You listen to songs you enjoyed and truly loved when you were younger, not young-still-drinking-milk-from-a-bottle-young but young as in still-basking-in-your-teenage-years-and-college-abandon-young, and you remember the times when you were still worried about going home past 10 pm, or looking at your cellphone only to find text after text and missed call after missed call from family members asking you where the fuck you are. Or the times when you spent hours, or even days, just choosing what to wear for a party because you want people to notice you and think, “Oh hey, she’s kinda cute. Maybe I should ask for her number.” Or the long drives, numerous wine and beer bottles and cigarette butts and embarrassing moments you’ve shared with your friends. Or the long talks you’ve had with them about how the person you offered your heart to has offered his or her heart to somebody else. You listen to these songs and feel some sort of calm washing over you because nostalgia, as Don Draper explained in an episode of Mad Men, takes you back to a time, to a place when you know you were loved.



Then it begins. The heartbreak begins. The heartache follows. Most people only know of the shallowest form of heartbreak - the one you get from a love gone wrong. Not that that kind of heartbreak is trivial or irrelevant, for you are consumed with inexplicable pain when it happens, it’s just that most people don’t realize or fail to recognize that there are different kinds of heartbreak, and once they happen, they have no idea what to do with themselves. The heartbreak I am talking about is the one you get right after you’ve had your fill of memories. The one you get when you are trying to chase that feel-good emotion you’ve had and relished not too long ago only to find that you will never get it back. Right now you might have what you have desperately wanted when you were slightly younger - the job, the money, the freedom, the love life, the sex - but you can’t help but get sucked into that void you feel somewhere around the area of your chest. That kind of heartbreak.



You might be having your heart broken right now, especially if you’re already working and in your twenties. You also might be thinking that I’m writing this because I’ve gotten it all figured out and that I might be able to give you some advice. You are wrong. I am just as lost as you are. My heart is just as broken as yours.



I do know one thing though: this won’t last forever, unless you want it to.

Yes, it took me this long to digest everything that happened last friday because it was that fraking awesome. The heavy rain did become a big hassle at the beginning, drenching everyone to their undies, but I know some people would agree with me when I say that it made the John Mayer experience more memorable than it would've been minus the rain. More satisfying even. (And you could just imagine my delight at watching these uberly-maarte and all-dressed-up kikay girls [who I believe know diddly squat about music] do their best to stay dry but failing miserably.) For the past five days I've been thinking of the right words to describe the feeling of going crazy over words and guitar licks I've listened to countless number of times while getting rainwater in my eyes and mouth, but I'm done trying. There is one word, however, to describe listening to Stop This Train blasting from ginormous amplifiers while you're standing under the dark and chilly skies when you're 24: PERFECT.



Sure, it wouldn't have hurt if John Mayer cracked more jokes during those two short hours last friday, but I came there for the experience of listening to the songs that have affected me in ways that I cannot even begin to explain. And in my book, I got way more than what I paid for. Heck, I would say the same thing even if I had enough money to buy a VIP ticket. (That guitar-sax jamming and extended version of Do You Know Me? Oh. My. Gaaaaaawd.) I saw what I wanted to see: the John Mayer without the girlfriend(s) issues, the John Mayer in worn-out jeans and a t-shirt, the John Mayer with the unmade hair and the beaten-up guitars. Unpretentious as unpretentious an artist can be.





P.S.

Recently, people have been telling me that I look like Charice Pempengco and they seem to be flabbergasted when I tell them that I don't think of it as a complement. I used to have the same reaction when people would tell me that I look/sound like Aiza Seguerra, and I take all my words and facial expressions back, because I believe that opening for John Mayer and being able to sing Bette Davis Eyes with that much passion and awesomeness are far greater feats than getting Oprah to manage you and playing an exchange student on Glee. Aiza has grown (artistically) by leaps and bounds, and to be compared to someone like her is an honor.





P.P.S.

Please do your best to prevent yourself from leaving a comment telling me that I don't give Ms. Pempengco the credit she deserves, or that I really do look like her. (1) If course I think her vocal chops are ridiculous, it's just that she's not my cup of tea. (2) If you will keep on insisting that she looks like me/ I look like her, then I have just one thing to say: Edi ang ganda niya.

I heard somewhere that the hardest part of your life is that whole decade when you're in your 20s, and the worst part is when you're smack down in the middle of it. When I was a kid I used to dream of turning 25, just because it sounded so cool at that time. I used to believe that when you're 25, you're still young enough to be considered hip but old enough to be treated with respect. Now I'm sort of dreading it. But I'm also not saying that I want to stay 24 forever, because I'm not really feeling this year as well. Age is not like buildings that pretend they don't have a 13th floor.

I am unsatisfied with how things are going, just like other people my age/around my age (although they're just better at hiding this fact, I guess), but I think it's a good thing. I don't want to be satisfied at 24. To be satisfied at such a young age is a trap, and I refuse to fall into it. At this point, to settle is to stop the whole Waiting-For-Something-Bigger business, which is actually what makes life pretty exciting, what keeps me from getting out of bed each morning. I look at people my age or even younger than me who think that they've hit the jackpot already, and I can't help but be jealous and feel sorry for them at the same time. Jealous because I know that their ignorance allows them to sleep better at night and think less of "the heavy stuff", and sorry because I know that one day, discontentment will hit them like an agitated bull, and it will be too late.

