Sunday, June 24, 2007

I am the Supervillain Poison Ivy

Christine and Aileen used to call me Kurama, and now this. *goes off and tries to turn a rose into a whip*


Your results:
You are Poison Ivy

Poison Ivy
The Joker
Green Goblin
Lex Luthor
Dr. Doom
Mr. Freeze
Dark Phoenix
You would go to almost any length for the protection of the environment including manipulation and elimination.

Click here to take the "Which Super Villain am I?" quiz...

Reminiscent of First Times

The first time I ever went to a club was at the end of 1999. I was 15. My brother and Ron, the nephew of my mom's friend, took me to some club in Makati. My brother ordered a margarita for me and left me to my own devices at the bar. No, he didn't leave me there, he stayed right by my side nursing a beer. He just didn't talk to me. The music was too loud, and I'm really just a wallflower at heart.
After that, my brother and I returned to our hotel, the Somerset Olympia and he called his girlfriend and I called Jomar. My then best friend pretty much congratulated me for getting a life right after greeting me a happy new millennium.

The next time I went to a club was shortly before my high school graduation. It was during the Christmas season and my parents insisted I go out and have fun with the kids of their friends. We went to Eastwood; to some place that's closed now. I was with a bunch of people that I had just met and they got me my first bottle of beer. Tobi, one of the guys, and Ate Caren and her girlfriend, took care of me, making sure I didn't get myself stinking drunk. I had no intentions of getting myself smashed so they didn't have a big problem.
After that, Caren found out I had a crush on Tobi. She had a good laugh and my only thought was "big fucking deal" cause a crush really didn't mean much at that time.

The first time I got tipsy was in Iloilo. It was the night before my first SPP presentation and I was so freaked out that I decided to get myself drunk so I would just pass out. I was with a few friends from college. But, I couldn't bear the thought of losing it, so I just got myself tipsy and stopped when I felt my inhibitions slip. Two nights in a row of fitful slumber followed by another late night, a slight fever, aspirin, and a bottle of beer is a cocktail that equates to mild inebriation.
Rene and I took a cab back to our hotel and, after regaining what we could of our senses, he sent me off to bed.

Tonight, at The Bedroom in Eastwood, it wasn't my first time anything. Fine, it was my first time to try the hookah (shisha, here), but that was a lot like breathing in the fumes of one of my fruit teas. As I sat there with the daughters of my father's friends, I couldn't help but think of all the other times I went out to spend the night with people. I was feeling a lot of the emotions that I felt during my first times. I was a bit hesitant with everything, insecure, and out of place. It's weird considering I was one of the oldest in a group which felt right at home.
We returned to their hotel, at Holiday Inn in Robinsons' where I rejoined my parents and went home. The feeling of the alcohol coursing through my system was gone way before the aftertaste of the beer was. I'm almost disappointed. Somehow, I wished that would help me sleep.

Of Losing Control

Perhaps I'm just prudish, or maybe too sheltered. Or perhaps, it's the slow rise of all the negative thoughts that I chose to bury at the back of my mind rising to the surface like the bubbles of my beer that makes drinking at night unappealing to me. I've never been helplessly inebriated. I've been tipsy once, and that turned out so magnificently that I decided never to let it happen again.
I have control issues. I like keeping control of my thoughts. I've never let go of that control; not even as I watched my car spin out of control after being rear ended by a jeepney at an intersection.

I know I've mentioned that before.

But, as much as I don't like to lose control of my conscious thought, I often lose control of my emotions. I've gone into a tailspin that I couldn't seem to get out of. And, in the haze brought about by these emotional crashes, I sometimes choose to lower my inhibitions in order to lessen the excess baggage and somehow get a grip.

Such is the irony of life.

To be honest, sometimes, I wish I could let loose and be carefree instead of paying for so much control with the irrevocable consequences of feelings that need to be set free under all the pressure of controlled thought. And, for that reason, I find myself envying the helplessly inebriated, sometimes.