The Truth

The truth is, I don't think I deserve him. He's every bit as gorgeous as anyone can possibly be.

But it's more than that. It's so much more than that. He is also charming, sweet, funny...and he has this amazing personality that's simply hard to resist. He was, for a fleeting moment, just that hot guy I got to know. But he just had to let me know him more. And none of the looks mattered, because who he is...it's more than enough.

So yeah. I fell. I fell after saying that I don't know love. I don't know how to feel that soaring feel I haven't had in a while.

The truth is, I want to make it work this time. I must've said this a million times in this sweet little space of mine. So I'm going to hold all the stops, let myself go, and enjoy this great feeling I want to call love. But is he the one?

Just let me. Let me jump and soar.

Aftermath

I guess this is what they call karma.

I'm going to drown myself in aspirin now.

Because Life Goes On

In between the intense remorse and self-pity, I drowned myself in the following:

And this:

They actually blend well together: the first because it might be the funniest chick flick I've watched, and the next because it pretty much says a lot about who I am. As he so eloquently said:

I always find something wrong
You've been putting up with my shit just way too long
I'm so gifted at finding what I don't like the most

What will happen?

I will call it off with he-who-I-taught-was-the-one. And it's not because of PE crush. Think of it. If I liked him so much, I wouldn't have swerved off the path of righteousness...and celibacy.

As for PE crush...there's no telling what will happen. But love is definitely the least of all possible and plausible options. We agreed so ourselves.

So after a few more conversations, he might want to leave. I would let him.

I will..I will stop being so dramatic about it. Because oftentimes, something needs to be done. And it has to be done as unromantically as possible.

Meanwhile, i shall gorge myself in optimistic music, such as:

When I think about it...I mean really think about it. I'm okay. I'll be okay, as I've always been. After all, life goes on. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Too Horny to Function?

Brilliant, Arwind. Brilliant. You've simply outdone yourself.

One minute you talk about love, and the next you go jumping right into another man's dick. On the way home you begin to understand yourself. And why you did it.

It's not because you're too horny to function. Not because you've always liked him since PE class...in your underfuckinggraduate days. Not even because he's another notch in your goddamn bedpost.

It's because you're fucked up. You think you're so smart? Well, then, why did it take you long enough to realize that everything for you is a chase? Everything is about making another person fall for you, about the same time you *think* you fall for him.

And for what?

To make you feel good about yourself. It's where you get your motherfucking self-esteem. The idea that you're so desirable and sought after? You have this sad notion that you can only get it by making other people fall in love with you. People you find attractive. People other people like. People who have too much, even too little, love to give.

And when it's all done...once your little game is complete, you finally make your great escape. Actually, no. Escaping isn't enough; you just have to hurt the other so badly he's probably wounded beyond comprehension. At that point you realize that you didn't get the affirmation you wanted after all. And once again you're on prowl for your next prey. All for the feel-good sensation that only lasts for a fleeting moment. You're on drugs, except that you've never actually tried drugs.

There is no escape. It is an endless cycle of wanting love, getting it, and being too fucked up to stare at it straight in the face.

So. You don't know love. You don't have any business with love. You don't get to say love.

Arwind's Christmas Wishlist and Ramblings

This is the thing I do. I like someone so much and fall head over heels for the first two weeks or so. Then I start slapping myself silly, with a reminder that I have to snap out of whatever silly frenzy I am in.

I'm trying to fight it this time. So badly. I need to know that I can start something like this and commit to it. And that I won't bail out whenever he's late for thirty minutes and I won't give him the cold shoulder for hours. That I will stay even if it gets too overbearing for my own good sometimes. I need to know that I'm capable of loving this amazing guy.

***

I'm officially on Christmas break. I have no clear vision of what I'll be doing for two weeks, which seem like an eternity for someone who always has his hands full. Back in college, I always had a job or a tournament to preoccupy myself on breaks like this. Not since law school, where I've committed these breaks to a long and dreary period of nothingness. At least until I finally get a job and attend evening law classes.

