To my 25-year-old self

To my 25-year-old self,

At this point in time, you’re dead tired of and from your job and on most days you hate it. You dread going to work and you cry on some days before taking a deep breath, composing yourself, and heading to work. You are spiraling, and you are very unhappy.

Yet you choose to go to work every day because you still don’t know where you will head. The unknown scares you far more than being unhappy. You’d think maybe this is your quarter-life crisis happening right on cue.

And then you meet someone.

And this someone would be your mad love. What did one of your directors say? That you are entitled to that one mad love in your life, the kind of love that you would do everything for, be crazy for, and maybe even destroy yourself for. And that should be it. One mad love for the rest of your life, because this mad love should teach you a lot of life lessons.

He is someone who doesn’t fit your specs at all except for the fact that he wears glasses and he plays a musical instrument. He smokes (which is one of your deal breakers), he drinks, and aside from the fact that you work together, the list of things that you both have in common probably stops at ten. If this was high school, he’d be part of the ‘it’ crowd, the group of guys who act like they own the hallways, the ones who would sit at the sides and would rate the girls that pass by. And you, well, you know where you were in high school: Miss Goody Two Shoes, sometimes a wallflower, sometimes thrust in the limelight due to an academic achievement. The only times that your world would intersect with his is when he asks for help for his book report or when he wants to copy your homework. (Or when you would ask him for help for your drafting assignment because you hate it, and he’s good at it.)

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Little Things #30

“What is wrong?”

I woke up with a start, three calls from H waking me up. I picked up on the fourth, and the panic in his voice was almost palpable that I wished I was there with him—he was in Australia this time with the boys, and they will be there for a month and a half. I was going to catch up with them in a week and stay with them for two more weeks before heading back.

“I need you to head to the house in the woods,” he said, his tone very urgent.

“Um… why?”

I heard some arguing in the background, so much so that it was drowning whatever H was saying. “Shut up—just shut up, okay?” H shouted off the phone. “I’m getting her to check, so calm your asses down.”

I gasped, finally realizing it. “L’s gone,” I whispered, and H heard me. “He is. He wasn’t there when we woke up this morning, and we tried contacting him—”

“Wait, back up. What happened prior to him being gone?”

H let out a long, shaky breath. I could imagine him, ruffling his hair, pacing. If he was nervous enough, he could be biting his nails, which would earn him his stylist’s wrath. “S was here too, in Australia. She’s on tour with P, and L saw them last night. Z said S… was with another guy.”

“Rattled his little cage huh.”

I could hear his smile on the other line. “You could say that.” He sighed heavily. “You have the key, right? Can you please just check if he’s there?”

“Of course,” I said easily. “I’ll bring ice cream and pizza.”

He chuckled. “I love you,” he said with a contented sigh.

“Love you back. Call you when I rescue him.”

“Please do.”

I ended the call, and then stood up, wondering if I should bring the same things to comfort a girl when I am comforting a guy through a (recurring) heartbreak.

 —

The door rattled, and I thought it wouldn’t open. It was so, so cold out here in the woods—it was drizzling outside and it’s frigging four in the morning. I let out a “brrrrrr” when I got inside, and I was rubbing my hands together to warm them up. The house was even colder inside—the fire wasn’t on, and it seemed like there was no one here.

I placed the stuff I was bringing on the kitchen countertop—two bags worth of goodies and comfort items—and took a stroll inside the house. It was a very simple place—two bedrooms, one living room, one kitchen, and two baths—but it was homey. You knew that there were so many memories formed in that place, some of them my memories with H.

I went to the first bedroom, smiling a bit at the memory that it was the room H and I stayed in when he first brought me here. It was empty, but the bed was unmade. The bath was empty too. The other bedroom was untouched.

Where is L?

An idea dawned unto me, and I passed by the kitchen on the way out to the backdoor. There was a spot in the backyard which I deeply loved when I first came here, and it was because it was where I got to release all my pent-up emotions. And I’m thinking that’s where L would be too.

True enough, I found him—hacking away at firewood, shirtless, his muscles strained by the effort. The rain slid down his arm, licking his tattoos. His sweat mixed with the rain, and I knew—judging by the way his shoulders were shaking—that he was crying. He grabbed one log, positioned it at the center of the trunk, and then launched the axe in the air and plunged it down, splitting the log cleanly in half.

