Tuesday, May 30, 2006

It's been so good since I last saw you...

I wish that night was my turn again to rub my cheek against that white-shirted chest of his... That white-shirted chest that always provided me with much comfort and security. When I shook his hand, by God, I wished my hand could stay in his forever. I wish I leaned against him by the car. I wish I could've talked to him about more than his hair, about what he's been doing the past few weeks. I wish there were no other people around us that night. It was then that I realized how badly he has been missed.

But there is no longing to be with you... Just force of habit. And wishful thinking. No more hurting for the failure that was us. Friendship is once again a possibility.

All I know now is your name, but I still love you and everything about you.

I don't want to forget.

Sunday, May 28, 2006

Penny Lane is dead and buried

The fairy tale is over. I have completed my rebound.

Because. He's way out of my league. I don't want to be anything remotely similar to how I was seen and what I tried not be not so long ago.

Now, the South's not so appealing anymore. And my dilemma is solved.

Saturday, May 27, 2006

Movie Sequences

It was TGIF with a couple of the hot chick bloggers. Imagine typical random ladies' conversations. Mega chismax galore.

We kicked the night off at a very busy and overcrowded coffee shop in one of the busiest and crowdiest places to be at on a Friday night. We were chattering away, blending with the chatter around when the identity of my rebound boy slipped.

Tiepee and Tins screamed their disbelief in chorus. Backspace screamed. They screeched! You know, high piercing cries only crazy little girls can produce. The whole coffee shop fell silent and I felt all eyes on us. I almost fell off my chair laughing.

I imagined David Aames in Vanilla Sky when he confronted the tech support in a bar in his lucid dreams. Talk about a show stopper.


My new flat is on the fourth floor of a five-storey building. There is no elevator and my unit is first on the right at the top of the stairs, the unit number hidden from sight.

Since we moved in, there has been a handful of times when I mistakenly thought Unit E was home because seeing Unit H makes me subconsciously think the unit across it is mine. It's not. Mine's on the next floor.

I went to the store downstairs to buy cigs and ice-cold Coke (my fail-proof cure to a hangover) and was preoccupied with singing Urbandub's Endless, A Silent Whisper in my head as I went back up. When I opened the door to what I thought was my pad, I was aghast to find a different set of furniture and a pair of strange stunned faces staring at me. Haha. I entered Unit E.

I blurted my apologies and ran up the last flight of stairs laughing like there's no tomorrow.

Then, I realized that going home to the house next door like what happened to Robert Downey, Jr. in one of his cracked up nights is not much of an exaggeration. And I wasn't even on any substance when it happened to me.

Friday, May 26, 2006

Not as much as tomorrow

I had to smile at that comment left at my last post. A comment left by anonymous instructing me to stop writing about anonymous you. Your vanity fascinates me. It really does. Go scratch your head now.

I have forgotten you more today than yesterday. Pretty soon, all the people who knows us will be receiving that sweet note:

Dear Miss/Mister ________,

Salbaheng Floi had [insert anonymous' name here] erased from her memory. Please never mention their relationship [or whatever game it was they played] again.

Lacuna, Inc.

Successfully eternal sunshined. Oh, a spotless mind.


Patrick. Singing. Sucking all my memories of you and turning them into his own. Making me wonder what beauty he sees in me now when all I see in the mirror is the monstrosity of heartbreak.

I like him more today than yesterday. All of him. Despite his whole pogi-rock cheesiness. Despite my reluctance to listen to his music and the urge to throw up everytime I do. Despite that funky feeling I get everytime I see his face on print or everytime I hear that utterly famous, pop-culture defining song. Despite all. And I don't even know why.

Still I see the tears from your eyes... Maybe I'm just not the one for you. ---That's what makes it a broken sonnet.

You never listen. These are supposed to be my monologues. Reply not and I will shut up soon enough.

Thursday, May 25, 2006

Akala mo ikaw lang nagpagupit

The killer line. Rawr. I wanted to pound the guy to pieces the moment he smiled after the last syllable slipped from his lips. Apparently, his insensitive intruding mouth pushed my buttons again. He must thank his gods I've had my toxin fix already lest he'd have borrowed a face from a dog.

I've been you-free for a good couple of weeks now. I had to sever some ties just so I won't have to reluctantly hear any news about you. You don't want me in your life so I don't want you in mine and I don't give a crap. Besides, I'm doing just fine, getting along very well without you in my life. Why ruin such a fascinating recovery?

