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I'm okay.
I don't know why but for some reason a part of me doesn't want to admit that I'm happy.
A part of me can't share myself to others when I'm in a better state. It's ironic how I close up and hide inside my shell when I'm completely, perfectly fine. I'd rather be alone, wallow in my happiness, than shower the world outside me with sunshine and rainbows.
It's not that I'm selfish and I want it all to myself. Of course, there's nobility in finding and sharing joy with others.
And I also don't suddenly disappear from the world and never speak to my friends again. I'd just rather really talk about normal stuff like school or the weather than share the reason behind my smiles.
Is it just me or are people more interesting when they're suffering? We all tend to exaggerate our miseries anyway -- how stressed we are, how heartbroken we are, how frustrated we are. Being confused and angsty is the fad. And when you're happy, people don't care about you. You've stepped outside the norm, you got to your happy place. Now leave all of us miserable beings alone and spare us your cheeky grins.
But I don't think that's the reason why I've been feeling like this.
Maybe it's because a part of me feels that by keeping it to myself, I make it more special. It's like I'm guarding a secret. The thrill of having this secretly, happy life makes it more meaningful. Unlike sadness, sharing your joys to others demystifies the whole thing. It diminishes it value in a way, because somehow the actual gladness escapes the words.
I feel guilty because all my friends have been asking me how I am and all I can say is the default answer: "Okay lang." Another part of me also wants to scream out loud, "I'm perfectly, completely, tremendously happy with how things are going with my life! I am loved!" but still that bigger part chooses not to. Not only because I fear being placed in the "cheesy addicted girlfriend" category, or because most of them don't even have someone to rage their hormones with, but also because I'd rather really keep it to myself. I like being mysterious. Cryptic.
So yeah. I'm good. I'm okay. I'm fiiine.
________________________________________________________________
I'm okay.
I don't know why but for some reason a part of me doesn't want to admit that I'm happy.
A part of me can't share myself to others when I'm in a better state. It's ironic how I close up and hide inside my shell when I'm completely, perfectly fine. I'd rather be alone, wallow in my happiness, than shower the world outside me with sunshine and rainbows.
It's not that I'm selfish and I want it all to myself. Of course, there's nobility in finding and sharing joy with others.
And I also don't suddenly disappear from the world and never speak to my friends again. I'd just rather really talk about normal stuff like school or the weather than share the reason behind my smiles.
Is it just me or are people more interesting when they're suffering? We all tend to exaggerate our miseries anyway -- how stressed we are, how heartbroken we are, how frustrated we are. Being confused and angsty is the fad. And when you're happy, people don't care about you. You've stepped outside the norm, you got to your happy place. Now leave all of us miserable beings alone and spare us your cheeky grins.
But I don't think that's the reason why I've been feeling like this.
Maybe it's because a part of me feels that by keeping it to myself, I make it more special. It's like I'm guarding a secret. The thrill of having this secretly, happy life makes it more meaningful. Unlike sadness, sharing your joys to others demystifies the whole thing. It diminishes it value in a way, because somehow the actual gladness escapes the words.
I feel guilty because all my friends have been asking me how I am and all I can say is the default answer: "Okay lang." Another part of me also wants to scream out loud, "I'm perfectly, completely, tremendously happy with how things are going with my life! I am loved!" but still that bigger part chooses not to. Not only because I fear being placed in the "cheesy addicted girlfriend" category, or because most of them don't even have someone to rage their hormones with, but also because I'd rather really keep it to myself. I like being mysterious. Cryptic.
So yeah. I'm good. I'm okay. I'm fiiine.
________________________________________________________________
She's a modern lover; it's an exploration, she's made of outer space
Hello, I'm Karla Bernardo. If you Google my name, you will find the Wikipedia entry of a Canadian serial-killer (and trust me, you do not want
to read about that - but I'm sure you will because now you're curious), which is why I suggest you type Bombastarr instead so you can stalk me better.
I spent eight-and-a-half years of my life in the University of the Philippines, where I graduated with degrees in Creative Writing and Juris Doctor. It is also where I learned how to speak a bit of Italian, got a taste of the best tapsilog, and took striptease for PE.
I love telling stories, as much as I enjoy finding them.
