Dear J,
I realized yesterday how much I've missed your company. I was going through our summer pictures and more than ever, I wish you were by my side to reminisce the good times we had.
And yes, more than ever, I need you now. I am about to make one of the biggest decisions in my life and I need you to back me up. This may be the most sane or the craziest decision I will ever make and I need you to give me a good whack in the head.
I am happy now J, happier than I ever was in a long time. But I know I will be happier if you were here. It kills me to walk in the streets and not smile at you or walk by your station without you giving me so much as a sideway glance.
I miss you J, I miss our laughter and our crazy schemes on how to get back at people who hurt us. I miss your sisterly reprimands whenever I cross the line. I miss your cold hand on my shoulder whenever I am down. I miss you asking me if your outfit is great or if you need to fix your belt. I miss our bikini shopping and shoe hoarding. I miss every moment we spent together, even that night we had to run across the streets from those kids who wanted to get into our pants.
I need you now J. I need you to share my happiness and help me make the right decision. I am a grown-up yes, but you know how crazy I get sometimes. And I just found out that I am still young. At 23, there still are things I cannot do without my parent's advice. And this is not something Mama will love to talk to me about. I need an Ate who will tell me straight that I am either losing my mind or plainly in love.
I know you know I will make the decision no matter what you say. That's how stubborn I am. I am a brat, remember? I always get what I want. But I need you to back me up this time. I need to know that you still have my back covered.
Can we pick up from where we left off, please?
Wednesday
Monday
karma
For lack of inspiration I write this piece on a very trivial yet ever-present thing in my life. They say that what goes around comes around. And could not help but wonder, is this why the world, my world in particular, is neck-deep in shit?
I’ve seen karma work her way in other people’s lives and mine. She was there when that little kid was running toward my little brother, stone in hand, and he tripped and broke his nose. Had he succeeded in hitting my brother, I would have broken his neck.
She was there when I snuck out of the house in the middle of the night to party and ended up sleeping outside the door because I forgot my keys.
She was there when someone grabbed a man right from another girl’s nose only to end up having some prettier girl do the same thing to her after two years.
She’s there when some woman puts a lot of men on hold and ends up having nobody because they all got tired of waiting.
She was there when a slave-driver ends up having everyone resent working under her.
She was there when a slave-driver ends up having everyone resent working under her.
She’s always there when I decide to sleep during my shift and I end up going to the office on my rest days to catch up with work.
She was there when I broke up with C to be happy and now I’m miserable and he ended up, according to him, happier than he ever was.
Karma is that force that makes one realize that hey, I knew this would happen but I did it anyway. And if I remember it right, it can be related to my least favourite subject: physics. For every action, there is always an equal opposite reaction. You find creative ways to hurt somebody, in the end, you end up hurting yourself.
I’ve spent the last few months of my life flinging shit all over the place. Now I’m neck deep in it and I don’t know how to swim my way out. Now tell me, ain’t karma a bitch?
Wednesday
she said good-bye to the bitch
Of the people that surround you, there are only two kinds: those that stick with you no matter how crazy you get and those that bolt at the slightest sign of weakness.
I always thought J is better than the second kind. I guess I was terribly wrong.
Sunday
Shit Week
12:05 PM, May 30, 2010
In my bedroom
It's Fleet Week in New York City
Monday
I kicked the week off by going to the beach for one last dose of the summer sun. I had a ball running around Camp Holiday
Tuesday
I had to say goodbye to one of the most beautiful women in the office. Barbie may have been an irate agent but she was a good friend. Worse part is that I had to sign her “sentence” and it sucked big time. It felt so strange reading a friend’s name on a termination notice, with the ever-taray (but adorable) Katrina breathing on my neck.
I got drunk that night, but I had enough brain cells left to make myself throw all the alcohol up. I was with Barbie and the rest of her gang. It was a fun night—sang our hearts out, danced a bit, did some truth or dare (DARE!). It was one of those gimiks I know I was missing out. I got home at 10PM. Two hours later, I was already dressing for work.
Wednesday
I knew something was terribly wrong. I don’t know what it is until now but I just knew there was something amiss. Of course I was feeling all shitty but I can always blame it on the fact that I only had two hours sleep. K sent me a message saying that he just arrived in NYC and for the first time, I just typed a nonchalant reply saying “I’ve never been better”. I could not shake off the feeling that there’s an axe hanging over my head. I almost wished it would just chop my head off and get it over with.
Thursday
I succumbed to my depression. I called one of my college friends about one item she was selling and told her I was picking it up after work. As I’ve been saying over and over, next to a gab session with the girls, shopping is my best therapy. I wandered around the mall alone, picked up a pair of shoes, some other stuff I needed for pampering myself, and got a pedicure. I even thought of getting my belly pierced.
I started to ask Erick where he was (I needed someone unbiased to listed to my ranting) but decided against it on the last minute. I was down with the flu and I was sneezing every five minutes. And besides, Erick was not the person I wanted to be with that day. I needed to be with K. But he’s away, having a darn good time in New York City
Friday
It was Sir Gary’s birthday. It was also Santacruzan and Power Talk day in the office. Almost everyone was in a festive mood. Except me. Of course I had to fake it, so I plastered on that big smile and laughed when everyone else did. I received a cold Facebook message from K saying he’s having the time of his life partying, meeting Paris Hilton and visiting family. I told him I was sick and might end up in a hospital by the end of the week.
I did not attend ACE’s bash that night. Everyone fun was there, including Carlo, my ex who recently became a chat buddy. We’re not exactly friendly, but we’re in a healthier place now. I still want to stab him with a plastic spoon most of the time but I get by just fine thinking I won’t have to endure his stupid humor everyday.
Saturday
Still no reply from K, which meant that he couldn’t care less if I died. I realized I had been so fucking stupid to check my email every hour only to find an empty inbox. My coffee date with my high school girls got cancelled because Gianelli had to be somewhere. So I ended up facing my computer all afternoon, contemplating on why Blair Waldorf is such a brat and taking Liv’s side in Bride Wars.
To top it off, I just found out that a friend who was supposed fly somewhere to pursue a possible romance was still in Davao
It’s been a shitty week, alright. While K is having a roaring time celebrating Fleet Week and possibly meeting better women, I’m here alone, blogging about it. But there’s still today. And I’m hoping for a little redemption. God knows how little it will take to paint a smile on my face again.
Thursday
Broken faucets and happy hearts
3:00 PM May 20, 2010
In my cube
It was by sheer luck that I arrived in the office high and dry. While I was brushing my teeth this morning, I turned the faucet on and found out too late that it’s broken. Water spouted everywhere, not missing the skirt I was planning to wear to work. I yelled for dear life, my beloved Karla came to the rescue and turned the main water line off.
So I wore jeans and a big smile to work instead. And even if I came to work dripping, absolutely nothing could ruin my day. K has finally gone beyond the world of ‘been thinking of you’ and ‘I miss you’.
The ‘new crush’ blunder in Facebook was a blessing in disguise after all. A few days ago, I announced through a status update that I have a new crush. I deleted the update when I got home though, for fear that K will read it and react.
So there I was feeling smug when he sent an email saying that it’s good that “you have someone to take care of you and keep you company” and that he’s “not that lucky’. He ended the message saying that he’s thinking of me always, “no matter what”.
That should have spelled DISASTER, which is what I thought it would be. I replied saying that the crush turned out to be gay (which I swear to God is true) and that he’s still my ultimate crush. Somehow, I felt the need to assure him that he’s still my number one, my superman. His reply to the message caught me off-guard.
