Had a family lunch feast at RSM today and my tummy was in euphoria with their to-die-for sizzling sisig. I blatantly snobbed the other dishes, including the family favorite, bulalo, for this high-caloric heaven. Foodporn-ing at its finest.
Family eat-outs never go out of style.
Oh, the feels.
I was supposed to be writing RRL for my SP manuscript, but damn, I’m feeling so vain and shit and everything looks so freaking good in low-res. Asdfghasda. I really need to focus wtf. Kbye.
Lo-res vanity photo. Insert pa-deep irrelevant quote as photo caption here. Kbye.
I woke up today with a prepared breakfast on the table. And then, a realization came crashing: I’ve been a bitch daughter. I was holding onto my pride last night, locking myself in my room and shit. And first thing in the morning, you bought pandesal at a bakery several blocks away, cooked my all-time favorite egg-bacon-hotdog breakfast trio, and fixed all of the dishes before I woke up.
God, I was a bitch.
And so the cold war ended with a hearty meal and a cup of Swiss Miss. I love you. I’m sorry.
Sorry if I slightly raised my voice while explaining things to you, guess I just hit my boiling point. All my life, you’ve been going on and on and on about how much of a disappointment I am, about how useless I am, how you shouldn’t be doing anything anymore because you have an unemployed daughter staying at home with you. Ugh, fuck that.
You have been vocal about your feelings and opinions and all things I-don’t-deserve-these-kinds-of-children bullcrap, and with your oversensitivity, I tried as much as possible to hold my tongue. I really did. But unemployed, useless daughters have limits, too.
Sorry if I walked out on your litany, I just couldn’t take it anymore. You were saying things that were both hurtful and untrue, and you already started twisting my reasons into sharp daggers aimed back at me. And so, I walked out. If you deem my act disrespectful (which I know is), I’m sorry. I was a bit short of time to think of a more appropriate way to end our heated conversation, and I was left with no other resort but to escape.
Sorry if for the first time in my life, I talked back. I was just trying to make a point, to make you understand that constantly being on the receiving end of endless blame and condemnation is too fucking exhausting.
Now we’re on a cold war for god knows how long, and I’m here writing my apologies somewhere you can’t read, because everything at this moment is too fucking fucked up.
I love you so much, and I know you love me even more, but I swear, you have to listen sometimes. I’m not a child. You shouldn’t make your own twisted interpretations of the things I say anymore, you have to listen and you have to understand.
But then again, I am sorry.
Lips, lips everywhere. I got bored, so I overhauled my Twitter page and got a matching header and background. Sew kewl.
P.S. Header’s my artsy-fartsy work. Colored pencils on paper.
P.P.S. Follow me on Twitter! I tweet like a madman. Chauce.
Someone paid me a visit today. Padear was scheduled to leave for Malaysia this afternoon, and Dan decided to personally bid his goodbyes. He’s becoming part of the family, and it’s kind of nice. :)
P.S. Obligatory smiley ‘cause I feel so happy like KKKKKK. :)))))
“It takes forty muscles to frown, and only twelve to jam a cupcake in your mouth and get over it.”
― Sarah Ockler, Bittersweet
Falling in love with French macarons. So this is what Paris tastes like. Oh god, I’m falling deep.
SalpuCAn 2013. PSS vs PAFT-B. The rivalry continues. Chos.