New Story: Mamihlapinatapais

Hey everyone,

Yey, new story! :) I wish I could do this — release a story monthly if there’s no ongoing story. Anyway, to see what Mamihlapinatapais (sige nga, sige nga — say it with me?) is all about, read on:

Keala and Ian: neither one is a stranger to the other. The stares they shared, the stolen glances—no one knew something would happen. But someone decided to start something. Was it worth the risk?

The chapter list is here:

• Prologue: Handmade Coupon #8
• Chapter 1: It started with a tweet.
• Chapter 2: Are we still two scared, non-committal, single people?
• Chapter 3: Oh the first time.
• Chapter 4: A Need-You-Now Call.
• Chapter 5: I Should Have Seen this Coming.
• Chapter 6: Are we ready?

PDF download is at the end of chapter 6. PDF download will also reveal who the story is dedicated to (although it is also written at the end of chapter 6).

Hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you guys think :)

 

Cheers,

Kessica

 

P.S. I saw the term mamihlapinatapais over the tumblr of a schoolmate, Rachel. Thanks for the inspiration :)

 

Mamihlapinatapais Chapter 6: Are we ready?

On that fateful day when Ian asked me if he could marry me, I knew I had to go to someone just so I can take the weight off my chest.

And I chose Hannah.

I called Hannah in the middle of the night, apologetic but with the urgency that I needed to have the conversation right away. She relented, detecting immediately that something was wrong, and I went over to her place, leaving the sleeping Ian. And she faced me, hair in a haphazardly pulled up pony, bathrobe untied, sleep still in her eyes.

“What is wrong?” Hannah asked, placing a cup of hot choco in front of me that actually makes no sense because I don’t think I will be doing any drinking in the next thirty minutes.

And then I started to bawl.

“Ian asked me to marry him,” I said, and Hannah gasped. I think it was because she either swallowed the hot tea she was drinking or she was shocked at what I had just told her.

It was the latter.

“He did what?”

Mamihlapinatapais Chapter 5: I should have seen this coming

Ian flopped onto his bed, virtually destabilizing all the things I had on his bed—my papers, my planner, my laptop, my phone and my book. “What’s up?” he said, a wide smile on his face. I leaned in and kissed him and he leaned closer, deepening the kiss. I pulled away before it could lead into something more.

Not today.

“I need to go to UP,” I told him, and his face was curious.

“What for?”

“I am having a bad craving for Rodic’s tapa.”

For a moment, panic crossed Ian’s face. It disappeared almost as quickly and was replaced again by the curiosity. “Craving?” he said, a minimum amount of panic still in his voice, and I realized what my intense craving probably meant to him.

“Oh,” I said, letting out a small laugh, which actually progressed to a long laugh. “No, no, no,” I clarified when my laughter died down, shaking my head. “Not pregnant. Just craving. This usually happens when my period’s just around the corner,” I told him. Ian had clarified early on that no information is actually too much or too little—I just blurt it out if I have to say it.

Complete disclosure is still something I am working about—and I think I am getting pretty good at it especially with Ian.

“Oh. So nothing of that tonight, huh?” Ian said pointedly, and I punched him playfully on the arm. “I’m kidding,” he quipped, laughing, and he took my hand and held it.

“So we’re going?” he asked, and I frowned. “You’ve never been to UP,” I guessed, and he nodded. He studied in some very exclusive university for college—the kind that requires payment of P100,000++ (yes, two plusses) per semester—and probably have never strayed towards the Quezon City area where the main University of the Philippines campus was located.

“I want to use this,” Ian said, flashing me one of my handmade coupons. I recognized it as the one that said: I’ll help you do something for the first time—just like you did so many things for the first time with me.

I looked at him, amused. “You’re serious?” I asked, and he nodded.

“Why not?”

I studied his expression carefully. He is serious. I shrugged, a gazillion things popping into my head right now. “Let’s go. But we’ll do it my way,” I said, and his forehead creased.

“What do you mean by that?”

I stood up, jumping in excitement and winking at him. Ian now looked hesitant, almost scared.

“I don’t like that,” he said, pointing to me and how excited I was. “You—you’re excited and you got that grin on your face like you’re about to do something that I might not like.”