I didn’t know how long I watched him, but it was long enough for the drizzle to drench my clothes. I could feel the cold seeping into my bones. He was on the last piece of log—already making a pile of it—and he finally looked up and saw me. For a moment I knew he thought I was S, and then he saw me—as in me—and it was probably too much for him. He dropped the ax on the grass, landing in a soft thud. I watched him as he fell on his knees, and just plainly broke down in front of me, piece by piece chipped away by the raindrops.

I approached him, very carefully, as his sobs racked through him. He had his head in his hands, and he was just shaking—both from the cold and his pain. I placed a hand, slowly and gently, on his back, and he didn’t shake it off. I dropped on the ground next to him, pulling his hands away from his face and he resisted.

“L…” I whispered, but he still fought against my touch. I reached down and tried to wrap my arms around him. He wasn’t as strong as I thought he would be, probably because all his energy was being sapped by the log chopping he did and now his sobs. He couldn’t fight anymore when I stayed firm, my arms in a tight grip around him.

I sat on the soft grass and he fell against me, curled like baby in the womb on my lap. “I know it’s not okay,” I whispered, “and it’s fine to say you’re not okay, L. It’s okay to feel bad. Quoting a song, ‘It’s okay not to be okay.’”

He didn’t move or speak, and he just cried. Cried and cried, and we stayed there, until the sun rose and the rain stopped.

 —

I sneezed once more, and L glanced at me apologetically. He had already made the fire and was cooking—“I am only a quarter of a decent cook as H is, so I’m sorry”—what I think was pumpkin soup that he found in one of the cupboards. I wondered silently if that was expired already, but I think someone has been here in the past couple of weeks, someone who could’ve restocked the cupboards.

It was still so cold, that even after having taken long hot showers, I could feel that the cold is still in my bones and wouldn’t go away. L was wrapped in about four layers of clothes plus a blanket over his shoulders, and I was wrapped in a sweatshirt, H’s thick jacket, and a blanket.

I grabbed a tissue from my pile—I thought L would use it for his tears, but apparently I’ll be the one using it for my sniffles—and blew into it. I let it sail in the air and it hit the rim of the trash bin a few feet away from where L was standing.

“Missed it,” he teased, and I just smiled tiredly, not bothering to pick it up from the floor.

“I have to call them you know,” I said instead, and he nodded.

“I know you do. H is probably worried about you too.” He turned away from the stove and went over to where I had piled my things earlier on the kitchen countertop. I didn’t protest when he rummaged through the bags that I brought. He grinned when he saw the ice cream, now melted, and he stored it in the freezer. He noted at the lack of booze in my “comfort pile” but loved it that I have hot chocolate as well.

“Potato chips,” he said, fishing the three bags of it that I was bringing. “You. Are. The. Best,” he said with a wide smile. I just sneezed away as he finished unpacking the first bag, and then he fished my phone from my bag, sliding it across the counter towards my direction.

“Go ahead.”

I pressed speed dial 2, and it didn’t even ring before H picked it up. I placed him on loudspeaker.

“You found him?” he asked, harried.

“Yup. He’s here with me.” I heard a shuffle from his end, and after a few moments, he came back on. “Am on loudspeaker, right?”

“Yeah.”

H cleared his throat and then said, anger evident in his voice, “L, you stupid git. We were worried sick about you.” L was about to respond when another voice chimed in, probably N, “You chopped all the wood?”

L rolled his eyes, looking exasperated. “I did. Management angry?”

“We handled it.” It was T, always the calm one. “Just get back here in one piece as soon as you can. We said you’re off for two days.”

“Thanks.”

I stood up and went to the stove, where the pumpkin soup was already spilling over the pot because it was boiling already. I switched it off when I heard Z’s voice. “K!”

“YEAH?” I yelled from where I was. “Work your magic!” he shouted back, and I just grinned, walking back to the kitchen countertop. “I’ll try,” I said, and then H came back on.

“Take care of him,” he said, and then the line went dead. I scooped my phone and just before I threw it into my bag, a message from H came in: There are cold meds in the bathroom cupboard. Love you <3. I didn’t reply, and I discarded my phone into my bag after turning it to silent mode. L slinked away, back to the stove, ladling the soup into two bowls. He brought it back to the table, sliding one of the bowls towards me.