A rebound is always a good thing. Wasn't I yours?

It's a vicious cycle, our story is. She left you, you used me, you left me and I'm using him. That song by Glenn Frey has never had more meaning to me than it does now. It used to be just a song I liked to refer to as "Pangromansa" with its lovely saxophone intro.

Are you gonna stay with the one who loves you
Or are you goin' back to the one you love?
Someone's gonna cry when they know they've lost you
Someone's gonna thank the stars above

I'm staying with the one who loves me. Or pretends to love me. Pretension is sometimes more acceptable than the truth. At least, pretension saves me from pain. What's the point of staying with someone you love, anyway? When the feeling has become obvious to be not mutual. Yes, the hollow hope for rekindled sparks.

The whole fucking wait is spent on that. How the hell else do we move on, for chrissake.

It's utterly a pity to mourn for something longer than its existence.

Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Speed the Need


When I opened my eyes again, I was lying flat on my back... on my bed in the pad.


It was Monday afternoon and I dreamt the unfortunate accident. Too bad. But hey, the whole jetski experience is real except for everything turning dark. I've keen senses and good reflexes. I steered to the left and to safety just in time. Sayang. A better ending would've been a crash followed by an explosion. My very own action sequence. Bravo.

I might as well have been in the crash, though. My arms and shoulders and legs throb with so much strain. As a jetski passenger, I was flung at around 35 mph. I did about three cartwheels and two tumbles in the water. The pain in my neck from the car crash has returned, multiplied thrice. I feel like a mannequin being dislodged. The price of fun.

Still living life by the second. And yes, I am blissful again. Speed me up.

I am so blissful in the South that I have this ongoing argument in my head whether to stay or go. Psssh. Just when we've found the most homey pad in Pasig to, well, make our home after our current eviction. Hahay. This feels like an episode of Starting Over.

It's so much easier to say goodbye when you're the one who's leaving... So much difficult when you're the one who's being left behind.

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

Need for Speed

As I settled in to drive the jetski, I could barely keep my hands still as I was shaking all over with excitement. Start and Stop buttons on the left. Acceleration lever on the right. Roger that.

I settled my index and middle fingers on the lever. Pressed a little. Whoa! A little goes a long way. Pressed all the way. Speedometer read 34 mph. I was jumping over the waves... more like taking flight. I couldn't even feel my heart pounding. I was too focused on holding on and steering. I felt the stress on my arms and shoulders as I fought the wind.

Must. Not. Let go. I tried to picture what would happen if I let go... I would be dragged by the hand by the jetski moving on momentum. That little red wrist strap.

I started to relax when I got the hang of it. Yes, I relaxed despite the adrenaline rush. My head was filled with memories... beautiful memories, happy memories. There was no yesterday and tomorrow. There was no this morning and later in the afternoon. I was focused on the moment. A very beautiful fascinating moment of freedom.

I took mental pictures of the horizon, the sky and the shore. 311's Beyond the Gray Sky was in full blast in my head.

I closed my eyes, smiled and faced the sky (like Meg Ryan in City of Angels before she crashed into the truck). I welcomed the bullets of seawater on my face. I imagined the wind blowing what was left of my wet hair. I truly was free.

I opened my eyes and was greeted by stones. No, not stones. Crap, I saw rocks! Boulders and boulders of huge solid jagged rocks. I was approaching the edge of a cliff at the end of the beach.

My mind went blank and I heard myself scream.

Then, everything went dark.

[To be continued...]

Saturday, May 20, 2006

Bee Killing Spree

Four down. Hundreds and hundreds more to go.

Next target: King Bee. Or, more appropriately, Prince Bee.

I could do it, wanna bet?

Maybe I am just a little bit crazy.

Oh don't you just wish you knew what I am talking about.

Boop boop bedoop.

Thursday, May 18, 2006

Over You. Somehow.

I missed Frisbee two weeks in a row. Weh. Ningas Cogon habit never left my system. Last week, I decided not to play at the last minute because I nursed my nasty bruise and scrapes from the previous week. Last night, I was just stuck in traffic.

My bruise and scrapes are all healed now. And so is my heart.

Forget regret or life is yours to miss. I've been a proud little girl who has always taken credit in not giving regret any effort. Yes, throw caution and regret to the wind. Would I rather have had flawless knees than play frisbee? Never. It was funn. I was happy while at it. The bruise and scrapes are a small price in exchange for the memories I've made.

