My Annual Self-Improvement BS

If there’s one thing I hate about New Year (and turning older a few days later) is that feeling of having to look back at the year that was. Yeah, the good times make me smile and crave for more, but the bad ones? They kind of play in slow motion, one cringe-worthy scene after another, just like in the previous years. Same old same old. And every time, like millions of people around the world, I make up this personal list – resolutions, goals, whatever you call them – of things I’ll change, stuff I’ll do, anything to make a brand-spanking-new me.

Then it occurred to me that most of the things I keep trying to promise I’ll do are basically the same ones I’ve been encountering, every single year. I always swear never to make the same mistakes again, yet the holidays’ leftovers have barely cooled off in the fridge, and there I go again, pulling the same crazy shit of the past.

That’s when I realized that maybe I shouldn’t vow to change whenever my birthday comes along. Maybe the reason why these things keep coming up on my to-change list annually is because I can’t change them. Maybe –good or bad, or oftentimes worse – these things are what define me, what makes me, me.

When turned twenty-six, I made a list of 26 things I learned in the previous year at my now defunct Multiply blog. I came across it again and found out some of the things I wrote there weren’t entirely true; I never got over them. But one thing struck me and still holds true to this day: “Maturity doesn’t come with ageing; it comes with experience.” And should you think I’m referring to me being mature, don’t. Hah! Far from it.

So this year, I decided I won’t change, but rather, improve. I can’t become another person entirely, but I can definitely strive to be a better me, yeah? Maybe you can’t teach old dogs new tricks, but you can still wake up that lazy sleeping canine. Ay, where’d that doggie cliché pop out from?

This year, I promise not to promise anything I’ll eventually break (so I guess that includes this promise? Nyaha.)

I can’t be the friend who’ll always be there for you, the kind who’ll drop everything the minute you call with a problem, but I promise that when I do manage to be at your side when your life sucks, I’ll make it worthwhile. I’ll be the best friend you’ll ever have at that particular moment. Because probably it’ll be weeks or months before you can count on me again. And during gimiks and get-togethers, I promise to pay more attention to you and the conversation instead of how many pictures I’ll upload later to Facebook… but only after a couple more group shots, okay? Say cheese!

I can’t promise to be nicer, because I’ll always be a moddy biatch, but I can try not to be any meaner than I already am.

I won’t be able to completely banish pango-okray from my system, but this year maybe I’ll be more subtle and try not to make fun of everyone… that often…in public. Maybe only when I’m in a bad mood. Or when drunk. Which is kinda most of the time.

I will not be able to be less antukin; I will always hoard my sleep, whether I’m in a night or day shift. Sleep is a basic necessity for me, second only to air. If I want to sleep, even if I’m in the middle of a party or drinking sesh, I will have my snooze, goddammit! But maybe I’ll compromise and not sleep in front of my kainumans, or at least ask for permission, instead of just sneaking off in the guise of going to the restroom.

I can actually be more pleasant and less bitchy if only people would not talk to me on my toxic periods: when I just woke up, after a long travel or just got back from work, when I haven’t taken a bath yet, when I’m reading or on a dvd marathon, and when I haven’t had my pre-shift cup of joe and daily dose of Hollywood gossip, among many others. So I guess it’s more of you guys being more perceptive to my moods, alright?

I can’t promise not to fall for the next friendly guy whose idea of getting to know me is through unli-text and illicit workplace IM’s. I’ve always been a sucker for that friends-before-lovers crap, and I always end up being either the great reboundee (them being the rebounder?) or the dependable go-to b****. So to avoid future slip ups, I will make a Herculean effort to stay away from them, and instead give strangers a chance, because at the rate I’m going, I’ll end up losing all my guy pals in the end.

I can’t promise not to try yet another “pampagan” vitamins in the hopes of gaining weight and growing a bumper and a rack. I might still try from time to time. I can’t change my metabolism and genes, and years later, when my contemporaries are struggling to fight middle-age obesity, I’ll probably thank the heavens for it. Voluptuous and curvy I’m not. I’m a skinny-assed b**** and I’m proud of it.

I’ve sworn off alcohol on a daily, weekly and annual basis, and have never had much success. What can I say, I love a good drink. Even a bad drink. So perhaps I just love to drink. Although most of the worst beat-myself-up-the-morning-after decisions I had were hatched while I was inebriated, some of the best conversations and friendships I had were made and forged under the influence of alcohol, so I say gimme my next shot! Just maybe this time I’ll try not to get too intoxicated in public, avoid drunk-dialing like the plague, and shut the hell up whenever tipsy, because that’s when my mouth (and my flimsy judgment) gets me in trouble.

Anyhoo… Happy New Year and Happy Birthday to ME! Let’s kick ass, 2011! Two more years before the big 3-0!