Everything was silent, just the sound of us eating heard in the room.

I gazed at him, waiting for him to explode again.

 —

“We were together for two years.”

I pulled myself out of the depths of my sleep when I heard L speak. We were in the living room, on the couch, seated across each other, our feet touching under the blanket. He was munching on the potato chips while I fell asleep while reading, the colds meds not also helping my cause to stay awake.

“I had to break up with her because everything was getting far too much for her—the fans bullying her online and it was getting to a point where I can see that she’s already breaking. I was also away too much and I couldn’t just give her the time that she deserved. I wasn’t there to support her. It wasn’t enough that I fought for her,” he continued, and I sat up, wiping drool off my chin. He tossed me one of the bags of the potato chips.

“But you still love her.”

He smiled sadly. “I still do,” he admitted. “And last night was a bit of a tipping point for me. It’s been what? Four years since we broke up? I waited for her to come around, you know. Because she said she would find me once she’s ready to face this world.”

I didn’t have to ask what ‘world’ L meant, because I perfectly knew that.

I heard the loud crunch of the potato chips as he stowed a handful of it into his mouth. Somewhere between my falling asleep and waking up, L has managed to buy booze because I watched in a bit of awe as he took a swig from a can of it. “The first few months, I would ask E for updates on S. E says she misses me, but she still isn’t ready. I waited. I think I was comforted by the fact that she wasn’t seeing anyone too. I was thinking she still loves me, you know. That there is still hope for me.”

Crunch, crunch, crunch.

“And then a couple of years back, I started hearing whispers that S is seeing someone. At first I didn’t believe it. I mean—how could I, when I am still hoping against hope that S would come back to me? And then I see here in Aussie. She was with the guy, a guitarist of the P’s band. E told me that they’ve been together for a year now, a bit of a hush hush kind of a relationship because they didn’t want me to know. But the truth is she has been seeing him for two years already. They didn’t want me to know that the woman I’ve been pining for in the past four years has moved on.”

I jumped back as he threw the empty can of the beer into the fireplace, the flames happily eating it. “And then I see you. You and H. You have defied all the odds, you know that? You and E, actually. Girls who aren’t part of this biz, and then you just go on and take everything in head on. You get bullied on Twitter too, right? And there are rumors going on every day that you guys have broken up. Yours is also a bit tougher because hey, let’s admit it, H hasn’t been painted as the most faithful boyfriend by the media. Plus all the shipping going on between him and T.”

I shook my head, leaning over and grabbing a can of beer from his pile, surprising him, but he didn’t comment. I popped the tab off the drink, taking a swig. And then I waited for L to speak again. “I guess it was just maddening, you know? That it worked perfectly for you guys and S couldn’t handle it. I am mad at her for not being able to handle it, even if I have thrown in everything I have just to see her fight. She just wouldn’t.”

I took another swig before replying. “Maybe she’s just not cut out for it,” I said. “You’d have to remember, I also walked out on H once because of that. I couldn’t handle this life.”

L looked at me, confused. “I thought you walked away because you were scared.”

“Yeah. I’d say I was 50% scared, 50% I don’t want the kind of world H was living in.”

He sighed heavily. “But you came back. You’re here, and that’s the point. I gave S the free pass and she made a run for it.”

“Is that all there is, L? I mean, four years is a helluva long time to wait for someone to come around.”

He smirked. “Says the girl who waited for her high school crush for more than a decade,” he countered, and I grabbed a pillow from behind me and lobbed it towards his direction, hitting his bag of potato chips, and it fell on the carpet. He leaned down and picked it up, taking as many chips that fell on the carpet as possible so we’d have less to clean up later.

[If you’re wondering how that relationship history is now known to the rest of the band and their girlfriends, it was tackled in another truth or dare session aided by some booze—at least for them, because I try to stay away from booze as much as I can.]

“But seriously, L?”

L heaved another sigh. “I was wondering how it would feel like being single. Ever since I had my first girlfriend when I was thirteen, I never was… ‘vacant.’” He quoted the last word with his fingers.

“And did you enjoy it?”

He looked up at the ceiling, pondering. “It has its moments. It started feeling a bit bad when the boys started pairing off, and then I was the only one during interviews that has to admit I was single.” He let out a half-hearted laugh. “I started feeling the pressure, if I may say so.”

