Monday, January 24, 2011

A Manifesto

You're know, you're really something. You come here, and we try to live for the moment. I can't touch you because you're not here...but you're here. I can see your smile, the way you laugh. You'd lean over me and kiss me. And every once in a while you'd sulk because I did something you didn't like. And I'd hug you from behind. You'd turn around and we'd kiss. And those kisses, they have varied meanings. It can mean something as simple as 'see you later' or 'thank you'. And often, on my part at least, it's a message that I'll love you forever, and I'll never get tired of this. I'll never get tired of waiting.

You'd wake me up at 5 am. And I could barely make anything of what's happening. It could be your kiss. It could be you shuffling, still asleep. The sadness of parting in a few hours' time. You'd wake me up at 5 am and before we slept, in all my half-asleep sanity, I thought to myself: I love this person so much. 

So tell me. How do you manage to earn the trust I thought I lost forever. How do you get me through a particularly bad day by saying the perfect words, sometimes even none at all. How do you say sorry when you probably know I'm the one at fault. How do you make me flash images of your smile in my head every single time. How do you make someone want to just make everything as perfect as possible for you. How do you make me live for each moment, knowing that it's one second closer to sliding my fingers against yours. How do you do it?

I'd see you go away. Yesterday. The day after. Tomorrow. Something would well up inside of me. And then tears would form. But it's perfecly alright.I made a choice. That choice. To love you no matter what. 

Saturday, January 15, 2011

because being strong means being able to say goodbye

i wonder: what is it with me that makes me such a magnet for people who should get a life who want to get into my life?

well, whatever it is, I'm not sure I even care to know.

So here's the thing: i meant this space to be a repository of things running through my mind... you know, all the shit I've always had in my mind but never found anyone to relate them with either because doing so would be socially inappropriate or uncomfortable on my part.

so what would happen if people who claim to know you try to get into that little space you've designated for yourself? That area you've come to love precisely because it's where you feel most comfortable, secure?

you're supposed to close that area down right?


so yeah, that's exactly what i'm going to do. so long folks.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

A Delayed Reaction

It's been a custom of mine to sleep every chance i get...sometimes even in class. In law school. Last Friday, people kept telling me how I was too easy a prey for snatchers--I'm always asleep, seem indifferent and place my important stuff in all the wrong places. Later that day, it finally happened: my phone got stolen.

On the venting side:

I absolutely hate how motherfucking thieves are so cunning and take advantage of people like me! People who are too tired from last night studying for an exam. People who are none too richer and who are working their asses off, knowing fully well that life is not fair. And what do they get? Well, to put it bluntly, what's not theirs.

There's something absolutely wrong with the coping mechanism that goes this way: Buti na lang walang masamang nangyari sa'yo. So what, now I actually have to thank the thief who took advantage for not going out of his way to inflict harm on his victim? But alas, we live in a country where we apparently have to be on our toes every single second and pray that nothing more harmful than getting one's belongings stolen happens to us.

On a seemingly unrelated note, let me just say: I hate how this country's elites (who go way back from the Spanish and/or American times, exerting their good time and effort sucking up to aliens) are practically running this country's government...and how many of the poverty-stricken (some of them aren't even poor to begin with!) have taken the streets for their thieving hands.

On a somewhat romantic note:

Actually, the moment I found out my phone was stolen, I didn't give a rat's ass about where or how I lost it. I immediately thought: Shit. I can't remember his cellphone number!

And so I spent the remaining time of travel for trying to mash together random numbers in my mind in the remote chance that somewhere along the trail, I'll come up with the perfect permutation that is, his number.

I didn't. What happened was, I got home, was scolded by my mom, and waited for him to show up in the one place I know he would. He did. And just like that, all the problems went away. No shit. It's amazing, how a conversation with someone miles away can just take it all away with one simple hello. Literally.

Why am I even writing about an event that happened almost a week ago?

Two things:

1. I am tired of reading about Legal Profession aka What-You-Shouldn't-Think-of-Doing-When-You-Get-There. Or stressing over an upcoming exam, for that matter. I think I've gotten to the point where I'm just tired of studying all the time. And what's weird is, I don't even study all the time!

2. I am counting the days, literally, before I get to see him again. Waiting. It's like suspending reality for that one or two days of genuine happiness, of the consummation of this thing we have. Or, actually, it's more like suspending the drone of everyday nothingness for those two days where I get to see and touch and hear this reality of loving him.

Tuesday, January 11, 2011


Remember how I said last time that I would try to be more careful? Calculating? That I will make sure every step is well thought of?

I realize now that it's complete bullshit. "Falling" is about letting myself go and allowing that inexplicably warm and nervous feeling to take over. There's warmth because it's something you've never allowed yourself to feel for anyone: because for as long as I can recall, there was only cold distance between me and all the others. And then there's nervousness. Because, like a little child, I've given myself totally and selflessly to the mercy of that other person.

And I choke. I choke whenever I think that there's possibly too little of the overwhelming flood of emotions that I really feel. But what can I do? Human actions aren't remotely close to what love, in its abstract yet very real sense, is.

Perhaps I am overreacting. Maybe compensating for the insufficiency of words and actions. Through it all, the fact remains: something in me, something bigger than myself, stirs at the realization that I am, finally and without question, in love. With the greatest guy, no less.