Throwback Thursday

One of the most popular posts on my old blog, my boyfriend ad from 2010! HAHAHAHA! I love this entry. It brings to mind my last year as a college student. Lots and lots of awesome and hilarious memories! I don't think my preference in men has changed. If I were to write a new ad this year, it would be pretty much the same, I think. Most of the things I wrote here were the same as the first list (what makes a wonderful guy) I came up with back in 2006. How old was I then, eighteen?

Anyway, on this post, some Anon left me this comment:

You're setting feminism back fifty years. I feel bad that the taxpayer is subsidizing your education. (lolwat the taxpayer? poor taxpayer, whoever he is)

To which my lezzie replied:

shut the fuck up. it's her life.

and btw, YOU'RE setting feminism back one hundred years because apparently, you're so narrow-minded, the concept of women fearlessly going after what they want (yes, it includes *gasp* boys!) is absurd to you.

go find another blog to stalk.

My lez is awesome. Which reminds me, before I came up with this Wanted: Boyfriend post, lez posted something similar on her blog, albeit shorter. She wrote:


This is my best friend, Kat. She’s 22. Single. She reads Gaiman and Murakami. She’s into FFXIII, Monster Hunter, and whatever else you can play on the PS3 and the XBox. She can move you with her writing. She can make you fall in love with her singing. She wants somebody to make out with. Somebody she can watch corny movies with. Somebody to listen to Indies with.

She can be the best thing that will ever happen to you.

For decent guys who are single and interested, leave a comment or a message. Don’t miss the chance to get to know the most special girl in the world.

I can't even begin to describe how wonderful it feels to have been called the most special girl in the world once in my life. I swear, if lez and I were really lesbian, we'd get married. But, oh well, we're damn straight.

Enough rambling; here's the post:


I AM CURRENTLY LOOKING FOR A BOYFRIEND.

I’ve said that before, I know. I can’t say it enough. I don’t need a boyfriend but I want one. I want to meet someone who’s into books, films, and music. Not just any kind of music though. Rock music is what it is. A lot of my friends tell me to go to bars but I doubt I’d find my boy there. I mean, bars aren’t my thing. What the hell. Neither are they my boy’s. I mean, surely the people who’d be there are the bar-going type of people, right? And that’s not what I’m looking for. What I want is someone whose first stop at the mall would either be a toy store or a book store. Someone who prefers to stay in on Saturday nights gobbling up a novel or listening to new music or having a movie marathon. And no, he doesn’t have to be gorgeous. He just has to look decent. Neat. Neat guys are nice. Real nice. I want someone with whom I could trade books and music and discuss stupid things with like they’re all that matter in the universe. I was about to ask why it’s so hard to find someone like this but I just realized why. Again. Because I don’t go out. I don’t meet people. I don’t make an effort to meet people because people scare me. So instead I type away and come up with something part-rant-part-advertisement in hopes of getting someone to introduce me to a guy that fits the description, or for said guy to stumble upon this post and introduce himself to me. Fat chance.

I’m not ugly, although I can’t say I’m pretty either. I’m average. I happen to be overweight, which totally sucks, but I’m doing something about it so I can look good on my graduation day (hahaha). I hate that body size matters but it does. It fucking does. So I’m putting it here. Anyway, as I’ve said, I don’t need a boyfriend but I really really want one. I want someone to spend days and nights with. I want someone to make out with. To have sex with (there, I said it). I’m not too crazy about the idea though. I like kissing far better, believe it or not. But most importantly (yes, there is something more important than making out and having sex), someone to talk to. I have friends for that, true, but I can’t expect my friends to listen to me all the time and give me 100% of their attention but I can get that from a boyfriend. Because he has to. It’s part of his role as a boyfriend. Because these days it’s hard to find someone who would give you all of their attention. Here I go again with my selfish desires. But yeah. I want that. Because nobody ever gives me 100% attention, I don’t think. Not even my mom. So yeah. I want that. That would be nice.

And in turn, I would give him my attention too. 100%. No matter how short my attention span is. I can try. I will try.

I am twenty two. I once thought I’d be married by the age of twenty three. It’s not happening, obviously, unless I meet someone soon and fall madly in love and decide to marry in a fucking hurry. Someone a little older than me would be good, but hey, age doesn’t matter, right? Although, yeah, there’s a limit. So, uhh, anywhere from twenty to twenty eight would be nice. Real nice.