“But no one’s like S,” I supplied.

He smiled sadly. “No one will ever be like S, much like no one will ever be like you, K,” he replied.

“Aww, I’m touched,” I teased him, drinking the last of my beer. I tossed the can into the fireplace and we watched it melt in silence, our potato chips crunching in our mouth.

“You knew I was gonna break down that first night when we met, did you?” he asked out of the blue. I made a non-committal move with my shoulders. “I was thinking you could be like me. Thinking we’re all fine and okay but we’re just putting up fronts. There is just that one point when we just succumb to the pain and finally let ourselves feel it. That point when we finally own the pain instead of letting it own you.  And when that happens, you can’t do it alone. You’ll need someone to pull you through.”

L considered what I was saying, and then he turned to me. “Who was your someone?”

I gave him a wide smile. “I had my friend D and H. For the most part, it was H.”

He exhaled loudly, and then fixed me a serious gaze. “Can you be my someone?” he asked softly. “I know you said we won’t be besties, but—”

I cut him off with a wave of my hand. “L, come on. I think I’m already doing my part in pulling you through. You don’t have to ask.”

He reached over and I felt his hand on my knee, giving it a squeeze. He didn’t say anything more—he just leaned back and enjoyed the remainder of his chips, while I tried to finish mine. I remembered something, finding my phone in my pocket, searched for it, and then found it.

I tossed my phone to him and he caught it just before it hit the hardwood floor, grimacing at his slow reflexes due to the booze. “Press play,” I told him, and he did, and The Script’s voice floated in the room in the middle of our silence.

You read the books, you’ve watched the shows

What’s the best way, no one knows, yeah

Meditate, get hypnotized

Anything to take from your mind

But it won’t go

You’re doing all these things out of desperation

Oh, whoa, you’re going through six degrees of separation

You hit the drink, you take a toke

Watch the past go up in smoke

Fake a smile, yeah, lie and say that

“I’m better now than ever” and your life’s okay

Well, it’s not, no

You’re doing all these things out of desperation

Oh whoa, you’re going through six degrees of separation

First, you think the worst is a broken heart

What’s gonna kill you is the second part

And the third, is when your world splits down the middle

And fourth, you’re gonna think that you’ve fixed yourself

Fifth, you see them out with someone else

And the sixth is when you admit that you may have fucked up a little

(No, no, there ain’t no help, it’s every man for himself)

You tell your friends, yeah, strangers too

Anyone’ll throw an arm around you, yeah

Tarot cards, gems, and stones

Believing all that shit’s gonna heal your soul

Well it’s not, no

You’re doing all these things out of desperation

Oh whoa, you’re going through six degrees of separation

No, there’s no starting over without finding closure

You’d take them back, no hesitation

That’s when you know you’ve reached the sixth degree of separation

*Song is Six Degrees of Separation by The Script, off their #3 album. Written by Daniel John O’Donoghue, Mark Anthony Sheehan, Andrew Frampton, and Stephen Alan Kipner. © 2012

Little Things #23

I took another deep breath, and in my nervousness, I grabbed H’s hand and locked fingers with him. I caught the makings of a smile on his face—and I badly wanted to erase that smirk.

I was about to do the meet the friends—which, come to think of it, is even more horrible than meet the family. When I met H’s family, I already knew what to expect, because I met his sister G prior to meeting everybody else. I got a sense already of how I’m faring with them. (I think they liked me. His mother is inviting me for tea—where I am going to drink coffee instead—and G had invited me to go shopping—which I don’t do, but don’t tell her that.)

But with this one, I have no idea if they’d like me or not, other than H telling me that he’s sure that his friends would like me.

The venue: L’s place. It’s this big two-story house on the other side of town. If the location of H’s house was in this posh neighborhood where you can’t really have a party without your neighbors calling the police on you, L’s place was located a few minutes from the heart of the city. Still close to the urban scene, but with a touch of the suburbs.

I was meeting the people closest to H: his bandmates. A little birdie (a.k.a. G) told me that the girlfriends (and almost girlfriends) will be there too, which made me even more nervous. These girls are drop-dead gorgeous—one is a model, the other a member of another girl group, and the other a theatre actress. I was your plain, simple girl whom you couldn’t pick out of a lineup if somebody made you. (Of course, H will tell you otherwise.)

