quasi diarist: double-coned strawberry ice cream

I came across Tin's blog awhile ago. Obviously, she writes well. Ever since naman eh. Napaisip nga lang ako.

LOVE.

There was this time, way way back when I didn't know anything about it (not like I know how the whole thingamagig goes right now). What I mean is, there was this time when I thought babies dropped from the heavens into the loving arms of two people who are married and call themselves the proverbial husband and wife. Parang ganon ka-ignorante. But as of this generation, I guess I'd be called or thought of as a fool to think that (as Agatha put it, we were old enough to become mothers). Not that I marginalize couples who do not fit into this traditional framework. Trust me when I say that I can appreciate any form of self expression. I just realized that the so-called traditional has now become the exception.

At eighteen, I can boldly say that I do not know anything about love. Personal experiences and those of other people (and with people I'm not just referring to a handful) cannot even come close. Even the gazillion number of definitions of it in the also gazillion self-help books do not even shed a light on the subject. Before, I used to think that there were many definitions because IT was relative and subjective. Now I say that it is the way it is because nobody really knows. I beg to call all these as mere attempts at defining the undefinable.

"The boygirl stuck together were so busy lost in each other's eyes that they failed to see that they were directly in the path of a drunkenly driven, speeding eight-wheeler truck."

I'm betting my neck that any boygirl would roll their eyes at this or better yet dismiss this as a person-not-liked's expression of utmost bitterness. I myself, not a boygirl even, almost did. Classify it as bitterness, I mean. But I thought better. Some boygirl out there, with their rational sides turned-off is inevitably on the course of that speeding eight-wheeler. Sad as it may seem, I think I have come across a number. Come to think of it, Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet" seems to be just an older version.

At eighteen, I'm not sure if I have been in love. The boygirl kinda love, I mean (these days, you can never be sure;)).

Quoting Emily, "You don't deserve to be in love when you're not willing to sound stupid."

I guess from this post I may have sounded stupid, but I posted it anyway.

Does that mean i deserve to be in love?