I spend the rest of the afternoon at the YMCA, again. Seriously, I need to get a life. A fun one. But who cares. The pool is my comfort zone, my happy place. I do a series of body torturing machine assisted work-outs as well. And after a few hours off the place I leave with an enjoyable cancer stick in my right hand. Strengthen the muscles, fortify the lungs, then burn-out with cigarettes. Good job, me.

I get home to some pleasantries from my neighbors. They are very nice people always sharing their food. Today I am given a plateful of palabok, my favourite pancit kind in the world. I have to set it aside however as I have with me some pork Binagoongan which I bought at nearby Cucina Manila. I have been craving for it and right now I give in. After that work-out I deserve this shit. Then afterwards I wash my hair, put on my new sweater and go to mass. It is Sunday. Time to give thanks.

At mass I realize that I have been successful at dodging any type of invites from anyone this weekend. I pat myself at the back for the achievement. But wait, why do so? That really sounds nothing but idiotic. I must be thankful to have people who I connect with. I take it for granted sometimes. I feel the guilt now. I must see my peeps. Good thing every Sunday we have a meeting of some sort. So without further thought I say to myself to see them. I take the bus at Joyce-Collingwood Station right after church and right after enjoying the nicotine goodness of two sticks of Pall Mall. I will be breaking my promise which I deem now to be silly. This is what is wrong with me most of the time. I ignore the inherent kindness of like minded people just so I can spend time with my over acting self. I believe it has become a form of self-defense too. Living abroad without immediate family made me think that I should defy the odds of forming relationships. Fuck people. I must learn to do this on my own. It works too. In fact, it works most of the time. But I slowly understand now that it could be a self destructive act in the long run. I must be glad to have meaningful connections that I know will last a lifetime. So why the hell am I choosing to shut my world? I say I am an introvert and I naturally need it but fuck that.

I spend a good amount of time jamming with my peeps. I am a pianist right now. I show off my newly learned tune. The one I learned just yesterday at Long and McQuade. Most of them were less than amused. Lol. But we have a good time nonetheless. Then I see us at the Starbucks across the street where we exchange stories about anything and nothing. Seriously, I like this. And why I pull away from these types of niceties is beyond me.

I blame insanity. Lol.

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