The same goes for my heart. Although, there is still that silent ache everytime I'm reminded of you which is from the very first to the very last moments of my consciousness.

I miss you and watching you hit those drums with such intensity and passion and driving up north at the wee hours of the morning and texting you about nothing and talking to you on the phone till I could no longer stay awake and pretending to be asleep while you fill yourself with siopao and... well, that's mostly all I remember about you. Because... I easily forget all that is worth forgetting.

Mister Joe thinks cutting my hair this short is a form of rebellion. But really, I consider it an effective diversion. Of all the things I lost, I miss my hair most. Yes, my long soft straight hair. Thank you Sunsilk and Cream Silk. Oh, and my money. God, I miss my money.

Yo, Gaiman got it right. But instead of events, I'd say problems. Problems are cowards; they don't attack singly. They always come in packs.

Monday, May 15, 2006

Hiding from Mr. Hyde

John Malkovich became one of the men of my fantasies after I watched him on Mary Reilly opposite Julia Roberts in October last year. What the??? After watching it again, I realized that you have a very strong resemblance to Mr. Hyde: long curly hair, barely stubbly chin, expressive eyes, masculine nose, fair soft baby buttcheek cheeks, broad shoulders, large hands and that naughty brooding aura.

Somehow, I've started to understand this obsession (yes, I prefer to call this that now). I subconsciously made an association between you and that character. You personified someone who only exists in a movie... Someone I've developed a very strong attraction to. And it has only proven to me how weird I can get.

Make that how weird my life can get. I received an invitation to hang at my usual hangout in the South earlier today which I graciously turned down because I wanted to get French tips. Lo and behold, you played there tonight. How long do we spend our lives wishing we were somewhere else? Somewhere farther away where it's easier to pretend some people do not exist and some events did not happen. Indeed.

In Good Company sucks. I hate the ending.

Sunday, May 14, 2006

Candlewax on my fingers

I passed time last night watching candles burn... literally. The electricity interruption was in my favor. I felt a very strong attack of "you mentionitis" so I sought a distraction to keep myself from giving in. It worked except for those few moments that the urge was too strong I had to hug Rhaiz to stifle the memory vomit. I can't. Not just yet... Be at the places we were together at, be with the people we were with, discuss issues we used to talk about. I never could, I fear. But no, I plan to heal. I do.

I never asked for this feeling. I never asked to feel, period. I didn't ask to find someone to love. I didn't ask to be loved. I was doing perfectly fine on my own thank you very much. Well, it has been told that we don't realize we are hungry for something until we have a little taste of it. All that time I was fixated and jaded, I was convinced I'll survive without that special someone. What in the cow's offspring did I do to deserve to be told I love you to one minute and left shivering in the dust on the next? Especially when I've done everything I could to be the ideally perfect girlfriend. I tried to understand everything... What I cannot understand is this. Crap. Nobody can truly empathize with this pain.

I wish your name were something else... One not of grenadine and strawberry DJ Mix. One that doesn't give a warm marshmallowy feeling everytime it's spelled in my head. One that isn't too unique and distinctive. One that is easy to forget. You simply have the sweetest name. And it kills me.

The memory of the molten candlewax on my skin is nothing compared to the memory of you.

Friday, May 12, 2006

Let the rain fall

Trivia: Someone who has roots from Ilo-Ilo and Pangasinan is called either an Ilonggatok or Panggalonggo. Whichever tickles your funny bone more.

This is exactly the reason why it's so much better to be unattached. You can laugh, be silly and create memories with anyone without having to feel guilty and overwhelmed with existing memories.

I've realized that being in a relationship and being attached are two different things. A relationship implies two people attached to each other. I'm still attached to someone eons after the relationship ended. So, there you go.

The rain poured hard and after he has eaten his two slices of Pizza, we dashed off to wherever we could pass time without having to spend. There's something about running in the rain that lifts my happiness level that I wasn't the least bothered at having my painstakenly blowdried hair dampened by rainwater (despite futile efforts of shielding it with the SM plastic bag of shirts I was carrying), my buttcrack jeans slipping down from the weight of the absorbed rainwater and, oh God, thank you for making me decide not to wear a white shirt.

We took shelter at Starbucks when I realized, WTF, the receipt attached to the SM plastic bag was wet and disintegrated and I need it for accounting purposes. So I tried to salvage what I could.