I walked over to him and sat on his lap. “Do you trust me?” I asked him, and Ian gazed into my eyes, in mock thoughtfulness, as if giving the impression that he doubts me. I hit him squarely on the chest playfully and he ended up chuckling. “Of course, of course I do trust you, Kea,” he said, still laughing. He grabbed my nape and kissed me.

“Okay, do what you have to do. You never complained when I asked you to do things with me for the first time,” he said, shrugging, giving me that dimpled smile. I took a deep breath and kissed him on the forehead, running my hands through his now short hair. He cut his hair—I think it was because of something that I said unconsciously about guys looking better with short, clean cut hair while he and I were walking at the mall—but I sort of miss his long hair.

“That’s maybe because the things I do with you for the first time are pleasurable and are very intimate,” I whispered. “This one—you better be patient.” I felt him wrap his arms around my waist and was atop me on one swift move.

“I can do patient,” he said, a glint in his eyes, and I just laughed, knowing what he’s about to do. “After this,” he said, unbuttoning my shorts.

I changed my mind.

I let him drown me in his universe before I drown him in mine.

–

Mamihlapinatapais Chapter 4: A Need-You-Now Call

It was almost one in the morning. I just got home, did a quick shower, and slipped into my PJs after brushing my teeth. My back just touched the bed when my mobile phone rang, the distinct I Need a Doctor ring tone telling me that this is not an ordinary phone call.

It’s Ian.

I swiped down on my phone’s AMOLED screen, and groaned before saying, “If this is a booty call, please—I am tired and not in the mood, and it’s a little too late for that. Let’s lay down some ground rules—no calling past midnight.” The past months after that first time, Ian and I had engaged in a somewhat… “beneficial” “relationship” (yes, they both have to be in separate quotation marks) that merited out-of-the-blue meet ups and more sleepovers. There are moments when he would call me at two in the morning just so I can come over (he can’t sleep over in my unit—I have a roomie), or he would pick me up because the urges are just too strong. It works both ways too—there are days when I would call him just so we can see each other (and you know what happens—but hell, more often than not he and I have “normal” days where we just… hang out).

I didn’t know if my voice sounded cross or anything, but if it did, I immediately regretted it, as Ian’s voice just caught me unguarded.

“Keala, I need you”

It was more than just a need—it was a call for help, a declaration of loneliness, an admission of some inexplicable pain. It wasn’t a booty call. His voice just tore my heart, like I had to do something to get him out of that pain, of wherever in his shell he was.

“I’ll be there in thirty,” I said quickly, silently thanking heavens that I chose a shorts and oversized shirt ensemble for tonight’s sleepwear and not my Mickey Mouse PJs. I grabbed my office bag—toothbrush, cologne, lip gloss, comb, all check—and cursed myself for not having an overnight bag prepared. I threw in a dress and a couple of underwear in a random bag, grabbed my keys and my phone, and headed out to Ian’s place.

When I got to his condo, I was stumped. I don’t have keys, and I had been knocking for the past five minutes but there was no answer. Stupidly, on the eighth minute, I tried the doorknob and it opened.

Ha.

Why didn’t I think of that earlier?

I entered cautiously. Maybe something happened to Ian that’s why the door was left open?

The lights in the living room were off. That immediately sent me a bad signal, for I know when Ian calls (and I come—no pun intended), the living room lights are on full blast to welcome me. He knows I feel iffy in the dark. I threw my things onto the couch and walked briskly to Ian’s room, finding him under his sheets and pillows, his back facing me, his shoulders moving as if he was hiccupping.

I kicked off my slippers and slid next to him under the sheets, and when he turned to face me, I saw he had been crying.

Not good.

I took a deep breath. “Ian…” I whispered, unable to say anything more. I wasn’t trained on being needed by somebody—much less needed by Ian, someone who swore off commitments and relationships like me. But then again, that was before I happened to him. And Ian is a strong guy—as I had described him the first “date” out, he is assured, confident. I haven’t seen him cry, get angry, or be mad just once in the past six months, and I sincerely think that is a world record for someone who is close to me—fickle and confusing as I am.

I reached out and wiped his tears gently with my fingers, and then he reached up, clutching at my hands like they were his life. “What’s wrong?” I asked, worry filling my voice. I am about to panic, my friends.

I SERIOUSLY DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.

“Hold me?” he said, his voice hoarse, and I nodded repeatedly, opening my arms. I hugged him as tightly as I could as he cuddled closer. He was shivering—he wasn’t sick, but he felt unusually cold—and I hugged him, wanting to make him feel better. I felt him hug me back, his arms tight around my waist, his face buried in my neck, our long legs in a weird tangle under the sheets.