____Want more?
Featured Works
Stargirl ( Cover story for Nadine Lustre, Scout, January-February 2017)
Surreal / So Real (at Scout)
Ode to a Great Love's 17-year-old Self ( Love.Life, Philippine Daily Inquirer)
Postcard from Diliman
( Youngblood, Philippine Daily Inquirer)
Writer for Philippine Law Register
A Call to Arms (January 2017)
Expecting the Expected (March 2016)
Former Writer for Stache Magazine
The Hero's Journey (June 2013)
The 8 People You Become In Your Youth (June 2013)
The Best Bad Idea That Is Argo (April 2013)
Mike Ross Remembers Everything You Don't (August 2012)
Style Between the Riffs (August 2012)
Book Lovers Never Sleep Alone (June 2012)
A Spectrum of Change (December 2011)
Digital Art (October 2011)
Elements of Style (June 2011)
In Her White Dress (All-Art April 2011 issue)
Morning After Pill ( Fervore: Literary Folio 2013, UP Portia Sorority)
How To Make a Blueberry Cheesecake ( Kalas: Kalasag Literary Folio 2011, UP College of Arts and Letters)
January 14th ( 100: The Hundreds Project, UP Writer's Club)
An Ode to The
Pillow Book (at New-Slang)
Introductions (at TeenInk)
One by One (at TeenInk)
Ask, and you shall be answered
Got a comment, question, violent reaction, love letter, or random piece of information you want to share with me? Just fire away. I don't bite.
(I changed my form and went back to Freedback because Ask.fm's being a bitch, requiring people to sign up for accounts before asking questions. Because I love you guys, I tweaked my ask box a bit, so that the questions will now go directly to my e-mail, but I'll be posting the answers still on my Ask.fm for convenience. TL;DR - I'll still be getting your questions so no worries. You're still free to harass me / send me your love.)
Answers
Most Frequently Asked QuestionAre you a pornstar?No, I am not a pornstar, stripper, or your friendly neighborhood call girl. It's just a fancy pseudonym with a long history, and two R's. Rawr.
Bombastarr.com
Bombastarr is my personal blog and my little corner in the Internet since 2005. Yes, I started writing here when I was 13 years old (aka when I was very angsty, hormonal, and always gushing at the littlest things) -- ergo, you'd have to forgive me if you come across an old post that reeks of immaturity and slightly unpolished grammar. I did a lot of growing up here, and from the looks of it, there's still a lot of growing up to do, so I don't think I'll be leaving this place any time soon.
The domain, Bombastarr.com, was purchased on June 2014 and
launched on July 2014, on the blog's ninth year (and fifth month, to be exact).
It's crazy to think that this blog is now thirteen years old, because (1) that seems like an eternity in internet years, and (2) that means if my blog were a kid, it's a teenager! That's insane.
Here's to more tales, explosive and otherwise.
So, why Bombastarr?
If you've been living under a rock and think I'm a threat to world peace or an object of covetousness, sorry to disappoint you, folks: it's just a fancy pseudonym.
As in most things, it started in high school. It began as a joke between me and a couple of friends during our freshman year. We were practicing for a field demonstration dance which involved the use of shawls, and being the crazy-always-trying-to-be-funny person that I was (or I always attempted to be) I started doing poses with the garment. Someone started taking my picture using my phone, and one shot looked like I was posing for those B-list movies (or should it be R-list, as in R-rated?) of the vegetable-nomenclature variety. #IKYWIM. Hence, the word, "Bombastarr." Yes, very cheeky, I know, but for a 13-year-old, it was quirky enough to figure as a username. That was 2005, right around the time I trying to decide on a URL for a new blog. It's been a lot of years since, and what started as a joke became something I've eventually embraced as an identity.
Despite the many other chances I've gotten to permanently move (to Multiply, Livejournal, Tumblr, Wordpress; to a bigger platform where I can earn or use the blog as a venue for commerce), I've come to realize that Bombastarr is something I can never truly leave behind. It is a place I've grown to appreciate and love because it is a place I can call my own. It's a venue for my rants, my views, my writing. It is home, and it is who I am.
Bombastarr is a glimpse of my life: the thoughts, ideas, and stories that shape it into what it is, and what it will still become. This journal has been with me for all my crazy, often embarrassing adventures, but I'm sure there will be more anecdotes and feelings and people to write about. Which is something I'm really looking forward to. After all, you know what they say about the greatest stories - sometimes, there's still a lot that's left unwritten.
Credits and thank you's
This blog is hosted by PhilHosting.net, and powered by Blogger. The layout is coded entirely by me.
Photo hosting: TinyPic, Photobucket
Question box: EmailMeForm, Ask.fm
Copyright © BOMBASTARR
Elsewhere, she wanders
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