“Do I really have to do this?” I asked H, and a look of concern dawned on his face. “You’ll have to do it eventually. They’ve been asking about you for so long already, and I’m trying to delay it, but…” His voice trailed. I merely nodded, knowing where he’s coming from but not really understanding why we still needed to do it when our “relationship” or whatever this is had been suspended between being lovers and being best friends.

He pushed the door open, and I felt like I was a suspect waiting for my verdict to be delivered. Immediately, eight pairs of eyes turned to us, and I wanted to hide behind H, but I didn’t. I don’t want them to see how much this scares me. I scanned their faces, one by one, as subtly as I could.

There was one thing in common on their faces: the look of recognition, like they knew me from before. It wasn’t that they were just familiar with me—their looks felt like we were close.

And I think I know where this is coming from.

There was T, the most honest member of the group, also known as the prankster. He’s the member of the band who’s polarizing because he would almost always speak his mind, never mind who he is running over with his words. He also used to be H’s roommate prior to everyone getting their own places (because let’s face it—they’re already together most hours of the day and the fact that there had been rumors going around that T and H are secret lovers—I MEAN REALLY.). His lips were in one straight line, telling me he’s a bit unimpressed.

I followed his arm, which was linked around the waist of a very beautiful lady, E. Out of all the girls I’ve seen linked to these boys, she’s the one I liked most, because you could see that she just radiates with so much positivity. You’d know just by looking at her doll-like features that she isn’t just beautiful from the outside, but also on the inside. Unlike her boyfriend, she has an easy smile on her face, already welcoming me into the fold, no judgments whatsoever.

Next to them on the couch was N, his big, round blue eyes pulsing with so much energy, like if you go near him, his eyes will electrocute you. His smile was thrifty, his eyes intense, and I know he was still trying to get a read on me. He reached back, his hand finding someone, and thin fingers laced with his from behind the couch. Like E, her smile was welcoming, almost understanding, as if telling me that she has been here before. Unlike E, however, her beauty is a bit ‘muted;’ her beauty is simpler than E’s, but she also glows from within.

Standing next to E was Z, the most heavily tattooed member of the band (current count: 15, but some of his pieces are big). When I see him in pictures and in the media, I feel this bad boy vibe from him—maybe it was the tattoos?—but in person, he’s anything but a bad boy. His soft, expressive eyes could rival H’s—his kind of eyes were the kind of eyes that when they look at you, you melt. Instantly. The kind of eyes that when you get mad at him and he looks at you, your anger fades away. His smile was naughty, like he knew stuff about me that I haven’t told anyone.

His arm was around the girl I came to know as P, who was also a member of another band that sometimes goes toe to toe in the charts with H’s band. She was blonde, with eyes almost like N’s, and a killer smile. She was leaning against Z, one of her hands on his tattooed arm. Her smile was gentle, and when she saw that my eyes were on hers, she gave me a curt nod.

Seated on the armrest of one of the love couches was A, the best bud of L. I saw him on a couple of gigs that I watched, plus endless pictures of him when he joins the band on tour and his appearances during L’s Twitcams. He raised the bottle of beer that he was drinking, giving me a wink.

On the love couch itself was the last member of H’s band was L. If I wasn’t into H, I knew I would be into L—he was this sensible guy who loved deeply—and I’m basing this on his actual interviews where he talks about his ex, S. When he smiles, his eyes smile too, but he isn’t doing any smiling currently. He was eyeing me, with a look that I could not mistake for anything but distaste. I frowned a bit, almost wanting to back down but I didn’t. He was supposed to be the one who is most accommodating. Next to H, he was the one most loved by fans because he was the nicest to them.

H cleared his throat, placing his arm over my shoulder. “Guys, this is K.”

I lifted my hand, giving them a small wave. “Hello,” I said, cussing inwardly when my voice cracked at the last syllable. N couldn’t help himself—he let out his famous chuckle. He stood up and walked towards me, and opening his arms. H stepped back and I let N hug me.

“So you’re the girl who’s been putting a smile on H’s face,” he said when he released me. “I’d like to think so,” I said, and his girl walked towards us. “Trust me—I haven’t seen H this happy,” she said, giving me a peck on the cheek. “I’m M,” she said, offering a hand, which I shook.