A cup of short decaf White Choco Mocha later, we played that game in grade school... The one that each of you slaps the other's hand. I gave it my full strength when he decided to dodge it. My hand went straight to the cup of water on the table, sending its contents flying everywhere, like the downpour we took shelter from. I guffawed uncontrollably. Ah, good times.

He's my pill... My Happy Happy Floi Floi pill. Why didn't I realize that before?

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

Yum. Hangover. Yum.

Paranoia is a lovely thing. My stalker stats show that someone arrived at my blog from a link at a blog I've never been to. I visited it and it turned out that the blog belongs to someone I know but never really had the chance to be friends with. Now, if only I could find that link...


Cigarette burns. Spilled drinks. Falling off chairs. Performing on stage. Talent fee. A shot at stand-up comedy. Good conversation. Reconciling with that schmuck. Peanut Brittle. Reggae music. I should be very happy now. But this depression is gnawing on me like I'm some slice of overcooked steak.

I was at a music lounge last night with a few friends to celebrate an engagement. I never really liked music lounges... I guess I've watched show bands one too many times in my life. And when you've listened to real musicians, you just can't settle for less than quality music.

I've always been mistaken for a boy, with my name and all. But last night... Last night brought home the bacon. I was not only mistaken to be a boy, but a gay. Except for that one time at a gay bar where I was mistaken to be gay because of my actions. God. I was just sitting there, being sang Happy Birthday to and the idiot onstage thought I was gay. He thought I was a boy with a high-pitched voice. Bravo.

I'm so depressed I can't cum. What did you do to me.

Friday, May 05, 2006

Proof of a Schmuck

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

This is what happened last Tuesday night:

It was 2:30am of Wednesday and I was sobering up at a friend's pad from the high of finally getting to watch Urbandub live (which was actually disappointing because they didn't sound as well as they do recorded) when my phone rang to an unregistered number's call. I never answer anonymous phone calls so I cancelled it and sent an SMS instead. Holy cow, it turned out to be someone I've lost touch with over the past months and has been trying to get in touch with since my handydandy mo' phone crashed (for those who has read my previous blog, he's my geeky Peter Pan. But don't get all excited yet). He has just read my offline message with my number. So... he had a 4am appointment at Commonwealth and was looking for ways to kill time. Since two of the friends I was with live at Commonwealth, the plan was to meet up at Timog, then he'd drop me off at Pasig before going straight to Commonwealth to drop my friends off and attend his meeting.

Everything was going well... Back with our friendly banter and ridiculing our state of unrelationship... Until my stupid mouth took the stage again. We were on EDSA when out of the blue (and for reasons I really cannot remember), I blurted, "Kupal ka kase". It's almost part of my social convention, really... that expression. Kupal, as some of you may know, when translated to English is Schmuck. Schmuck, as some of you may know, is not a very pleasant term. He fell uncomfortably quiet, pulled over and made me get out of the car. Initially, I laughed it off and waved it as a joke... We were in the middle of the highway three hours from sunrise, for chrissakes! He couldn't have been serious, could he? Well, he was.

I coughed my apologies and tried to lift the atmosphere with my cutesy-patutesy strategies. I never could breathe when placed in awkward serious situations. When he pulled over at the nearest gas station and asked, "You think you're gonna be okay here?", I got off without blinking an eye and banged the door shut. What a schmuck.

Two points of experience added to my book of firsts.

Monday, May 01, 2006

A Month of Mourning

The next worst thing to a break-up is being told "You're smart. You're young. You're beautiful. You can have any guy you want." by people in an effort to comfort me. I know they have the purest of intentions but hey, it makes me want to grab the closest hard object and smash it on their sympathetic faces. How many brain cells would it take for them to deduce that if I could have any guy I want, then why can't I have you?!

I warned all who has heard not to say bad things about you nor insult you in any way. Nobody must call you a jerk, stupid boy nor an asshole (except for myself, of course) because I wouldn't want to wallow in self-pity and remorse that I fell in love and am loving a jerk, stupid boy or an asshole. It all reflects back to me. And I would only stand for your defense by bringing up all the wonderful things that made me this pitifully obsessed with you... Then, how the heck can I erase the memories and move on?!

It has been three weeks... I have been ticking off each day that passes and the number of steps I have taken away from you. I feel like I am stuck in the moment you left me with... But being in withdrawal and overcoming the cold turkey syndrome really did help. If I am so close to throwing my excess baggage over the bridge, why is it you find it too hard to get rid of yours?!

Question Mark. Exclamation point.