It's been a year.

Ugh. I had a dream.
About a dream.
I can't believe this happened to me. Some random memory just poppin' up.
I hate it.

(Enrique Iglesias is hot!) - randomness again.

There's nothing really to do about it. It's so useless, but I don't know why I feel like I have to write about it. Maybe to convince myself that I didn't waste time on something completely futile? I don't know. Whatever.

It's been a year since I chose to do something I don't normally do. That whole go wild crap in a certain university.

Well, I wasn't normal at that time, anyway. Now, I'm just me again. The busy bee. Too much to do. Solo-flight. Independence. NEED NO ONE.

It's been a year, but it seems like just last week. Or in a dream. Or that it never happened. Maybe it never happened to ME. It just happened to another side of me, a more depressed side maybe...

Oo, sayang ang whatever. But I deserve better.

She met me at a wrong time. A friendship wasted.

Does it matter? Will it matter? DID IT MATTER?

(Yikes si Akon) - randomness...

That is why she dislikes dreams; they impose an unacceptable equivalence among the various periods of the same life, a leveling contemporaneity of everything a person has ever experienced; they discredit the present by denying it its privileged status. As in that night's dream: it obliterated a whole chunk of her life...
- "Identity" by Milan Kundera