Let’s see. I’ve dated the musician type, the artist type, the otaku type, and the gamer type. I’ve never dated the writer type. Why is that? Not to say that I want my next boyfriend to be a writer type, no, that’s not necessary, although I imagine it would be pretty nice too. But, meh, it would just be a bonus, I guess. Not into the sporty type ‘m’fraid. Never was sporty, so there’s no use having a jock for a boyfriend.

God, I’m too picky. No wonder I’m single.

Then again, I have every right to be picky, don’t I? We’re talking about someone I’m gonna end up exchanging saliva with (kind of gross when you put it like that) so yes, I think I do have the right to be this choosy.

Anyway.

What else is there to say? Oh yeah. Height. He has to be taller than me. I’m not very tall. Average height. Five foot three. So the boy has to at least be five foot six. No special reason. Just a personal preference I imagine I share with a majority of the female species. A silly boy would be nice. Not dumb. Just silly. I mean, like, you know, someone funny and spontaneous and a little bit insane. Someone who likes taking walks under the rain or killing each other off in a good game of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare or Tekken 6. A boy. I really want a boy.

And please, no weird fetishes.

And oh, he has to love the Philippines and has to be willing to stay here for the rest of his goddamn life.

That’s about it, I guess. Am I asking for too much? I just want a boy to fall in love with. Nothing out of the ordinary, although a little masochism won’t hurt. Yep. A boy to make the empty feeling go away. That would be nice. Real nice.

***

Oh, what a silly, stupid girl I was. Am. I just realized I've been posting too much on this blog. I hardly wrote last year because, well, 1) I was busy, 2) I didn't want to talk about my relationship problems here, 3) after I quit my job, I didn't have a life to write about, and 4) I sort of fell into a near-depressed state (and for a time, I was the crazy anime lady, according to a friend). I came up with a list of things I intend to write about. Let's see if I can actually do it. For now, though, bed.

Raccoon City is in My Subconscious

Here's a list of some of the most vivid, most hilarious, weirdest, and creepiest dreams I've had.

1. I was a survivor of a virus that turned people into zombies. Resident Evil, anyone? It happened the morning after the virus has spread and I was with a few people who also survived. It happened in Manila, somewhere near UP. So we were out and about, these people and I, and there were no zombies because the victims have not awoken yet. When they finally arose to join the army of the undead, we started running. It was frightening.

We reached a hospital and there we met a nurse who turned out to be a classmate from grade school. She locked me up in what looked like a bathroom and there I found a series of doors that ultimately led me to where she was hiding. I told her we should leave. So we went out of the room and were about to leave the hospital through a ladder but there was a zombie on it. More and more zombies came so we ran back into the room and then two of the other survivors arrived on a Harley Davidson and started making out and we were like, "Hey! Stop kissing! There are zombies out there!"

Then I woke up.

2. I was, without my knowledge, pregnant. When it was time to give birth, all that came out was blood.

3. I was a prostitute of some sort. There was a scene involving my ex-best friend, a wooden birdhouse that didn't have birds in it, and me having sex with an old, fat geezer.

It was disgusting.

4. I was in a scene from a Wrong Turn movie, locked inside a hall with the other characters. The deformed humans came with pink and blue chainsaws and killed some of the other people. I, of course, survived, all thanks to a pink stiletto that I smashed against the villains' heads. Apparently, in my dream world, stilettos really can kill. One of girls in my group and was saved by a ninja, while everyone else (except me, of course) was already dead. Since there was no one else to kill, all the other monsters turned to me and chased me with their fancy chainsaws. So I stormed out of the hall to follow the ninja and saw him on a roof. I jumped onto the roof of a house standing right across the one they were on and asked the ninja to take me with him too. Then I noticed there were hands on the edge of the roof I was on! Someone had followed me.

It was fucking Jesus.

With blunt bangs.

I swear, it was so fucking freaky! I jumped across and begged the ninja to fight him and he did. So a short battle scene commenced. And then the ninja came back and said, "Tt won't die. it's a zombie!"

Great. A zombie Jesus. Freakier.