My frequent pessimism aside, I actually like Christmas. No, I love Christmas! To date, I have completed all five dawn masses... four more and I'm bound to complete another set. Why am I doing this? It's not so much about the wish as it is about the feeling of actually committing myself to something and finishing it. Obviously, I have troubling commitment issues. But yeah, it's probably about the "wish"...

So what do I want for Christmas?

I've received, so far:

Fancy binder clips

Post-it

Soft Grips

Ugh. Who am I kidding? All these came from one person, my best friend, who also had the generosity to give me a weird polo one size smaller than me. The polo is weird because it is adorned by little red flowers and vines. And it is one size smaller because, well, I've become fat.

I'd have you know that these are also the best three gifts I received. I also got the following from our block kris kringle: a bunch of trolls for cute and fluffy, a chocolate-container for long and hard, a box of condoms for wild and sexy, and an undated planner for the final gift. They also came from a blockmate I'm beginning to dislike. There's no real reason why I dislike her, except that she always has her eyebrows furrowed, with an annoying comment about anything and anyone. It came to a point where I deliberately changed the topic to something she totally won't be able to relate to, just so she would shut up. Sue me.

Oh wait! My sister made me pick something she'd pay for. I chose a jock jacket...and a very warm and fuzzy one at that. The fact that I like it so much means that people should probably just give me money to buy gifts for myself.

***

So now to the real deal. What do I really want this Christmas?

I know this will fall on deaf ears since nobody here actually knows me, but I'm going to go ahead and post Arwind's Practical Wishlist:

I hate when I run out of these whenever I'm in QC. What I hate more? Being compelled to wash my underwear because I won't have any to wear on Friday next.

This is something I really need...and probably won't get. I want a small and compact one, because I learned from my mistakes, ie getting the humongous Starbucks planner last year. That planner and I... it just didn't work.

And no, I don't mean the fancy pillows meant to be given as gifts. I want a pillow in the basic sense of the object. A PILLOW! Why won't anyone give me a decent pillow? :(

Because I watched the movie twice in the theater and loved it. I actually cried to it, and found the lead in his alien form...hot.

These are glass coasters, if you didn't know. I need and want them so I know I can place my glasses wherever I want to without fear of getting water marks on wherever I place them. Yes, fear. The real and foreboding kind.

I love fantasy books! After reading the first one of the series earlier this year, I am finally ready to read the next one. What I lack is the actual book. Hehe.

So you see, these are fairly inexpensive gifts that for some reason nobody got for me. It makes me sad, but then I remember how I gave out nothing either. So there. A christmas wishlist. First time I made something like this in my lifetime.

Questions. And Answers

Hello, old friend. There's probably no need to say this: it finally happened. That time when I am slipping away from you, simply because I'm too busy not being busy. I'm too busy smelling the roses.

To make up for the lost time, let me answer some few basic questions.

Is he the one?

I don't know...possibly...probably. I still can't brush off the uncomfortable feeling of having to trust myself completely, even partially in fact, to another person. The idea of being in love, a surrender of one's self to another, is an old-age practice. But every time I try to fall deeper I fear that I might hurt myself.

The funny thing is...I know he won't. I'd probably hurt him a lot more than he would do me. In fact I've probably hurt him already more than I realize it.

The fact remains. I like him. Maybe I love him already, but I'm being too smart to get there. Then again, maybe this is the grand karma for all things past.

How's school?

It's crazy. In the midst of all this plagiarism issue, I honestly don't know where I should place myself. When I had him as a mentor last semester, I only remember ill feelings toward him. But who can hate a person who stands up for justice?

When I blog I try to keep as little legalese out of my content as possible. Allow me to stress the apparent though: justice in the Philippines is in the hands of fifteen people who acts like gods and use flawed reason to get what they want. Quite depressing and disheartening for an aspiring lawyer like me.

