hoardingthoughts

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Lord, to whom should i go

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I've noticed that almost all of my posts here are too sentimental. I don't want you all, my followers (actually, I only have one) to think of me as a knotty person who is always experiencing an emotional turmoil. I can be pragmatic, too, and I am much more languid in real life. It's just that this is the only place where I can vent my frustrations, which is why the majority of my posts here are emotional. But please don't think that I'm always emotional and that I'm someone who always gets carried away by feelings. From now on, I will try to be more sensible in writing my posts. Really. (But at the same time, I doubt if it should matter or if it should bother me. I mean, who the fuck cares what I post here and how people view me? But still. For the sake of that one follower.)

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Where are you, Isabelle?

I read our last conversation. Very harmless. I didn't sense any hint of hostility. I haven't said anything wrong, nor have you. You left my long message on seen, then the following messages are still unread. It's been a month and a half. I wonder where you are now and why you ghosted me. Your house is hardly a kilometer away. I could walk right into your street, onto your doorstep, but that is not a practical decision. And I don't have the courage to do so. You told me you don't go out because it scares you. So, where are you and what are you doing? I reached out to your mum. To your brother. To your boyfriend. No response. Are you all avoiding me? No activity. Sometimes I worry that you have caught the virus. But you don't ever leave your house, you said. Your parents are maniacally careful these days. So, where are you and what are you doing? Are you tired of me? Maybe you have a problem. I want to believe that you are just going through something. A personal problem, a familial problem, a boyfriend problem. Maybe you broke up? If so, I want to give you space. But it's been long. One and a half month is hardly long, but it is, subjectively and relatively. You're not the kind of person to ditch the world for that long. You can't mope for that long. Your life revolves around the internet. I know you can't survive long without it. And I believe I am qualified to say that I know you well enough to assume that you're not the kind of person who ghost people. But I don't know you well enough to understand or find any conceivable reason for your abrupt disappearance. I just can't find any conceivable reason. Have you been kidnapped? Have you been sick? Depressed? I am so lonely when you're not with me..

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How I miss this after-school scenario..

photo taken from https://pin.it/2afr6Ba

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I realize that I want to be a psychiatrist when I grow up. God, after all those months of confusion and uncertainty—all the while I want to pursue psychiatry. (I also want to have photography as a side profession. You know, I also like art.) I think psychology is an interesting topic. It's so complex, and it can sometimes be an ambiguous subject. I think mentally ill people are fascinating. Not that I am romanticizing or glorifying mental illness, but I am curious of how and why exactly people develop these types of illnesses. What is it that triggered these patterns to surface? How horrific an experience could be insomuch that it causes someone to lose their mind? I like to think that the development of a mental illness is a subtle process. It begins with the little deviations, seemingly harmless, from normal and usual choices you make in everyday life. Mental illness insidiously interferes with your reality until you just wake up, one day, and realize that something isn't right with you. Oh what am I talking about. Anyway, interesting, right?

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I've heard some people say that neglect in childhood is the foundation of narcissism. There is no scientific basis for this, but I think that it is true. At least true in my case. I'm afraid that I'm taking on my mother's narcissistic traits. I notice it everyday, especially when I interact with my peers. And when I do, I try to change myself. Whenever I see a trait in myself that reflects my mother's own qualities, I try to remove that quality from me. I do the opposite of what she does. Sometimes I look at her and think, god, I don't want to become like her when I grow up. If I ever have a child, I will love and take care of him. I will understand him. I never want to become a narcissist. I've been on the verge of becoming one, I tell you. Actually, I already became a narcissist once. I cried and lashed out, and still my mother let me on. I hurt myself and people. She doesn't care. She thinks I'm sensitive, I'm weak, that I should be strong like her. She believes that neglect will make me tougher. Tough love, they call it. I don't believe in tough love. It destroyed me and my relationship with my childhood friends. It isolated me and took people away from me. And now, I am lonely. Neglect had turned me into a selfish and conceited person who believed she could become a self-made, self-independent woman, a woman who didn't need anyone's assistance. I had developed a false conviction of invincibility and self-infallibility. It ripped me apart. People dislike me now because of it. I'm lonely now. I want to blame mum. Whose fault is it? That I don't want to find out. I try hard. I try my hardest to not become a narcissist again. To not relapse and revert back to my narcissistic characteristics. I don't want to live in an illusion of being the center of everything. It's a pleasurable feeling, very very great, but it ultimately destroys people. I'm trying so hard now to compensate for all the wrong things I have done to people, to my old friends. I'm so so sorry. I'm such a terrible person. I hate myself. I hate my mum.

