As I’ve blathered about in one of my old blog entries (back in Friendster, I think, when the porn spam invites were still manageable), I have a lot of doppelgangers—ie, I receive a lot of those don’t I know you from somewhere? when in fact I haven’t been anywhere. I have no ambitions of being fantastically handsome, but must I look too generic that I have look-alikes in Pampanga, UP Diliman, Bulacan, Cebu, and Vanauatu? The other problem with my face (okay you can probably point seventy other problems) is that someone always thinks I’m… crestfallen. Someone always asks if I’m okay, if I’m not too tired, or not too angry, or if I’m not about to stick my head in the oven, or have you taken your Zoloft? So for everyone concerned—I just look this way, okay, maybe it’s the weak jaw or the drooping eyelids or something but take my word for it, I’m a happy bastard. Just a few weeks ago I was in an elevator in the ophthalmology building after clearing a patient, and in came a consultant I haven’t seen before. Out of nowhere he asked me, “You look sad. Are you okay?” So I responded with the obvious response: I showed him the bleeding horizontal cuts on my wrists and screamed, “Do I look bleeping okay?!?”

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