Also I've finally decided to take evening classes. It will push my plans back by one year, but this is the only way I think I can live for the next few years. By being somewhere else. Or something else other than a law student.

Slowly, Carefully

It's very strange, how life can take a 360 degree turn and completely surprise you by how perfectly placed everything can be in the end.

All I remember is... for the past few days, I have been arranging for a date for my friend, passively and actively talking to people I am introduced to in hopes of finding a "connection", reciting and studying for the next day, and so on.

Somehow, in the middle of all this tedium, the divine forces managed to squeeze in someone I can relate and vice versa. Someone who, for some pleasant reason, just fits. So far, at least.

And so, I begin to believe that I'm actually getting a shot at feeling something real. But I know better than to jump in the middle of an initial surge of passion. So for as long as I can take it, I will not hold hands, kiss, say too sweet a word. I am not going to compare it to some movie I would like my life to be similar to.

I want to be very careful. I will just let it be :)

One for the Music

Listening to Taylor Swift feels like hanging out with an old friend. The super cool kind who just got back in town from her long tour and hasn't changed one bit. Still nice, even after all the glitz and glamour. Then she keeps on talking about the exciting things that happened to her--her dates with John Mayer, the way she turned down Taylor Lautner, the emotional stress of dealing with Kanye West's shit...and she won't stop talking.

I'm telling you this because my sister reserved three tickets for her concert this February. My sister, her boyfriend, and I. Yes, it's probably going to be weird. And yes, I am obviously the third wheel.

But there's something you have to understand about my sister. When I first found out I was beginning to have feelings for a guy a few years back, I told her immediately. She just got back from Baguio, and I sat with her at once to tell her the story. Thereafter I told her about every single boy that mattered. She wasn't necessarily crazy about it and at times even treated the entire thing with distasteful mockery, but that's how we are. That's how we express our twisted love for each other.

There you go. I'm going to my old friend's concert with my sister and her boyfriend, and it's probably going to be awkward, but who the hell cares. I'm fucking excited.

I'm not listening to her album at the moment though. Because like any friend who keeps on talking about her life alone without even asking how I'm doing, she can get overbearing. I'm listening, currently, to this:

I love Brandon Flowers. I love, LOVE Brandon Flowers.

I like the tone of his voice. I like the fact that he's bisexual and yet happily married with two children. I like how he acts in this video and how weirdly inappropriate it is.

His album is great. Promise. I hope he goes solo for a while, because his music sounds better on his own. I still love the Killers though. How can I forget the time when I tracked down the lyrics to every song of Day and Age and tried to understand what each song meant? The little activity got especially hard when it came to the line, "Are we human or are we dancer?"

At this point I want to thank you for being the most consistent friend as of late. You, my blog, don't act like a bitch when I don't talk to you (even though I talk to you more than I should) . I like how I can act all deep and shallow when I want to, shifting from one extreme mood to the other. And you won't judge me for it. You just listen, and I keep on talking. I should probably stop blogging and start living, because there's mutual exclusivity in the two, but where's the fun in that?

Something Close to Memories

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.

Three Things on a Wednesday

Today will officially go down as one of the most embarrassing moments in my life. Let’s just say God finally made me pay for all my sins: I pulled a Charlotte…more or less. Maybe more. If you watched Sex and the City a couple of times to know what happened to each character by heart, then you probably know what I mean.

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?

How does Arwind move on from a heartbreak?

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.

Who are you?

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:

Hi!

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:

Hey,

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.

Thanks (Arwind).

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.

The End of the Story of the Boy I Met at the Mall

I agreed to meet with the boy who followed me in the mall. There were three things that came out of it:

1. I over estimated his looks. Let's just say some things aren't worth a second glance.

2. He won't stop talking! Seriously, I've never met anyone who can talk about a wide range of topics without even being asked...and without even realizing that the person he is speaking to isn't remotely interested.