He was sobbing for a few moments, and I started to rock him in my arms, stroking his back, touching his hair. And then he fell silent.

And then snores. Tiny, soft snores that told me he got tired from crying and succumbed to sleep.

I held him in my arms, like a baby seeking his mother’s comfort, and felt the darkness consume me as well.

–

Mamihlapinatapais Chapter 3: Oh the first time.

It never occurred to me to ask Ian how old he is. I just know he’s older than I was—I never knew by how much.

So here we are, at the door of his condo unit five floors above the ground.

Wait.

I just have to say this. During our first “date,” Ian asked me where I live and I remember saying, “Fairfax, California.” Imagine the laugh I had on the confusion on his face, so I had to clarify that I am living at California Garden Square, some small patch of land with orange buildings that looked like bunched up orange mushrooms under a tree. All the buildings there were named after cities in California—El Dorado, Fairfax, Dayton, among others. No Los Angeles, though.

So when I asked Ian where he lives and he told me, a smile tugging the edge of his mouth, “Cedar Crest.”

I remember giving him a questioning look, one that also told him to stop pulling my leg, but he shrugged. “I’m serious,” he said when he glanced at me, and I saw his brows furrow once more, so I knew he really is serious.

Mamihlapinatapais Chapter 2: Are we still two scared, noncommittal single people?

Or is it just me: one scared, non-committal woman with a man who switched over to the “dark” side?

Pink’s Fucking Perfect blared (and vibrated) in my ears. I know, I know. It’s bad to place your mobile phone anywhere near you, especially when you sleep. I have heard that bit from Ian when he asked me how come I answer my phone so quickly when he wakes me up in the morning. He instructed me—and I have yet to concur—to place it a few feet away, one where I would have to stand up to snooze the alarm when it blares (he knows I snooze the alarm three times before I actually get up from bed). Ian, on the other hand, sleeps so easily and wakes up so easily. He is so blessed.

Hey, just give me this one last time. I got home after last night’s (or this morning’s) overnighter, and when I got home, I just dropped into bed and rolled to sleep.

Okay, maybe I got to change clothes first before I rolled over and temporarily died.

I tugged on my phone, swiped down (Lala, swipe up is to decline the call, swipe down is to accept the call—HTC phones sometimes give me hell, and the learning curve is semi-steep). “Hello?” I mumbled into the phone whilst burying myself again under a pillow and my teddy bear stuffed toy, one which Ian constantly tease me about because I wasn’t creative in naming it (it’s brown, and I named it Brownie).

“Keala?”

My eyes snapped open. How can I forget that voice? Or the only person who insists on calling me “Keala” instead of “Lala” just like everyone else does?

And how can I forget that (or those) mind-numbing, earth-shattering, heart-stopping (okay, I will stop with the two-word adjectives or whatever they are) kiss(es) that practically fueled my stress-filled four weeks?

“Ian?” I said, mildly surprised and obviously a bit more awake than I was two seconds ago, emerging from the pile and sitting up on my bed.

Mamihlapinatapais Chapter 1: It Started With a Tweet

Twitter. Oh the wonders of social networking sites.

In whatever Ian and I have, Twitter started it all.

–

I knew Ian—Julian Nathaniel Perez (Twitter handle: @ianperez103)—professionally. Back when I first met him he was a senior advertising executive, and we were “servicing” the same client (He had since been promoted to being a manager, but personally senior advertising executive already sounds so… posh to me. Advertising manager sounds common and weird). I was—okay, I still am—working as a media planner, and our client has this habit of double-booking his meetings. Camille and I would head to the meeting, only to find out that “Client” has an ongoing meeting with Ian and his team. Our client’s meeting with Ian’s team and with mine would usually overlap about fifteen to thirty minutes.

That was the first time I saw Ian, and tell you what—I always looked forward to meetings that this Client sets up, for it would mean I will be seeing Ian.

And this client has never failed me and Ian.

When Ian and I first met, we just said hi and hello. I knew his name is Ian Perez—although “Client” loves calling him Julian in some flirty tone—and he knew my name is Lala Herrera. He knew I worked for EdgeMedia and I knew he worked for Moire Creatives. But that was the extent of our “knowledge” of each other. I never knew how old he was or if he is dating or if he has a girlfriend.

