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To Kill A Flamingo
1.08.2006
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I may be wrong, but as the person who had been at the center of all flamingo events, it seems to me that the flamingo spirit is dying. I planned the events. I invited people throught text messages, e-mails and even on instant messengers. But the responses I'm getting, or the lack of it, is beyond depressing. It's killing me.
Just to clear things up, 'flamingo' is the name of my college barkada, and we're not gay. Oh, except for me. We were these twelve idiots who upon learning that Tweety Bird was supposed to be pink assumed that she was a flamingo.
Last December we had our third Flamingle. And even though it was planned a month in advance, people cancelled on the last minute. I was there, even if my throat was sore and my fever was somewhere around 38°C. I know, it's a bit desperate. But I've been dying to see them, and nothing can stop me from showing up at the get together I planned. Not even my stupid tonsilitis, which I got for trying to deepthroat Eric's dick.
The Flamingle is an annual Christmas tradition, and it has been put off for like three times because they can't seem to coordinate their schedule. It's just once a year. But they never show up. It's probably like that line from an Eraserheads song, lahat ng bagay ay mayroong hangganan. Slowly, we drifted apart. The idea of getting back together just for one day doesn't excite them anymore. Now it's something they can live without. Our once beloved tradition is now an unwanted invitation annoyingly pushed by this needy person who can't seem to let go of the past.
To me, ditching an event like this is like saying "Don't you get it? Were no longer interested." Seriously.
The Flamingo is dying. Give it a few more years and we're nothing but a faint memory from a recent past. And sadly for me, it would be, quoting Rachel Green, the end of an era.
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