Another Conversation Between Deranged Writers I: Of Bullies & Favorite Songs
I
On April 10, 2012, after gulping a can of his favorite Coca-Cola (fresh from the cool refrigerator) at home, The Deranged Writer, in his pambahay outfit, heard a familiar song: Tootsie Gueverra’s “Kaba.” When he heard the OPM hit, it reminded Dewey not of love, but of a hurtful period: third grade. That was the year he was still the butt of the bullies’ jokes, and he was incredibly annoyed by that one classmate who kept singing “Kaba” every morning.
Dewey opened the text editor and wrote freely the pain and irritation he felt during that time, including the one who kept singing the same song. No filter, no brakes.
Drained by the dumping of rage through writing, Dewey yawned, left the computer open, and took a nap.
II
Suddenly, Dewey was in a room with dark brick walls, a grey concrete floor, and a table made of fine maple wood. Dewey was wearing a plain white T-shirt, dark jeans, and classic white/black Chuck Taylors. One of the two chairs, which looked different from the other, is occupied by a man in almost all black: a biker jacket, slacks, and boots. Like Dewey, he is wearing a white top, though his is a buttoned shirt, and decorated with a knitted black tie. Unlike Dewey, he was wearing a skull mask.
“Hello, Deranged Writer. Have a seat,” he said. On the table were a bucket of larger ice cubes, a 2-liter bottle of Coca-Cola, and a fine glass cup.
Dewey quipped, “Nice mask… but who are you?”
“I’m you, Deranged Writer, in 2026. We need to talk.”
The 2012 version of Dewey sat down on the wooden chair. “All right, let’s talk.” 2026 Dewey, in a grey upholstered chair, added some large ice cubes to a cup, poured some Coca-Cola, and reached cool cup to his younger. He gladly accepted the cup with a sip.
“Thank you. So, older me has a mask now. That’s awes…”
“Dewey, what you wrote earlier irked me.”
The younger Dewey took another savoring sip and asked, “What I wrote earlier? About third grade?”
“Precisely.”
“Why would you feel bad about it? Writing about how we feel is our thing.”
“Yes. We pour our hearts into our entries every single time, especially in our lowest points. You heard that song, ‘Kaba’, and bad memories overflowed you.”
“Yeah. So, what’s wrong with that?”
“I understand that the ghosts of childhood still haunt you. In fact, those ghosts still haunt me a bit. But you shouldn’t take it out on your old classmate, too.”
“But dude, her singing fucking annoyed me!”
“Dewey, when I saw your draft, and I looked back with a different point of view, that could be her favorite song, and she loved singing it.”
“Well, do you love the song?”
The older Dewey stared blankly for a few seconds, like his face was a loading screen, but he snapped out of it.
“No, I don’t like it. I still don’t.”
“Hah! You’re still annoyed!”
“Not annoyed. It’s just that if I were to belt a tune about love, ‘Kaba’ wouldn’t be it. But that’s beside the point. My real point is that if you want to pour your anger on paper or online, don’t involve people other than your target. Your classmate is just doing what she loves.”
The younger Dewey sighed and finished his drink. The older Dewey asked, “Another round?”
The younger Dewey grinned as wide as Dave Grohl does. He shared, “I remembered one of my favorite Foo Fighters songs, ‘Another Round.’ And yeah, I’d like some more, please.”
The older Dewey poured some Coca-Cola into the cup, and this time, the younger Dewey gulped everything in one go. The older Dewey said, “‘Another Round’ is still one of my favorite Foo Fighters songs, but honestly, I stopped listening to it for a few years.”
“Why? What happened?”
“I will not explain that.” The older Dewey reached under the table, and he took his own cup (a mason jar), a 2-liter bottle of Coke Zero, and a gigantic bottle of Jack & Daniels. He dropped some large ice cubes into the cup, but he didn’t pour a drink yet. He unzipped the back of his mask, he slowly took it off his head, and he gently attempted to reframe Dewey’s thoughts.
“Since Another Round is a song you love so much, you’d sing it often, too, right?”
The younger Dewey happily answered, “Yeah.”
“Would you give a damn if people get annoyed if you’re just doing what you love to do?”
The younger Dewey looked like he realized something important, yet his answer sounded insincere and forced: “I wouldn’t.” Deep inside, he would still care what people think, but he would continue what he wants to do anyway.
The older Dewey gently said to his younger self, “The past will still hurt. But some people just live in their own little world, and they enjoy it. Those people don’t deserve hate. You don’t have to love it, too, but you have to let people enjoy things.”
The younger Dewey didn’t say a word. He sighed, looked down on his knees, and glanced into his empty cup with only a little ice left. He smiled at the older Dewey and said, “I hear you. Thanks for the pep talk and the drink.” He stood up, turned around, and slowly walked away from the room.
The older Dewey then poured a shot of Jack Daniel’s whiskey and topped it with Coke Zero. He mixed it for ten seconds, looked at the younger Dewey walking away, and said…
“He hears, but he never listens.”
Notes to Self XXXI
Last Friday, when I revisited that old rant-filled draft about third grade and my classmate who kept singing “Kaba”, it left a bad taste in my mouth. I still have unresolved issues about my childhood, but being incredibly annoyed about the “Kaba” girl? I’m not particularly proud of feeling that way.
If I could travel back to that very afternoon of April 10, 2012, and talk to my younger self, I’d tell him to:
Let people enjoy things.
Looking back now, my classmate is just living her life in her unique way—singing her favorite song every morning. She did what she loved freely and without regrets, even if I got irked in the process. And I noticed I’ve been doing the same in my own way, too—listening to and singing my own favorite songs, even if some people don’t share the musical taste that I have. Many will not like what you like. Many will not like what I like. And as long as one’s interests don’t harm others, it’s fine to like them. Just let people like things.
Side note: Speaking of liking things, if you ever meet someone who just entered the fandom you’re a part of, welcome them with open arms. Don’t preach your standards of being a “true fan” when everyone has their way of liking things. If you do want to share interesting information that new fans don’t know, you can do so without being a jerk. Don’t ruin it for the whole fandom by being an arrogant gatekeeper.
To my classmate, wherever you are now, keep singing from the heart. Now that I’ve grown up and I understand you better, I’ve been doing the same.
Oh, here’s the lyric video for “Kaba”. I don’t like it, but if you haven’t heard of it, you might.
See you in the next post.
Header image: Jan Antonin Kolar of Unsplash. Edited in Adobe Photoshop 2025.
The Diary of The Deranged Writer 