The ninja said the best thing to do was run since zombies were slow anyway, so we ran and started looking for a pier. Ninja boy wanted us to take an abandoned ship and I said "No fucking way! We'll just die!" So we kept running and running and running until we found a real ship and finally sailed our way to (where else?) Japan.

When we got there there were lots of people on the shore waiting for us and I realized it was, like, a fishing village in feudal Japan. And I thought, "Why the fuck is this ninja out in the open?"

Then ninja boy realized he was bitten by the zombie Jesus. All three of us (including the other girl, who was still unconscious) were and the bite marks...

...looked exactly like this: ♥

And that was how it ended.

5. I was being chased by weird creatures. First, of course, were the zombies. Following them were the freakiest shit that had ever made an appearance in my dreams: albino babies with adult faces, bald heads, and huge penises dangling in between their baby thighs.

My brain is infested with monsters.

This is who I am

Many people probably find me weird (and some, even desperate) just because I go after who I want. That's sad though. It's difficult enough to find the love of your life, and being a woman in a society that dictates what we should and should not do and that discriminates against those who repudiate its norms makes it doubly hard. It's easy to raise a middle finger and say "Fuck you, society!" but going against what is considered acceptable and normal is a lot harder than that.

I was thirteen when I first confessed to someone. No, I wasn't desperate. I just thought it wasn't fair that boys can go after the girls they like and girls are expected to idle away, waiting for their princes to come. I thought that was stupid and that the world could use a little more honesty. People thought it was weird and ludicrous, especially since all I got out of it was a semi-broken heart, but at the end of the day, I stood up for what I believed in and I was brave. And that's important.

None of my ex-boyfriends made ligaw. I don't let guys court me because courting entails impressing, gifting, pretending. You have to get the girl, after all. I knew girls who let guys they didn't like court them--kind of like testing just how far a guy was willing to go to get them. I hated that. If you don't like the guy, tell him straight out. Don't fucking lead him on. I guess I've always believed that if there was no immediate attraction, then it wouldn't come later on. I'm probably wrong, but that's how it's always been for me. A couple of years ago, I went out with a guy my guy best friend introduced. He was nice, smart, had a nice car, went to Ateneo, and then UP. He took me to dinner at an Italian restaurant that served food whose names I couldn't pronounce, bought me coffee and drove me around the city, picked me up at 6AM from the dorm and then drove me to the bus station when I went home for Christmas break. My friends said I should give it a shot, that I could perhaps learn to love him overtime. I thought, okay, why the hell not?

He drove me home once. Before I got off the car, he asked if he could kiss me. I let him. It was early morning and I hadn't slept because I spent the night drinking at a friend's house. I hadn't kissed anyone in a long time, so I was actually looking forward to it. But as soon as I got to the dorm, I ran to the bathroom and washed my mouth. I didn't see him again when I came back from Christmas break. When he asked if he could see me again, I said I'm busy with my thesis. He got the message and eventually stopped contacting me.

Perhaps this is just my romanticism talking. I'm not saying love has to be instantaneous, but I'm all about the sparks and electric feels and inexplicable connections. The world has enough mediocre things in it; I refuse to count love as one. So when I love, I don't hold back. I try to, but I always end up feeling like I'm not being myself completely, and that's another thing I dislike. In spite of the things I sometimes say and write, I really do like myself. I may not be brilliant nor talented (I have skills, not talent), but I try to be good at things, at least. I don't understand everything, but I'd like to think I am more tolerant and accepting than most people. I'm not always honest nor kind nor brave. But I try. I really do.

This afternoon, I was telling lez how I have very little self-control and how I disliked having to keep myself from doing things I want or from expressing how I feel.

You know how I am when I like someone. Feelings overflow, get out of control.

People keep telling me I should learn to control myself (in the context of my pursuit of romantic love LOL). Especially since I am a girl. And sometimes, I really do find myself trying very hard not to seem easy, if you know what I mean. But, really, what's wrong with being honest about our feelings? And what's the deal with most guys getting ticked off by girls who take the initiative?

'SUP WORLD?

Aaaaanyway.

I love who I am. And according to this list (it's awesome, so click and read!), "This is who I am" is one of the things to say before you die because "the nervous energy spent pretending to be something you’re not is better spent on practically anything else."