“The girlfriend, huh?”

It was T, and his face was so dead serious that I wondered if I was gonna get some hate from him. He stood up, walking towards me, E following him. I glanced at H, and he wasn’t looking at me. “We’re not into labels. Yet,” I told T, and he smirked. He offered his hand, and I shook it, only to gasp and drop it after a millisecond. I felt that jolt—an insane electric jolt—from his hand, and he was laughing so hard even with E’s disapproving look. The others were trying to hide their smiles.

“Really, T?” she said, shaking her head, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment for her boyfriend. I felt my hand go numb for a bit, still feeling the sizzle. E had her best apologetic smile on her face as she hugged me. “Sorry for my immature boyfriend,” she whispered into my ear, and I just shrugged.

“It’s cool.”

Z and P were the next ones to move forward, and both gave me tight hugs and handshakes, minus the electric jolts. L didn’t stand, barely even made a move to acknowledge me, so I approached him. “I’m K,” I said, and he just stared at my hand.

“C’mon, L,” I heard H moan from behind me. I know that if I look back, he would be glaring at L for this lack of respect, but I decided to take it in stride. And then it dawned unto me why he’s acting like that.

It was the reason why everybody felt that I was familiar.

I cleared my throat. “Strange, huh, how someone can just remind of you of someone you want to forget,” I said in a voice low that I hoped he and I could hear, and his eyes flashed at me, and I knew I hit it spot on. Beside him, however, A was taken aback, and I just ignored him. L reached over, accepting my hand. His grip was tight, as if he was proving to me he was rising to my challenge.

“You don’t remind me of her,” he said, but with the way he averted my gaze, I knew that I did. “How can you say that? You don’t even know me.”

I smirked, glancing at H, who frowned, confused at this exchange going on between me and L. “Oh I think I do,” I said, giving him a smug smile. “And for the record—we may look a bit alike, but I’m nothing like her.” I shook his hand away from mine, and then I stepped towards H.

“You alright?” he whispered into my ear, and I nodded. “I think you should ask him, not me,” I said, and I look around for an extra seat, and T pointed another one of the love couches. H and I went over, and I sat down, and I just rolled my eyes, smiling widely when a loud quack, quack rushed out of my seat. I fumbled, searching for whatever it was. I retrieved a rubber ducky from under the pillow, and I threw it at T, the obvious culprit, who didn’t have fast enough reflexes and it hit him squarely on the face. E, who was seated next to him, gasped first in surprise before collapsing into a fit of giggles, and I was one with everyone as our laughs rolled on.

“I like her,” Z and N declared at the same time, high-fiving. H ruffled my hair, an approving look on his face. When I glanced at L, he still looked a bit sullen, but he couldn’t stop the small smile from forming on his lips.

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Tanga

Simple lang yung araw—walang palatandaan na may closure na magaganap o masasaktan lang ako ulit. Ni walang pasabi si Mother Nature na pagkatapos ng isang taon, magkikita tayo ulit, na maaayos ang kaguluhang ginawa nung pag-uusap natin nung nakaraang taon sa mga buhay natin.

Mainit—yun ang naaalala ko. Tanga lang, summer diba? Malamang mainit. Papunta ako sa bayan pero hindi ko alam bakit. Meron akong purpose, pero hindi ikaw yun. Hindi na kita nakikita. Nararamdaman. Ni mag-text hindi mo magawa. Ay teka lang, hindi ko pala matatanggap. Kasi pagkatapos nung usap natin last year, nagpalit ako ng number.

Ayaw na kitang makausap o makatext ulit, kahit nagsusumigaw ang puso ko.

Nasa jeep ako nun. Malapit na sa bayan. Pero may pamilyar akong nakita. Yung lalaking katabi ng driver. Kung sa mga kwentong isinusulat ko, ito yung part na sasabihin kong “familiar brown hair and familiar built that I wouldn’t mistake for anyone in a crowd.” Taray, diba.

Dumiskarte ako. Nakita ko sa side mirror na ikaw nga yun. Hindi ko alam bakit nasa jeep ka. Mayaman ka diba? May sasakyan. Bakit hindi ka nagsasakyan?

Tumigil ang mundo ko. Actually hindi pala. Yung puso ko lang.

