Saturday, November 27, 2010
Friday, November 26, 2010
I don’t know if I’m the only one who does, but do you ever stop and recall your earliest childhood memories? I don’t mean stopping in purpose and spending time just recalling. I’m talking about remembering, in a somewhat random twist of event, something that you’re sure happened to you at some point in the past. It’s difficult to completely explain, really. I don’t just recall them; they flood into me like a great rush, coming in all at once…I actually live in them—as if I were back in that time when I first slid down the dinosaur slide and thinking that it was the happiest moment of my life. Or when I was around four years old, I looked up in the sky and thought of how I was probably a protagonist of my own story and everyone else was just there to play along in their subordinate roles…and the realization years later that this was not true: I was not the main character of this world and everyone else had their own equally valid primary roles.
These memories will come one after the other, then I get zapped back to the present and I almost wouldn’t believe that I am years older and that so much has passed.
I remember how shit scared I was, watching Calvento Files with everyone in the family engrossed in their seats. The story was about a girl and his family, all of whom were ambushed by the girl’s former lover and his friends. They were sleeping in a hut when the killers came. They all died, except one who was able to hide in a room.
I remember how my yaya used to force me to feed on my sandwich when I was in nursery. She told me she’d have to cut my insides and place the sandwich in. Or that time when we would prepare for our classes, back when my sister and I were in elementary. I couldn’t finish my food, and my dad would watch over us, and I’d secretly give my food to the cat or scatter it all over my plate. Me looking at my then girlfriend from afar, realizing that I just broke her heart and feeling like a complete asshole. We're high school classmates, it was February 14, and I just broke up with her that afternoon.
But the odd thing is, I don’t just remember the memory. I remember everything—the emotions as I felt them during that time, the clear picture, the people involved…
When I try explaining this strange phenomenon to my few closest friends or even my ex's, I look in their eyes and I’m sure that they’re not taking me seriously. They'd shift to an altogether unrelated topic or brush it off, because who wants to talk about memories deeper than what they really were anyway?
But you see, these for me aren’t just memories. Something else separates them from memories, mere figments in my mind that I only vaguely remember. They hold emotions, and a sharp sense of clarity. And the reason why I fuss over them is that I get troubled and as emotionally invested in them as if I were living in that actual time.
It happened again this time. What triggered the sudden rush this time was a book I was reading: The Perks of Being a Wallflower. By reading the book, I’ve come to realize that I’m probably a wallflower, someone who observes too much and makes inferences...some of which are totally false, while most are correct. The greater realization, however, is that like a leech, I attach myself to certain events, movies, and books in my life. When I do, they become a part of me, a parcel of the totality of my emotional quotient. Like learning something new, but it's not even a piece of information or knowledge, but emotion. Raw and crisp.
I've probably bored or lost you at this point already. I'm not even expecting you to take me seriously. But it's always been that way.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
In hindsight, it’s probably a hilarious experience. But really, when you’re there, you just pray really fast and hard in a way I didn’t think was possible by me. I can’t even bear to talk about the details without fear of causing irreparable damage to my image…if I even have one.
I’m a very bad fairy godmother. I gave myself the task to find G, a gay blockmate of mine, a date within the week. G is a perfect example of how unreasonable and often unreachable the standards set by the gay community are. For someone who graduated with honors from one of the top universities and is currently in law school, his ego is…well, let’s just say there’s almost nothing there. When you look at him, he’s really not all that bad looking. He’s articulate and can even speak a few languages. But the homosexual world is just a cruel place to live in.
So anyway, I spent a lot of time trying to find G a date. I put his needs before mine and flirted on his behalf. I even asked referrals from the few gay friends I have. In the end, I got him a date. My ex.
Someone should’ve told me that was a wrong thing to do! Or that I should’ve picked up the signal when G said it would be weird both for me and him. But anyway, I insisted. To cut the long story short, what we have is an ex who didn’t get the date he wanted, G who felt even more insecure and ugly, and me… who doesn’t even care.
