Author Archives: justanotherinsomniac

I Don’t Know What I Am Doing Here

It has been a while. I had sleepless nights. My thoughts fell heavy on my bed and so I am transferring some to the internet. It will make my head a lot quieter and the internet a bit noisier.

Just like the many times before, I actually don’t know where I am going with this. Which is quite how I would sum up my life so far.

I’ll try to keep this light as I can by enumerating things that made me okay the past few weeks. You see, I talk to a lot of people, I am considerably sociable, or selectively at least, but I find it hard to open up to them partly because it has been planted in my mind that it is not necessary to spread your gloom to people who have been trying to hold their candles on their own, and also because I am designed to keep things between me and the internet.

1. Film Project
Film project that is not solely mine although I have this vivid idea of a film in my head. I have started writing the script and got distracted by the whirlwind of things that come hurling at me. There’s work because I at least need to eat and buy books that I don’t even open, least read. There’s school, which is now narrowed to three times a week by my laziness and lack of time to again read books which are in my defense gigantic. There’s the need to have fun, whenever other people send me a message I oblige and go out and share a beer and four hours with them. And there’s this film project of a friend who’s been encouraging me to start my own project. But in the meantime my take on this matter is, let me observe how you guys do it and then see if I actually have the time and resources and patience for it.

2. Sanctuary
Last weekend, I stumbled into a group of people who I don’t exactly share beliefs with but are too gracious to host a picnic and food and some other stuff. We trekked and hiked and I got a lot of scratches, into hills and dirtroads for about 30 minutes until we reached a small falls. And I plan on abusing their hospitality by going to that sanctuary whenever I want. It is near the sea, it has roads perfect for biking, and it has trails perfect for unloading crap that’s on my mind. Maybe grab a pen and pretend I am getting good at writing.

3. Coffee.
This is so pretentious, I have grown to hate coffee and how I am dependent to it and I have become dissatisfied with it. It’s like the love to an old lover, when you have gone far, how in love could you get? Coffee just disappoints me these days. I need an alternative. This is probably why they say coffee is the gateway drug.

See I ran out of happy things to talk about, I am not actually sure if I wrote happy things so far. My problem with my life is there is so many things going on and I only have 24 hours a day to accomplish them and most of the time I just end up sleeping because of the depression that I may not be able to finish what I started. Of course I could not because I’m soundly sleeping.

Months ago I plan on starting a literary magazine of modern writers around the area because it seems to me that I go out and meet different kinds of artist but I have not met anyone who actually writes. But I have law school to worry about. I have given myself six years to become a lawyer, it is equal to the years that I have so far wasted trying to be a writer. This post is testament enough of how that has already been a lost cause. Legal profession without idealism maybe an impossible task to achieve but it is the security that I can cling to, that at least I am doing something eventually tangible with my life.

As I write this I am fighting that sinking feeling that makes you want to go to bed. But before I give in, I feel like I need to set my goals here so I have something to read and be disappointed with in the future. See when I think about goals, there is an avalanche of ideas that roars in my head. And it leaves me wanting to just escape. So yeah, fuck it. I’m going to sleep.

An Empty House Across the Street

Whenever I open my window I could not help but catch a glimpse of the house across the street. It is a mirror image of the house I am in. I can’t call this house my own because I just live here. It was actually more of, the house owns me. This has been my recluse for five years. The only difference between the two houses is me.

This morning I saw someone opened the gate. I heard the creaking sound of the metal gate and I scampered to open my window to see who it was. It was the first time I saw someone enter the once empty house.

Downstairs it seemed that someone is entering the house I’m in but my mind plays with me all the time so I ignored the noise.

My attention was fixed at the activities in the house across the street. I could see from my room what was happening inside that house. The windows have always been open as if inviting an audience. I wondered how the house survives during the rain when the wind is heavy and frightening. I never looked at that house during the storm.

The person who opened the gate was now on the second floor knocking at a room’s door. The room is actually facing my own. Two parallel worlds that never met. I could make out that he the man dressed in a suit complete with a bow-tie. I could tell his haste from afar by the way his knuckles were pounding the door.

Outside of my room I heard a loud banging noise. I stepped away from the window and walked to the door of my room.

But I turned around and back to the window when I heard the person on the other house scream aloud as if calling someone from behind that door. He seemed to believe that someone was inside that room. I thought of shouting and telling him there is no one in there but he might not hear me. No one ever did.

I went back and sat by the window, and observed as the scream go louder and louder.

This was my poor attempt at story telling which will never be my forte. I wrote this because I felt empty and wanted a parallel universe where I could feel the opposite. Just a part of a day, I get sad, I write my thoughts down and sleep. Lather, rinse, repeat. 

By the way, the drawing is mine.  There is a five year old inside of me whenever I attempt to draw. 

Why I went to Law School

Yes. I am in Law School now along with arrogant rich kids who want to validate their status in the elite world. There is nothing to brag about, it was pretty easy to get in. I paid 500 pesos for a five question exam that I finished in 30 minutes, most of the fields need to be filled out is about your background. I had a hard time filling out “sports”. During the interview they ask you what your parents jobs are and who will be supporting your studies. I don’t want to jump into conclusions because I am not in the position to do that, just yet.

During the first week, if I was given a dollar every time someone asked me why I went to Law School , I could already gather funds for my books which by the way are very expensive and I have not bought yet, although I did have funds for it. I am one of the people who want to use and abuse the internet. And besides I was just trying to adjust and test if I really needed those books or not. It turned out yes, you can’t survive Law School without them. It is impliedly mandatory. So yeah, everyone just seemed to want justification as to why am I sitting along with 50 other people who think they’re way smarter than each other.


My honest answer would be, I am on the dead end. I have come to a point where I just can’t risk floating on the edge anymore. Corporate world is exhausting with its culture of bullying and putting people down. What you are does not matter, what you do is another story. There is a complete distinction of what the company does and what you can do. I am not fit for a job that drags me into dark corners of mental disorder and cigarette related allergies. I had to quit, because it was the only choice.

And what do you do when you reach the dead end carrying what you have believed the potential to do great things? You sign up for another heavy burden that is Law School.

Before wanting to be a writer my parents have brainwashed me into becoming a lawyer, because little me was reasonable beyond what they could handle. I was a small rebellious punk way before I encountered Green Day. My grandfather also concurred this idea. Last year when he died, I started to contemplate on going to Law School, to honor his memory. I also got out of touch with writing as evident on this blog. I was left with one choice, a sacrificial step of turning back to the starting line in pursuit of a greater trophy.

My friends would say had I met some guy I would have not made this decision. Maybe they’re right. No matter how superficial that reason is, I would have not needed to suddenly change my life. My sole motivation is self improvement because it seemed that no one could appreciate myself not even me and I felt like I needed to achieve something big in order to reach that goal I have set for myself. Most of the time this is also the reason why I am frustrated.

Admittedly, this is not a drastic move but still was an action based on impulse. I quit my job, now I’m a broke student trying to juggle a part time work and studying and living off of my parents meager money. And not to mention the lack of social life. I am still on the edge.

With regard to writing, I feel like a dried up well. My creativity has seeped underground into some reserve I could not touch. My friends and I still manage a magazine about the culture in the city but it is on temporary hiatus and under restoration. I also planned on making an online zine for writers in the area. And I have written a few flash fiction that I plan on collecting.

Life right now is like treading on a rope, from a desert and into a paradise. I am keeping my balance. But maybe one day I might just jump and see how the fall feels.