My ex is a Chinese fucker. He fucks Chinese guys.

You will never be free until you set the truth free. I will never be free. Like a prisoner. A prisoner of love.

Nine out of ten people I surveyed would rather it rains semen than it rains mens(truation).

I'm addicted to KFC's Sisig Rice Bowl.

You fooled me once. Fooled me twice. Three times, four times. No more. You can go to hell.

I heated some leftover pork nilaga from the refrigerator. I swear I pressed "Milk", the lowest heat option, on the induction cooker before going back inside my air-conditioned bedroom to wait. A few minutes later, I thought I was imagining the smell of something burning. Apparently, it wasn't just my imagination. At first I sniffed my laptop; it was not it. And then I went out of the room; the whole condo unit was enveloped in the odor of burnt food. That was one serving of pork nilaga wasted. I just flushed it down the toilet.

I tried inviting friends to eat out or to make dinner for me but to no success. So, I decided to prepare food for myself instead. At age 30, I think this was my first time to cook a "real" dish: pork nilaga with sweet potatoes and cilantro. Turned out very well. But really, I think it was the Knorr Pork Broth Cube and the Maggi Magic Sarap.

Over the years, I have fantasized how to torment an enemy in the worst possible ways. Of the recent ones is a scenario where I ask him to choose, he suffers or his loved ones suffer. Their fate would depend on his answer. Assuming he's a predictable idiot, he'd choose that he suffers instead, of course. With that his loved ones get massacred and he is left alone to live in regret and agony.

The past, two Mondays had been non-working holidays. And just as I was wondering when will I be enjoying the next long weekend, they declared this Friday a non-working holiday, too.

I've been stuck in bed with headache and body pain. I might have poisoned myself with a tomato-based dish that has been sitting inside the refrigerator.

Tonight, at dinner, during office hours, I had a glass of red wine sangria spiked with brandy and a shot of vodka on the rocks. Got me going tipsy.

Tonight, I watched Ariana Grande's concert live. I went there with a Calvin Klein messenger bag but came home with a plastic bag instead.

Her security was extra strict, understandably. Just for this concert the venue (SM MOA Arena) required the goers to deposit their bags upon entering. It was a little inconvenient but not a problem. Or so I thought. Post-show, the claiming system was so orderly and very efficient (I'm being sarcastic) that I ended up deciding to leave my bag behind. I will just return some other day to claim it. Worst case: there's no more bag to claim. I'd rather deal with the stress of loss than with the stress of waiting.

"I resent beautiful people," says the average-looking-at-best, ugly guy.
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I have deleted your number in my phone. All your messages. All the photos with you in it. "Tomodachi ni wa narenai na," sings Utada Hikaru.

Paul is sleeping over because his power got disconnected. What luck he has got this week.

Your being adamant on your self-imposed non-disclosure on that subject revives this feeling of contempt inside me. I hope you, all of you, suffer in silence for eternity.

Because his work laptop was encrypted, Paul asked if he can use mine to transfer Game of Thrones episodes between his flash devices. Seconds after coming over, he realized he forgot his key and that he locked himself out of his condo unit. So, he searched online and called to avail of a 24/7 locksmith service. After thirty minutes or so of waiting time (and awkward small talk), we went over to his place to meet the locksmith. He did a quick job of picking the lock and that was it for the night.

It was 11:11 on my phone screen. I had the impulse to take a screenshot but decided against it. There’s no one to send it to.

There's a swelling in the inside corner of my mouth near where my lower, right wisdom tooth used to be. I need to take my Clindamycin.

Last Saturday night I stubbed the pinky toe on my left foot, nail broken in half. It was a bloody mess. Painful, too.