3. In the midst of all his blabber about his life in the province or the girls he used to do, I found myself falling.....asleep. Seriously. There came a point when I literally couldn't discern his words, it was like one long drone lulling me to sleep. So fall asleep I did.

And you know what's the worst part? I traded that for a night with my family! Yesterday was a holiday and, by some opportune twist of fate, my sister didn't have work. Nights like those, we would usually watch a DVD, tease each other and ultimately sleep in one of the rooms, all four of us. Yes, we're a tightly knit family, and no, I don't know why I turned gay with that kind of background.

After the rendezvous, I realize how pathetic I was, thinking I would find love in a person I played a staring game with at the mall. This...this is just an entirely new low for me. I mean, what is it with me and my elusive enchantment with love, along with my pretension that I don't care one bit about it? Because I do. I'm one of those persons who pretend I don't care about ending up alone, but there's a dark lurking feeling inside me that says I just might be one of those old crooked bachelors. I do care about love and pretending that I don't tears me up little by little.

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.

Also, that person must have a fair amount of loathing for v-neck shirts, boots for men, and permanently worn glasses (which I wear, and which is why, whenever we would hypothetically run out of topics, we could always drop the "I hate wearing glasses" line and talk forever about it). The person must enjoy pop culture as much as I do, but, no, he must not listen nor read nor even mention Cristy Fermin or Lolit Solis in any of our conversations. In fact, it would be pretty incredible if one day we switch channels to the local tv and he asks upon seeing either, "Who is that sea urchin?"

And Desperate Housewives! Modern Family! How can I forget? And food. God, I hope he knows how to cook good food.

Let me see.. that person must know when and how to shut up. The inexplicable silence as we read a book and take ourselves on entirely separate journeys , but together? This just brings to mind A Single Man, arguably my pink film of choice. The earlier part of the film perfectly illustrates the kind of life I want in the future... quiet, alone, exciting.

It also wouldn't hurt if that person was smart, dangerous, decent-looking, etc. Hey, with six failed relationships at a golden age of twenty, I can afford to be choosy right? Please, please, please tell me I am right.

....I am so shallow...and nervous about our Obligations and Contracts class. I really ought to study.

Stranger Danger?

Our eyes met for no more than three seconds. He's cute. FINE. He's really handsome, by my own crooked standards. But so is more than half of the gay population. Plus I didn't even have enough time to assess his features then. So after that brief encounter, I walked on.

I had a clear goal in mind: go to the nearby mall and buy a pair of ear plugs and a book stand. But then I inadvertently looked back, and there he was, heading for my direction. I always gave everything the benefit of the doubt, so I thought, maybe he just needed to go to the mall too.

I let him go ahead, just so I can get rid of him--his handsome face and unquestionable charms. He used the escalator; I went to the hardware store--all the while we were looking at each other. When I started to look for the ear plugs, I thought our little game was over. But no, I caught him walking by each aisle, presumably checking if I was in any of them. But I was already at the counter.

And I smiled at him. He went out of the hardware store, and pretended to tinker with his phone. About three meters away from him, he smiled. I smiled back. And that's where he said, "Hi."

I died. You see, this is something I'd usually hear or read about, but I didn't think it would actually happen to me. Whenever something like that got close to happening, I'd always look away or pretend to be asleep. I'm a wuss like that...but that time, I figured I'd take my chance and see if things would take an exciting* turn. It did, but why do I only feel skepticism?

I should've trusted what my mother always told me, which I always followed...until earlier this night: don't talk to strangers.

*Exciting, by my definition, is me exchanging numbers with a total stranger, eating food in a weird restaurant, and letting another person walk me a few kilometers away frmo home. And no, it doesn't involve any sexual activity whatsoever.

This is a Sad Story of Frustrated, Fabricated Love

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.

Movie Week!

So many good movies are happening this week! No, they're not screening.. they're happening. Why am I a poor law student, WHY?

Anyway, I told a former classmate in Criminal Law 1 about this cute little trivia. I raved a little (okay, maybe I did rave a little too much) and how I want to see these movies so badly. He then responded, "Wanna watch?"