He started off by telling “the truth” that he has been denying himself of the feelings he’s been having about me and that he had been thinking about a lot of things including impractical and unrealistic ways that he could do for us to be together.
He said he decided that the best thing for us to do is go on with our lives and not worry too much about the future. He said, “I have been tested, and tempted by many, but I have no desire for anyone else. I wish you were here. I would really like to get to know you more”.
When I read this message last night, it was as if the world was suddenly very small. I felt as if he was just next door instead of half a world away. I’d have screamed in delight if not for my mother sleeping soundly. His words shook me to the core.
I’ve been in this happy state since Tuesday when I woke up just after dreaming of him. In that dream, I was in his arms again and it felt so real. I swear I felt my face buried in his chest, my body circled by his protective arms. Yes, the dream catcher no longer keeps him out.
And YES, just like him, I have no desire for anyone else.
In my cube
It was by sheer luck that I arrived in the office high and dry. While I was brushing my teeth this morning, I turned the faucet on and found out too late that it’s broken. Water spouted everywhere, not missing the skirt I was planning to wear to work. I yelled for dear life, my beloved Karla came to the rescue and turned the main water line off.
So I wore jeans and a big smile to work instead. And even if I came to work dripping, absolutely nothing could ruin my day. K has finally gone beyond the world of ‘been thinking of you’ and ‘I miss you’.
The ‘new crush’ blunder in Facebook was a blessing in disguise after all. A few days ago, I announced through a status update that I have a new crush. I deleted the update when I got home though, for fear that K will read it and react.
So there I was feeling smug when he sent an email saying that it’s good that “you have someone to take care of you and keep you company” and that he’s “not that lucky’. He ended the message saying that he’s thinking of me always, “no matter what”.
That should have spelled DISASTER, which is what I thought it would be. I replied saying that the crush turned out to be gay (which I swear to God is true) and that he’s still my ultimate crush. Somehow, I felt the need to assure him that he’s still my number one, my superman. His reply to the message caught me off-guard.
He started off by telling “the truth” that he has been denying himself of the feelings he’s been having about me and that he had been thinking about a lot of things including impractical and unrealistic ways that he could do for us to be together.
He said he decided that the best thing for us to do is go on with our lives and not worry too much about the future. He said, “I have been tested, and tempted by many, but I have no desire for anyone else. I wish you were here. I would really like to get to know you more”.
When I read this message last night, it was as if the world was suddenly very small. I felt as if he was just next door instead of half a world away. I’d have screamed in delight if not for my mother sleeping soundly. His words shook me to the core.
I’ve been in this happy state since Tuesday when I woke up just after dreaming of him. In that dream, I was in his arms again and it felt so real. I swear I felt my face buried in his chest, my body circled by his protective arms. Yes, the dream catcher no longer keeps him out.
And YES, just like him, I have no desire for anyone else.
Wednesday
Red balloons and an ugly dress
2:55 PM, May 19, 2010
in my new workstation
I have this strange feeling that someone wrote something about us in a blog. When I say US, I mean the fabulous and beautiful people who walk this piece of real estate called DAMOSA IT Park. I belong to this group. Yes, I am fabulous and beautiful. But apparently, the person who wrote about us equates being such as being liberated. Damn her.
Let’s call her B. She’s everything you never want to be. Why? Because she abso-fucking-lutely does not have a life. Her life, if you can call it that, revolves around her computer and her bed. Sounds interesting? Not even remotely. READ: she’s not a cyber whore. She’s the exact opposite.
Have you ever associated a particular word with a person? When I hear the word FRIGID, my mind conjures a disgusting image of her. She’s practically the walking epitome of a dry spell, not just sexually. Hell, no one even wants to socialize with her.
She thinks she’s “soxal”. I roll laughing on the floor at the thought. If she is that, what do we call our Queen Bee then? B honestly looks like a rag next to a Vera Wang dress when Queen Bee is in the same room.
In case you are wondering, Queen Bee is well, the queen of the fab and beautiful. She’s B’s exact opposite. We’re having another bi-atch bash one of these days (red birthday balloons and all) and I’m betting my sexy ass B is off limits to the party again.
And she’s going to feel bad about it and call us liberated again. Just because she’s not invited, she’d turn the tables around and assume that she’s too great of a person to belong to our group. As if.
Yes, we are liberated. Hell, we’re not called bitches for nothing. But if you want the truth, we know where to stop. And bagay sa amin maging ganun. She’s just jealous because no matter how many bottles of beer she downs and sticks of cigarette she smokes, she’d never look cool. Not at all.
And just in case you’re curious, B does not stand for Bitch or Beautiful. It stands for Bakekang.
NOTE TO B: we stick together because we are friends and we live a fabulous life. Inggit ka lang! And stop wearing that ugly dress, puhleeezzz!
in my new workstation
I have this strange feeling that someone wrote something about us in a blog. When I say US, I mean the fabulous and beautiful people who walk this piece of real estate called DAMOSA IT Park. I belong to this group. Yes, I am fabulous and beautiful. But apparently, the person who wrote about us equates being such as being liberated. Damn her.
Let’s call her B. She’s everything you never want to be. Why? Because she abso-fucking-lutely does not have a life. Her life, if you can call it that, revolves around her computer and her bed. Sounds interesting? Not even remotely. READ: she’s not a cyber whore. She’s the exact opposite.
Have you ever associated a particular word with a person? When I hear the word FRIGID, my mind conjures a disgusting image of her. She’s practically the walking epitome of a dry spell, not just sexually. Hell, no one even wants to socialize with her.
She thinks she’s “soxal”. I roll laughing on the floor at the thought. If she is that, what do we call our Queen Bee then? B honestly looks like a rag next to a Vera Wang dress when Queen Bee is in the same room.
In case you are wondering, Queen Bee is well, the queen of the fab and beautiful. She’s B’s exact opposite. We’re having another bi-atch bash one of these days (red birthday balloons and all) and I’m betting my sexy ass B is off limits to the party again.
And she’s going to feel bad about it and call us liberated again. Just because she’s not invited, she’d turn the tables around and assume that she’s too great of a person to belong to our group. As if.
Yes, we are liberated. Hell, we’re not called bitches for nothing. But if you want the truth, we know where to stop. And bagay sa amin maging ganun. She’s just jealous because no matter how many bottles of beer she downs and sticks of cigarette she smokes, she’d never look cool. Not at all.
And just in case you’re curious, B does not stand for Bitch or Beautiful. It stands for Bakekang.
NOTE TO B: we stick together because we are friends and we live a fabulous life. Inggit ka lang! And stop wearing that ugly dress, puhleeezzz!
Sunday
accepting defeat
7:07AM, May 16, 2010
I am at war with reality again.
Like it or not, I would have to slap my own face and eventually stop living in this fantasy world I created. I would have to move my cheese, pick myself up and start looking reality straight in the eye. I would have to leave my comfort zone, even if I don’t want to. Even if I’m scared shit of doing it.
In my fantasy world, everything goes my way. I have a great job which I love to do; I have fabulous friends who never leave me. I have a wonderful life full of laughter, adventure and mystery; I have a promising love-life with K, no matter how far he may be. But I would have to leave this fantasy world.
I just got word that I’m being transferred to a different account. Exciting as it may seem, I am actually scared shit of facing it head-on. It’s a new challenge, a new work environment, a new boss and new people to deal with. I have built my corporate world around the current account and now I feel like I’m starting a job just like a newly hired employee. There go the feelings of being superior, the sense of being an expert on something. Fuck, I feel like I’m back to square one.
