I am an extrovert.

I love to be around people, and there was a time when my friend asked me, “How can you stand never to be alone?”

I can be quiet at times.

Sometimes through the full volumed blasts of the tunes in my iPod shuffle, I sway my body from left to the right and POW. I don’t speak.

I only listen.

And I move myself to the music.

I feel equally at home in the company of large numbers of people, drifting from one person to the other, asking them mundane questions they’ve already been asked a million times.

“Where do you work?”

“What do you do?”

I am curious about who they are… wondering what type of treasures I can discover.

Most of the time, I walk way disappointed.

But sometimes, I bump into a surprise… a wonder.

And I know he/she and I will be friends for life.

I can now be alone.

I used to not be able to do that.

I find that one can be more productive when you are alone.

My laundry gets done as a matter of fact.

Old pirated DVDs get watched.

I get more sleep.

I discover myself better, and even deeper when I am alone.

I realize, I’m a reflection of others.

Maybe that’s why I do my job well…

I can adjust myself, my words, my action to the person I am with.

I am serious if the situation calls for me.

I can be a child if the person I’m with is unbridled, wild and free.

I can be an adult when someone needs comforting.

Sometimes, I intentionally say something stupid just to break the ice.

Do you know I don’t like the silences?

My life is full and rich — every moment is busy and lived to the fullest.

Too many things scream and beg for my attention.

Most of the time, I worry that I don’t have enough time.

I usually don’t.

I count myself lucky — not everybody likes where they are in life, and I pretty much like mine.

Sometimes, I am sullen.

Because I don’t think I push myself hard enough.

I feel I am getting left behind.

I am sick.

Coughing like an old hag.

I feel older.

Somehow, 27 doesn’t give you an excuse to be silly anymore.

Because you’re officially an adult.

Or at least, your wrinkles prove it.

Hell to the guy who can guess my age right.

I yearn to be in a relationship again.

And yet, I fear the vulnerability of again giving that power to break your heart into pieces to somebody else.

To love is to lose control.

I like control.

But control in such that I am in control of my own emotions.

I wouldn’t dare control anybody else.

They can do whatever they want.

And I’ll catch them when they fall just the same.

So where was I?

Oh yes, I miss being with someone.

I miss waking up next to someone.

Or being pushed out of bed because you’re too comfortable and overslept — and you’re now late for work.

I miss telling someone my most mundane thoughts, and he can pretend that he finds it interesting.

I miss a steady companion.

Someone I can at least, share the wonderful life that I have.

Not someone who completes me.

Oh no.

But someone who complements.

I miss him.

My friends say he’s a player, but I do… I do miss him.

Funny, why do I have the tendency to be affected by these sorts of men?

I find him sexy.

Oh, I do.

I will call him tomorrow.

It’s most of what I thought about tonight.

Calling him tomorrow.

I like to write.

But I like to communicate even more.

I am content on how my life is.

Yet discontent that it still has the potential to become more.

My hair is wet.

I miss him indeed.