It's funny when I remember that I used to tell people I'm a complicated person. In a way it is true. I had pyschological issues when I was a kid that my own mom don't even know about, inferiority complex, asperger's syndrome to name but a few. This was brought about by the mere fact that I was a very sickly child, and had few social contacts when I grew up. I was xenophobic, and a crybaby -- people would tease me 'para ka namang papaya', because the said fruit would readily cry out sap with just a mere prick on its skin.

I used that adjective as an advantage -- that is, equating my complicated (albeit unhealthy) behaviour as the mystique that adds to my personality.

But ... it's never a good thing to me. I need people to read me. Guessing games are fun at first, but it wears out its welcome quite quickly. That's why I've become as an open person as I could possibly be. If I hide what I am, then I just might become stale ... like expiration dates on milk cartons.

I wouldn't want to tell my Katie Holmes that there's more to me inside. I wouldn't want my Katie Holmes to tell me that what I do defines me. What I would want is for everything inside come out and define me. And my Katie Holmes would just strip naked and ...

*inhales paint fumes*