I amaze people with my wonderful imagination. People congratulate me for having such a creative mind. One psychology student once called me a "delusional showoff", but there is no question that I make people happy with these so-called hallucinations. In fact, people LOVE my so-called hallucinations. Like a jester juggling balls of comic relief, my audience always screams for an encore after every performance.

So.

What if I told you people that whatever I write have grains of truth? What if the crass absurdity really happened? What if, despite the lightness of tone, everything was done in dead serious repose?

What if this is the matrix and you have taken the blue pill? Or was it the red? Er... whatever pill it was that warps you back into the world of Mr. Smith's world of frowns.

Anyweyz.

You are living in a make-believe world of normality. Haven't you been acquainted to Peter Pan before you became seven? Don't you think that it's possible for pigs to fly? OR –

Have you not heard that my real identity is Vanessa Paradis, the wife of Johnny Depp, and not Van-of-the-sniveling-petridish?

Right now you are shifting from snickering to shaking your head. Uh huh. I'm crazy. More? Ok.

I say I'm the next POTENTATE of the UNIVERSE because at the age of six, I already hypothesized that the man in the moon's occupation was actually a cheese sculptor responsible for the moon's phases and craters.

At the age of seven, I declared my undying love for Optimus Prime that when he died, I decided to become a nun, sing "Climb every mountain" during prayer recess, hoped to get drafted out of the abbey to become governess to seven brats, and aspire to out-sing and out-waltz a Baroness in favor of a marriage to a taciturn Captain. Those, or listen to my true calling to RULE THE WORLD.

Yes, yes. You're saying I'm loony tunes. More? Ok.

At the age of eight, my love for Optimus Prime wasn't really "undying". I moved on by hatching a terrible obsession to my brother's childhood best buddy. I figured that at single-digit age, puppy love is unheard of in the tribe of penises. So I disguised myself as a penis-wannabe and convinced that tribe that I could be trusted. I became a tsinelas-menace in tumbang preso, a prized-team mate in patintero, and an expert in climbing mango trees. And oh, much to my brother's irritation, I also tagged along their "all boy's lakad" just so I could study my obsession in closer range. This, my people, is my first experience in stalking and hunting. Baiting? Now, I didn't learn that until I was twelve – that was when the "boobs" happened.

Haha. I just heard you clucked your tongue. Is that good or bad? Both? Ok, I'll stop. No? Shall I go on then? Ok.

Nine years of age, I was so convinced that I would be QUEEN TO ALL someday that my "bully" aura was pouring out of my pores. I was very arrogant, aloof, and highfalutin-ly snobby when pissed off. I was convinced that I must be the most hated third-grader in class: turns out, ¾ of the population considered me as their bestfriend. This had me thinking that Evil is indeed attractive: you snarl yet people fawn. (Hey, I like this rule of the universe!)

In some flawed psychosis of men, people don't really believe that there is pure evil. Psychologists will insist in tracing childhood times and put down misbehavior as recurring retaliation from past bad experiences. Then, the superhero complex of some people would try their hands in reforming evil for the good of mankind. That, or beat them in submission and try not to kill them off. Good cannot kill. (I really am liking this rule of the universe!)

In the law of living, evil beats the crap out of boredom. Dismissing rules, recognizing no authorities, flashing your dick at the South Express way motorists… Why do you think nice guys bomb and bad boys rules? Right, because kissing nice guys tasted like boiled meatloaf without even a pinch of salt while bad boys will give you sensory overload.

More?

I used to brave a bathroom that has 5 kinds of creepy crawlies (e.g. centipedes, red ants, black ants, cockroaches, and bulate) and chuck out the experience as preparation for Fear Factor.

I used to pray by writing my prayer in a paper and burning it like offerings to heaven.

I was born to inhabit in high heels and has the superpowers to run in tiptoes.

I'm not prone to hallucinations and I cannot profess that my success at making you follow my post could be attributed to my so-called creativity.

I am mostly a serious person.

I'm serious right now.

And I'm already late for my lunch date with Jude Law.

PS: For the love of me, please don't tell my husband, Johnny about Jude. I can't risk a divorce because my dominatrix outfit is at stake in our prenup. Thank you.

PPS: to those who inquires after my secretary, don't you worry. I didn't fire her. She's just having a little vacation, having plastic surgery in Miami. I hope she'll get to fix her bulbous nose though.