protecting myself.
I feel like I’m punishing myself by going back to this karaoke bar, week after week. I have nothing to give, nothing to earn. Actually, I’m giving my energy and my vocal cords every single Thursday night for nothing. My voice was good in the beginning, and I’m actually being genuine. I’m not trying to hype myself up, but I was genuinely good to the point that people would come up to me after to let me know I did a great job. The local bar that is a 45-minute leisurely stroll away from my house, or a 20-minute brisk walk if I’m pissed as fuck about something. That 20-minute brisk walk is what I did tonight instead of taking my friend’s offer to drive me home. I’m such a selfish and horrible fucking friend who can’t handle her emotions and allowed a stupid white man whom I’ve been crushing on for 5 months to get in between any chance I want to have fun. I’m not a girl’s girl at all. If I were a real friend – I would’ve been supportive of my friend in her clearly not platonic relationship with a crush who has looked my way maybe three times at the minimum.
Seeing this guy I’ve been crushing on forever just crouch down to my friend’s height to talk to her and get all up in her face was the final nail in my coffin. I don’t care how many times she tells me they are just friends, friends don’t wink at each other with a sly smirk as they are singing up on the makeshift karaoke stage, I’m serious when I said that my heart stopped a beat watching that encounter occur right in front of my eyes. It was straight out of a movie —a rom-com, specifically. Never tell me that I’m not ambitious or I can’t see between the lines because I can! And I hate when people lie to me because you aren’t being subtle. I know the way you’ve been looking at each other —the yearning… why can’t I have that? Do I not deserve it?
I’m telling you right now, the fact that their table was right across from mine was basically a front row seat to my own personal trauma. It was a suicide. My other friend, Jennida, who picked me up, was trying to block them from my view subtly, but honestly, I deserve to suffer because, instead of being a supportive friend, I got extremely jealous and couldn’t handle it. I bet this guy doesn’t even know my name, and here I am – mooning over him like he held the moon and the stars in his hand. Honestly, he’s the entire bar’s crush. “He has too much rizz.” According to one of the karaoke regulars, Sarah, with whom I try to sing at least one Daisy Jones and The Six song every few weeks or so. I’m living in misery, and I hate myself that I don’t have my own clique and that I’m not hot enough to be a part of any of the friend groups that go there weekly. I just sulk in solitude with my mango margarita, which is usually severely watered down because the bartender doesn’t believe I’m 22 when I showed her my license. I kept begging Jennida if we could leave, and she kept saying, “Hold it out for a few more minutes! We might be up next!” or “We’ll find a new bar and create new personalities and it’ll be way better.” or “I’ll find some good debrief material for us next time, okay?”.
Instead, I left the bar with a dramatic-ass exit since next Thursday the bar is closing and I’ll be gone that day for a Halloween event. So I tell the regulars who don’t hate me that we should exchange numbers or socials because this is it for me. I quickly exchanged numbers and then leftthe bar. Jennida ran out after me; it felt straight out of some angsty coming-of-age indie movie. The sulking, paranoid friend who can’t acknowledge her crush without automatically being depressed as the leading role, starring me, and the concerned, shy friend, played by Jennida, who is a workaholic. I don’t even remember the whole conversation, other than her repeatedly saying to get into her car, and I kept shaking my head, telling her that I need to punish myself for looking into my crush’s eyes with even an inch of lust because he isn’t mine. He’s not mine at all. He didn’t choose me. So why am I sulking? Why the fuck am I even crashing out? Well, because I sought eyes on him first (in my head), no one else gave him the time of day or attention whenever he went up to sing, and look at him now! He doesn’t need anyone’s help. He has her help.
She kept running after me for a bit, tugging on my jacket, and I didn’t want to fight with her; I didn’t want to scream. But I did, anyway telling her not to tug at my nice navy blue Costco jacket that my Mami spent a pretty penny on, and walked in the dark, using my iPhone flashlight to light a pathway through the backroads so I could make it back home. The entire walk home, I was pissed at myself. I was sulking because I have no real friends. All I have is myself and of course, I’m typing this in the heat of the moment because I’m an emotional Boricua. I walked home, thinking about how this would make for some excellent writing on Substack that Carrie Bradshaw would read if this were in a newspaper and printed media were still “in”. Or is it still “in” and no one decided to update me on it? Goodness, reading this back makes me sound insane or really delusional. A mixture of both, and I really need to admit to myself that all of this is just in my head and that no one hates me. I just hate myself, and I want to be fixed — like someone tells me where the missing screw is (it’s not in my head) — and put me back together. I want to feel human again and fit in again. Is that too much to ask for?
songs i listened to on loop while writing this !
father figure by taylor swift
eyes without a face by billy idol