The Pang

I haven’t written in a while. Perhaps because there is (and has been) an ominous flurry hanging over my head. Not necessarily a bad thing, but definitely not a good thing. And so, I’m here, writing again, in hopes to fact check my life and it’s near past, present, and near future.

I’m too broke for comfort. It’d be easy for me to play it coy and say, “HOW ON EARTH DID THINGS GET THIS WAY?!” However, a series of unfortunate events intruded my finances. First, going to the Philippines was more expensive than I’d bargained because I booked flights and hostels in too short notice. Second, while in the Philippines, my phone got wrecked so upon coming back home (Korea), I had to buy a new phone. Third, I was bitch slapped with a phat electricity bill that ultimately broke the camel’s back. In sum, $1700 were drained from my sweet ol’ piggy bank. What the actual fuck, right?

Guys suck. It’s not me, I know it’s not. I now have confidence in my self conviction. I’m minutely above average in beauty, I’m witty, funny, kinky, gritty, saucy, sassy, curvy, at times oddly stylish, cool, calm, collected, and straight up down for fun. In comparison to other broads I’ve met, there’s very little wrong with me. I’ve worked on myself enough to check myself before I wreck myself. I’ve overcome major feats and as a result have become fat with experience. I love myself. Even still, I get kissed and dissed and left with a mist of mystery. Feeling insufficient, demoralized, unworthy. I’d like to tell a specific someone that he’s being rude to me by being so polite to everyone else. And I think I will.

Addiction. I’ve been faced with an epiphany, and that is, an oral fixation. This explains why I’ve been eating so goddamned much, why my nails and cuticles are so chewed down, why I ache to make out with someone when I’m drunk, why I sing. Since I can’t busy myself with singing because I’m always stuck at work, I find ways to fill the void with other oral work, namely eating. This is bad. Real bad. I must be bored. Real bored.

The limelight. Singing is my passion. So much so that if I didn’t have a voice I’d might as well die. I’ve been going to open mic night for quite some time now. I’ve dabbled in some collaborations here and there. But I’m ready for something bigger. More concrete. How do I make that happen? I don’t know. This may be wildly egocentric, but I feel like what I possess could be comparable to the greats of voice. I need to be heard. Not as part of a nonsense uni ensemble, or a coffeeshop duo. I’m talking prime time, big deal, worldwide kind of heard. But how do I make that happen? I don’t know. I’m so far beyond sick of mediocre, talentless minions getting loads of recognition because it’s entirely undeserved. Yes, I’m jealous and annoyed. I’ll back that up. And I’ll remain miffed until further notice.

Winter sucks. What’s even worse is that it’s so frigid and it isn’t snowing (with the exception of last night). It sucks to be alone and cold. Sucks to have to wear HUGE coats that make me look way fatter than I already am. Black ice sucks. Wind chill sucks. Dryness sucks. Shivers suck. Cold floors suck. Internal drafts suck. It all just fucking sucks!

At this point I’m rambling. It’s felt good to get a load off. Hasta luego!


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