So yeah. This is who I fucking am. Incoherent, awkward, at times stupidly honest. Yep.

012913

I am crying as I write this.

I'm not particularly sad or anything; frustrated is more like it. I can't quite recall when I last cried. It can't be that long ago since the breakup was only a little over a month ago. No, this is not about that; I'm done crying over that and that is inconsequential compared to what I am now lamenting over. I've written about this before, I think. Maybe on this blog, maybe on one of my older, private blogs. Maybe on all of them.

Today I started doing evaluations for the new account. I was supposed to do eight but could only finish three because, well, for the first couple of hours of my shift, I didn't know I was supposed to be evaluating because my trainer sent me calls for parallel evaluations. Anyway, this isn't the reason I'm crying either. Not the main one, at least. It just frustrates me that I'm having difficulty doing a job that's supposedly easy. It gets easier, of course. I just have to give myself time to get used to it.

I was talking to someone about my previous job. That is what brought this sullen mood about. He asked why I left my job, and answering called to mind the latter half of the previous year. I had wanted that job since college. Before I even graduated. I swore I was going to be an educator, I was going to liberate minds, while giving back to the nation at the same time. I was going to serve the people, like an iskolar ng bayan is supposed to. But look at me now. Serve the people my ass. Since I left my job at the university, I felt like my life had lost its direction. The person whom I expected to support me ended up abandoning me (I got your back, he said. Whatever you choose to do, I'll be right here for you). My students were begging me not to leave, but I couldn't stay. Not when I was compromising my health just to survive a day. I isolated myself; spent my breaks chain smoking and drinking coffee or soda at a store in front of the school, just so I had somewhere to stay. I didn't want to stay at the faculty office when I regarded most of the people there with contempt.

I wasn't the best teacher, no. But I tried to do something for my students that none of their teachers have probably thought of doing. I encouraged them to question and, if needed, to fight. I told them they weren't powerless as they thought they were. I delivered lectures on love, because they don't teach us that in school. I cried for them, in front of them even, because they were oppressed by the people and the institution that should be educating them. I wasn't the best teacher. I didn't pretend to be. I didn't pretend to be anything; I was just myself. I wasn't the best teacher but I was loved, at least, by the people who actually matter: my students.

My kids.

I wanted to stay. I really did. I wanted to resist, I wanted change. But I couldn't do anything when all I had was an army of scared children who deemed themselves powerless against the powers that be. So I left. Knowing what my reputation must have been and hearing from my students what people who don't know me have been saying, I doubt I'd be able to come back. Maybe I could, but it would take a long time, and my kids won't be there anymore. There will still be students, of course, but I really wanted to do something for my kids.

I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry I couldn't do anything for you. I'm sorry I couldn't be the best teacher, but I hope you learned as much from the semester I spent with you as I did. You were not only my students; you were also my teachers.

Teaching was exhilarating. I seldom take center stage in large groups, because, well, I really am shy, believe it or not, but being a teacher was different. There were times when I couldn't stop talking because I was enjoying the lesson so much. Admittedly, though, I had the tendency to digress and tell stories too much.

On Teacher's Day, we were made to attend a short program for teachers at the college. Toward the end, students handed each teacher a white rose. I got three, one of which came with a hug and an I love you, ma'am. I almost cried. A few days later, my advisory class surprised me with a cake, a customized No. 1 Teacher trophy, a small banner saying  Happy Teacher's Day Ma'am Kat! I love you (later that day they posted an album on Facebook containing photos of them holding that banner) and an illustration board filled with short messages from them. And on the last day of exams, my third year English majors surprised me with a huge card filled with loving messages and a balloon which unfortunately popped. One student even made a booklet filled with pictures of me (lol) she took from my Facebook, along with pages and pages of heartwarming messages.

I may not have been the best, but I was loved. I was well-loved.

And I was the coolest (my students' words, not mine. LOL).

I still want to teach. This job I have now is only temporary. Maybe. I don't know. Depends on how well I execute my life-plans. I've stopped crying.

To better days.

To better days.

