That's Not My Name

That's me. Black and white. Literally and figuratively.

Although quoting my sister's girlfriend Gygie, "There's more to me than WYSWYG."

I admit it, sometimes I am so full of me. Okay, Okay! Make that ALWAYS. Now quit snarling.

Should I be apologetic about it? I'll make it clearer for you: Should I be apologetic about the way I am? I don't think so. And because I am not apologetic about it, I'll flaunt my ME-ness *or is MEAN-ness more apt?* here in my murky side of the cyber ocean. If you cannot bear it, then vamoose, amigos. Quit using me for entertainment, I'm so over that phase. And by entertainment, I know you'll get me wrong, so I tell you this:

Dakara konaida, watashi wa Overseas Performing Artist no shigoto Nihon de yarimashita. Mou ikkai ittemasu: Overseas Performing Artist desu. Anata no kangaeteru koto wa zenzen machigaimasu. Moshi anata no kangaeteru koto wa honto dattara, watashi wa ima made okanemochi na'n desu yo, demo chigao deshoo? Yappari ima daigaku de gambattemasu, daigaku no oshiharai wa takai kedo, itsumo osoi harattemasu mo, demo ne, watashi no inoru wa Kamisama ga kittemasu kara, nani mo muzukashii koto wa dekimasu.

Ja,onegai shimasu ne, watashi no koto wo typecast shinaide kudasai. Wakarimashita'n desu ka? Domo Arigatou Gozaimasu .

Really I couldn't quite grasp the idea of keeping ME to myself especially since the very limited public King Fate has plunged me into as of the moment has their own version of who ME is. or to proofread my grammar - ...of who I am.
I live in my world, yeah. I'm okay with it. Sometimes I am genuinely happy with it. Sometimes I PRETEND to be happy with it *to avoid worry lines that I know will take its toll soon* . Sometimes I meet people who are happy with it. Sometimes I meet people who PRETEND to be happy with it *because they're plain complaisant, or worse, hypocrites*.

And there are those who detest it. These ones I love. I mean, what could be more challenging, yeah? The folks playing shrinks do offer explanations, though, but I just couldn't get it.I still could not get it. For me, it's like a mathematical equation. It does not make sense. I refuse to get it.

Why waste an emotion, right? I mean, come on, we are only transients, transients, transients in our Meriz Mini World *or anywhere else, for that matter*.

If you cannot stomach my fashion sense, then by golly guacamole *which by the way is my favorite dip for nachos* do not look at me. I know sometimes I am not doing the right thing and I have to ask Pam to confirm it. But that's the fun of it. Not doing the right thing. Read: Eccentric Glam. You can get lost in your preppy closet for all I care.
If you cannot bear to listen to the thick provincial accent I've so long acquired, then by jesus asparagus *which by the way is my favorite vegie --- dipped in garlic-mayo and oh, guacamole* put your iPod to Max volume. By speaking in english, I am actually doing you a favor, you should listen to me speak in Tagalog, whenever I do, I'm Cza's laughingstock.

If you cannot dig out why my level of assertiveness has gone whacko it sometimes leak into aggressiveness, then by *...err..I ran out of corn*...accept, accept, accept it. I can change the way I am when I find the need to do so. You're not naman scratched or someting, di ba? Kaya, h'wag ka na affected, o'raytie?

I know I can always narrate why I am the way I am, but what the hell for? The people I care for and who cares for me twice back do not need it. Those who don't, they don't really matter. So why bother?

I am ME. I have been through hell and back - short of 'men-counting' and save from teenage pregnancy for my morality thread, despite my sexual preference, is in tact. My CV is thicker than anybody else my age *at least as far as I am and my experiences are concerned* .I have my Bill of Rights, no matter how many times the Constitution will be amended. I do not ask you for food, nor the moolah to feed my eccentric fashion sense. Lastly, I do not think you matter.