Hiling ko na sana hindi mo mapansin na nasa dulo ako ng jeep. Nagdasal ako sa mga santong kakilala ko kahit kokonti lang sila. Hindi ko kasi alam kung kaya ko bang makita ka ng malapitan o kung kaya ko bang kausapin ka. Ano naman sasabihin ko diba?

Nasa bayan na tayo. Leche, andito na tayo. May fiesta yata. Ito yata yung pakay ko kung bakit ako nandito. Parang Pahiyas. Pero hindi eh. Hindi naman tayo taga-Lucban, ano ba. Ang gulo talaga. Ang daming tao, tapos ang saya-saya nila. May bandang tumutugtog. Ramdam ko yung drums. Sabay sa pintig ng puso ko.

Ang saya ng mga tao. Pero sigurado ako na hindi ako kasama dun.

Baka ikaw rin, kung nakita mo ako.

Nung tumigil yung jeep, karipas ako ng takbo. Hindi kita dapat makausap. Sana hindi mo ako nakita.

Hindi narinig nung mga santong dinasalan ko yung dasal ko.

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And I had to be sentimental today, what the fudge.

It’s been almost a year since you made that phone call that made me happy. I thought you already forgot about me. I thought you stopped to care. I thought that there was this unspoken agreement between us to not contact each other after all those years, but I didn’t give up on you, did I? I messaged you via Friendster because that’s the only way I knew how to reach you back then. A couple of times, a matter of fact, and I never got any replies but I kept on writing anyway.

It’s been almost a year. So much has happened between you and me. You and I… fell apart again, after May. After that momentous night when I asked you how you felt seven years ago. And I got the answer. There are days, so many days, when I just wanted to go back on that night and take back that question. I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t mature enough to handle that. Suddenly I was the thirteen-year-old version of myself, thinking back on how it was. How I was. And how I could have been had I known that you felt the same way.

You chose to kept the feeling from me. You chose to be afraid. You chose the easy way out. But maybe you did me a favor. Maybe if you and I were together back then, I would have molded my world around and you’d be oh-so-suffocated. Maybe I would have chosen a college where you are, instead of choosing my dream. Maybe I would have been the one who has a kid now (not that having a kid is bad, but hey, I’m just 21).

I want you to know that it hurts. It was better that I didn’t know. There are just some things in this life that are better kept unknown. There are just things in this life that we’re all better off just living and keeping a blind eye to it. But I can’t blame you. I was the one who asked. I was the one who wanted to know. I thought I was being brave.

I wasn’t.

I actually was being stupid.

And I want it back. I want you back. As my friend. Because no matter how much I flip the world, you were that one person who had the ability to make me feel better about myself. You were someone who can make me smile. And you’re a friend. You were my best friend. And I have to keep you, but I just keep on losing you all the time.

Maybe I should just know that you’re better off without me.

So this year, maybe you’ll call, maybe not (99% chance on this one as you don’t even know my new number). But I’m happy for you either way. Take care of her. Take care of them. Coz even though it hurts and I just filled my head again with so many maybes, I know deep inside I’m happy for you.

Coming Clean ♥

My life was just crazy the past three days (click here to know what happened last Sunday), and there’s this part of me that’s just thankful this happened to me right now.

I know what you’re thinking: getting hurt by a love that was lost or what might have been was okay?

Well, things like this–there’s nothing else to do but move on, right? It’s not like I have a time machine and I can go back to that exact moment he asked me if he could court me. And part of me has been wondering about what my life could have been had it had been him and me. Well, for one, my parents would get mad, as my mom never liked him. Two, I wonder if all the decisions I’ve made would have been based on him because I am in a relationship with him. Would I have taken up CommRes in UPd or studied in Baguio because that’s where he’d be? Would our relationship have lasted long enough for me to have a boyfriend who’s a soldier? Would I have been hurt from the next guy I have loved after him?

So many questions, and yet there’s no point dwelling on that. It’s just amusing to think about. And he was so sweet. I wonder how he is as a boyfriend and how good he kisses (haha, totally random thought). I wonder if he’d be as kulit as he is when he was my best friend.