I have awesome friends

I just realized I haven't written about the previous weekend, which I spent with my awesome college friends or, as we like to call ourselves, the LF elders. LF stands for Lingua Franca, our org. We were supposed to go on a sort of retreat dubbed Oplan Ayos Buhay 2013 but we could never agree on a schedule, so we settled for dinner instead.

We met last Saturday at Kanin Club in Technohub and had a sumptuous dinner of sinigang sinangag, crispy dinuguan, adobong kangkong, and vegetarian curry. I don't really like dinuguan BUT OH MY GOD THAT CRISPY DINUGUAN WAS AMAZING. No wonder David was like, "Tangina, ang sarap!" Sinigang sinangag was awesome too. It was basically fried rice made to taste like sinigang. So it was dry sinigang? Haha. I didn't get to try the vegetarian curry but it looked and smelled good. The adobong kangkong was good, too. I love kangkong! We also had this salad with green mango and celery and peanuts in it. Not really a fan of celery so it tasted weird to me.

I take terrible photos of food. That's the sinigang sinangag.

Star of the night

After dinner, we went to Mercato and some of my friends bought ice cream. Seventy bucks for a small cup of ice cream was too expensive for me so I decided not to get any. But it was good. Rock salt caramel, I think the flavor was? Reminds me of this Blue Bunny frozen yogurt that had caramel and praline in it. Mmm. After going around Mercato checking out the food stalls, we hung out on the steps of one of the buildings there (techportal, I think it's called? Not sure) and did some catching up. I was asked about my breakup (Kamusta ka na? Anong nangyari sa inyo?) twice, first by Tine, then by my thesis partner Issa. I was like, Inyo? Wala nang inyo! Hahaha. I kept spouting bitter sounding remarks the entire night and we all had a good laugh, so it's cool. We conversed, we joked, we sang, we danced this crazy-stupid dance. We wanted to go to karaoke but we didn't know any nearby karaoke place, so we just sang right then and there. At some point we started acting as if we were drunk, but we weren't even drinking! I guess we were getting drunk on one another's company. It was that awesome.

Hanging out with friends like that makes me feel like I'm in college again. I miss college. I miss UP. I'm very fortunate for having been a student of the university. The experience is priceless and I was able to meet amazing people I couldn't have met elsewhere. I'm lucky! :)

The best thing about the elders? THEY ARE AWESOME. They're intelligent, smart, brilliant, talented... NO, I AM NOT EXAGGERATING. They really are. It still amazes me how I get to be part of such a wonderful group of people. It's humbling, really. When they start talking about serious stuff, I almost always just shut up and listen and watch them in awe. LOL~ That I am friends with such people makes me feel I am awesome too. Hahaha!

We went to Baler last year in the summer and we're planning to go elsewhere this year, but we haven't decided on our next destination yet. I'm hoping to go on a camping trip, maybe to a place like Anawangin where we can have both mountain and sea. I love that place. God, I could stay there forever.

I love my friends. And I will always be grateful for them. These are people I can see myself being close friends with until we're old and wrinkly and gray.

Found this photo on a Facebook page I liked and saved it. A reminder to invest in relationships only with people who deserve the effort and who reciprocate. My LF friends always remind me of what I'm capable of. Sometimes I feel as if they believe in me more than I do. We all need such people in our lives. :)

Sonnet XVII

Sonnet XVII (Neruda) by Kat Santos

I really love this poem. My second favorite, probably. The first? I'll save it for another post.

Has it really been only a month?

Since the disintegration of my relationship with the Capricorn? Really? It feels much longer than that!

The bastard seems to be lurking in the dankiest parts of my consciousness, appearing every so often to haunt me like a wraith. The good news is I am no longer sad about the breakup. Angry, sure, but not sad. Also, I realized I may not have been as good a girlfriend as I thought I was and as I made myself seem because I may have been in love with an idea and not with the person himself. I was in love with the awesome guy I thought he could someday become and not with who he was at the time.

Seriously though, I can't believe it's only been a month since that melodramatic breakup scene on the roof. Haha!

I just got back to Manila from my weekend at home. This morning I got a text from a colleague who lives in the same condo saying a guy from our floor jumped off the building and killed himself. I'm fucking scared, okay? Sheesh. Sheeeesh.

I'm going to sleep. Eep.

Planner Post

This is how I plan my life. Or my days. Whichever.