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I don't have anyone to tell this to. Actually, I have an older sister who is sweet and whom I can trust, but it's Saturday, and I don't want to interrupt her weekend with a problem of my own. She has her own matters to deal with. I don't want to add to her frustration. And, there's something she doesn't know, and I'm too tired and out of words to explain everything to her right now. So let me vent here in tumblr. Sad right? I don't have trusted friends who deserve to hear it. In fact, no one deserves to be bothered by my conflicts. I'm not even sure if this problem exists. Maybe it's just me, just me who notices. Or other people notice it as well, they just pretend that they don't. It's either a familial or a personal problem. But one thing is absolute: I've been thinking about this for a while, and I'm bothered by it. My family is falling apart. What I mean by family is my mother and my brother. And me, of course. My mother is really old and, it's probably just senility, but she's becoming more irritating by the day. She's still narcissistic and self-righteous as always, but she's becoming stupid, childish, lazy, talkative. I am getting tired of her, everyone is really. No one takes her seriously anymore except my aforementioned older sister, but that's just her usual kindness and courtesy. Anyway, my mother's disease is worsening, and due to this, she and my brother have been fighting more frequently. Us, too. We always argue. I come to realize that it is pointless to reason with her. Ignorance is a disease that is incurable in her case. I have long stopped reprimanding her and insulting her intelligence, I have started to act cold and pragmatic, thinking that it will somehow ease the friction among the three of us. But she just won't stop! She's so passive. And my good-for-nothing brother. That arrogant, selfish, self-satisfied piece of shit. He's dying. He's killing himself. He's ripping his future apart. My mother knows it, but he lets him. I tell her. I warn her. She complains how passive my grandmother is, but she is just the same. I seriously hate this family. I hate having a child of a mother. A child of a brother. I just want to go and stay away from these people. They suck the life out of me. And that family! My oldest brother, my sister-in-law, their children, those strangers who came from nowhere. I know they know it. Our family is falling apart, but they don't care because all is well with them. Of course, it's not their problem. It's no one's problem. It's just my problem, I'm the one complaining and crying now...

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Hello! It's Friday afternoon. And I'm glad, though not as glad as I usually am on Friday afternoons. Why? Oh, I have four assignments on google classroom that I need to finish. I have the option to do them next week, but doing them tomorrow or on Sunday would be best so that all there would be to do next week is to sit down and relax. (Holy week yay) Plus, one of them has been overdue since Wednesday. Yes, missing, that is. But! Weekends. I should relax on weekends. Give myself a break, you know. The weekends are mine. I should stop thinking about school on weekends. I should know when to be lazy. As Stephanie Parker once said in Nicholas Sparks' The Choice, it's an art form that benefits everyone. Being lazy, I mean. Anyway, that's just life, isn't it? Life is an endless cycle of working and taking a break. I also like to think that life is a simple matter of getting by. Breaks are essential, you know? During my breaks, I always remind myself how grateful I am for all the things that help me get by. Music, books, youtube, food, some people... without them, enduring even just a week would be impossible. But that's besides the point. I don't want to start being philosophical now because I'm exhausted, exhausted, exhausted.............

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I wish this week ends already. Or this month. Or this year. I just want to get school over with!!

