Reading

Reading is
fundametal
fundamettal
fundemutual
good.

I saw this on a shirt when I was in Cebu back in 2003. I fell in love with the shirt so I bought it. It was the first time in 4 years I wore that shirt yesterday. It was nostalgic.

Bye Steven

"Bye John," he said.
"Bye Steven," was all I could reply.

To him, it did not mean anything. That is what he always says when he leaves.
To me though, it was as if it was the end of the world. It was as if I'd never see him again. It was as if I'd never be able to talk with him. It was as if I never can reach out to him, again.

We were at a local bakeshop (that one that makes the best chocolate cakes in the city, the one near the boondocks). We were having cake and tea. And it was time for him to go, and time for me to go back to work.

It felt like it was our last tea together. I know it was our last tea together. And when he said "Bye," I knew very well that it was time to go too.

Tonight, you see, he is going to ask Margaux's parents for her hands (we call it pamamanhikan). They've been together for 3 years now, Margaux and Steven. And it was time, it was their time.

It was so innocent, his goodbye. Before that, he asked me to be his best man. And I didn't say no, I can't say no. I said I would be happy to. I said their story is going to be the envy of the stars. Then there was silence, awkward silence. He looked at me and I at him. He stood up, gave me a pat, looked at me one last time, smiled and said "Bye John."

The moment he said that, I knew it was no longer one of those I-felt-as-ifs. I really felt it. Tasted it. And it tasted like fresh blood and smelt of rust and ash.

************************
How could I see him, look at him? How could I talk to him, reach out to him? How could I care for him and love him when he is already half of this wonderful thing I had dreamed of us to be.

How could I, when I know the other half isn't me and will never be.

I know what will happen next

I was having this conversation with a friend thru text messages. We were talking about someone. Then she cautioned me to slow down. In my reply, I simply said that I know myself too well. No need to worry about anything. I said, I exactly know what will happen next.

I will fall. And i will realize that it can't happen. We can't happen. I'll cry. Then cry some more. All these with him not knowing anything.

At least I now know, too well actually, what my tear ducts are for. And damn! They never run out of tears.

These days, tears are the only thing that make me believe that I am still human.

I am hoping that one day, one random smile will make me believe that I am a human being, worthy.

Things Better Left Unsaid (Not a Part 2)

I talk a lot. I have a hard time zipping my mouth. Sometimes I become too frank that at times I become rude. And I tend to be honest. Especially with the people I care about, a lot.

So there, I said a few things I thought I should have. Unfortunate.

They say that some things are better left unsaid. I didn't believe in that.
Until we stopped. Until he stopped.

I knew then, when I wrote this, that there never will be a part 2. As much as I want it to have a sun-kissed, walk-hand-in-hand-by-the-sea-as-the-sun-sets part 2, it will never happen.

At least, I now know how it feels to be asked to join someone's table.

And I know it means nothing.

Things Better Left Unsaid - Part 1

I want to cry. I need to cry. But it seems like my tear ducts have dried up.
They say that some things are better left unsaid. I didn't believe in that.
Until we stopped. Until he stopped.

First Sunday of April 2008. I woke up at around 2 pm. I felt like the world was resting on my head. I couldn't stand up because the world around me was spinning. So I sat on my bed. I was trying to recollect my thoughts and trying to remember how I got home. Nothing. The only thing I could remember was I was with Dave and Caren having a discussion, err, argument about Conrado de Quiros the night before at some bar.

Two days after, I wanted to go out but everyone was busy. I decided to go out all by myself and went to this bar where I was last time. I was getting in the bar, then I thought the car parked near the bar's entrance was familiar. But nothing registered. The place was full. There was one table near the counter though, a table for three that seemed empty. I was about to sit myself when this guy pulled one of the chairs and sat himself too. He was smiling at me. As if struck by lightning, everything came back. That's why the car was familiar. That's why I woke up at 2 pm. It was Steve. He was wearing a white shirt. The print said "Don't even think about it." It was black, the print.