Now here I am politely asking for one more chance from anyone in the gay world...ANYONE. Any takers?
I’m getting fat. This is an important announcement because I’ve never gotten close to reaching the appropriate weight requirement for my height. I’ve been thin all my life that I’m just not prepared to go the other way. But alas, I am.
This definite realization crept up on me when my extra small sized clothes started betraying me. Wearing them means having to be constantly but discreetly in touch with my lower back in fear that an inappropriate amount of flesh can be seen by the public. Or stopping myself from sleeping in the library, because then an even more sizable portion will be revealed.
Isn’t there supposed to be a rule book for unsuspecting teens who are suddenly gaining weight after a lifetime of malnourishment?
Monday, November 22, 2010
A standstill. That’s probably the best way I can describe my life right now.
I wake up at 7:00 AM. Do some push-ups. Go to the library. Attend class. Have minimum interaction with law students alike. By 7:00 PM, I’d probably go to some fast food restaurant and eat alone, sometimes forgetting that I wasn’t able to eat lunch. Watch people. Then go home, take a quick shower, and call it a day.
Friday, November 19, 2010
I woke up from a 5-hour sleep, fully aware of what lied ahead: another mentally, physically, and emotionally exhausting day in law school. But I had a few minutes to spare, so I decided to check my social networking accounts. Now, I rarely get messages from random people (except this one time when I was flooded by messages, apparently because of an acute and irrelevant television stint…don’t ask, hehe). I was quite surprised then, that I had a message in Facebook. It said, and I quote:
You don't know me, but I know you a little. We have a common friend, (Flower Boy), whom I guess has been a great part of your life.
I don't know if this is right (messaging you), but I guess I have to.
(Flower Boy) and I were x-es, and just recently, I was trying to have him back to my life. Our conversations, unfortunately, include you as a topic. It hurts my ego of course, and I can't do anything to erase you in his mind and heart.
Anyway, I had to end our thing. I can't stand hearing and seeing him being in love with somebody else, while me hanging by a thread. Yes, he still misses you and oh boy, it hurts.
Ikaw, minamahal ka nung tao. Wag mo na siyang pahirapan. Sana mahalin mo rin sya. Ingatan mo si (Flower Boy), please. Ayoko na din masaktan.
Hmm. Amusing. I replied back, if only because I was beginning to turn into this sorry sap for love. I said, and again I quote:
Wow. That was a bit surprising. Anyway, (Flower Boy) and i... We never really went 'there', for me at least. We just had a few dates and i ended it before it even began.
Maybe you can hang on a bit more. Things might work out for you. I'm a sucker for happy endings and i hope you two have yours.
Love is too strong a word and even i won't use it for as long as i can help it. I wasn't in love, and am still not. So yeah, i wish both of you luck. :)
But, Flower Boy’s ex persisted. So he said, roughly and almost unbelievably five minutes after my above reply:
Well, he fell in love with you. And he kept on telling me he needes (sic) to move on for months and months like a real break up.
I deleted him as a friend here in facebook and other social network sites even YM. He doesn't want/love me anymore (I'm sorry to inject that - I know it's not of your business) but you know, I suggest you give him his closure. He needs it.
Was I stunned? Was I offended? Holy fuck I was. Maybe it was the ungodly time of the day, which I confess is partly my own doing. Or the fact that Flower Boy probably used me as a scapegoat for not loving this turd. Maybe it was the probability the Flower Boy commissioned his “ex” to say just what he did.
Or maybe it’s the fact that here’s a complete stranger telling me to: 1) love a person I clearly don’t back; and, 2) give that person the closure he “needs”… I mean, who in the flying fuck is he?
Well, judging by the frequency of my curse words, any person can probably infer that I am pissed off. Because I am. I’ve never had any person tell me what to do, and here’s an alien I couldn’t care less about tell me what to do.
For the sake of diplomacy and the fact that the exchange can go on forever though, I decided to save myself the trouble of talking to him and to just ignore him.