The bomb was dropped. I snapped back to reality. This is the same classmate who tried to be smooth with me and asked me to "hang out" after finding out that we live in the same town. The same classmate who pulled the "I'm a secret agent, but if I told I'd have to kill you" card on me. Yawn.

Although when I think of it, he may just really want to "hang out"...I think that's one of the most annoying things about this lifestyle. You can't really say for sure who wants to watch a movie with you as a friend or as a date. Why can't everything be black and white and be as it is?

The truth is, the sem has begun and I'm not studying ANYTHING. Which is why I'm blogging one post after the other. And which is also why I'm craving for human interaction, which I normally can live without for a day. Even porn isn't enough to fill the vast amount of time I have on my hands.

It's driving me crazy, the fact that I'm away from home already without anything to stress over. Except maybe the grades that haven't been released...It's just so weird, to be in law school and be so lenient at the same time.

I NEED TO BUSY MYSELF.

(And for the record, I know I am sooo going to regret saying this later on.)

Pushing the IGNORE button

Isang gabi sa Facebook chat:

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

Boy Meets Boy

The sembreak was short and sweet, but I managed to finish two books. One of them is Boy Meets Boy. I meant to read it as a little experiment; I've always limited my reading preferences to fantasy books (Robert Jordan, George R.R. Martin...okay, I'll stop talking now) or contemporary classics (which is really just a label for books neither I nor anyone can't quite group under a specific category). I figured this time, I should venture into gay teen fiction literature. So venture I did.

I searched high and low for gay teen fiction books and found that there are actually quite a lot of them. Sadly, not a lot of them can be downloaded as ebooks... which I know doesn't do the authors or the publishers justice but hey, I'm a poor law student solely dependent on his parents. Blah.

After two days, I can't help but conclude that this book, simple as its plot is, is easily one of my favorites. It's not so much what the plot contains but the mere fact that I took time to read it that makes this book so important to me.

As the title suggests, the story is about a boy meeting a boy. In a bookstore. The story gets a bit complicated when shortly after, it's revealed that Paul, the protagonist, has leftover feelings from his previous relationship with Kyle. His bestfriend, Joni, also becomes a pain in the ass when she starts dating some boy Paul hates. There's also Tony, a Catholic school boy, whose parents can't quite accept the fact that he's gay...ehem. Really, there's nothing more to it than that.

But there's something about Paul's life that I envy. At the risk of being a spoiler, I'm going to say very little of it. The utopian world Paul lives in and how he never takes serious flak for being gay might exist for real in this world, I suppose, but it doesn't exist in mine. Is it the world I want to live in? I'm not entirely sure. But will it macertainly ke things easier? Certainly.

I can sympathize with how Tony is feeling (very few would probably be able to relate, but I'll go ahead and say it anyway)--that I'd have to live with the circumstances. For the moment. And by moment, I mean roughly four to five years (perhaps even longer) until I become lawyer and be truly independent. Contrary to what other people might say, it takes a lot of courage to shut up, move forward, and withstand the pain in a sometimes unforgiving environment.

In the end, all I felt is happiness for the characters in the book and melancholy for myself. For them, life stops at their happy endings...unless the author writes a sequel, I guess. As for me, I go on, study like crazy, and open myself up to a world of possibilities that is gay teen fiction.

Any suggestions?

PS. By the way, I have an ebook copy of the book. If you want one, feel free to email me at arwindvera@yahoo.com. :)

Lord of the Rings. Gay. Frustrations.

For the past two days, I've been watching what I am now going to call my favorite movies: the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I was around eleven to thirteen years old when the movies were screened in the cinemas. Although I appreciated the sceneries and the action back then, I didn't really understand what the movie is all about. I remember reading the books back in high school, but I nearly if not totally forgot about them.