A Love for All Things Beautiful

sight, sound, and scent
color, coffee, and conversation
literature, lace, and love
picture, poetry, paper, and pen
ink and inspiration

time and truth and tattoo
pleasure and pain and piercing

swirl, smoke, and solitude

These are things that come to mind, along with images of flowers and grass growing wild in an open field. A simple life I have been longing to live. Something I feel I have been deprived of. There is a hunger growing inside me. A need, a longing to breathe an air some place else. A place with no concrete walls, no silver deserts of asphalt, no tall, fiber glass windows.

I want not only to see beauty, but to experience it. To hold it and preserve it. To create something out of it. To capture it and become one with it.

There is a fire burning in my hearth, warming up my made-up winter days. There is no fall in the land I come from, but dead trees stand proud, their roots buried in its earth, their branches reaching for its sky.

I, too, have a sky.

I long for something beautiful. Merely existing holds no meaning.

I long to be defined.

***

Don't mind me. I'm just rambling and being overly incoherent. The italicized text was, by no means, an attempt at poetry, but a mere listing of things where I find beauty.

***

I just realized I have a fascination for complex characters in books and films. By complex, I mean confused, confusing, complicated, carefree, and careless characters.

***

What defines you?

Gravitation

His hair was a perpetual mess like Wolverine’s. He sometimes hid it under a baseball cap. When it was long enough he held it in a pony tail, which was almost always still in a state of disarray. I met him first in my second year in college, when we both applied for membership in an organization. We were introduced to each other and were told we were going to be co-apps. I smiled. He smiled back. That was it.

I was not immediately drawn to him. The attraction came a few days after that initial encounter, when I realized he had a wacky sense of humor, a wicked taste in music, and a wonderful singing voice to go with his skills in playing the guitar. The more I got to know him, the stronger the gravitational pull grew. It was almost as if he was the Sun and I was a mere ball of gas helplessly magnetized towards his direction, ready to dive into his raging ocean of fire and burn.

We listened to the same kind of music so it’s easy to be reminded of him and the days I spent orbiting him, maintaining a safe proximity, ensuring I was far enough not to get reduced to ashes, yet near enough not to be just another nameless planet. I had been attracted to a few others before him but the pulls were never as intense as his. The ones before him were nothing but potential planetary collisions.

Albert Einstein once said, “Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love. How on earth can you explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love? Put your hand on a stove for a minute and it seems like an hour. Sit with that special girl for an hour and it seems like a minute. That's relativity.”

Was it love? It probably was. Is. I am still in my orbit, after all, and he is still burning bright. His hair is no longer a mess these days though.

***

I like recycling posts, so what? Besides, I got a good grade for this assignment, so why waste it? Haha.

Stop Crying, She Said, But She Herself Won't Hush

I curled up in bed hugging a pillow, my brother snoring loudly beside me. The air conditioner was on, the light off. I pressed my arm against the wall to check if it was already cool. It was. It had become my habit to do that because the walls of that room were usually warm, especially during the summer months. Mother was in the same room, ironing the clothes she was going to wear for her high school reunion. “Look at this,” she said, calling my attention, unfolding a purple blouse she had bought for cheap.

“It’s pretty.”

“I wanted to wear it for tomorrow.”

“Yeah. Do that,” I yawned, shifting the other way to face the wall again. I ran my hand across the coarse, chipping paintwork and thought about how everything about this house these days seemed coarse and chipping.

Even intangible objects like love.

When she was done with her chore, mother unplugged the flat iron and killed the fluorescent light. Darkness drowned everything in sight, save for the glow-in-the-dark replica of Saturn taped to the wall, a faint green light radiating from the thin plastic. It was a planet in its own universe. It had neither moons nor stars to outshine it. But it was made of plastic. And somehow, everything in this house these days was made of plastic.

Even intangible objects like happiness.

Mother slipped into bed, in between me and my brother. I had my back to her, my arms still clinching the pillow, waiting for sleep to come fetch me and take me to my dreams. Then mother spoke. She spoke of her husband who was sleeping soundly in their bedroom, while his wife lay on what little space was left between their children. Their grown up children. When her voice started trembling I knew I couldn’t fake it anymore.