To make things worse, I feel like I’ve broken up with my best friend. I know she means well and it means nothing to her but I couldn’t help but blame it all on my ex-boyfriend. She spends more time with him now than she does with me. I know that he needs her attention more than I do but this is getting out of hand. I can see that he’s over the heartbreak.
But Jessica’s not the same person I considered my best friend anymore: she’s cold and she does not respond to me the way she used to. I know I’m being selfish and immature and that all these things may just be a product of my crazy imagination, but I just miss her so much. She’s always been a fixture in my life, someone I can run to with stories both happy and scary. I want to still believe that she has my back the way I have hers. And I’m hoping against hope that it’s true.
And the promising love-life? If you can call a cyber romance that revolves around Facebook status comments, occasional PMs and emails using his work account promising, then YES, my love-life is in full bloom. Well there’s the almost-daily chat that we do over Facebook or Yahoo Messenger but apart from that, K is just a picture I look at when I wake up at 8:30 in the evening.
Nobody can call it an official LDR, not even K-obsessed me. We do not have commitments save for the “rest assured that there’s no one else in my life” line in a Facebook message he sent ages ago. He knows pretty much how I feel about him but I don’t know whether he wants to reciprocate. He says he misses me, says he has been thinking about me a lot. But where do we go from here? Is there a better world beyond ‘been thinking of you’ and ‘I miss you’?
I miss K more than I’ve missed anyone in my life. But I would have to face the fact that I could not go on like this forever; that I would eventually have to be that brave little kid who decided to let go instead of hold on. I am not ready to let go yet, not today, not tonight, maybe not in the next few months. But I have now come to terms with the fact that there’s abso-fucking-lutely nothing between holding on and letting go. It’s either one or the other.
I know I would have to leave the comforts of my fantasy world. I may lose a bit of my sanity in the process, I may even fall apart. Hell, it feels like I’m jumping off the edge of a 40-storey building: I know I’d be dead even before I hit the ground.
But in this war between my fantasy world against the real one, I would have to accept defeat.
Reality bites. And when it does, it makes you bleed.
one great song
1:00 PM, May 9, 2010
In my cluttered room
Posting this beautiful song by Owl City. It speaks pretty much how I feel today...
THE SALTWATER ROOM
I opened my eyes last night and saw you in the low light
Walking down by the bay, on the shore, staring up at the planes that aren’t there anymore
I was feeling the night grow old and you were looking so cold
Like an introvert, I drew my over shirt
Around my arms and began to shiver violently before
You happened to look and see the tunnels all around me
Running into the dark underground
All the subways around create a great sound
To my motion fatigue: farewell
With your ear to a seashell
You can hear the waves in underwater caves
As if you actually were inside a saltwater room
Time together isn't ever quite enough
When you and I are alone, I’ve never felt so at home
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?
We need time, only time
When we're apart, whatever are you thinking of?
If this is what I call home, why does it feel so alone?
So tell me darling, do you wish we'd fall in love?
All the time, all the time
Can you believe that the crew has gone and wouldn’t let me sign on
All my islands have sunk in the deep, so I can hardly relax or even oversleep
I feel as if I were home some nights, when we count all the ship lights
I guess I'll never know why sparrows love the snow
We’ll turn out all of the lights and set this ballroom aglow
So tell me darling, do you wish we’d fall in love?
All the time.
Time together isn't ever quite enough
When you and I are alone, I’ve never felt so at home
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?
We need time, only time
When we’re apart whatever are you thinking of?
If this is what I call home, why does it feel so alone?
So tell me darling, do you wish we’d fall in love?
All the time, all the time
Time together isn't ever quite enough
When we’re apart whatever are you thinking of?
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?
So tell me darling, do you wish we’d fall in love?
All the time
Posting this beautiful song by Owl City. It speaks pretty much how I feel today...
THE SALTWATER ROOM
I opened my eyes last night and saw you in the low light
Walking down by the bay, on the shore, staring up at the planes that aren’t there anymore
I was feeling the night grow old and you were looking so cold
Like an introvert, I drew my over shirt
Around my arms and began to shiver violently before
You happened to look and see the tunnels all around me
Running into the dark underground
All the subways around create a great sound
To my motion fatigue: farewell
With your ear to a seashell
You can hear the waves in underwater caves
As if you actually were inside a saltwater room
Time together isn't ever quite enough
When you and I are alone, I’ve never felt so at home
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?
We need time, only time
When we're apart, whatever are you thinking of?
If this is what I call home, why does it feel so alone?
So tell me darling, do you wish we'd fall in love?
All the time, all the time
Can you believe that the crew has gone and wouldn’t let me sign on
All my islands have sunk in the deep, so I can hardly relax or even oversleep
I feel as if I were home some nights, when we count all the ship lights
I guess I'll never know why sparrows love the snow
We’ll turn out all of the lights and set this ballroom aglow
So tell me darling, do you wish we’d fall in love?
All the time.
Time together isn't ever quite enough
When you and I are alone, I’ve never felt so at home
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?
We need time, only time
When we’re apart whatever are you thinking of?
If this is what I call home, why does it feel so alone?
So tell me darling, do you wish we’d fall in love?
All the time, all the time
Time together isn't ever quite enough
When we’re apart whatever are you thinking of?
What will it take to make or break this hint of love?
So tell me darling, do you wish we’d fall in love?
All the time
chicken-shit
8:34 PM, in my bedroom
May 2, 2010
Someone said 'I love you' to me today. My sky should have turned all pink and lit up with fireworks. Should have.
I just said thank you.
I wanted so much to make that person feel special but I just couldn't bring myself to say 'I love you, too'.
I feel love but it's for someone else entirely out of my league, out of my reach and out of my sight. K is all that and I love him. In so many twisted ways that I could not explain, I love him. And every minute I spend catching up with him is a minute I want to freeze into eternity. I don't ever want to stop.
We talk almost everyday now. And so I was wrong about saying that it was the end of K.
Apparently, that day I got roaring drunk was not the end of the story. The next chapters are painfully unfolding. And now I'm chicken-shit about saying something that might scare him away.
Something like 'I miss you' and even 'I love you'.
Someone said 'I love you' to me today. My sky should have turned all pink and lit up with fireworks. Should have.
I just said thank you.
I wanted so much to make that person feel special but I just couldn't bring myself to say 'I love you, too'.
I feel love but it's for someone else entirely out of my league, out of my reach and out of my sight. K is all that and I love him. In so many twisted ways that I could not explain, I love him. And every minute I spend catching up with him is a minute I want to freeze into eternity. I don't ever want to stop.
We talk almost everyday now. And so I was wrong about saying that it was the end of K.
Apparently, that day I got roaring drunk was not the end of the story. The next chapters are painfully unfolding. And now I'm chicken-shit about saying something that might scare him away.
Something like 'I miss you' and even 'I love you'.
Monday
Getting over my biggest heartbreak
4:50 AM, in my bedroom
April 26, 2010
I’ve always thought I would never get over him.
For more times than I could count, I pictured him realizing one day that he needed me and he will then run back into my loving arms. Four years after we said goodbye, there was no moment that I did not think of what went wrong and what we could have done to save what we had.
Erick was my greatest love and he was my biggest heartbreak.
We eventually became friends, just like any other ex-couple who were friends before they became something else. It was a painful process of talking about our current love lives, catching up and reliving great memories. But we never talked about that day we stood in front of his favourite hangout: me crying and him trying to make me stop.
I guess exes can never really talk about break-ups that way. We might laugh at it at some point but we can never discuss who cried and who broke it off. It was awkward but it was in the very least, a healthier place for us.