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Hello stranger. Welcome. Welcome to my weird weird weird weird life. Are you browsing on my timeline? Or did you just accidentally come across this post? Don't follow me. I know you'll read this, then you'll think eh, you'll continue scrolling down again, move on with your life, my post lost into the oblivion. You'll probably forget me, forget that you ever read this post or knew my name. But don't care. I just want you to know, if you're interested. So my name is Chloe. I was born on June 15, two thousand something. Won't tell. But I'm pretty young. I'm a teenager as of March 24, 2021. I'm a highschool student. I live in the Philippines. I'm living in Metro Manila, the city of Parañaque to be exact. I hate this place, and I'm looking forward to leaving soon. Where am I going? To Puerto Princesa. To Palawan. To my birthplace. It's a province in the Philippines. It's a city, technically. But it's less urban. Beautiful, beautiful place. You should come someday. Anyway, I love reading. I love food. In fact, I'm obsessed with it, but I try to control myself, and it sucks. I'm shy, socially anxious, but I really like friends. Socializing is exhausting for me, but I enjoy it anyway. It sounds contradictory, I know. But I love having friends. I love being surrounded by people. People are just so fun, though I admit a great lot of them always bores me. A person or two once told me that I have weird taste in people. That is true. My friends are usually full of surprises. They're the kind of people who always do things that surprise me. I'm tired of being with people who are just so.. boring, you know? People who don't have anything sepcial to offer. Anyway, I like my friends. They're fun and amusing. It's like subscribing to a very creative youtube channel that uploads unusual but entertaining content. It keeps me curious, keeps me entertained. So enough about my friends. I'm a sweet tooth. I crave sweet things a lot, and it's difficult especially when I'm trying to stay fit and healthy and all. Ugh, what else... I've run out of things to say about myself. Cats and rabbits are cute, they're my fav animals. I'm not fond of dogs. I'm not close to my family. I have an interest in photography. I used to dream about becoming a flight attendant, a mechatronics engineer, an astronaut, now I don't have an ambition. I like art. I draw sometimes. I'm not good at it, but I like it, though I find drawing frustrating. I have so many good visions and images and scenarios and faces that I imagine and make up in my head, but I just don't have the talent to make a manifestation of them, to draw them as close to what I imagine as possible. (Have you seen that meme "when your brain has art ideas, but your hands don't know how"?) I imagine a very handsome guy, then I decide to draw him, me being all excited and smug, then my drawing turns out to be so fucking disappointing and different from what I imagined. So I throw that drawing away, bury and store my amazing vision of that handsome man into the depths of my memories, then think, “when I grow up and become talented enough in art, I will definitely come back for that vision, and draw it.” Anyway. How do I look like? At the moment I have short hair (shoulder length). Somehow thin. I won't say I'm incredibly pretty. Just average. But there have been times in my life when people (besides relatives) told me that I'm beautiful. Whenever I feel ugly, or whenever I feel so unsure of my appearance and I don't know how I should look at myself anymore, I just remind myself that when I was in seventh grade, a handsome classmate of mine once said that I was pretty. He was probably just messing with me, but whatever. Hmmm. What else to say. Actually there's a lot, lot lot lot lot, but I'm so sleepy it's 6pm already god. And yes I get sleepy that early. My sleep schedule is 7-3. 3-7 on weekends. Joke. I'm just bored. Maybe I'm boring, too? And unspecial. Got nothing interesting to give. Maybe that's why I dislike myself. Remember that I told you I don't like people who are boring? Yeah. So. Yeah. Goodbye.

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I still haven't recovered from One Day. I mean, I'm not moping a lot, but I still get really sad when I remember it. I've been getting distracted more quickly than usual, and I can't concentrate on my studies. But that's okay. I'm full of problems and it's not just that book. God. I think I developed a phobia from reading that book. Is there a word ending in “phobia” that means “fear of the future?” Since finishing that book I've been thinking abot the future a lot. It's so scary. So many things are possible. But you never know. Really. Anyway. I was feeling like having my heart broken again. I know, masochistic. I haven't even recovered yet. But a few internet strangers told me that A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara will make me cry, so I ordered it online and I expect to receive the book by Saturday or Sunday. I like crying you know? I mean, One Day totally destroyed me. It was painful. But at the same time, I liked it, because I haven't been that emotional and alive in many months. Since 2020 I was feeling really empty and I barely felt anything at all. Just confusion, a bit of hatred, angst. Didn't even have the energy to shed a tear. Sadness gives me humanity. When I'm not sad, I'm just so bored, and it makes me a little unempathetic. It's as if feeling sadness is the only way for me to feel compassion. When I'm sad, I feel like being good, being kind. Weird. When I'm not sad, not that I feel like being cruel, but I feel a little less humane. Like a robot. Or a psychopath. (Ew. Am I self-diagnosing? Self-proclaimed psycho?)

