This is not to mock A’s delaying tactics in exchanging ‘I dos’
fueled by his fear of me sending his happy bachelorhood into a crashing halt.
Believe me, I haven’t programmed my married life slapping whoever ended married
with me with a marriage certificate signed by 15 pairs of sponsors when he
wants his basketball and airsoft sessions uninterrupted with a demand of a can
of formula milk. As long as I won’t be called home immediately when a diaper
needs to be changed while I am on a night out drinking Heineken on rare
occasions, I believe our union is bound to be a jolly ride.
I won’t even require a theatrical ensemble complete with Loboc’s Children’s
Choir singing in the background as one pops the questions. And I have trusted
best girl friends, I don’t need a diamond to power up my self-esteem.
Why am I not a Big Fan of Fancy Weddings? Because----
- We’re not royalties, not even politicians, what is the
1,000 pax buffet for?
- I don’t have the luxury of time preparing a complete production number
for a traditional 2-day event complete with dancing waltz while wearing
20-meters of lace. It’s just too tiring and… completely unnecessary…
- I’ve already ran out single girlfriends, and I can’t
imagine their ‘mini-mes’ standing with me when I have the wedding photographs.
- With my relationship to the half of the clan buried along with my
adoptive mom, I’m not expecting half of the town witnessing my wedding vows
taking place.
- Because I’m realistic enough for the two of us.
- After all, it’s the marriage that is important and not the wedding.
Yep, men can really be frustrating at times, like when:
1. your tonsils are out on hysterics and he will just roll his eyes, shake his
head and draw his breath, specifically in that order
2. left their manners at home and can’t be punctual and apologetic both at the
same time… or;
3. can not differentiate NATURAL from pushed-up, padded, Belo-ed or
excess calories-fattened breast… and they turn their heads to the direction
when they think you're not looking
But on the lighter note, while they CANNOT be
transformed to being our best girl or gay friend or our biggest fan when we’re
PMS-ing or when we are on our drama queen mode, they are admittedly equipped
with a few good uses too. Hmmm, like:
· Having someone to interpret the road map for me. This
tops the list. Saves taxi fare and saves me from agony. I’m a navigational twit.
· Having someone to do the math faster and more accurately.
Unless it’s not more than one thousand amount of bill to foot, my math can’t be
trusted.
· Having someone to label and label me mine. To be a woman
and undesired is unenviable. Even if he’s Seal and you’re Heidi Klum. Girls,
cut the hypocrisy.
· Having someone to hold hands with. The warmth.
· Having someone to kiss and make up with. Sweet…
· Having someone to surprise me with gifts. I love being
remembered even with as mundane as corporate pens.
· Having someone to give me flowers. Because I love
receiving them more than buying them for myself.
· Having shoulders to rest my head while feasting on cheesy
flicks. Their’s are broader and they pay for the ticket.
· Having someone to cry with, laugh with and relive
childhood memories.
· Having someone to try fancy restaurants with.
· Having someone to share a mocha frappe or buy me chocolates. Okay… I
admit, I have distorted views about romantic relationships.
· Having someone to check if I’m home, if I have had dinner
already.. etc… etc… My concepts are shallow at times eh.
· Having someone to remind me that the guys are making
boso, staring at my breasts or my skirt is too short. Great!!! (my eyes rolling
twice)… after two years, my entire wardrobe is altered… but, contrary to my
first belief, I can survive with sleeves and wearing jeans. Shhh… I still keep
the denim CK mini skirt.
· Having a reason to rummage at Toy Kingdom or Nike Park
· Having someone to explain what is the ‘drip hold’ for or which
direction to loosen a tight screw, for both directions won’t work.
· Having someone to remind me to check my actions and my
words. I tend to over react at times.
· Having additional set of sisters and nieces.
· Having someone to stand with me through many storms,
floods, smudged mascara, salon-deprived moments and pancit canton days.
· Having someone to blame for getting lost in direction, being late,
PMs-ing or just having someone to blame.
· Having someone to carry the grocery bags when they get
too heavy. I’m not completely helpless but they just cramp my fashion sense.
· Having someone to remind me how far we’ve gone… then
smirk. I enjoy soliciting emotion from a robot.
· Having someone to write and talk about… Because when we all get bored,
talks end up to about relationships.
· Having someone to hand me a glass of water after a big fight… The
crybaby did not grow up.
· Having someone to legally sniff that male scent. Part-skin,
part-perfume… I'm paid being weird.
· Having someone to cuddle when i want to be intimate. Enuff said.