I started hanging out with him again since my last birthday. It was one of those unplanned meetups. We did not know where to go and what to do. We drove around the city, laughed out loud and yes, kissed at one point. Sparks
That was the start, and weeks after that kiss, we’re now what you can call best friends with benefits. The benefits being: we chat whenever we have nobody else to talk to, he can call me and ask me to come over when he cannot sleep (then we’d drive around again), I can call him anytime I want to have a drink and talk about my recent heart break and last, I have an on-call date whenever there’s no one else available.
We both agreed that we are so much better off as friends. It’s a perfect arrangement save for one minor glitch. I did not know whether I was over him or not.
Erick was my greatest heart break and no one can blame me if I fall a little for him again if we kissed or even touched. So one after-midnight drive with him, I leaned on his shoulder and looked at him. And boy, he looked great. But in that same moment, I saw someone else’s face, I felt someone else’s shoulder, I breathed in someone else’s scent. I saw K, I felt K and I breathed K in.
And that made me certain I was finally over Erick.
But I could not help but wonder: now that Erick has ceased to be my biggest heart break, will K be taking his place?
Wednesday
pickled penises over chicken barbecue and roast calf
We were in a party, all right. Roast calf, barbecue, lechon (K, the lechon was great!), sugba, overflowing beer and vodka. Party music, women clad in skimpy shorts, half-naked men (and pa-men).
Over dinner, while discussing Julian's winky (so gay) and our suggestion to cut it off, Ana, our manager, blurted that when she was still married to her ex, she promised to cut of his manhood and put it in a jar by her bedside when he dies. Sick, eh?
That got me thinking, could one person be that attached to someone that he is willing to leave a part of himself with his wife when leaves this world?
Leaving something behind can not be that easy, let alone leaving your manhood over ground when you are six feet under. But seriously, when one leaves a part of himself somewhere, does it make him incomplete? Or would it make him feel more complete knowing that he has shared a part of himself with another? Would that person somehow come back one day and take it back? Or perhaps be with the new owner of that part to complete himself?
I would like to think that the answer to the last question is yes.
Over dinner, while discussing Julian's winky (so gay) and our suggestion to cut it off, Ana, our manager, blurted that when she was still married to her ex, she promised to cut of his manhood and put it in a jar by her bedside when he dies. Sick, eh?
That got me thinking, could one person be that attached to someone that he is willing to leave a part of himself with his wife when leaves this world?
Leaving something behind can not be that easy, let alone leaving your manhood over ground when you are six feet under. But seriously, when one leaves a part of himself somewhere, does it make him incomplete? Or would it make him feel more complete knowing that he has shared a part of himself with another? Would that person somehow come back one day and take it back? Or perhaps be with the new owner of that part to complete himself?
I would like to think that the answer to the last question is yes.
Saturday
Dream Catcher
9:34 AM, April 17, 2010
In my bedroom
In my bedroom
I finally managed to hang the dream catcher K gave me that dreamy afternoon. A good sign, I guess. It means that I am on the mend.
It says on the tag that it “allows the good dreams to pass through the web into the sleeper, but makes bad dreams become entangled in the web, where they perish at the first light of dawn”. It’s something he brought from his country, a part of him maybe that he wanted me to have.
It was a sweet gesture at that time. The stupid girl was “kilig to the bones” though I did not act too eager when he handed it across the table. The events after prevented me from taking it out of my drawer until two mornings ago.
After I found out that I had been crying in my sleep, I stopped downing the Decolgens. After all, what I was after was a dreamless sleep and not nightmares (daymares, in my case) that cause tears.
Instead, I read. And watched as many DVDs until I fell asleep on my laptop’s keyboard. I wrote poetry and it’s funny how artistic I get when I’m depressed. Thank you K for inducing this depression. I am writing again because you broke my heart.
I asked Karla if I had been crying in my sleep again. She checked the medicine drawer and finding out that I did not take anything from her last count, she said “no”.
So the dream catcher worked. It kept frightening dreams at bay. No more dark circles, no more tear stains on my face.
Thanks again, K. Funny you had to give me that dream catcher to keep yourself out.
Friday
Decolgen knocks me out
7:24 PM, April 15, 2010
In my bedroom
“Whatever it is that you are taking, you have to stop.”
That was my sister. She’s practically gone crazy over me for the past three weeks. Protective as she is of her elder sister, she never said anything. Until this afternoon.
This morning when I came home from work, I started working on the scrapbook for the trip. But seeing pictures of how happy life was three weeks ago did not help me one bit. So I gave up, and decided to watch one of my favourite movies on DVD.
Practical Magic. I’ve always loved the film. It reminds me of my childhood when I wished for a knight in shining armour who will sweep me off my feet. I imagined him to be tall and dark, none of those blonde hunks they take for Prince Charming.
I relived that childhood dream in the last three weeks. I was overwhelmed, intoxicated, infatuated. I thought I had finally found my knight. I believed I was starting to live my own fairy tale. But the knight rode away without me.
I did not finish the movie. I downed two tablets of Decolgen (how pathetic) and fell into bed. Since sleeping pills are banned in the house (my fault, of course), I had to resort to cold meds to knock me out. Sick, eh?
Karla knows me too well to tell that there is something wrong. I always finish a movie no matter how sleepy I am; and she saw me going to the medicine drawer when I came in.
So there she was lecturing me about what I have been doing to my body. She stood with me in front of the full-length mirror and got a weighing scale. I practically lost 10 kilos since I came home from Boracay (yehey?).
She forced me to look at myself: dark circles around my eyes, pallid complexion, dry lips, tear marks all over my face.
“Have I been crying in my sleep again?” I asked.
She just replied, “For two days now” and walked away.
When I was a kid, my parents would always know when something’s bothering me. I cry in my sleep when I’m hurt, anxious or in the past years, feeling suicidal.
So that was why Karla was so angry that I took the Decolgens. She knew that I was forcing myself to sleep, that I was in pain.
I guess I could not hide my emotions from the people around me. I wear it now, more than ever, like a neon sign on my forehead.
So much for pretending I’m OK. What the hell, even with drugs that are supposed to induce a dreamless state, I still cry in my sleep.
Tuesday
I love you, goodbye
7:24 PM, April 13, 2010-04-13
In my bedroom
I realized that I got so drunk last night because I needed the courage to do a lot of things. Most of all, I needed the courage to tell K how much I love him.
The original plan was to do it with flair. I got the idea from Cosmo’s V who fessed up to loving Matt through a blog she slaved on. But time was my enemy and in between work, hanging out with him, and trying to compress a whole universe of emotion into a single blog, I did not have much choice.
So there, in that dark corner of our favourite café, I composed a text message to K apologizing for what I did and putting into words, finally, that I fell for him in the five incomplete days we spent together.
And then I wrote him quite a lengthy email spilling out what the text message cannot express. I knew it was the most stupid thing to do when you know that there’s nothing more you can get out of it. But I was already there, I already crossed the line and there was no turning back.
I gave him the book I was reading. In so many ways, I related what we had to what Maria and Ralf Hart had in Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coello. I had no face to show so I just took a cab to his hotel at 4AM and dropped it off on the front desk asking the guy there to give it to him and to no one else.
I may never know whether he received the book or the email I sent him. Maybe he did but since he did not send me any message through text, email or Facebook, I now put two and two together. He does not want anything to do with it or with me anymore.
K may have liked me while it lasted. He may even have loved me at some point. He may have been the only man who was able to really sweep me off my feet.
But then again, he dropped me on my cute sexy ass.
So that’s the end of it. The end of K.