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Oh god. I just went to see all the things I've posted here the previous days. I'm full of embarrassment, and I am tempted to delete them, but a part of me tells me I shouldn't because those things that I said were true (during the moments of writing them) and show who I am. I feel like deleting them would mean that I'm not being true to myself. Besides, I know no one is going to see them. Maybe some will but won't care enough to read. I've lost the one and only follower I had (shout out to you, whoever you are.) So, yeah. I want to stay true to my feelings. I know it sounds like I'm being egotistic and unreasonable. “You just can't accept that you got carried away and started posting a bunch of embarrassing things. Now that you've calmed down and realized how harsh and vulgar they were, you refuse to accept that the things you said were far-fetched. It's like, voting for a politician then realizing how corrupted that politician actually is then realizing how you voting them was a mistake, then choosing to deny yourself anyway and continue to support them not because you truly like them, but because you can't accept the fact that you are stupid for voting the wrong person.” Weird analogy. Did you get that? Anyway. I sound like I'm just making excuses. I know, I regret saying and posting those things either, I don't very much agree with them now, but the idea here is that what I said before was somehow true upon the moment of saying it. Still confused? Think of it as like this. On March 1 I got angry at my friend. Then told him I hate him. Then on March 2 I wasn't angry anymore, and decided that I no longer hated him. So, technically, you could say what I said on March 1 about hating him was a lie and just a product of my rage. It might not be true on March 2 anymore, or March 3, or on any of the succeeding days (assuming that I never come to hate him again.) But it was true on March 1. It was true, because that day I was really angry at him and I hated him. Whatever. So that's the point. If I delete my previous posts, it's also like ripping pages off from my diary after realizing that what I wrote was complete bullshit. Well, it wasn't really bullshit. It made perfect sense on that particular day it was written. It just sounds bullshit to me in the present, because I'm not in the same mood I was when I wrote it. (I've figured this out when I wondered why I never got to fill my diary. I kept ripping pages off.) When you write in a diary, and you look back to the entries you made the previous week, previous months, previous years... you are bound to regret some of what you've written. But what do you do? Do you rip it off, burn it, and forget that it ever happened? Well some people might do just that, but I know the convention is that you're not supposed to. So. Another reason I'd like to keep those posts is that I want to have something to reminisce. You know, for a good laugh. Oh look what I said on March 23. Oh look what I said that year. I was so stupid back then, my god, can't believe I said that. I wonder what was on my mind. I don't want to get bothered. If I let it get to me, I know I'll just end up keeping on deleting every single post I will make, until this account becomes constantly empty, and all posts that are supposed to be accounts of my life become temporary. So. Sorry for all this cringe. Really. To my one follower, you can unfollow me now lol. Besides, I prefer it this way, it's very silent, and no one cares. Sometimes it's refreshing to know that no one cares.

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And half of the fucking draft of my previous post wasn't saved. Good job tumblr. Or wifi. Fuck it. Not like anyones gonna read yeah?

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I want to take a break. Truth is I'm really, really confused of my own brain, train of thoughts, emotions, etc. I can't concentrate in school anymore. I keep getting distracted during my online classes. I can't even complete one lesson of Spanish or Russian for this day. The previous year has been a complete waste of my life, and I have a feeling that this year will be a waste too. Not that I have or anybody else has a choice. Stay at home, focus on your studies, improve yourself...I've done all that. I jog thirty minutes a day, do strength training for at least 20 minutes for three nonconsecutive days a week, lost excess weight, been eating nothing but fruits and vegetables and chicken breasts and all, got good grades, high grades in fact, been learning foreign languages, read read read... and I'm still so fucking miserable. And I know I sound like I'm having a typical post-novel depression (I mean, just finished one day by david nicholls and all.) the kind of depression you have after finishing a really good novel, whatever, but no it's not. I've been bottling up my feelings since, I don't know, new year? and they just culminated upon finishing that book. I just broke down. It's so pathetic that I'm venting here in tumblr. You must think I'm lonely oh yes absolutely lonely. I don't fucking have anyone to talk to. My friend ghosted me one month ago. We were good, talking about her newly found favorite band, then suddenly she just stopped reading my messages. I said ah maybe she has a personal problem, family maybe, ought to give her space, then lately she's been having activity again on social media and ignoring me all the while. That fucking hurts yeah? I do have other friends that I can talk to. But I can't talk to them about things like this. Yeah we're close we have fun make jokes, but that's about it. We don't get into each other's personal problems or deep feelings because if we do it's going to be awkward and we'll secretly think to ourselves this is so fucking boring, I'm sad you're sad, but what does it have to do with me. We're just hanging out for a good laugh. We're not intimate or anything.