Now that I think of it, I may be violating a certain law by communicating the contents of my private communication in writing. Well, he started it first.
But, wow, I was really pissed.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
So, as I'm reading David Sedaris right now, I find it imperative to finally come up with a list of non-negotiables that a prospect partner must have. It's nothing, really. He must just be totally into: Coldplay, Killers, Brandon Flowers. U2, Pink, Stars, Death Cab for Cutie, or any 3 of the mentioned with the first two as essential requisites. How hard can that be? Quite difficult, apparently. I have yet to find a person who shares the same fascination as I have with regard to, say, A Dustland Fairytale.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Thursday, November 11, 2010
It was a Wednesday night, exactly two days before the last, big final exam. The entire class was burned out, both from the two preceding final exams and the fact that the professor in the subject was a lawyer who, in easy words, was and remains to be a psycho genius.
Earlier that day, I was in the library, just as I had been for the previous ten days, studying intensely for the final exams. In my mind, I could think of no other topics than the Constitution, the local government, the powers of the Senate and the President, and so on.
At that point, I knew I wanted to be a lawyer, and I was willing to work my way through it. So I studied like I never did…until a text message came. You asked me what I had already studied and if I was with any of our blockmates. I told you I was studying alone, and you knew it was probably the best thing for me to do. The idea of studying alone—or being entirely alone, for that matter—was not a foreign concept at all. The blockmate who would study alone, who would not budge when asked about his love life, who was easily one of the class nerds and who probably didn’t know the concept of fun…that was what you thought of me, wasn’t it?
Still you came, with the full knowledge that I was alone and it would probably be awkward to hang out with me. Once there, you teased me about my obsession about grades, and we ate inside the library. For that moment, and all the other succeeding moments I was with you for the short span of time, I felt like a dirty rebel. A delicious feeling.
I decided to end my short-lived euphoria and told you I was going to study at home. I wasn’t. I was going to some coffee shop, where I can study away from you—you, a misplaced distraction that should not have been there in the first place. It was raining hard, I didn’t have an umbrella, but I was prepared to take the jeepney ride home anyway. In my mind, the rain was a much more welcome obstruction than the idea of being in your dangerous company, where we ate in the library at the risk of being banned in my little paradise, the library. But you were ahead of this little game I created in my head. You asked me to get in the car, headed for a fast food chain quite near to my place. You made a subtle invitation of me studying with you, but when we got there, I told you I needed to get home. You casually told me that I should’ve said so and that you could’ve driven me home instead.
I did go home. But I decided to go back, not because I was starting to get addicted to your company but because I needed to feed myself.
And there in the fast food chain, without your consent, I started to fabricate our story. In fairness to me, we did talk. You opened up about how law school insulted your intellect and how you used to get by in college without studying at all—it’s a personal story we all share, but hearing it from you was a refreshing welcome. I was, of course, being biased. You talked about how indecent proposals were made to you by old men. Your family, who all graduated from the same institution and who were making names for themselves. Yourself, your inspiring and your ironically courageous dream of starting a farm and growing all sorts of, uhm, farm animals.
We laughed and made fun of our block mates. We talked about the future. On a Wednesday night. Two days before a crucial final exam. Just the two of us. We were rebelling against the single yardstick by which we are measured in law school: exams.
When it was time to go home and I was about to take my ride home, you asked me why I let won't you drive me home. It was a weirder invitation in the already weird wheel of events, but it was the perfect way to end what I imagined as a date between two law students. Two law students, who planned to study vigorously but ended up falling for each other.
And this is where that word comes in. Love.
You will never get to read this, for the simple reason that I can't ever let you. I have conveniently ruled out the remote possibility of having you, as a possession and a person I can call mine, in my life. It's a frustration I must live with, along with the frustration of not graduating with the highest honors or not making my parents proud back in my elementary graduation. That's how far I'll let you go--a frustration I can't just do all over again, alongside academic frustrations that I have shelved at the back of my mind.