I crossed the line
1:47 AM, April 13, 2010
Still in my cube
I walked quite a distance and ended up in a coffee shop a block away from K’s hotel. Yes, I walked in a circle and no, I did not realize my feet were taking me there.
In that cold café with hard-backed mahogany chairs, I sat alone sipping our favorite Café Mocha. I was not really thinking of anything. I felt numb and when he pleaded (through text) that I take care, I just told him that I can and will be ok.
I guess I was just making myself believe that I was a strong young woman who can take on any heartache. But I was already screaming inside, I was slowly tearing apart and there was nothing I could think of doing.
I called Mellow, funny she’s becoming a regular fixture of my day, especially during my emo moments. We drove back to that compound a block away from his hotel for a drink. I started to rant while she listened and uttered the occasional “puta”, “what the fuck” and “what the hell”.
But fate was not done tormenting me. He came into the same bar with his sister. Well, it was the sister who stepped in but when she saw me, she drew back but not before I realized who was there. I signaled K to come in but he just shrugged and followed his sister to the other bar.
Already tipsy from one bottle to Gilbey’s Premium (you wouldn’t believe how easy it is to get me drunk with beer), I asked him (thru text) to tag his sister along and join us. As I expected, he did not reply. But minutes after and while some guys were buying us more beer, he stood by the bar’s door arguing (or so it seemed) with his sister. I could see that he wanted to come in. Or maybe it was just me hoping that he would make up for the insult he slapped on my naked face earlier.
But he just disappeared. And I got drunker and drunker. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep since the Boracay weekend and the heart break nibbling at my sanity. Mellow forced me to move my ass to her car. I called him, asking or practically begging him to come to me and leave his sister with the other guys. He said no, he was baby-sitting the 23-year-old bitch.
I said a lot of things I am ashamed of now. I made such a cheap pussy out of myself. K may have made me feel like a prostitute. But I turned myself into a slut hungry for his attention.
I know that was the last straw. I don't know if I can still show my face to him again.
I seriously crossed the line.
Still in my cube
I walked quite a distance and ended up in a coffee shop a block away from K’s hotel. Yes, I walked in a circle and no, I did not realize my feet were taking me there.
In that cold café with hard-backed mahogany chairs, I sat alone sipping our favorite Café Mocha. I was not really thinking of anything. I felt numb and when he pleaded (through text) that I take care, I just told him that I can and will be ok.
I guess I was just making myself believe that I was a strong young woman who can take on any heartache. But I was already screaming inside, I was slowly tearing apart and there was nothing I could think of doing.
I called Mellow, funny she’s becoming a regular fixture of my day, especially during my emo moments. We drove back to that compound a block away from his hotel for a drink. I started to rant while she listened and uttered the occasional “puta”, “what the fuck” and “what the hell”.
But fate was not done tormenting me. He came into the same bar with his sister. Well, it was the sister who stepped in but when she saw me, she drew back but not before I realized who was there. I signaled K to come in but he just shrugged and followed his sister to the other bar.
Already tipsy from one bottle to Gilbey’s Premium (you wouldn’t believe how easy it is to get me drunk with beer), I asked him (thru text) to tag his sister along and join us. As I expected, he did not reply. But minutes after and while some guys were buying us more beer, he stood by the bar’s door arguing (or so it seemed) with his sister. I could see that he wanted to come in. Or maybe it was just me hoping that he would make up for the insult he slapped on my naked face earlier.
But he just disappeared. And I got drunker and drunker. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep since the Boracay weekend and the heart break nibbling at my sanity. Mellow forced me to move my ass to her car. I called him, asking or practically begging him to come to me and leave his sister with the other guys. He said no, he was baby-sitting the 23-year-old bitch.
I said a lot of things I am ashamed of now. I made such a cheap pussy out of myself. K may have made me feel like a prostitute. But I turned myself into a slut hungry for his attention.
I know that was the last straw. I don't know if I can still show my face to him again.
I seriously crossed the line.
Another drizzle
11:45 PM, April 12, 2010
In my cube again
Another sleepless night (salba-quota) and another sleepless day (waiting for a miracle). I came home at 5AM and since it was too dark out to sleep, I started cleaning my room. Accompanied by Rihanna, Katy Perry, and the Black-Eyed Peas, stayed up a good four hours removing cobwebs, unwanted pictures and old clothes from my prison cell.
The whole time I was holding a basahan and walis, changing curtains and arranging magazines, I was praying for a miracle. But I guess I had to initiate the miracle; and it came at 3PM , two hours after my two-hour nap.
We met at the mall again. He got a tattoo while I watched and fantasized that he would remember me whenever he looked at it. He might, I guess, unless he bumps his gorgeous head and forgets where he got the Alibata inked on his right well-sculpted bicep.
We did not have much time; he was supposed to meet his family for supper. At this point, he was hinting that we go to his hotel room. When we got in a cab though, he changed his mind and said it was probably not a good idea since it’s going to make things a lot harder.
Part of me wanted to just flee because I know the inevitable was now here. He offered to get off the cab but curiosity (and longing?) got the better of me and I insisted on going with him. He said we will just hang out in the bar in the lobby to avoid the inevitable. I just nodded, not sure myself whether I want to go up or not.
But he needed to use the bathroom and I went with him.
We talked for a few minutes, I turned to go and we hugged.
And there, in his arms, I snuggled close to the chest I might not feel again. I placed my arms around the body I might not hold again. I breathed him in, all of him. I memorized his dark face, his brown eyes, his full lips, even the graying hair on his side burns. I drank him in, all of him and I knew that I will forever thirst for his presence, his caress, his stare, his embrace, the feel of him consuming me, burning me and taking me to deeper waters.
I did not understand his actions though. We were in in each other's arms when he suddenly stopped. Just like that, saying that he was so worried. I felt insulted. I felt used. I felt betrayed. My senses numbed, I lay there for a minute, trying to dissect what just happened but nothing came to me.
Just like the prostitute Maria that Paulo Coello wrote of, I stood up, cleaned myself and put my clothes on. He opened the door for me and walked me to the lobby and then to the sidewalk to wait for a cab I never took.
All my dreams of K and I started to crumble under my feet as I walked the Ilustre perimeter under the soft drizzle much like the one we walked in together that dreamy afternoon. I wanted to cry but no tears came out. My heart has hardened, I was aware of that.
But I also realized one thing: I was in love with K. And there was no running away from it.
In my cube again
Another sleepless night (salba-quota) and another sleepless day (waiting for a miracle). I came home at 5AM and since it was too dark out to sleep, I started cleaning my room. Accompanied by Rihanna, Katy Perry, and the Black-Eyed Peas, stayed up a good four hours removing cobwebs, unwanted pictures and old clothes from my prison cell.
The whole time I was holding a basahan and walis, changing curtains and arranging magazines, I was praying for a miracle. But I guess I had to initiate the miracle; and it came at 3PM , two hours after my two-hour nap.
We met at the mall again. He got a tattoo while I watched and fantasized that he would remember me whenever he looked at it. He might, I guess, unless he bumps his gorgeous head and forgets where he got the Alibata inked on his right well-sculpted bicep.
We did not have much time; he was supposed to meet his family for supper. At this point, he was hinting that we go to his hotel room. When we got in a cab though, he changed his mind and said it was probably not a good idea since it’s going to make things a lot harder.
Part of me wanted to just flee because I know the inevitable was now here. He offered to get off the cab but curiosity (and longing?) got the better of me and I insisted on going with him. He said we will just hang out in the bar in the lobby to avoid the inevitable. I just nodded, not sure myself whether I want to go up or not.