I cried soundlessly, muting my sobs with the pillow I was holding like it was a good friend. But mother went on and on and on and soon I could no longer carry on with my pretense. I was a broken-down wall, a burned-down fortress, reduced to nothing but a pile of ash and debris.

“I feel ashamed sometimes,” she said, her voice cracking with a sob. “I know I should be there. Beside him. Not here. But there are times when I can’t bear it anymore, the way he treats me.” She must have felt me shaking or heard me whimpering, because she suddenly wound an arm around my waist and pulled me close. “Stop crying,” she said. But she herself won’t hush.

I reached for her hand, held it, and hoped that somehow that gesture spoke the words I could not bring myself to say. My imagination grew dim as I listened to her drivel on how she could no longer bear how my father now treated her more like a maidservant than a wife, how his material appetite seemed impossible to satisfy, and how, as days rolled by, it was getting harder and harder to deal with him. And be with him. I thought of the other woman and wished to find out who she really was, picturing myself harming her physically if I ever proved she was the same woman from a few months ago. It was a frightening image. And somehow, I knew I wasn’t capable of doing it.

“Stop crying,” mother said. “Your eyes will swell if you don’t stop.” But she herself won’t hush.

I buried my face on my pillow, shushing myself, in hopes of making mother feel a little better. Her hand remained clasped in mine. It was warm like the wall during summer days.

And I wished everything in this house was warm again.

***

This is two years old, but I make it a point to post it every time I change blogs. I love my family, but sometimes, it's so messed up.

Note to Self

Remember that time--that one time--you went home with your ex? You looked up as you got off the tricycle and almost gasped at how marvelous the night sky was with hardly any clouds and a million stars blinking, blinking, blinking. Remember how you tried to show him (Look, so many stars!) but he didn't give a shit?

Never again settle for someone who has neither love nor appreciation for the stars.

Crap

I was planning to write properly tonight, but as soon as I got to my room I removed my makeup, washed my face, and then put on more makeup than I originally had on.

I'm so obsessive. I was like this last year too. I was obsessed with watercolor and sketchbooks and paintbrushes. I've always loved makeup though so maybe this isn't something I'd tire of. I don't know.

I'm too sleepy to write anything now. When I write on this blog, I feel like I'm talking to myself since no one really reads it. But I guess this is better than tweeting about every fucking thing that happens to me. Which I do sometimes. My twitter is private because of that--it's so embarrassing.

Also, I realized I've been posting too much about love and how I'm longing for it and shit. As much as I want to avoid this though, I've always written too much about love. Really, sometimes I feel it's all I write about. Tsk.

ANYWAY.

I've set a reading goal for myself this year: 30 books. This isn't a lot for other people but it is for me because I don't really have much time to read (or rather, I tend to prioritize other things, e.g. makeup lol). It's already the third week of January and I'm still on my first book. I suck.

I'm reading a book called The Closer We Are to Dying by Joe Fiorito. I got it at a Book Sale last year along with a few other paperbacks. It's non-fiction. It's about the author's dying father, the stories he'd told him over the years, their family history. I really like the writing--clean, simple prose but not devoid of literariness. I'm almost done reading it but I have to stop from time to time because I usually read it at the office during my breaks and since it talks about death and family and all that, there are parts that could bring one to tears.

I don't want to cry at the office, thanks.

After this book, I'm going to read Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt. I bought a number of books from Book Sale last year but I obviously haven't read them, so~

I want to take photos. I hope I can do so this weekend.

P.S. I went up the roof today to watch the sunset. At the exact same spot where my ex and I broke up. I didn't feel any loss or sadness or whatever. I just thought the sunset was pretty and the empanada I was munching on was fucking spicy.

I don't get this at all

Then again I may have played this same game with a few guys before so I've no right to complain.

Someone gives you their number and then texts you. You assume they're interested and maybe they are. For a little while, at least. And then they disappear. And you're left with absolutely no idea what you said or what you did or if it's even your fault to begin with.

Being led on is the worst. I'm trying to think whether or not I've led anyone on in the past. I'd like to think I hadn't. All the people I've been in relationships with I'd loved. For months, for a year. I'd loved them until I no longer did. My love is not an ocean; it's a shallow river that dries up when the summer is cruel and freezes when the winter is harsh. I need someone whose seasons are temperate enough to keep the water running. Whatever that means.