But there was more to the quarterly meetings than schedules overlapping.

Mamihlapinatapais – Prologue: Handmade Coupon #8

MAMIHLAPINATAPAIS (noun)

-    From the Yaghan language of Tierra del Fuego. It is considered as the world’s most succinct word and the hardest to translate.

-    What does it mean? It is a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something that both desire but neither one wants to start.

Source: http://mysteryarts.blogspot.com/2008/09/mamihlapinatapais.html

–

My boss was unusually giddy when she approached me. She was carrying a grande iced green tea latte and another coffee jelly cup, and she handed the latte to me. I frowned—hey, my boss knows I liked iced green tea latte—but when I read the name written on the cup, I knew it wasn’t from my boss.

Keala.

Everyone knew my name was Keala but no one really used it because I insisted to be called Lala (I know what you’re thinking—like the Teletubby. I have to admit that I like that particular Teletubby, but my nickname wasn’t because of it).

I only knew one person in this whole world who insisted in calling me “Keala,” just coz he thinks my name is unique and should be used to its full effect—and that when we are in bed, it is just way smoother to say “Keala” than its shorter and less meaningful “gibberish” counterpart.

And I haven’t seen him for almost a year.

“Someone’s looking for you outside,” my boss, Camille, said, and there was this suggestive smile on her face that somehow confirmed what I was thinking.

My boss knew Ian. She met him more than ten times before—teased me loads of times how cute Ian actually is because out of all the guys in the room where we first met Ian, he was the one that stood out (Well, there were only five guys in the room, so… it isn’t an impressive “base” to begin with, but work with me here).

I noticed him too—and there was this part of me that wished I didn’t.

Not that Ian is that bad—he isn’t, just let me clarify that one—but… it’s a whole other thing.

What she—and the rest of my office—don’t know is what went on between Ian and me. There was this point in time that I think they knew I was going out with someone—the inexplicable presence of Blackberry Torch could do that, the early log outs despite the heavy workload, and the grin that can’t be erased on my face. But I think they also knew that it had stopped.

That it ended.

That the Blackberry Torch mysteriously disappeared. That I asked them to delete the alternate number where they could always contact me before (it was the SIM inserted in the Torch). That I returned to “enjoying” late nights and overnighters. That from being someone who was open, I became sealed shut. Tight. With no one seeping in.

I took the latte and walked out slowly to the lobby, and just found myself stopping a few steps near the lobby, watching at Ian who was thumbing through his phone—a black Blackberry Torch—probably replying some of his BBM contacts. He couldn’t possibly be tweeting—like me, he went on hiatus from the social networking site nearly a year ago—after everything had happened.

Ian never failed to amuse me. After a year, I still find myself breathless whenever I am within arm’s length of him. My heart is pumping so hard in my chest that my ears are nearly getting deaf.

And then he finally felt that there were eyes on him—eyes apart from those of our receptionist’s, who can’t seem to resist the Ian charm. He stood up to meet me, a tentative smile on his face.

“Ian,” I whispered, and then he stepped back, cocked his head towards the plush blue chairs at the lobby.  I started to sip the tea latte just coz I don’t know what to say.

“I haven’t seen you in a long while, Keala. How are you?” Ian said, starting the conversation, pretty much how he started everything else between us about two years ago.

I still couldn’t speak.

“I was going through my things last night, and I came across this,” he said, bringing out a familiar handmade box. “So I… called Irene, asked her if you’re still working here, and she said you are, so I came here.”

I finally got rid of the latte that is serving as my lifesaver. “Okay,” I said simply. I am handicapped. Despite losing the latte, I can’t bring up words to express how surprised I was and amazed that he’s here.

Ian opened the box and fished one of the handmade coupons inside. I could recognize my handwriting, and I wonder which of the twenty or so unused coupons he’s gonna use.

He handed the coupon to me.

Coupon #8.

One kick-ass life-changing conversation for use if or when I balk on you.

I grinned. I had amazing foresight at the time when I was making those coupons that I would, somehow, some way, run away from Ian.

I took the coupon, and then looked into Ian’s chocolate brown eyes. “Ah,” I said, and he gave me my favorite smile of his.

“I promised you before, that I’ll wait, didn’t I?” Ian said gently, and I nodded.

And wait he did.