After
being ‘sabbatical’ from my obligatory-Sunday-mass in Calatagan, purposefully to
avoid the swaging tongues of the townsfolk, I attempted to visit again last
Saturday as my parents (the biological set) stood as principal sponsors to a
family friend giving away their daughter. Believe me, it wasn’t my brightest
idea to act the smartest kid. Missing Christmas and New Years’ eves’ sermons
and programs altogether, the only three occasions I remember setting foot in
that church within the last 6 years, were:
1) to attend a funeral of my sis’ bro-in-law
2) to stand as a sponsor in a christening; and
3) to burry my mom (the adoptive one).
That morning, I was pushed by my intent to look after my father for gracing
that occasion was the bravest thing he dared after having suffered from stroke
2 years back. And knowing how inconvenient the current structure of that church
to his health condition, I felt duty-bound to sitting a few pews back in case
anything happens.
Five steps inside the gloomy structure with my two younger brothers in tow, I
was SENT OUT by a church elder, who is also known to me, FOR WEARING A
BACKLESS TOP while pointing to the tarpaulin of “CHURCH NO NO Reminder”
at the entrance - and I was attending a wedding. Take that.
Think about your most unpopular Grade 3 classmate being admonished by your
terror class adviser for drinking a Zest-o in a Christmas party he did not
contribute in.
How splendid!
Indeed, for a local church who has sent away three parish priests within the
last ten years.
· one accused of 'tasting' the would-be-grooms before officiating their union
· one made headlines for fathering a baby to a married woman belonging to a
wealthy clan; and just recently
· one for being caught playing tong-its (outside the church premises) several
times and for committing some other offenses, (he also brilliantly authored the
NO Sleeves NO Entry policy.)
I think this sending away has already become a habit of those who have not
sinned…
Either
it’s the ‘full moon-bug’, midlife crisis, assuming my life expires at
60, or the cyclical hormonal change that bit me. Been days that my pea-sized
brain is whining about:
· a boyfriend who wouldn’t marry me until I’m 45 or menopause, whichever comes
first. and oompa-loompa lumps are already showing up due to hormonal imbalance.
· deadlines way- way beyond my 9-6 Photoshop editing capacity and downloading
stock photos speed.
· sole-responsibility in coming up with a stage design for a high-end event.
high- what? the only ‘high’ I care about is a pair of stilettos.
· grinding the skeletons in my closet and my family’s can of worms. and;
· not having the guts to live a life that I want:
§ outside
the 9-6 comfort zone above the rate of a newly grad
§ reading romance novels all night, sleeping all day
§ laughing all day long and getting giddy about cheesy flicks – I’m a
small town girl and will always be
§ designing accessories or bags or whatever Photoshop Filters free - art
is all about getting your hands dirty and finger nails dirty and chipped off.
the only genius in digital arts is Adobe
§ operating a B&B or a specialty store, or teaching art &
crafts to kids – I’ve long given up pursuing a writing career and well,
dreams change depends on what time i hit the bed or the last book i read
§ having a good sex, followed by cuddling and engaging guilt-free and
blameless – no one to blame but a shelf of paperbacks... puhlezzzz
§ getting a bouquet of roses and a box of chocolate
§ a home with a chandelier, a swing under the tree near a dirt road and
a river
§ wearing toffee lipstick and tank top
§ cooking
and these my pirated DVDs can’t cure.
not that I’m complaining… really…. guess it’s really just the ‘science’ of the
moon...
"I wonder how are you gonna take this, or if we're gonna see things in the same light. we can't run away from the issue no matter how much we try. and i wonder if talking would help us (knowing what talking can do to us). i want to attend the service and i need it right now.
i wonder if it's the right thing to say but i think we need to decide from here.
i've got a problem... ONLY LOVE CAN CONTROL ME...
yeah, you said it's hard for me to give in... to admit i am wrong... NO, not that i don't acknowledge my mistakes. i can't give in, YES. again, ONE HAS TO LOVE ME TO CONTROL ME.
i know it wouldn't be easy for anybody i'm with right now, and i'm ready if you'll say, you want to give up. there are too many things i've to work out in me and that would be unfair to anybody i am with that i go through the process and we don't seem to meet eye to eye.
even you have told me too many times that i measure love the way i want to see things...
because i can't measure things i cannot see... and things that are not given to me... it's me not you and we will only go in circles not accepting who i am... so it's okay with me if you want to say 'hindi mo na kaya'. coz i know there's a long way for me to go..."