And then that just made me think about something. I wanted to come clean. I wanted to truly move on from every other guy. So I told the last guy who hurt me (see here to read my open letter to him–but then again, this could be considered outdated) how I felt about him before: how much I loved him, how much I had hurt, how much my life changed drastically after that (comment if you want me to expound on this). And he acted so cool about it, even asking me: “so okay ka na? hindi na mabigat sa dibdib mo?

He and I have achieved the goal of making me feel better, of removing the bitterness I have carried with me for the past five frigging years. And I have him to thank for that. Had he acted differently I would have been broken once more.

And then I said: “friends? kahit na i wished you dead a number of times before?

To which he replied: “oo naman. kahit na ipinagdasal mo pa yan sa manaoag.

Did I say that I loved him before because he has this really good ability to make me laugh?

Anyway, so there. All clean. All clear. I’m starting off a clean slate–no more bitterness, no more pain. Just plain happiness. I can now find new love, looking at the next guy with new eyes. Until the time he comes into my life, that is. :)

Until then, I’d enjoy the newly healed, bright me. ♥

Open Letter to YOU

I LIKE YOU. I REALLY, REALLY DO.

Is that the confirmation that you need?

Is this enough for your ego or can I just explain myself so that I could save my face?

The first time I saw you, I thought “handsome,” “could be the guy of my dreams,” and “perfect.” Not necessarily in that order, but whatdaheck. You’re handsome, and I know you know that. You’re probably just one of the few guys in this planet earth (at least the part where I reside) who is handsome and not gay (although I have a feeling you’re a member of those who are handsome and taken). I also know that you know that there are more than enough ladies in this building who thinks you’re handsome. Do you need me to call them all up and gather them so that we can make a fan club under your namesake?

I LIKE YOU. I REALLY, REALLY DO, BUT I AM SO SORRY I DID.

Hey, this has got nothing to do with your handsome looks, your eyes that seem to stare at everyone else and bare their souls, that smile that is just plainly hard to describe (although the words “melt my heart” and “take my breath away” came into mind, I won’t use them for they’re cheesy and too gasgas). I’d take that any day my spirits would need lifting. Sit in front of a computer for eight hours (sometimes even longer) and stare at numbers, tables, and charts, and you’d get that seeing you is just plainly refreshing.

I do apologize though for cyberstalking you, for being ever so interested in you so badly that I wanted to know your name. For wanting, in the weirdest way, to know you. That’s all I should be sorry for, and never in my dreams did I think that I would feel sorry for liking you, because you make me feel so BAD. And no, it’s not because I know you won’t like me back (I am just being plainly realistic), but it’s because of what you (actually more of your friends) do. I saw this in high school, experienced it at its worst, so I am not going to have that again.

Yes, I am a fan girl, and I could be your biggest fan (based solely on your looks, like you’re some artista, basketball player, or baseball player that I’ve learned to adore.). Yes, seeing you on some days could be the highlight of my day. Yes, sometimes I look forward to seeing you, even taking pains to make it happen. Yes, sometimes I want you to notice me too. But not this way. Not you thinking I’m some crazed stalker (although I think I gave you enough fuel to think that). Not you thinking I’m just a girl who has a highschool-ish crush on you. And I don’t want you to recognize me by just that. No, thanks. I’d stick to the ones back in high school who knew me just coz they want me to make them book reports or so that they can cheat on exams off me. If I want to be good to someone’s ego, I’d start with probably my brother for he sure needs that, or myself so that I can feel like I’m worthy of someone’s attention.

And so after declaring to the entire cyberspace that I LIKE YOU AND THAT I REALLY, REALLY DO, and after apologizing for scaring you (AGAIN, I AM SORRY), I am here to tell you that I am stopping so that you and I can breathe. I am stopping to save my face and redeem my self-esteem and pull it up to the tenth floor and even to the 21st. I am stopping so that you’ve got one less crazed “fan” to worry about.

And I am stopping so that my sanity would still be intact, and that I would wake up in this illusion I’ve pulled myself in (not the first time–ahem, ahem, anyone recall Drummer Boy?).

So thank you, for inspiring Thaddeus (that character in Solace, yes, was based partly on you), for inspiring Jeff from Days to Thirty-Five and the entire story of that, for inspiring Longing, for lifting my spirits during times when I needed that (even though you’re not aware of it), and for the bitter realities you’ve made me realize.

I’d leave you now so that we can both be at peace.

Cheers,
KC