Chapter One

You might say that I tried to escape from reality. The reality that tries to bite the living hell of my flesh. But the truth is, it is the frightening sight of loosing my mind, my life that I cannot grasp or hold on to. I question my self time after time, drinks after drinks, friends after friends, conversations after conversations about what is it that is holding me back from the greatest years of my life that I suppose to enjoy? Was it the past? Or my inner pussy-coward-selfish bastard that never have the guts to say anything to anyone? Now here I am living the life of I might visualize to be someone else's. Earning my life with the other norms that commute themselves daily as they are trying to earn their honest living too. I can see how sometimes they wake themselves up at six in the morning and drag up their zombie bodies to type the keyboard, make the coffee, sweep the floor, talk big to their boss or just kissing his big ass. And all of these, sometimes, is just for a rice bowl or a sip of whiskey for some of them. To maintain the big life of theirs in the big city that they might think that is the greatest exercise that they have ever experienced. Now with all of these things that surround them and might blind them for what they actually are, I wonder if I actually deserve all of these. For what I have done and worked for. For the things I have given up. I have lived to the expectations of others, but may be not all of them. But you can imagine the pressure of a young adult that is given by their old ones after you fly solo.

Guilt is a pleasure that I think everyone hunts and dig. It is like having a fear of getting caught, or being the asshole you are of cheating with another girl. It is a chase and having the sensation of achievements that you have never done before in you life and you might think, “Hey why not try it once in you life” kind of thing. But there's always a catch on every pleasure that you get. To have sex before marriage is one, I am pretty sure that most major religion in the world states that it is forbidden. But we, as human as we are, want it so badly as our hormones and sexual drive builds up as we grow older. So what do we do if the most basic fundamental guidelines had taught us to obey what 'the book' told us to? We turn to the alternatives, for some people, we explore what is it that makes up the essentials of intimacy. Different cultures have different terms for that particular activity. Some calls it pleasuring yourself, stroking the salami (gosh, that sounds even profound for me) or the normal term that society use is called masturbation. Well the doctors say it is a perfectly healthy exercise. You can even practice it daily. It releases stress, relaxing and it feels good. Doesn't take much to wonder and tools to do it, may be for some or the female gender they might want some toys to have more fun in the process. But that's not important, it is the result that makes it important. You fantasies, you reach the south region, you pet it or wank it hard, you releases and you lay back. To some they prefer to go all the way, with a partner with the same or opposite sex. This might take longer than the relationship of you and your computer monitor. A guy might have to take a girl to a dinner and then build up that connection over time to go to the southern hemisphere. But some guys or girls have the talent or the charm of getting straight to the point of wanting that tension in the air. They meet in a bar or club, flirt a little and then off to the soft comforter or sofa if they don't have the time, may be just against the window wall so that everyone can see from the other building. For some they will just pay a visit to the red house and pick the choices as they please with all of their fantasy that they want to. All of these fornication or self-fornication are just attempts to chase the guilt, the guilt that we all will get at the end. We might not realize it at first but eventually it will appear the least when you want to expect it. You feel like shit after climax in front of your keyboard after searching your dream girl of your life at Facebook. Your girlfriend found our about you and that dancer at the club. The girl is late for her monthly expectation. You realize that you became a lousy father ten years later. It is the chase, the hunt for a dream, a fantasy that you build in the complicated head of yourself and you want it to be special. Well at least that's what I did. May be that's the consequences of having to drown myself in the world of moving pictures and written words (not much of the literature).

I seek for happiness, whether it is in my life or the life of others. I think that I speak for others as well in this matter. May be not for some psychopath killers with some sick and kinky desire of hurting others. But to make sense of it it may be the happiness they seek. The problem of happiness is that it never last. I tried to make it last as long as I can. I tried to put it on a leash, put it in a box, lock it up in a vault so that it never escapes or run away. But what is the point of keeping it to myself? The point of having happiness is that so you can share it with some one, any one you love. You best friend, your girlfriend, your boyfriend, you wife or husband or who ever that is close to you, it could be you fish. That is why some people are just selfish, egocentric, self-loving bastard. I put myself away from all of the socialization that could put me in a better situation or at least a companion. Someone that I can share my thoughts with. Someone that I can argue if Notting Hill is the best romantic comedy movie ever made or not. It is that someone that I want to tell first if I get found a million dollars on the road. But hell, I can't even get close enough to a girl to reveal that kind of interest to her. What keeps me happy is that I still can see her smile from meters away across the room, I can hear her laugh at the hall where there are hundreds of people around and she doesn't care. I see her working with such passion that she is determine the world is on the palm of her hands. She makes pressure becomes a breeze as she set sails to her goal. A simple expression of tenderness from her would throw away all of the burden I had carried from a day of work that weighs a ton. It may seem that this articulation would sum up to the term of stalking. It is not stalking if you are friend with the person. I guess that the term pussy would be the right expression for this. Hey, no guts no glory right. But I'm still happy just for those things that I see everyday. What else could I ask for if she is joyful with someone else that she can share her happiness with.

You may call it love but it doesn't have to be with a person. We can get excited over a new promotion, a new status in the office with a slightly bigger pay on the side. You will smile all the way, weeks long. That is until you are burden with a massive pile of shit work you have to do that comes along with the promotion you excepted, it's like signing a contract with the devil. For some it's money, others are objects. Painters, sculptors, artists, architects, filmmakers, poets and many others who are in love in their arts more than any other objects in the whole universe. More closely they are in love with themselves. As they projects their work on a canvas or paper or film they are putting part of themselves, a little piece of their inner self out of them. They kept on doing that as they creates more, the more they do the more they create. It's like being a narcissistic, never get enough of themselves. I have a friend who always look at himself in the mirror every time he gets the chance. But he's no artist or anything, he's more like a writer for the tube. It's not what he does is much artistic or anything so I wouldn't say that his work is one of the work of arts. He does say that he would love to be an actor some day and being adored by fans that surround him and love him so much until they would throw themselves to him. Again, narcissistic. From that I think back and ask to myself, aren't we all narcissistic? We are happy and proud of any accomplishment we made, finishing the million dollar project, perfected the screwed up system in the office, having that someone you aim since primary school, sending ten percent of your salary to the two beloved ones back home. Deep inside we are proud of ourselves and think, “Damn, I'm fucking good”.