i was evidently in my ‘papansin’ mode again... stomping in my 3 x 4 m room and crying my heart out to get what i want for an hour... struggling to win the argument ready to set the building on fire and A was handling the reign too tight... when tears won't work, the novel-length sms (ironic huh!) seemed to be the most dramatic way to punctuate the conversation and elicit empathy from him. Finally, he texted back: "6 p.m at the church".
one long shower and one jeepney ride after, i was on my way from qc to ortigas. my heart and mind still riotous with the realizations, the confrontation and in anticipation of our would-be-confrontation in a short while... was rehearsing my award-winning lines... blah, blah, blah... when suddenly i realized something didn't feel right... SOMETHING REALLY VERY VERY UNFAMILIAR!!! WTF!!! i wasn't wearing bra underneath my blouse!!! i am female, 30 y.o., half-human half-sane, unpadded 34-B, marching amid the heavy traffic of EDSA braless! right at that moment i wished - indeed wished earth would open up and swallow me...
with my bust size, wearing nothing underneath is something that wouldn't go unnoticed. okay, they're not worthy gracing the cover of Maxim or FHM... but still i'm top heavy and hell, just think about the discomfort knowing that i feel the twin mounds at my front rocking every time i walk or the FX i was riding in would pass on th humps... needless to say, i went straight to robinson's department store ladies' section....
A can't stop the grin when i slumped beside him at the church... too much for the primetime teleserye overdose...
...like hell, i have only two things to be thankful for:
1) my breasts are just "Barely there"; and
2) that deodorant is invented.
from the roots of my straightened hair down to the tips of my toes, i feel the dreadful S-W-E-A-T rolling and causing my migraine, irritation and discomfort to kick up. and out from the comforts of our office, there goes the inevitable circumstances when temperature shoots up like this.
1) everything tastes like cardboard
2) i have to suffer from colds and cough all the time
3) mall is packed with babies crying, kids missing their companions and lots of people taking advantage of the free airconditioning (just like me)
4) skin sticks like Velcro fastening
5) make up lasts only for a couple of minutes
6) hair requires tons of conditioner and other special treatments
7) (and) moving around pumps up my hyperactive sweat glands
and with this humidity, who would think about sex? in an air conditioning-deprived room, Daniel Craig could walk naked around and i wouldn't mind. (okay, okay! that is half a lie, of course i would stare).
i knew from experience that the pain of dealing with loss is scary. you can joke around, friends can make you laugh hard but silence is chilling with the thought of loss without the slightest hint of reunion.
and now that she is gone from my life, permanently, how i wish she is still around. just even for a day. that i can hold her more or that i can touch away all the pains she feels and tell her things i was not able to say quite often when she was still with me.
how ironic that the demise of someone has become my rebirth.
it had been nine long months, seeming like eternity, of battling to get hold of my sanity that seemed as elusive as the rarest butterfly. and like a quest to a winged creature dabbed with the most exceptional patterns and colors, one can always try breaking all his/her bones and fail miserably...
there are races losable at the middle of the tracks..
so many pains and cries shredding my heart into million pieces. and no amount of compassion, promises nor faith can pick-up and mend the broken bits to get it back to its perfect shape... to make it strong enough to taste the bitter taste of realities nor force it to face the world's sweetest lies with a smile...
now, i'm giving up my battles... my never-ending quest and my heart feels like a barrel emptied upside down...
depression... it's like diarrhea of the brain. where the protozoans become possessive of our body. they develop and manifest themselves. they do not leave... they just sleep, then wake up again..
ask me why but i'll never know how they got there. i just know they thrive in me claiming my body their territory. completely devouring me. then everything turns from sugar to shit.
Other than the dead giveaway of a heavy petting or a back-arching climax on the backseat punctuated by hearing out somebody else's name, there are other telltale signs to watch out for to find out if the chick you are spending half of your 15th pay is into you, for real.
Remember hell hath no fury a woman cheated on. To most of us, swollen pride rules over senses after being dumped and we are likely to putting up an act, for our benefit of course. Your girl may kiss and act like she has completely moved-on to coerce you into wasting your gas driving around the metro to stalk the dumpee. And she can pull this off unnoticed while you get distracted by her low-neckline. Not because her thin as floss thongs are around her ankles after every date means you can sweet talk mom to cooking her favorite paella next Friday night eh. So better check this she’s-over-him-o-meter first before conducting a text marathon of hearing wedding bells soon. This is for your own good, believe me.
watch out if she:
• accidentally sent you sms with “cream puff” coma…, and you call each other “honey bunch”.