But he needed to use the bathroom and I went with him.
We talked for a few minutes, I turned to go and we hugged.
And there, in his arms, I snuggled close to the chest I might not feel again. I placed my arms around the body I might not hold again. I breathed him in, all of him. I memorized his dark face, his brown eyes, his full lips, even the graying hair on his side burns. I drank him in, all of him and I knew that I will forever thirst for his presence, his caress, his stare, his embrace, the feel of him consuming me, burning me and taking me to deeper waters.
I did not understand his actions though. We were in in each other's arms when he suddenly stopped. Just like that, saying that he was so worried. I felt insulted. I felt used. I felt betrayed. My senses numbed, I lay there for a minute, trying to dissect what just happened but nothing came to me.
Just like the prostitute Maria that Paulo Coello wrote of, I stood up, cleaned myself and put my clothes on. He opened the door for me and walked me to the lobby and then to the sidewalk to wait for a cab I never took.
All my dreams of K and I started to crumble under my feet as I walked the Ilustre perimeter under the soft drizzle much like the one we walked in together that dreamy afternoon. I wanted to cry but no tears came out. My heart has hardened, I was aware of that.
But I also realized one thing: I was in love with K. And there was no running away from it.
Not the end
1:03 AM, April 12, 2010
In my cube
“Hey,” he said. He was telling me that true to our hunch, he was setup for another date and he was very angry about it.
And I thought, he was certainly being pushed to marry and he will eventually find a desirable wife among the candidates. He said he was not looking for one.
Here’s an excerpt from K’s message sent through Facebook:
I am not a good guy. You have so much potential, so beautiful in many ways. You deserve better.
Knowing you was the best experience I've had in a long time.
Please be assured that there is no one else in my life. You have been great to me, and I of course have not.
You know I am not here for long.
This is not the end....
How cryptic can he get, right? Nevertheless, I felt warm all over and my mind raced ahead of me. I imagined us communicating in the next few months, trying to know each other more and struggling to keep the embers burning.
“Please be assured that there is no one else in my life”. Did that mean that there is someone and that it was me? “This is not the end”. Not the end of what?
So many questions formed in my mind and I spent the whole day (sleepless again), trying to decipher his meaning and composing a suitable reply.
I spent my rest day mulling over a Facebook message and I knew that it was not a good sign. At 10PM , I finally gave up. Being a writer (or an ex-writer) did not help at all. For the first time in my 13-year writing experience, I got stuck on a simple reply to a simple (but oh-so-cryptic) message. So I called Mellow and we went out for a gab session in our now-favorite coffee shop near my ex’s crib.
After a lot of “what the hells” and “just send a three-liner” and more than five drafts, I finally sent K this reply:
I honestly don’t know what to say. There’s one thing I know though, I am not looking for a good guy coz I’m not a good girl either.
What we had was one of the things I would remember for a lifetime and I’m pretty sure that I will think of you whenever I pass by places we went to.
There’s so much more I want to say but I could not find the right words. You are in so many ways, the best guy who walked into my life and it’s too bad that you’d have to walk out of it too soon.
But as you said, this is not the end. All I could do is keep my fingers crossed.
It was, for me, a perfect reply. Six short sentences that expressed pretty much how I felt without giving too much away. It should have been a great way to end the charade and just wait for the next events to unfold after he leaves.
But he replied saying that he has already checked into his hotel. He asked if he can see me again.
And just like a junkie hungry for her next dose, I immediately asked when.
In my cube
“Hey,” he said. He was telling me that true to our hunch, he was setup for another date and he was very angry about it.
And I thought, he was certainly being pushed to marry and he will eventually find a desirable wife among the candidates. He said he was not looking for one.
Here’s an excerpt from K’s message sent through Facebook:
I am not a good guy. You have so much potential, so beautiful in many ways. You deserve better.
Knowing you was the best experience I've had in a long time.
Please be assured that there is no one else in my life. You have been great to me, and I of course have not.
You know I am not here for long.
This is not the end....
How cryptic can he get, right? Nevertheless, I felt warm all over and my mind raced ahead of me. I imagined us communicating in the next few months, trying to know each other more and struggling to keep the embers burning.
“Please be assured that there is no one else in my life”. Did that mean that there is someone and that it was me? “This is not the end”. Not the end of what?
So many questions formed in my mind and I spent the whole day (sleepless again), trying to decipher his meaning and composing a suitable reply.
I spent my rest day mulling over a Facebook message and I knew that it was not a good sign. At 10PM , I finally gave up. Being a writer (or an ex-writer) did not help at all. For the first time in my 13-year writing experience, I got stuck on a simple reply to a simple (but oh-so-cryptic) message. So I called Mellow and we went out for a gab session in our now-favorite coffee shop near my ex’s crib.
After a lot of “what the hells” and “just send a three-liner” and more than five drafts, I finally sent K this reply:
I honestly don’t know what to say. There’s one thing I know though, I am not looking for a good guy coz I’m not a good girl either.
What we had was one of the things I would remember for a lifetime and I’m pretty sure that I will think of you whenever I pass by places we went to.
There’s so much more I want to say but I could not find the right words. You are in so many ways, the best guy who walked into my life and it’s too bad that you’d have to walk out of it too soon.
But as you said, this is not the end. All I could do is keep my fingers crossed.
It was, for me, a perfect reply. Six short sentences that expressed pretty much how I felt without giving too much away. It should have been a great way to end the charade and just wait for the next events to unfold after he leaves.
But he replied saying that he has already checked into his hotel. He asked if he can see me again.
And just like a junkie hungry for her next dose, I immediately asked when.
Dream Sequence
5:46 AM, April 11, 2010
In my bedroom
The three-night stand and three-day standoff would have been enough. It should have been enough to tell me where to cut the rope before it gets too tangled. But it was not.
We met again last Saturday. I do not remember who texted who but we agreed to meet up at Gaisano Mall. I did not mind that I did not have enough sleep from writing the previous night and that I have to work at 10PM that night.
We just sat in that dimly-lit café waiting for his pancakes and spring rolls. It was the usual tirade, the occasional Visayan banter wherein I laughed a lot because he sounded so much like Sam Milby. We talked about everything but the topic I knew both of us wanted to discuss. We never got to that; instead we just held hands, played with each others’ fingers just like any other normal couple.
I tried to be aloof; I tried not to look so eager to be in his presence. At first I succeeded: I did not kiss him on the mouth when I arrived but just like a drug that I could not live without for too long, I succumbed to his caress, his touch that electrified me to the core.
That afternoon was like a film shot in dream-sequence. We looked like the happiest couple walking in the drizzle along the streets of Ilustre. I took him to the park he wanted to visit (“to show how Davao is like back home”, he said). We laughed some more, held hands and embraced. We had sketches made in a mall arcade and finally had massages while holding hands.
It was the best afternoon I’ve ever spent with someone but of course I did not tell him that. I decided to say proper goodbye in case I don’t get to see him again and he said he hated goodbyes. For a moment, I thought I saw tears brimming his dark brown eyes as I stared at him, trying to memorize his face.
I was ready to close the K chapter. I know I was already in too deep and if I went in further, I won’t be able to turn back. I changed my desktop background that night when I went to work. And I changed the source folder of my laptop’s screensaver. I was determined to get it over with and rip it off like a band-aid.
Just when I was halfway into it though, my PC pinged signaling a new message: FACEBOOK: K (last names deleted) sent you a message. I read the message with my heart threatening to pump its way to my throat. When I was done, tears were in my eyes.
No drop fell but in that exact moment, I wanted to cry.
