Project Revival

I

I just took a quick look at all my past entries and I can't help but wonder: when did my life get so complicated? In my last few months in college, I used to go to school, had a lot of fun with friends, enjoyed my extracurriculars, and generally relished the whole ride.

A few months after, there I was, typing my problems away as if I was the only one who had them. I was selfish....actually, no. I was in love. Now, I'm only furious that some people can't move on and seem to find inventive ways to create drama out of nothing at all. I can provide a long list of when I started falling out of it, but it's all moot and academic.

In reference to a famous pop culture line, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

But honestly, I was thinking about bringing this whole site down altogether, this blog being the force that initiated a series of events that eventually led to the demise of my recent relationship.

I decided against it. I need a PLACE. If I bring this site down, I lose the only place where I can freely express myself without, save for the few people who won't spare themselves the agony of reading this while knowing my identity all along, worrying (too much) about what other people would think.

I would apologize for the rather impolite things that shouldn't have been read by the persons I constantly referred to. I was questioned for every thought I placed in here. But why? Since when were negative thoughts considered wrong? They're my thoughts. I know this is a sour defense, but I am entitled to what I should feel and think. You can't fault me for hating on someone who disrespects his parents, and you certainly can't call me out if I am more excited to get a haircut than to watch a movie.

These are my thoughts. So I stay.

II

SO MUCH HAS HAPPENED--would be an understatement. My first date after the break-up was with a guy a friend of mine set me up with.

He was okay: he didn't look awful, he had a car, and he was a gentleman. So far, so good.

The second time around was when problems crept in. He would call me this disgusting term I expressly told him not to. He gave me flowers. And he kept me waiting until 10 PM.

The worst part is I can't seem to wrench anything sensible from him. I'd talk about how frustrating some criminals get away with their unlawful actions. And what would he do? He'd stare into space driving and pretend that he never heard me all along.

Our parting conversation went like this.

Him: Ok lang worth it naman ang pagiintay eh.

Me: Dont wait kasi.

Him: Ayaw mo ba talaga akong magintay for you?

Me: Oo

Him: Bakit?

Me: I don't think ill ever be ready

Him: You can never conclude something if you haven't even tried it.

Me: Didn't we try?

Him: Is that trying?

Me: To me, yes

Him: Bakit hnd ba nagwork?

Me: I just realized it didnt work for me

Him: how?

Me: hay. dont make me explain

Me: because explaining means you rebutting

Me: and then we'll be in an endless loop of giving reasons and rebutting them

I just realized that the last few things I said set a precedent for situations where I'm asked to explain. May point naman diba? Why explain when there will always be disagreement? Sometimes, a yes or a no is all that matters.

III

I must correct myself. For some reason, I have been misquoted as someone who no longer believe in love. Now, don't I?

For the record, I do. How else would my parents still be together? How else would our family still be as compact if we didn't love each other so much?

But after four relationships gone wrong, you can't expect me to have the same outlook in love as most starters right? I should at least be four levels wiser than the average gay boy. And actually, I think I am. I don't rush into relationships as fast as I used to and make it a point not to go beyond emotional flirting. I can even control my emotions far better now. And my libido, too.

So expect my shock when someone invited me to drink beer (which I regularly do about twice in a year...fine, maybe once a year at most). At an apparently bisexual bar called P1. Or is it P2? I am positively scared at places like that and haven't even gone to Malate. I guess, in many ways, I'm still a prude.

IV

My college friend's mom died last week. When I found out the news, I was so sad. Never mind that she stole the presidency I wanted in our college organization, or that I had second thoughts about her loyalty to our friendship... really. What happened made me realize that the worst thing that could ever happen to me is to lose family.

I haven't gone out of the closet. I don't know if I ever will. I can't hurt them that much. The truth may set me free. But is my freedom more important than their happiness? People who have gone out to their parents will have countless arguments. But for some reason, I can't. I can't break their hearts. I can't let them think twice and look back if they had lapses in the way they raised me. They are perfect. And until I find a good enough reason for me to come out to them that doesn't involve abstractions, I just don't think I should.