• called your momma Tita Linda and you never knew anybody in the household named Linda.
• gifted his favorite lola’s cousin’s granddaughter who lives next door with a chihuahua on her graduation day and forgot it’s your birthday.
• cooks you lamb chops for dinner when she knows you are a vegetarian.
• always cries buckets whenever she sees this cheesy flick she watched with her ex plays on HBO and cannot even remember the movie you paid for last week.
• has his name (or a codename) on the speed dial, number last and most dialed and has their theme song as a ring tone. you? you have to scan for your name and number from her phonebook.
• keeps in touch with their common male best friend for unnecessary and crazy reasons like swollen toenail or a sick Siamese cat and this male best friend is neither a gay nor a vet.
• has more interesting and not so interesting anecdotes to share with her girlfriends about the tales of the olden days than times you were together.
• has his perfume give her goose bumps in a sniff and yours gives her a headache within 20-feet radius.
• has her phone always off or picks up only after 27 missed calls to pick a fight for simple reasons like your choice of TV shows or that you snore like an espresso machine. and no, it's not a classic case of months-long PMS-ing,
• has her hourly rants and chants begin with him and your common denominators.
• describes him as her best friend, when you know in fact she was dumped.
• developed a year-round migraine when invited on your family affairs but runs to his condo unit when his computer broke down to help him in a Powerpoint presentation due the next day or because he has LBM - and it is your monthsary.
it’s over when she:
• can say his first name out loud without blushing, eye lass flirtatiously batting, buckling or name-calling and in a normal tone (there should not be "any" of those indicators).
• cares less in sharing her e-mail password or blog link’s with you.
• already changed her pin code from their anniversary to yours.
• quickly replies “who u?” to his calls or sms without thinking.
• has changed her pet’s name from his rumored girl friend’s to something more ordinary.
• stopped stalking his e-mail and friendster or facebook accounts.
• has found the politesse to address his current _________ (insert whatever was her previous position) by the name and not “the bitch” and started seeing beyond her implanted breasts or humungous feet.
These bits and pieces of romanticism may sound stupid and corny, you may opt to dismiss. But it pays being vigilant of those strong and subtle hints before surprisingly bumping her in a bar with her arms around her “cream puff” like wild vines to the bushes while you wipe your sweat and the sticky shit on your head. Or better yet, never get hooked with somebody who’s got “it’s complicated” in her friendster status or just had it changed from “in a relationship” to “single” not more than 3 months ago.
the strange world of marketing: Femenine wash labeled "TESTER" at Watsons. okay, sit, spread and try (strictly in that order please).
the problem with me, is that i'm so easy to fall. like, you throw me a pick up line at a crowded bar and my arms will be around your waist like a wet napkin to cold bottle of beer the entire evening. if you get luckier, you wake up with a continental breakfast in bed - but that is if you senses and ethics have prevailed and managed to stop you from sneaking out after the romp.
this is how big my appetite is. if NOT with men, at least my attitude with my WORK... (because if this is true in relationships, i wonder what my boyfriend would have done)... so now, while the pay i receive from my current work can’t even cover my regular Sun load and other basic necessities, and while taking an FX ride to work has become a luxury after paying my rent and paying up my loans, i fear that i am falling in love again.... whew!!!
i’m taking a path
with a heavy heart
don’t know where the journey is bringing me
don’t know when will the hurting stop
---
i’m curled up like a ball, beaten, loser
seeing my dreams fading away,
like water slipping through my fingers
now, i've nothing to worry about failing, about giving up, about giving in,
about holding on
---
i’m lying down there
in my own room, in my own world
that no one sees, where no one understands,
no one cares, no one laughs, no one feels
almost inevitably, as an offshoot of my sudden 'idleness', with a wounded pride and a negative cashflow, there is the long list of worries that suddenly piled up, the long-playing whining i subjected my poor boyfriend into, and the art of primetime teleserye-sque complaints to God i have already mastered. just very me.
with much effort to offer me comfort and to haul me up from my insanity, my boyfriend said he cannot make a promise to rescue me from the tangles of worries i create way ahead of time but still he will try the best that he can to help me carry on. poetic though, and my heart could have taken a somersault if i were just in less than appalling situation.
just very him. no promises. no plans. i told myself.
currently working one-ride away from where i stay, he then would show up on my doorstep whenever i'm home and would bring lunch for us to share. then it struck me, what love is on a cloudy rainy day...