In my bedroom
The three-night stand and three-day standoff would have been enough. It should have been enough to tell me where to cut the rope before it gets too tangled. But it was not.
We met again last Saturday. I do not remember who texted who but we agreed to meet up at Gaisano Mall. I did not mind that I did not have enough sleep from writing the previous night and that I have to work at 10PM that night.
We just sat in that dimly-lit café waiting for his pancakes and spring rolls. It was the usual tirade, the occasional Visayan banter wherein I laughed a lot because he sounded so much like Sam Milby. We talked about everything but the topic I knew both of us wanted to discuss. We never got to that; instead we just held hands, played with each others’ fingers just like any other normal couple.
I tried to be aloof; I tried not to look so eager to be in his presence. At first I succeeded: I did not kiss him on the mouth when I arrived but just like a drug that I could not live without for too long, I succumbed to his caress, his touch that electrified me to the core.
That afternoon was like a film shot in dream-sequence. We looked like the happiest couple walking in the drizzle along the streets of Ilustre. I took him to the park he wanted to visit (“to show how Davao is like back home”, he said). We laughed some more, held hands and embraced. We had sketches made in a mall arcade and finally had massages while holding hands.
It was the best afternoon I’ve ever spent with someone but of course I did not tell him that. I decided to say proper goodbye in case I don’t get to see him again and he said he hated goodbyes. For a moment, I thought I saw tears brimming his dark brown eyes as I stared at him, trying to memorize his face.
I was ready to close the K chapter. I know I was already in too deep and if I went in further, I won’t be able to turn back. I changed my desktop background that night when I went to work. And I changed the source folder of my laptop’s screensaver. I was determined to get it over with and rip it off like a band-aid.
Just when I was halfway into it though, my PC pinged signaling a new message: FACEBOOK: K (last names deleted) sent you a message. I read the message with my heart threatening to pump its way to my throat. When I was done, tears were in my eyes.
No drop fell but in that exact moment, I wanted to cry.
Monday
the three-night stand before the stand-off
3:18 AM, April 10, 2010
Let's just call him K. He's pretty eccentric being an enlisted officer patrolling waters of a distant country out west. He's not a "puti" but he might as well be, spending the last 21 years of his life in the land of milk and honey.
We met on the third night of our vacation in Boracay last March. Intoxicated by the Margaritas and GPS and the insanely good music Club Paraw was playing, I was sitting there on one of the bean bags trying out a stick I knew I'm not supposed to smoke.
He went over and asked for a light. I told him I didn't have one (I forgot if the stick was lit or not) and he asked if he can just sit with us instead. Boy, he was smooth but it was nothing new to me. The previous nights I spent in Boracay was of the same old scene: someone comes over, asks you for a light, or the time or whatever and then he either sits with you or starts to do the bump and grind.
So I let him share my bean bag and chatted him up. I do not remember exactly what we talked about but the conversation eventually led to where we come from and how long we are staying. We told them (he was with a cousin) that we hail from Davao City and they said they come from the same city. K said he's flying to Davao after Boracay and asked if he could contact me. I gave him my number. Big mistake.
We talked some more and after a lot of I-want-to-but-I'm-scared arguments about taking a dip, I agreed to tread the dark waters with him. I was really tipsy then but I dared myself and went for a swim. After all, it's our second to the last night in paradise.
And there in the ice-cold waters of Boracay, I clung to him for dear life while he lead me to deeper waters and as predictable as clock-work, he kissed me. We talked some more about him being an accident and how he came to the west and everything and we kissed again. Needless to say, one thing led to another.
The morning after, he walked me back to our hotel and he stayed for a bit. We talked some more and agreed to meet at the same bar on our last night. A good two hours after he went off to have breakfast with his family, I was still blissed out and spent from what we did. And then I couldn't wait for the sun to set.
We hooked up again that night but not before a lot of disappointments. Jessica and I came early to reserve seats while Mellow nursed her fresh tattoo. We waited for almost four hours, dancing with some very good-looking guys. I even remembered myself speculating what K might think if he saw me doing my thing with a younger guy and that was when I realized I was in trouble big time. I was not supposed to care what he would think. We just had a one-night-stand for chrissake.
I already knew I was in big trouble when we parted ways the morning after. I knew I gave too much of myself away. I could not stop kissing him and when I did, I closed my eyes. I know it's never bad to close my eyes when kissing but it was too personal for me. I only close my eyes while kissing when I trust the person I was locking lips with.
I left Boracay with a heavy heart. An hour before we checked out of the hotel, I walked a good way to Station 2 hoping I would bump into him. Of course I did not, and I was thankful I was smart enough not to ask for his number. I knew that if I did, I would have found all the excuses in the world to text him.
He called the day he arrived in Manila. He said he's going to be in Davao that night and will be staying with his mother. He was meeting families after all. He sent me an email asking me about my schedule and whether we can meet for a movie, a date or supper.
Communicating with him was crappy. He would text and stop doing it all of a sudden, leaving questions unanswered. But I did understand that he was not used to the phone and the whole concept of being around. He became so caught up with meeting families and when we finally met up on a Monday, he looked too exhausted I did not want him to spend too much time running around with crazy me.
But it did not stop me from swimming in the thoughts that this can be the start of something good. We had such a great connection: our hands entwine perfectly, my head fits just right on his shoulder, and he said I was a good height for him. I was tingly all over my body the whole time I was with him. We kissed whenever we felt like it, even when going up the mall escalator or in the middle of ordering our cafe mochas. He even let me tidy him up and said he's comfortable with me doing it despite his being independent.
Before I realized what I was doing, I was singing a A Thousand Miles for him. "Coz you know I'd walk a thousand miles if I can just see you tonight." I already walked a good mile for him in Boracay and I was willing to do another to be with him.
I was in too deep and I had to admit to myself that no matter how wrong it felt and no matter how illogical, stupid and crazy it seemed, I fell for K. Hard.
And now he's brushing me off like some dust accumulated on his sleeve for the past two weeks.
"It always seemed so wrong and I don't belong living in your precious memory."
Damn.
Let's just call him K. He's pretty eccentric being an enlisted officer patrolling waters of a distant country out west. He's not a "puti" but he might as well be, spending the last 21 years of his life in the land of milk and honey.
We met on the third night of our vacation in Boracay last March. Intoxicated by the Margaritas and GPS and the insanely good music Club Paraw was playing, I was sitting there on one of the bean bags trying out a stick I knew I'm not supposed to smoke.
He went over and asked for a light. I told him I didn't have one (I forgot if the stick was lit or not) and he asked if he can just sit with us instead. Boy, he was smooth but it was nothing new to me. The previous nights I spent in Boracay was of the same old scene: someone comes over, asks you for a light, or the time or whatever and then he either sits with you or starts to do the bump and grind.
So I let him share my bean bag and chatted him up. I do not remember exactly what we talked about but the conversation eventually led to where we come from and how long we are staying. We told them (he was with a cousin) that we hail from Davao City and they said they come from the same city. K said he's flying to Davao after Boracay and asked if he could contact me. I gave him my number. Big mistake.
We talked some more and after a lot of I-want-to-but-I'm-scared arguments about taking a dip, I agreed to tread the dark waters with him. I was really tipsy then but I dared myself and went for a swim. After all, it's our second to the last night in paradise.
And there in the ice-cold waters of Boracay, I clung to him for dear life while he lead me to deeper waters and as predictable as clock-work, he kissed me. We talked some more about him being an accident and how he came to the west and everything and we kissed again. Needless to say, one thing led to another.