I hope you feel unsatisfied for as long as you possibly can. You could be better, and you will be better.

Bazinga (my car) doesn't have a radio. Well, he does, but it stopped working about two years ago and I haven't replaced it because

1. I have better things to spend my money on than a car radio (like Batman comic books);
2. Bazinga is an old car and there are parts that need replacing (tires, shock absorbers, etc);
3. The I-speak-Tagalog-with-a-twang and pa-conyo effect that most DJs have annoy the bejeezus out of me;
4. There are DJs who make me wonder how they became DJs in the first place because they are, blatantly put, musical morons (there's this one girl DJ on Magic who goes "We should thank Billy Ray Cyrus for bringing Miley Cyrus into the world" and says "Hmm, Gene Simmons. Gene Simmons? Isn't he in that, uhm, band? What's the name of that band again?" shortly afterwards) so I would rather listen to whatever I have on my iPod.

However, when the window time for coding was lifted, I started using my uncle's car on Wednesdays to go to work, and it has a perfectly working radio. Since then, I've been listening and enjoying Boys' Night Out on Wednesday nights.

Just a couple of hours ago on my way home, they suddenly open their contest for John Mayer VIP tickets. You win by simply singing the next five words in whatever song they're playing. I was in the middle of driving on a sharply-curved bridge when they opened their lines, so I by the time I was about to dial 6310899, they finally have a caller. Tony Tony asks him (the caller) "So, are you a big John Mayer fan?"

Then the idiot goes, "Uh, not really."

"Noooo!" Tony Tony goes. "People will kill for these tickets, man!" He interviews the guy and we learn that he's doing it for his girlfriend, whom I assume isn't even a big fan of JM since if she really wanted those tickets, she would've been the one who joined the contest.

Surprise, surprise. He loses the EASIEST GAME IN THE WORLD.

I would've felt sorry for the guy if he faked being a John Mayer fan. I know people who would give an arm and a leg (including myself) just to get so close to John Mayer that you can practically smell his deodorant and see the details of his tattoos. (Yes, yes, I already have tickets. But these are fracking VIP TICKETS WE'RE TALKING ABOUT!!!) This is another reason why I hate listening to the radio: it's because of these people who get a chance at something that other people have dreamt of for years and years but don't see the magnitude of what they could possibly have, where they could possibly be.

Earlier today, during Andi 9 and that other girl's show, they had a contest for Adam Lambert tickets. This guy calls in and it's an automatic win, and when they ask him if he's a big Lambert fan, he goes "Not really."

Andi 9 and the other girl wail and say "Noooooo! Don't say that! Well, aren't you willing to just give these tickets to someone else who reaaaaally loves Lambert?"

And of course the selfish buffoon goes, "No."

Maybe DJs should be more strict when it comes to VIP tickets. Before opening the lines they could go "This contest is only open to solid, bona fide (insert artist name here) fans" just to make sure that these once in a lifetime opportunities are not wasted.

I probably won't get over my "inis" regarding the events of tonight until the weekend. Nevertheless, if you (whoever you may be) ever get the chance to win VIP tickets to John Mayer or Jason Mraz or Dave Matthews Band or Joshua Radin or Me'Shell NdegeOcello or Crystal Bowersox to any other band or artist I'm crazy about, I hope you stop for a minute and appreciate what you have won.

Better yet, just give them to me. I guarantee you that you will be greatly rewarded in this life or the next, whatever or whomever your deity may be.

Had a MAJOR hyperacidity attack early Sunday night. A couple of hours later, I threw up (and pooped) everything I have eaten for the day in reverse:

- Pizza and Pasta (Dinner)

- Cookies and some leftover Beef Broccoli

- Sisig and Ice Scramble and Calamansi Juice

- Cookies (I'm a cookie-lover)

- Pancit and Beef Broccoli (Brunch)


Yesterday and today have been a blur. I was forbidden by my cousin (a Registered Nutritionist aka The Law When It Comes To What To Eat And What Not to Eat When You're Sick In This House) to drink coffee and Berroca and eat ice cream - the three things in the world that give me that push to get out of bed each morning. The closest thing I had as an energy booster for today was a tetra pack of Milo, and that made fall asleep. It would also be interesting to note that if I don't have at least one cup of coffee a day, I get migraines, which only mean that yes, I am seriously addicted to caffeine the way House is addicted to Vicodin and Nurse Jackie is to Oxy. (I am not one of those who loosely say "OMFG I LUUURVE COFFEEEEEH!". I am way past that. I actually need it in order to function properly.)


I cancelled all my open lesson slots for tonight because I still feel like I'm floating on air, and because I still have these stomach cramps. (Last Thursday, I had to do the same thing due to my itchy throat and stuffy nose, which resulted from the classic Filipino "Natuyuan ng pawis")


When you're a student, you only miss lessons or quizzes or the latest gossip when you absent. But when you start working, you're missing out on money, and that sucks ass.


Right now I'm going to have a warm shower, watch my favorite Big Bang Theory episodes as preparation for this week's season premier (Uh-huh, I am one of those geeks), and hopefully wake up tomorrow morning without the cramps and well enough to drink a mug of Joe.