I'm addicted to love.

I've broken up with someone not too long ago, but here I am, already longing for someone new to shower with affection. Why is this so damn hard when there are billions of people around? And why are we still lonely? And why do some people refuse love?

People are so darn complicated. SMH.

On Beds and Memories

I want a bed like the one I have at home. I've said this before--my bed at the condo is too squishy. It's not very comfortable and it hurts my back.

Beds are receptacles for people's most private memories. All of sudden I thought of all the beds in love hotels and their thin white sheets and blankets sometimes yellow or gray from overuse.

Sometimes, when I'm in bed, I am reminded of things past, regardless of whether or not they happened in that same bed I'm lying in. Fond memories of relationships that ended up badly, bittersweet like coffee flavored candy. I recall nights of crying over something I lost, or something I was about to lose--a pet, a job, a person, a love. I've lost quite a lot over the years. Then again, this is something that happens to everyone, so I don't feel sorry for myself or anything like that. I don't regret anything either, although, there are days when I hear regret knocking on the door. Sometimes I let it in, and we sit across each other and tell stories. I always do the telling; regret mostly just listens and, from time to time, pierces me on the heart with a knife. I don't bleed. I don't die. I just hurt. Most of the time, I ignore its knocking and instead call out from behind the door for it to go away: "Stop coming here, motherfucker! I don't need you!"

Today I call to mind the cold, gray mornings I woke up to as a graduating student in UP. I lived in a dorm then, and the beds there were small and creaky and old. They looked like hospital beds and their mattresses were thin and dusty. But they were comfortable to sleep and study in. That last bed I had at Sampaguita had witnessed the most trying days of my student life, as well as the worst of my struggle with my weight and my self-esteem. Ah, I miss college.

When I go home for the weekends and I sit on my bed, a memory flashes. One I'd rather forget because it pains to remember. But when I look at it from another perspective, devoid of any wistfulness, I realize I probably shouldn't control it 'cause it actually helps me realize how the person I am with in the memory deserved to be let go of.

It's almost seven in the morning. I'm getting out of bed now.

Dear future lover

Love me. Love me without shame, without excuse, without restraint. Love me for me, not for what I seem and for what I could be.

Love me, and I will love you in return. And love you beyond cliches.

Changes

Let's see.

One month at work and I'm already being transferred to another account. Seems like it's gonna be more difficult since it's tech, but whatever, work is work and if other people can do it, there's no reason I can't. Aha! Positive thinking! Deleted the post prior to this 'cause it was so nega. Must avoid bad vibes as much as possible, which means never again visiting my ex's Facebook account and not wasting brain space on people who are not doing the same. I'll spend time with people who actually want to be with me, that is, my friends and family.

Life's not perfect but I'm quite happy. There are days when I feel like I'm getting nowhere and that what I'm currently doing has no sense of purpose, but, heck, I'm paying off debt, little by little. I can live comfortably in a condominium with a gorgeous rooftop view of the city and I can buy pretty much whatever I want (except a boyfriend, goddammit, where can I get one?!). To feel unhappy in spite of this is to be ungrateful and stupid. I refuse to be either, so I'll be happy for what I have for now. Of course, I still miss teaching sometimes, but I can always go back to being a teacher when my other problems are solved.

Allow me some bitterness, just this once

I'm not wishing you well, bastard. I'm going to be honest and admit that I sometimes hope you never meet anyone who'd try to understand you as much as I did. I won't think of the good things alone. Instead, I'll remind myself, every time I remember you, that you no longer deserve the thought, much less the tears. You deserve nothing from me. Not after you broke my heart the same way you did a year ago. Not after you blamed me for your feelings.

You can't do that, you understand? Your feelings for another person, regardless of what induced them, are your fucking responsibility. Understand? So don't fucking tell me it was my fault you fell in love with me. And don't fucking come back. I know I said you can. But don't. Understand?

Because I might let you in again. And you'd hammer my fucking heart again into a hundred ugly splinters.

Let's just pretend we never knew each other and our relationship was fiction. That's right. Let's pretend it never fucking happened outside the pages of a book. It's better that way anyway.