The morning after, he walked me back to our hotel and he stayed for a bit. We talked some more and agreed to meet at the same bar on our last night. A good two hours after he went off to have breakfast with his family, I was still blissed out and spent from what we did. And then I couldn't wait for the sun to set.
We hooked up again that night but not before a lot of disappointments. Jessica and I came early to reserve seats while Mellow nursed her fresh tattoo. We waited for almost four hours, dancing with some very good-looking guys. I even remembered myself speculating what K might think if he saw me doing my thing with a younger guy and that was when I realized I was in trouble big time. I was not supposed to care what he would think. We just had a one-night-stand for chrissake.
I already knew I was in big trouble when we parted ways the morning after. I knew I gave too much of myself away. I could not stop kissing him and when I did, I closed my eyes. I know it's never bad to close my eyes when kissing but it was too personal for me. I only close my eyes while kissing when I trust the person I was locking lips with.
I left Boracay with a heavy heart. An hour before we checked out of the hotel, I walked a good way to Station 2 hoping I would bump into him. Of course I did not, and I was thankful I was smart enough not to ask for his number. I knew that if I did, I would have found all the excuses in the world to text him.
He called the day he arrived in Manila. He said he's going to be in Davao that night and will be staying with his mother. He was meeting families after all. He sent me an email asking me about my schedule and whether we can meet for a movie, a date or supper.
Communicating with him was crappy. He would text and stop doing it all of a sudden, leaving questions unanswered. But I did understand that he was not used to the phone and the whole concept of being around. He became so caught up with meeting families and when we finally met up on a Monday, he looked too exhausted I did not want him to spend too much time running around with crazy me.
But it did not stop me from swimming in the thoughts that this can be the start of something good. We had such a great connection: our hands entwine perfectly, my head fits just right on his shoulder, and he said I was a good height for him. I was tingly all over my body the whole time I was with him. We kissed whenever we felt like it, even when going up the mall escalator or in the middle of ordering our cafe mochas. He even let me tidy him up and said he's comfortable with me doing it despite his being independent.
Before I realized what I was doing, I was singing a A Thousand Miles for him. "Coz you know I'd walk a thousand miles if I can just see you tonight." I already walked a good mile for him in Boracay and I was willing to do another to be with him.
I was in too deep and I had to admit to myself that no matter how wrong it felt and no matter how illogical, stupid and crazy it seemed, I fell for K. Hard.
And now he's brushing me off like some dust accumulated on his sleeve for the past two weeks.
"It always seemed so wrong and I don't belong living in your precious memory."
Damn.
Sunday
on love and wasting my time
April 9, 2010
I have read so much good reviews about Avenue Q and more than ever, I wish that Davao City is more inclined to the theater arts. You see, we don't get to watch musicals anytime we want to. This is not Makati for chrissake.
But there was one line in the musical I heard about that struck me most as true: "there is a fine, fine line between love and wasting your time". The moment I read the line, I realized the rut that I am currently in.
I started asking myself: has love become that overrated that it is now considered close to being a waste of time? Whatever happened to the good old cheesy "love is blind" and "love makes the world go round" stuff? Have we all become so cynical about it all of a sudden?
I used to be in love with love. Attached or unattached, I was an avid fan of mushy lines, romantic dates, red roses, chocolates and the whole she-bang. But as I got older, I learned that love is not just about lovey-dovey, baby talk and cheesy lines. It's also about cry-your-lungs-and-heart-out pain and scream-til-you're-dead fights that end up making you miserable and drained.
This isn't what I signed up for when I started dating at a very young age. And now 10 years into the game, I am exhausted and almost ready to raise the white flag.
You see, loving someone has become more a task than a pleasure for me. Sure, I still get that tingly warm sensation down my spine when I see the person but it all boils down to what you feel after the tingling has subsided.
I met this guy in Boracay two weeks ago and it seemed to me like for a moment, the sky lit up with fireworks for us. I knew then that it was just one of those exciting things one can't wait to sample when given the chance.
It was there, and I tasted it, buried myself into it, indulged and let myself go in too deep. I hooked up with him twice and one more time when he arrived in Davao. Stupid, eh? Stupid is an understatement.
For a while there, I lost myself in his arms, I drowned myself in his kisses in the ocean, on the shore, under the pillows and sheets. I created a dreamworld with him as my knight and before I realized it, I fell in love.
It was not just the kind where you fall and smile about it. It was the worse kind: i could not wipe the smile off my face when he texts or calls but I also could not function like a normal person.
Emotion ran me over like a Mack truck and before I knew it, I swore I was willing to endure the pain (and dryspell) of an LDR for him. We had such a great connection from the start until he started his MIA spree for three days.
I just called him a minute ago because I could not take the torture of waiting for a text anymore. He explained that he had been busy and then he dropped the bomb.
He explained that he is leaving soon and he's getting freaked by my Facebook status (reality check: it's been more than 48 hours). Damn him for reading between the lines. Or maybe I was too obvious. That's one of my problems, I wear my heart like a neon sign right smack on my forehead.
So much for the dreamboat. Yes, I may have loved him for a moment but he might just be a total waste of time.
9:00 PM, In my bedroom
I have read so much good reviews about Avenue Q and more than ever, I wish that Davao City is more inclined to the theater arts. You see, we don't get to watch musicals anytime we want to. This is not Makati for chrissake.
But there was one line in the musical I heard about that struck me most as true: "there is a fine, fine line between love and wasting your time". The moment I read the line, I realized the rut that I am currently in.
I started asking myself: has love become that overrated that it is now considered close to being a waste of time? Whatever happened to the good old cheesy "love is blind" and "love makes the world go round" stuff? Have we all become so cynical about it all of a sudden?
I used to be in love with love. Attached or unattached, I was an avid fan of mushy lines, romantic dates, red roses, chocolates and the whole she-bang. But as I got older, I learned that love is not just about lovey-dovey, baby talk and cheesy lines. It's also about cry-your-lungs-and-heart-out pain and scream-til-you're-dead fights that end up making you miserable and drained.
This isn't what I signed up for when I started dating at a very young age. And now 10 years into the game, I am exhausted and almost ready to raise the white flag.
You see, loving someone has become more a task than a pleasure for me. Sure, I still get that tingly warm sensation down my spine when I see the person but it all boils down to what you feel after the tingling has subsided.
I met this guy in Boracay two weeks ago and it seemed to me like for a moment, the sky lit up with fireworks for us. I knew then that it was just one of those exciting things one can't wait to sample when given the chance.
It was there, and I tasted it, buried myself into it, indulged and let myself go in too deep. I hooked up with him twice and one more time when he arrived in Davao. Stupid, eh? Stupid is an understatement.
For a while there, I lost myself in his arms, I drowned myself in his kisses in the ocean, on the shore, under the pillows and sheets. I created a dreamworld with him as my knight and before I realized it, I fell in love.
It was not just the kind where you fall and smile about it. It was the worse kind: i could not wipe the smile off my face when he texts or calls but I also could not function like a normal person.
Emotion ran me over like a Mack truck and before I knew it, I swore I was willing to endure the pain (and dryspell) of an LDR for him. We had such a great connection from the start until he started his MIA spree for three days.
I just called him a minute ago because I could not take the torture of waiting for a text anymore. He explained that he had been busy and then he dropped the bomb.
He explained that he is leaving soon and he's getting freaked by my Facebook status (reality check: it's been more than 48 hours). Damn him for reading between the lines. Or maybe I was too obvious. That's one of my problems, I wear my heart like a neon sign right smack on my forehead.
So much for the dreamboat. Yes, I may have loved him for a moment but he might just be a total waste of time.
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