I often fantasize about an alternate life. It’s mostly far more glamorous and full of adventure compared to what I actually have. 

Sometimes I pretend that I’m in the Pinoy Big Brother House’s confession room, talking about my self. I make up some sort of drama with my fantasy housemate. Often, these fantasies end up with me getting to do an ugly cry scene, an addictive moment of catharsis.

Other times, I talk to that faceless dream boy I named Brandon. This happens a lot when I feel like such a loser for being single all my life, which thankfully, doesn’t happen often. 

When I feel like I really need to do an ugly cry, just to release the tension in me, I do vlogs of me incessantly talking about nothing and everything. It’s a way to process the jumbled thoughts and feelings, a coping mechanism of sorts.

Let me be clear though: I love my life. It has taken me years to be able to say that I am truly happy. It’s not picture perfect; if it was, I probably wouldn’t be fantasizing about a different life, right? I guess sometimes I just feel that my life could be more. More exciting. More freeing. More reading-worthy.

But then when I look around me — really look —- I see just how blessed and lucky I am, to be who I am, with all the experiences I have that makes me ME. I realize that no matter how glamorous or exciting my fantasy lives could be, I would prefer my reality. 



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