I managed to finish the movies without getting bored one bit. It doesn't help that there are visual treats as well:

Aside from that, I can't help but wonder what's going on with Sam and Frodo. As if the PDA they've been doing throughout the movie wasn't enough, Frodo just had to give these parting words to Sam:

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.

So what if Sam is a married halfling? For all I know, gay men are the best adulterers. :> Oh, the things I allow my head to run off to.

Anyway, I'm two days away from the official end of sembreak. Of all the men I flirted with over the break, there's one man left standing (or, err, texting). He's not exactly my ideal partner. On our first date, he asked me if I wanted to have sex, to which I said no. Our exchange of messages was limited to stupid greetings or queries of what one or the other is doing. Worst, he's this clingy and needy creature who literally craves for attention. I pointed all that out to him, and he ended up liking me even more for my "honesty". Great.

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.

At the last part of the film, Frodo said something. These words sliced through me, and I couldn't help but feel exactly the same:

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.

The one would have to be someone who could put up with my spontaneity, with me putting up with any of his quirks. He (maybe even a she? LOL) would have to be street-smart, to supplement my lack of life skills. Maybe good-looking, even average... but definitely not the macho and debonair type, as I would probably just be insecure and wary all the time. He must not be a sucker for love, someone who knows what he wants and is working to get it. That person should like movies and books a lot as I do, so we'd have something to talk about without forcing topics into each other's mouths. Oh I can go on, but do I really know what I'm talking about?

The commercialized world would have us, specifically me, believe that all these standards will be done away with anyway once I am swept off my feet. I disagree. After four failed relationships, I can say as a matter of fact that there are things that are not a matter of compromise. I cannot, and shall not, compromise depth and compatibility for a pretty face, the warmth of intertwining fingers, or the sudden rush of inexplicable emotions. I do not care for those moments when I am treated sweetly, knowing that they are merely fabricated to ensnare my heart. Through it all, the worst part is knowing and at the same time not knowing what I really want and in whom these standards exist. Okay fine, I'm being dramatic again.

J told me I should go out often, stop studying too much and start seeing people. A invited me to go to Malate with his friends. I brushed aside both pieces of advice. I suck at contrived settings of socialization, ie planned conversations.

So right now? At this very moment? I don't think I will fall in love again.

But I just know I will, someday...someday.

Everyone But Me

Last night, I had myself enrolled for the second semester. Because I'm such an adult, I brought along my mom. I insisted on her not coming, but she would go on with her speech about how it hurts to be pushed away and how I used to be such an adorable kid, etc. The point is: enrollment. POST graduate degree. mother. with his 20-year old son.

So after enrolling and getting some of my grades (so far, so good..), my mom told me she'd take me anywhere I wanted. While having dinner, I told her about one weird thing about me. And it's not about me not being straight.

Needless to say, she was happy to know that I've neither been drunk nor tried to smoke a cigarette. Now when it was my turn to ask her if she's ever tried to smoke, she went a bit too far and talked about the parties she used to have, and how she tried smoking every once and a while and... I WAS SO FREAKED OUT.

Apparently, almost everyone has tried it but me. I don't know why, but smoking feels so wrong that trying it doesn't ever cross my mind. In fact, an ideal boyfriend would be, foremost, someone who doesn't smoke.

While having a shower immediately before writing this post, I was thinking about how I shortchanged myself by compromising the qualities I'm looking for in a potential partner. It's like I'm always in a rush to find the best one I'm possibly going to spend the rest of my life with.

Now that I'm single, I can't help but realize how I've thrown myself in relationships I wasn't prepared for, making promises I couldn't keep. I was wrong. So from now on, no rushing into relationships--or no relationships at all, even.

The inevitable conclusion of this sembreak? Everyone's into smoking and relationships but me. Sue me.

Nice Imported Things

I'm going crazy. Since I was in first year college, I've either been working during summer vacations or crazily working on org activities that I practically never really took a day off. Now that I am on sembreak, I made it a point to relax and not to work...although fine, I did take one writing project.

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.