He's working at the City Hall, at the City Treasurer's office. He is 29 years old and about 5 feet 6 inches tall. His hair, well, he has a shaved head. He has quite a nose. It looks very much like Michael Douglas'. He is a tad darker than I am. His eyes, black. And when they look at me, they're like the most sincere pair of eyes that ever locked into mine. His voice, well, like a rock star's.

"Damn! I couldn't believe it. Look who's here?" "I couldn't believe myself either," I replied.

The first Saturday of April 2008. I was with Dave and Caren. We've had just two rounds of beer. We were feasting on these beef strips cooked in coconut milk, butter and shrimp paste. And some nuts. We were arguing about Conrado de Quiros. I was telling them that I started hating the columnist since he started hating PGMA. But I still read him though. Dave was saying that someone had to stand up and simply say bluntly what evil PGMA is. I was saying, more like shouting already, that she isn't all that bad, when this guy from across our table grinned and he was looking at me. I didn't so much mind about it. But he kept doing it, every time I was getting too emotional defending PGMA.

I was calm at that time. I approached him. He was all by himself. He was already there when Dave, Caren and I arrived at the bar. "So, you seem to be enjoying our conversation back there." "Not really," he said. "I mean, you are drinking your beer. Give those guys a break. Just enjoy your beer," he continued. He politely asked me to join him in his table. For a moment there, I hesitated. But heck, how many times do I get invited to join a guy's table!

He was having pizza with his beer. There were six slices left on the platter. He was almost done with his second slice. It was carelessly placed on a saucer, black saucer, (the second slice). He asked Rafa, one of the waiters, for another saucer and a fork. I excused myself for a while. "I'll just go tell my friends I ran into someone, ok?" "Ok," he replied and then sheepishly smiled.

I was back at his table in a jiffy. I sat in front of him. The table had three chairs. "So, you often do this? I mean go out alone?" "Some nights, well most nights actually," he answered without even looking at me. His thoughts seemed to have been wandering someplace else. He called out to Rafa again and asked for a bucket of 5+1. This guy wants to be drunk tonight, I mumbled to myself.

We made this a regular thing. Usually on Sundays and Thursdays. Of course there are weeks that we miss out. I was busy. He had to go out of town. I had to be with my friends. He had to be with his mom. I fought a bout with colds. He had a fight with his Dad. I had to finish some slides. He had to chaperon his kid sis.

(To be continued...)

Underneath It All

Something I wrote three years ago...

I feel safe around him. I feel appreciated. And, I want to play with the idea that I am loved every time I am with him.

But I really don’t know if he does love me. I just have this crazy feeling, crazy thought, crazy dream that like me, he too has been found by love.

Like a bird who has broken its wings, like a nightingale who has lost its voice, like a cloud pouring hard its all, like them, I have broken my wings, I have lost my voice, I have cried my all.

It is funny how you suddenly realize that you have missed so much of the world because you have made him your all, your world and still would want to miss more of the world just to spend one more day with him, even for just one more.

And I thank him for that. Because I could not imagine moments passing by, life coursing through, without him, without having known him, without having to know that there is one person in this world, this strange world, who could make me believe when there is nothing more to believe in.

If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have realized that even the daisy is also pretty, I wouldn’t have realized that the sun is just as romantic as the moon, that dreams come true and that love is love. I wouldn’t have realized that even I can be loved. I know it’s such a strong word, love, but it is what it is, love is love.

Albeit this same love has made me realize that I can’t have everything, most especially him, it is this same love that has taught me to believe in everything and in forever.

And if this love has finally left him but still lingers on in me, I will love, I will believe. And I will always remember that the daisy is also pretty, that the sun is just as romantic as the moon, that dreams come true and that love is love.

