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Drinking to drown one's sorrows.
That's why in movies we see the depressed people knocking back glass after glass of alcohol to numb the pain and to forget one's worries. Not being under my parents' watchful eyes has made me more prone to drinking, and it doesn't help that Picaso sells alcohol so cheaply. So many times I want to reach to the kahlua bottle on my shelf, but am only stopped because the absence of milk means I don't have a mixer.
I was out suppering with a friend just now. If it weren't for him feeling sleepy, I would have happily ordered another mug of beer; I was enjoying the lightheadedness. Had I been feeling more inebriated, I would've poured out more of what I was feeling or thinking. But I am careful with whom I entrust my secrets and innermost feelings to. No matter how much I've changed since this overseas experience, one thing remains constant - that I dislike to show weakness. Arrows would bounce off me, that's the image I like to portray. Tough.
I hate it when people pull disappearing acts on me, or turn out to be no-shows with no signs of being apologetic about it. I wish for explanations, but I'm too proud to ask, so I take it in my stride. Or I try to, anyway. These incidents simply enforce the sad fact that humans are unreliable. Much as I want promises that we'll be friends for a long time, promises are merely empty words if there's no heart behind them. So I really don't expect anything more from people nowadays, because I think I'm bound to be disappointed.
Surprise me.
