Created by: Baboysai

Francis Alonzo Borbon, or Ali, was deprived of anything chocolate for a number of months when he got a chocolate cake for his birthday and he showed signs of allergic reaction.  His grandmother let him eat chocolate ice cream anyway.  It turned out, he was not allergic to chocolate. 

What's your chocolate?

I ask someone to save me from this moment, this chunk of space-time. It is self-inflicted, probably induced, and when seen with a wider perspective, petty.  Yet for it all to happen to me, homesick not of home, deprived of warmth from eyes that have known me for years, forgive me if sometimes I may sound like the universe revolves around me. 

Last night I sought the comfort in an overpriced coffee shop.  That was the first time in three months.  Probably because finally, my brain caught up with my life.  As pathetic as it may have sounded, my life so far was fast-paced.  Fast-paced, that I had excuses not to understand.  When life reaches monotony, the brain compensates by overthinking.  Maybe.  I distracted myself with stories of evolution, of Chekov or whoever that Russian writer was, of recollections of Y Tu Mama Tambien.  Ironically, these hours of distraction were the only few hours of peace in an ironically monotonous life.

To be fair, some people stop their lives as well, even if it's just to ask me if I'm okay.  Greatly appreciated, fellows.  The gestures are priceless.  Sad that they would fall within the 255 Php margin in the peace zone of the coffee shop, and sad that I couldn't say "Yes, I'm okay".  I need to lie to myself, just to go on with the next day, but for this one question, I cannot bring myself to do it.  If my life was going to be a lie for some six months, this would be the "At least".  That I'm not okay.

I am sad in this happy-go-lucky microcosm.  I am lonely in the middle of people giving me attention.  I am repressed living this carefree life.  Like I said.  It's self-inflicted, induced, petty.  And it's goddamn painful.

My mother sent me some 11,005 liters worth of Four Seasons Juice.  Before anything, I would like to interrupt myself with a memory.  Those that become my friends eventually know that my mother works for Del Monte, Inc.  And that I tell myself if it's another brand I'm allergic to it.  When the new juice came out as "Four Seasons" my friends immediately asked me about it.  See, my last name is Sison.  And that time, there were only four of us children.  It's amusing, really.  What coincidence. 

Anyway, not totally unrelated to that, but somewhat on a different note, I get back to the 11,005 liters of Four Seasons.  I was beginning to get sick of it.  When it came, I did not know water.  Breakfast, lunch, dinner, Four Seasons.  I brushed my teeth with the liquid.  Until my drinking persona awoke within me and gave me divine intervention.  It's amazing how the lack of money to go for videoke can inspire such thoughts.

The idea wasn't really inspiring.  Not even unique.  But for two days of talking to random people if they purchased from ^%$#@ TV or saying they're credit card's expired, Four Seasons rung like magic. Four Seasons with alcohol.  The name for that is Distraction.

If you had been acquainted with me personally, or through my writings, what you are about to read will make you think I am contradicting myself.  And take note, I am not happy to be contradicting myself. 

I need a shrink.  I hate analyzing myself.  And I hate the word Analyze.  Thank Sudarshan Khadka, Jr. for that.

Who was I to pity?  Who was I to feel lucky?  I had enough resources to support me, to cover my screw-ups and start over.  I was merely passing the time away.  So was everyone.  I was in a tunnel with the rest of the lost boys.  And all this time I thought I wasn't.  I'd think, at least I could move on.  I'd be burning with passion any day now, just you wait.  Then reality gave me this out-of-body experience.  I was one with the stars, looking at myself, with the rest of them.  Not as people drowning in the crowds of people.  But as frustrated youths.  So this was how it felt?

I am a passionate being.  A fighter for love.  If only I could fight for everyone.  And the 11,005 liters of Four Seasons took its toll on me and squeezed my chest.  I realized it was indeed coincidence.  The world did not revolve around me.  Fuck Paulo Coehlo and the universe.  I did not want to die, but who fucking cared?  They were just as lost as I was.

Yet, if I were to end this train of thought with this kind of mood, wouldn't you think there was no future for me?

Then maybe it is better to move on with a lie.  Before you and I condemn me as a loser, I'd just like to scream to the world that I own.  And the name for that is Empowerment.