Random Non-sense

3rd bottle in 3rd cup. The place, serene and quiet, suddenly turned into a market place. To my right, a group of teeners, high school teeners for sure, are a group of first timers. I could listen to their stories. One is talking about his basketball game, being benched for like the nth time. Another talks about his encounter with some girl he saw in Giordano. In front of me are a group of men, barely men I suppose. They were enjoying their PSP game a while back. But, like me, on their 3rd bottle as well, they have entered into a conversation they are so into. I could not make out of what they are talking about, except for the occasional laughs. They are intently engaged in watching at their Sony Vaio laptop. One of the men, err boys, is wearing a peach shirt. I just had to mention it. Nothing special. Another, the guy to his right, is wearing a bull cap. Oh, I was to segue from the part when I typed the word laughs.
Laughter. Someone plurked something about what makes you laugh. Looking at my self in the mirror makes me laugh, I replied. I just posted that because I did not know what else to post.
This whole post is not going to make any sense. So don't start rationalizing what you are reading right now.
I have been a software engineer once in my life. I have worked with a lot of people. Some weird, some weirder still. But it didn't matter. It didn't matter if one was weird. Because there, so long as you were doing your job, which was to meet deadlines and code elegantly, you were fine. It didn't matter if at lunchbreak you were listening to Michael Jackson then on to April Boy Regino the next. It didn't matter if you liked Erap but hated FPJ.
Now, well, I just have to smile.
I would like to think that it wouldn't matter if I met someone who doesn't like me. I met many of them by the way. I would like to think that I am doing them a favor, at least they have someone to laugh about, to say bad words about.
And that is not about to change, my belief that it shouldn't matter.
I have realized that we can't please everyone. Some will disappoint us, others will disappoint us some more.
Like I said, this is a random non-sense... :)

Wednesdays

I have seen red rose buds bloom into immense beauty

I have seen them wither too, petal after petal.

I have watched the sun heed to the dark

I have watched the dark heed to the bright of light.

I have seen the moon, full and proud, bow

I have seen the moon, invisible and new, shine

I have watched Wednesdays dawn into Thursdays

I have seen all these, but not you.

Low

I have done stupid things in my life. But what I did last night tops all of them. It was disgusting. It was bordering on psychosis. I was so damn stupid. Bien tanga! gago!

On Wet, Cold Saturday Mornings and Cory Aquino

I had a hard time getting out of my bed this morning. It's been raining for hours already. It's cold, not the devilish kind, but the kind that makes you want to not get out of bed and just lie down there and dream. I wanted to fall asleep. And dream of you. I haven't seen for almost two months now. I can't say if you are avoiding me. You said you're just busy. I can take that lie. I seem to have been feeding on those lately, your lies. Lie to me, one more time. Lie to me, and tell me you miss me too.

The dream never came and it's getting late, one peek outside the window, tells me that the truth is cold, and that when the rain falls gently, it's going to be a while before the chilling pain goes away.

I got out bed, brushed my teeth, washed my face and logged on to Inquirer.net. I got intrigued by this news which read "Cory Aquino: Use People Power to fight poverty." Then I was fuming. For a while there I wanted all her yellow clothes to change to the rust colored kind. You see, I never liked her.

Yes, why not use people power? Use the power of the people to fight poverty. When the two people power revolutions were staged, there was a ridiculously great amount of money involved. Businessmen, mostly, did not bother to pour in money just to have a corrupt and evil administration toppled, in a bloodless revolution.

Why do we find it hard to the same in fighting poverty when it is very easy for us to go to the streets and point fingers at the wrongs of an administration who might just have been trying its best to solve the gargantuan problems of this seemingly small country? I don't want to go into telling you that it's because of personal interest. That helping out in toppling down an administration is an investment.

I pity my fellow Filipinos who, in all fervor and patriotism, just want a peaceful and corrupt-less nation (myself included). I feel used. I feel betrayed.

The rain has not stopped yet. It is still cold. I am going to take a bath now. And it will be cold.

The rain gently falls. Slowly. Telling me it's going to be a while before the chilling pain goes away.