What scares you?


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The greatest perk of living ridiculously near your workplace is you could always drop by your office whenever you feel like it. I usually go to mine on Sundays to front-run my work for the following day. Arriving on an empty floor (except for the Guard) is a fresh welcome to a usually buzz-full atmosphere. There are ghosts in this floor and in the men’s restroom, cautioned my office buddies. First of all, having the knowledge that ghosts hover in the men’s restroom is not helpful as, in case they missed, I use the women’s. Secondly, I really don’t mind. Not that I am okay with them simultaneously using three printers when I am virtually the only one in the floor, but I’m not the running-to-the-nearest-exit-type. My work queue is much more important than some inexplicable interruptions. Also, if I do feel and know that something is off, I pray. As always, it goes away.


Yesterday, I saw an episode from “Ipaglaban Mo”, a lawyer/justice/case related TV show. They featured a case of a girl murdered by an obsessed guy who was courting her. That was real fear for me. I could not un-see or un-feel the gravity of that episode. Though the culprit was sentenced to a lifetime in prison, I could not help but linger on how it was a reality. It’s horrible. I watched a lot of BuzzFeed videos after that, just so I could wash away the bad memory.


I know there’s a thrill in watching horror films but…

I cannot remember the many barkada dates I reneged on just because a horror flick was involved. I.CAN’T.WATCH.A.HORROR.FILM. Not even a mild one. They pervade my meadow-filled dreams. They chase me and make my heart caffeinated 10X the normal amount. I will never learn to watch it. And I do not want to learn.


My LinkedIn profile asked a summary of what I do. Writing is it? Finance? Research? I cannot put a finger on it. What is it exactly? I should know what I want; I should be what I want to be; I should be doing what I am passionate about. Are the imaginary boxes beside each statement checked?


One day, I decided to forego my skipping privileges in Spotify. It was worth it since I found 21 Pilots singing this to my ears:

Scared of my own image, scared of my own immaturity,
Scared of my own ceiling, scared I’ll die of uncertainty,
Fear might be the death of me, fear leads to anxiety,
Don’t know what’s inside of me.

Well said, 21 Pilots. And another stanza goes:

Don’t forget about me,
Don’t forget about me,
Even when I doubt you,
I’m no good without you, no, no


How about you, share with me your scary story.


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