I guess you are the first casualty of what I now consider to be a myth that is love. And me? I am the person who possibly, imaginatively loved you one night, two days before that last big final exam we'll all look back to in the future, once we are all lawyers.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Me: I see you're happily married again. Congrats! [Why did you break up with him in the first place? It was an ABSURD move.]
Ex: 7 months! Thanks btw for, hmmm, helping, in some way.
Me: I know it wasnt easy but there you are.
Ex: Yeah you knew (sic) it wasn't easy. Well...basta, thanks
Me: Oh well nice to have helped .
Ex: Eh musta na pagtrial and error mo? hehe [Referring to a brief phase where I allowed myself to flirt with a couple of guys in hopes of finding THE one]
Me: I stopped already. busy na eh!
Ex: Hahaha naka-ilan ka na rin naman eh
Me: Not a lot actually
Ex: madami. :))
Me:uhm. not really.
Ex: i just uploaded our pictures of last night
Me: on me flirting, let's not go there. magaaway lang tayo.
Ex: Di ko gets. Your telling that to me? i mean, baka magaway tayo? bakit tayo magaaway?
Lately, I've discovered that ignoring a person and avoiding confrontation can be a lot better than facing it head on.
Take for instance this annoying blockmate of mine who, as I was reading a paper on effectively studying the law, crassly asked me, "Hoy [insert my surname here], ano na naman 'yang binabasa mo? Wala pang pinapabasa satin, basa ka nang basa. HOY!" He kept on doing this for as long as his attention span let him. At that moment, I wanted to look him straight in his fugly face and tell him to fuck off, mind his own business, and learn to have some manners.
But of course I didn't. Instead, in spite of his repeated remarks, I silently ignored him as if the big elephant, pun intended, is not in the room. Ayun, natahimik.
Just like the conversation above, I chose to ignore rather than confront the ex head on. First of all, it's none of his business whether or not I choose to flirt. Second, he's not exactly the authority in not flirting. God knows how much of a flirt he is and how fast he swaps boyfriends as if he's just changing his underwear. Kaya please lang, don't he lecture me on what to do with my (love) life when I'm much, much more restrained with mine than he is. He managed to have at least three boyfriends after we broke up, whereas I only had one. Not that I'm counting...but!
At the very least, I don't "cool off" with a boyfriend and flirt during the in-between period. And for the record, I didn't even flirt with that many guys, so I suggest he straighten his figures before telling me what to do.
He's been doing this for days, telling me to stop the "trial and error" phase. Through and through, I've always wanted to tell him: who the fuck are you? Nakakainis talaga ang mga taong pinipilit ang perspective nila when they don't even understand yours. I want to make them realize they're flat out wrong...but I ignore.
So why do I do it? Why do I push the ignore button?
It's not for the sake of avoiding confrontation itself. It's just that some confrontations can drag on and on that some wounds will inevitably be uncovered. Before you know it, you won't even know where the entire disagreement all started.
Also, I honestly don't think confrontations can be worth it, especially since they require so much emotional and mental effort, i.e., finding the right words, crafting the right approach, etc. They're the last bullet, to be fired only when the ex or the annoying classmate is far across the line. Until then, I opt to just push the ignore button.
And yeah, I can really be a moody person. Hindi naman halata no? :P
Monday, November 8, 2010
Sunday, November 7, 2010
My dear Sam. You cannot always be torn in two. You will have to be one and whole for many years. You have so much to enjoy and to be and to do. Your part in the story will go on.
What really did it was when he asked me if I could loan him some money. I told him it would never work and, just like that, I stopped talking to him.
How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on... when in your heart you begin to understand... there is no going back? There are somethings that time cannot mend... some hurts that go too deep... that have taken hold.The truth is, I don't think I would ever fall in love again. These hurts are self-inflicted, sustained after roughly four failed relationships. Why did they fail? There was always something missing. To put it bluntly, none of them was the one.