How did I connect my friend's mother's death with my coming out? Some people just find a way to make everything about themselves, dont they? Tsk.

Two Months In

It's been almost two months. What has happened to me?

• We broke up, thus lending the title header of this blog moot and pretty much useless.
• I passed through the storm. I haven't received all my grades for this semester, but I'm hoping I'd pass all of my subjects.
• I'm on break, which means that I have whole days off

I gotta tell you, this sembreak is all so foreign to me. I'm so used to working during vacation and semestral breaks that, when I think about it, I already forgot how to take a seat back, relax, enjoy life, and relish the silent solitude.

Am I happy? I'm contented. I am exactly where I want myself to be, I realized. But that's another story.

Despicable Me, and Other Things

If I'm not mistaken, I performed terribly at our oral midterm exams in Family Law. I badly needed to get a high grade in that exam, knowing how poorly I do during recitations. I get to finish the cases, I understand the concepts quite fine, but when I get called and this professor calls on me...I melt. There's something about her apathetic gaze and mindless frown, her high-pitched disagreement and her palpable exhaustion that destabilizes me.

I knew the midterm exam was my only hope of ever passing her subject. So I studied. So hard--at least by my standards. Back in my undergrad, I wouldn't study as hard. But for this exam, I studied way before the exam--around 3 days before the actual orals. I memorized around 80 provisions, made sure I knew the details of around 100 cases. And yet, when I got my set of questions, some of them I couldn't even recall studying.

This is pathetic. Back in my undergrad days, I was the top hound. I would be late 40 mins after the exam had started and still get the highest grade. I didn't even have to study all that hard.

This is different. This is too hard.

So, as expected of someone like me, I broke down. In the MRT. In the bus. I can only imagine how pathetic I looked, but what my parents and my classmates told me just hit home. My mom, she told me she knew why I wanted to be a lawyer: I wanted to help the people. My closest friends knew how hard I studied for the exam--I literally devoured Filipino marriages. And me? I just felt that I had to release all of it, get the depression out of my system. So I grieved.

That thing they said about how it's okay to fail than to never have tried at all? I think it's pure bullshit. There's something so hurtful about trying so hard...and falling flat on your face. I just can't wrap my head around the fact that, from where I stand, I can't hit this thing spot on.

Don't get me wrong. I get tired of ranting as well. Too tired that, sometimes, I find myself sleeping at the worst moments. But that's another story.

Through it all, I know that I wouldn't quit--unless they kicked me out. I wouldn't quit because I'm not about to run away from my dream. I can't quit simply because I think I can't. I don't know when I'll stop standing up whenever I fail, but I guess that's the essence of learning: failing and failing...and failing. Which means I've learned far too much by now!

In other news, my boyfriend and I had a date today. To be honest, I was more excited about getting a haircut than watching a movie with him.

He doesn't understand why I won't let him in. Why I won't run to him whenever I'm weak and just want to break down. Why I won't let him be my crying shoulder. That's the reason why I we've been fighting for days now. He thinks I've built walls around myself. In a way, I concur.

That's one thing he still doesn't understand about me. I'm just too proud to cry to someone, anyone. I'd complain and surely, I'd whine. But cry on someone on purpose? For the intention of being comforted? I don't think so..

At the end of the day though, I had one, an ugly haircut, and two, a surprisingly good time with the boyfriend. We watched Despicable Me. While he liked it a lot, I thought it was a bit cliche and that the hype about Agnes was too overplayed for me to enjoy it like everybody else. Overall? It was a nice no-brainer movie that wasn't quite capable of pulling off the same emotions Dreamworks is able to get from me.

I realize that I love him. I still do. There are times that I think it's slipping away. When I saw him walking away under the rain. When he held my hand too tightly, until it was getting strained. Or when he told me how he disrespected his parents. But there are more times when I genuinely feel, deep inside me without being able to express it, that I love him and that I see myself at the end of the line with him.

But these are all thoughts. Without action, aren't they useless?