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david nicholls' one day is destroying me

This book hurts me so much and I'm still reading it. Im near the ending. Dammit. Fuck. I love dexter and emma so much. Em and dex. Dex and em. This book hurts because its so fucking true. Its life. Life is the truth. And the truth is always cruel. (what lol)

But seriously. The story is breaking my heart. Its too much for my teenage ignorant unwise heart to handle. The story is making me question my own values and suddenly my priorities seem so small and pointless. Do you ever read this one book and its so tremendously moving that it makes you reflect on your own life and goals?

The story goes through 20 years of the life of two friends. Reading it makes me feel like ive lived those 20 years myself. Ive only been reading it for three days and now I feel so old. Like ive gained wisdom in life and love and friendship and adulthood.

I hate this. I hate hate this. Who the hell writes a characer's death like this? (no offense to the author, you're amazing.) Its just so, so cruel. I want a happy ending. But i i know thats not how it works in real life. But this is fiction, so its not real life. But still.

I dont think i'll ever recover from this story. Its been a long time since i was this heartbroken by a stupid book. And the fact that im writing this in the middle of my online classes isnt helping. I just cant concentrate.

Reading this was a bad idea. I remember when I first saw this book, all hidden and dusty in one of the boxes my sister left behind when she moved out, i thought its going to be another typical corny cheesy love story about two lovebirds. I was actually about to sell it but upon reading the first chapter i thought why not, seems promising, i should give it a shot. And shit. Life happened.

Uncontrollaby sobbing over fiction. So, so, so pathetic. Am i overreacting? I probably am. Look down on me i dont care. But im just so sad, and my friends arent around. I want to share this story with them so well suffer together, but no.

Im not gonna put tags because this post is embarrassing. Just needed to get it off my chest. Might cry again later

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I've stopped blogging my breakfast meals and I don't think I will anymore lol. I'm just too hungry to even snap and edit photos right before eating

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Intento escribir algo en español

Esto es la primera vez en la que intento escribir en español para ver si verdaderamente he aprendido algo de todos meses que hize ejercicios de gramática y vocabulario.

La primera idioma que hablo es filipino/tagalog porque me nací en Philippines. La segunda idioma es inglés porque el aprender a inglés es obligatorio por todos alumnos y estudiantes en mi país, y estudiamos inglés desde comenzamos a ir a la escuela. En cuarentena, hace unos meses, decidí aprender español también porque... porque estaba muy aburrida xd. También quiero alardear de mi aptitud lingüística a mis amigos jajaja (aunque en realidad no tengo amigos :( jaja)

Admito que mi español todavía no es bueno. Acabo de aprender las reglas de gramática, pero las olvido de vez en cuando, por lo cual tengo que practicar todos los días. También tengo que leer o escuchar vídeos de español para aumentar mi vocabulario y mi habilidad de escuchar.

Honestamenta, últimamente no he sido practicando mi español como antes (¿dije eso correctamente? Lately I haven't been practicing my spanish like before?) porque me he sido sentiendo turbio. Creo que ese sentimiento sea generado por la cuarentena.

Entonces, no tengo ningún más para decir jajaja. Debería publicar más post en español. Promito que elegir un tema mejor para mis publicaciones siguientes.

Por favor ayúdeme mejorar mi español, a todos hablantes de español. Muchas gracias :))))))