The Occasional Gorlo

It’s unlike me to start the year without the clichéd urge to write, especially since it is also unlike me to end the year feeling good. 2018 wasn’t terrible, as perhaps is every year (it can’t be ALL terrible) but somehow the holidays seem to grab me by the hair and pull me in a spiraling, downward direction.

I’m not gonna lie. I did spend the year being more reckless than usual. I did things I’m not particularly proud of, hurt people I love, neglected my familial responsibilities and smoked more we/ed than I ever have in my entire life. I missed opportunities. I ditched even harder on important relationships. What I didn’t do was to allow myself to regret these things enough to introspect and learn from them, consequently making even more mistakes. I ran away from regret because I thought it would only make things worse. Regret became a bad, bad word.

Eventually, naturally, the consequences of unregretted bad decisions caught up to me. My world became so small, like a little island, where whatever’s left of what I loved and managed to keep were all compressed in the tiny space I was left to afford. I let the rest of my land sink, and along with it, meaningful experiences I could have grown from. All because I was too focused spelling NO RAGRETS on a tiny patch of sand.

Almost every year, around Christmas and New Year’s Eve, I become the full-blown monster I’ve fed with the many things I’ve swept aside. The freedom of time and the expectation to be in a constant, joyous mood becomes an anxiety-inducing combination. This time, it is shadowed by every lost dream, every lost friend, and every lost opportunity. Luckily, it jolted me into realizing that, hard-pressed as I am to continue looking towards the wrong direction, my whole world (or whatever’s left of it) can sink and drown me dead. This is when I hold the breaks and say that enough is enough.

As this new year slowly begins to unfold, I’m going to look back at every mistake I’ve made and decide, once and for all, what kind of person I really want to be. I need to allow myself to regret, and then to forgive. Perhaps it is the first step to making room for things to grow again.

There really isn’t much to talk about today, except that I just had a great long weekend.

On Thursday, Kean and I went to a gig. I’m a little ashamed to say it was my first time seeing Mad Lilacs live, a band Kean has been producing for a couple of years. I’m glad I did, though, because they were pretty tight. 

On Friday, the band came over to Kean’s studio to finish some songs. I met a new friend in Alie, Elo’s (the frontman’s) girlfriend. I introduced her to the gravity bong, as I do when I meet new and undoubtedly cool people.

Some other cool stuff that happened that day:

- We tried our hand at making cocktails, and so with our small but slowly growing mini-bar, we cooked up a Fuckeroni, a Mojito-type drink without the mint; a Bitter Bitch, a snapple-rum mixture with some syrup and lemon juice that turned out SO GOOD; and a classic gin-pomelo. They weren’t at all bad for a coupla amateurs.

- We played Spyfall 2, and as it turns out I am quite the effective liar/detective.

- So yeah, that was fun.

On Saturday, Kean and I were craving for Recipes’ gising-gising and General’s chicken, so we made our own. It turned out great!! The gising-gising I daresay was perfect. The chicken was not as crunchy as we hoped, but the flavor was definitely on point. We also went to mass with Kean’s mom (it’s required of him to go to mass) before I finally headed home.

On Sunday, I spent the morning at home and then back at Kean’s in the afternoon where we watched a Netflix movie, did a buttload of chores, before finally calling it a weekend.

I know that must’ve sounded super boring especially if you’re not terribly invested in my life (who is lol) but it feels nice to look back and think about how simple happiness can be sometimes.

I am horrifyingly and desperately romantic. I am constantly amazed by how the right person can change the way I see things, the way I experience the world, down to the way I write (I used to be so cynical it scares me).

How lucky am I that I found a cute boy who surrounds my life with music (literally and figuratively), and shares the same strange affinity for hosting people, recreating restaurant recipes, and re-watching old comedies?

I don’t know. But it sure does feel good.

I’m going places! Doing things! Afraid to die!

That’s the summary of my life as of this writing. To illustrate:

I spent the whole day today running around, completing my Japan visa requirements. If all goes well, I’ll be joining Kean’s family on a trip to Japan in early 2019.

Two days ago, I heard from an old boss that they’re looking to hire me for a remote job. If all goes well, I’ll be earning twice as much on top of my regular salary.

Three days ago, I was in the middle of a days-long suffering from recurring, multiple, canker sores that rendered me unable to eat and talk. Kean brought me to an endocrinologist who then asked me a bunch of questions, and gave me a list of tests to take. If all goes well, nothing is seriously wrong with me.

I’ve been thinking about doing content for a very long time now. Maybe ever since I learned the ways of the computer. Which has been a long time considering I’m old. Like, almost 30 old. Not grandma old, but old enough in terms of plenty of things. For example: Perhaps I am too old for training wheels, or to ask my Mom to pay for my phone bill. Perhaps I am too old for blogging and starting things I know I’ll eventually forget about.

But that’s not the point here. I just want to write and share things. Sure, there’s Twitter and Instagram and Facebook for that. It’s just that every now and then I start to look for something more personal -- something a little less, IDK, megaphone-my-problems-and-occasional-splurges-out-to-the-world-hoping-the-world-will-think-of-me-a-certain-way. Blogging feels a little less judgmental, a little more forgiving.

You might ask, “What in the heck’s name is a ‘Gorlo?’”

Gorlo is a moniker my boyfriend, the love of my life, Kean, calls me. We like to think it’s more than just a pet name. Weird as it sounds, “Gorlo” has come to mean a lot of things to us: its a descriptor of the tiny world we share, the name of the language we’ve built overtime, and what we like to call the comfort of knowing that someone else belongs in it. It’s sweet and it’s cheesy. It’s okay. I’m too old to deny I am not a sucker for sweet and cheese. I eat that shit right up and it is amazing.

Gorlo is me, a sucker for love.

Today I’d also like to share that it’s been 32 days since I last had a cigarette.

I was a smoker for nearly 10 years. I remember my first smoke, in October of 2008, having been to impress a girl I liked. A girl who, a couple years after I started smoking, decided never to talk to me again. (It was my fault, I ditched her for another girl who was actually interested in me at the time.)

Smoking was terrible. It gave me hyperacidity, bad teeth, but also plenty of friends. I decided that I’m too old for it now. I also realise that if I wanted to, I’ll gain friends whether or not I placed a cigarette between my lips. If I don’t, well, I already have a bunch of friends anyway.

I guess that’s all for my introduction post to this blog I’ll never get to update. But that’s my defense mechanisms talking. I actually want to get some stuff done, starting with this one. I’m also trying this thing where I tell myself that I’m too old to break promises to myself.

So....uh....yeah. I’ll just finish it here before it starts to get awkward...