Break the Glass in Case of Fire

(To those who are supposed to get it [me, you], and to those who don't but somehow relate [all].)

I’m talking about expectations…expectations met, though they rarely are, which means I’m really talking about expectations unfulfilled, for I’m pretty much used to this, bitterness being a longtime friend.

There are expectations from others of you, of others from you…and there’s the enigmatic scale of success, and the erratic on-and-off switch called “failure.”

I’m talking about being in the Intercontinental, only to find out that thing was in the Mandarin…I’m talking about being there eventually, and only consuming a half-glass of white wine (and to think “free booze” was the night’s attraction)…

I’m talking about student obligations, and only finding out about them the day of…I’m talking about persons assuming that I could guide them to where to go, only to realize that I’m the one whose most lost…

I’m talking about getting a card with more asterisks than letters…and then having a numerical equivalent called a QPI remain a mystery due to a Jesuit-professor gone AWOL…

I’m talking about mothers turning into demons cum oversized babies…I’m talking about fathers who rarely wear the hat of husbands, and about the one writing this being not much of a son…

I’m talking about sitting on a bus from Cubao to Tenement, with the stranger-girl pressed against me being far from cute…I’m talking about saving P7 by not taking a jeep, but now taking painkillers because of sore legs…

I’m talking about the air-conditioning blowing on high, its wind barely peeking through the few openings left on a clogged-up air filter…I’m talking about this scenario being a lame metaphor to something more personal, more interpersonal, more uncomfortable than just losing to the summer’s heat…

I’m talking about things that need to be said, but not knowing what they are…I’m talking about talking about it, but really not doing so, for doing so has become too hard…

I’m talking about the desire to live in the now, the honesty of the moment, the immediacy of what’s there…I’m talking about using excuses to not do so, hiding behind erudite ideas, and selfish immaturity at the same time…

I’m talking about being somebody, and being that somebody for someone…I’m talking about desire, and whether or not that someone wants you to be that somebody…

I’m talking about reaching out with…I don’t know…words, maybe, in the absence of being there/here…hoping they encapsulate the entirety of one’s emotion…I’m also talking about using words to do exactly the opposite, for it’s easier to skirt around, expanding the physical distance…

I’m talking about expectations, and not knowing what they are, or whether or not I’m even supposed to fulfill them…I’m talking about failure, and what constitutes it, what I’ve done, and whether or not it was really all my fault…

And as I look back to the expectations I had for the previous lines and paragraphs, comparing them to their original intent and purpose, I’ve come to realize that they have failed in a way (and I’ve failed yet again) as these words put together have become nothing more but the very thing that I’m hating right now…

So I’m sorry, me…I’m sorry, you…I’m sorry, us…I’m sorry, all…

And I’ll shortchange the sincerity of the last line with an authentic, heartfelt “FUCK IT ALL.”