the choice shall be difficult but i have to know...

i don't want to...

i have to.

naked feet padded their way on the cold, moist tiled floor. an occasional strand of stray hair tangles with the pinky toe--it was mine for sure, but remained ignored.

hanging the towel at the hook on the wall, i peered at the face that looked back at me on the wall mirror. gawd, you look awful, i thought.

shedding off the last pieces of clothing, manipulating the dials of the temperature of the shower, snatches of conversations with people flashed in and out of my head.

turning the knob, i felt the first few drops of lukewarm water jolt me from the remnants of sleep. then the warmth of the water covered me, and was my first source of comfort today.

mechanical rituals of lathering, then i thought of the day ahead. is there much to look forward to? gee, i dunno. when was the last time i hummed a tune just to get the task of showering done and be out there to meet the day? i didnt bother to answer... the question left my mind as the water rinsed out the last traces of shampoo from my hair.

i watched the white swirls dancing by my feet, then i noticed the tangled strand of hair, trying to move with the water but can't because it somehow was stuck at my pinky toe. i poured water on my feet and watch the strand move with the water, slowly, gracefully with the foamy swirls...

a piece of me has just gone down the drain.

Grace, how are you?

You are so… orange—this is a line from the movie Legally Blonde, that I’ve seen countless of times and this is my answer right now: I am so orange.

No, I'm not a Barbie-wannabe; my Barbie dolls usually end up in my toy barbecue grill when I was a kid and I was playing ogre. I think I liked the movie because I like the love story infused in that pedicure-and-peroxide-empowerment plot. Elle Woods did everything to follow the boyfriend who dumped her and went to law school, to prove that she's something. She ended up with the silent-but-smart hottie who always made sense and was always there, and the ex-boyfriend got “dumped” in the truest sense of the word. Happy ending.

Not. Reality says it ain’t so.

I came to this realization: maybe at some point in time (usually the time when pimples pop out in screaming numbers and hormones rage so hard, your parents actually feel it even through your locked bedroom door), humans like being masochistic. How to snap out of it—well, this is something not everyone could easily do, so to actually get to this stage is a triumph you'd associate with champagne-popping or Red Horse shots in the local scene. The following are masochistic tendencies a lot of you could relate to:

People cling to what-ifs and what-could've-beens for absurd reasons such as just wanting to be depressed and get hugs ...then you dream of getting even with the one who "wronged" you even if the hypothalamic pain you are actually feeling is mostly self-induced.

You find excuses WHY you're still not together even if you've done practically every trick in the book and Cosmopolitan/FHM back issues to snag him/her--but do face the ugly truth, he/she is just NOT into you. (To girls: or he's simply a blockhead who does not deserve your attention, so move your pretty *ss on and never look back)

There's this high school fever for best friends-turn-lovers story. The hype for this is almost as high as going googly-eyed over Legolas even if you haven't actually seen LOTR just because every girl in class drools over him.

There is that pubescent fear of facing the reality that you love your best friend and would rather die than admit it because you'd "ruin your friendship." That is what those cheap girly magazines say--SO not the case in reality. A lot of marriages break up because they didn't start out as friends, so don't give me that sh*t that you can't fall in love with your best friend for fear of losing him/her. You need someone who'd accept you sober or drunk or whoever you were in your "mysterious or not-so-mysterious past."

In conclusion, people will always want what they can't have--they'd fight tooth and nail to get it. If you can’t have what you want, you’d like to at least get even. There is that sick satisfaction that is at par with squeezing that itchy pimple on your nose, and watch it "bleed to death." Yep, your crush is a pimple.

But then again, I’m way over high school, and my orange Friendster profile is just one of those crazy curved roads I like losing myself in, so don’t ask me generic questions like “How are you?”—get creative and ask me specific questions for once, okay?

I’m just tired… and orange.

Another year.

Hmm.

Another year.

2007 sped off right before my eyes. Events look like blotches of colors trying to seep and be permanent in my brain. One thing for sure is, this year has got to be the worst and at the same time best one so far in my life.

I laughed and cried for very good reasons -- no tears were wasted and no laughter happened just-because-it's-the-time-to laugh.

I loved and I lost but in this loss, I found a strength I never thought I could have.

I had been in bliss and was dragged in the muck -- so what?

I'm alone but I'm not lonely. I am blessed with family and friends who try to make sure that I can get by. Seriously folks, I'm not gonna die this time okay? And I have you all to thank...

And Jason Wade? You may now stop singing in the background about pyramids and coming home. Shrek has already gone home to his princess, Giselle has realized that Prince Edward was so not for her, and I am here, grounded with the fact that ignorance is certainly not bliss (what you don't know hurts you the most).

Whew. 2007. I loved, I laughed, I lived.