|1rain noun \ˈrān\ water falling in drops condensed from vapor in the atmosphere|
Last night’s rain bothered me. Yesterday afternoon was a definite scorcher, but last night seemed like the gods were throwing heaps of massive water globules all over hapless towns in the metro, like a whale of a childish one tree hill assault/prankfest.
What bothered me more is not the fact that the sudden weather shifts are happening one too many these days --all that environmental mumbo-jumbo whatnot thingamagig, I really could care less about that, what I hate is the fact that people, more often than not, equate rain with solace --deep heart-rending painful solace.
Why can’t people be reminded of how happy rain is? Like… like how nearly-wilted crops benefit immensely from a sudden downpour, or how Laida does the funny sundance, amidst a heavy rainfall, all for Miggy’s amusement, the ending to one of Philippine cinema's cheesiest films… or… or how Mister Gene Kelly (bless his soul) happily sings away pitter-pattering in a drizzle…Why does rain always have to remind us all of gloom?
“Things don’t always have to be about chasing after boys you know…”
I was talking to a friend in facebook. A kid from Cagayan. We met once. A friendly date. And it’s then I discovered, the boy actually writes. And he writes good. He even worked as a magazine contributor once. I was reading through his facebook notes when I began to recognize a recurring theme, most of his notes were about… well, boys. He seems, for lack of a better word, obsessed.
Now, it’s not that I’ve actually refrained from going after guys, it’s just that at this point, I don’t really see it a priority in as much as I see it part of my future. Partly because,
Boys are overrated. And people are all swirls of issues --but when did that ever come as an excuse? Nakakapagod lang kasi talaga. “Im looking for baggage, that goes with mine...” says Mimi, right before she discovers Roger taking AZT breaks, too, like she does. Rent? The musical? I mean the movie? Watch it. So you’ll know how Mimi ends up nearly dying in her quest to find “someone to live for, unafraid to say I love you…” Well baggage schmaggage,
My life is currently going adrift. Everyone's at a quarter-life crisis lately –well, most of my friends are- it’s not even funny anymore. I mean I’m actually doing fine, so far, and its not that things have become frighteningly unbearable, it’s just that there are days when things become all too crippling. But even so, that could just be another anxiety attack sneaking up on me. Well, I’d seriously doubt that? but where else can I point the blame on? As weird as that may sound, I haven’t really been too keen on where or how my anxiety disorder manifests itself --something which, in itself, could pass off as another reason why I cannot chase after men. Apparently, not a lot of guys in Manila find neurosis adorable. Another stellar reason is that,
I’m not getting any younger. February’s nearly here. There are two dates I dread in February. One of which is my birthday. I will be twentythreefreakinyearsold in about a few weeks time and I don’t really think I’ve accomplished anything I can proudly call an achievement for the past years I have boringly existed. Actually, I’m most definite I haven’t accomplished anything remotely significant I can proudly call an achievement for the past few years I have boringly existed. Sure sucks to be me.
The second most obvioooous date is... Valentines. Yep, blinding-redhearts-lovestruck-silly-cupids-die-all-you-mutherf*ckin-parkbench-smoochin-lovers Valentines. That’s pretty self-explanatory, since I’ve explicitly brandished my false appreciation over singlehood to almost every friend I know to date.
“I love you…”
It’s been a while since I heard that whispered to my ear. It’s been a while, too, since I caught myself whispering that to someone --and actually meant it. I’m like a walking love disaster. Ask the last three guys I dated, well semi-dated and –actually no, DO NOT ASK the last three guys I dated. Haha. Yep, it’s that bad. There really should be a warning on my forehead when dating men; a sign that says “Pick me if you want your life screwed!”
Not that fate bitterly transfigured me into an old shakespearean shrew --last I checked, I haven’t really gone all frigid with love. I mean I still want it. I really do. It’s just I figured if I were to dive headfirst into a colossal world of rose-colored stupidity, I’d rather do it with/for someone worthy, someone… dreamy (wouldn’t hurt too if that someone had a car and/or a huge paycheck to boot, but yeah, haha.) I’m choosy as fuck. But who can blame me? Heartache made me this way. (ika nga ng aking trusty Relaks Puso Lang Yan planner, Quota Nako Sa Panget.)
My friends all know what I’ve been through --in terms of love. My heart has been trampled on so much that it got to a point where I began to think that the love shared between two males, the sincere type? tsk, that shit is obsolete. From Charlotte York I’ve gone Samantha Jones all of a sudden it’s actually a lot scarier now that I put it. But I’m over that. I mean sure I still think of love as a lie --well not really, but the complexities that shit down a commitment makes it seem so. But I have to admit, still, there would come nights when I desperately crave for warmth --and its shattering when that comes to surface. I’m only human after all, despite the green blood I carry. Haha. Lame sense of humour. I know.
It’s not that I lost it, you know, it’s just… I just… lost interest is all. I know I can love someone, but I also know I can never really trust anyone with my bruised heart right now. ‘Cuz now it’s more “you can never really know a person too much, enough to hand over your heart, your life and your everything, especially not with the painful baggage life left you with...” (Again with the baggage?!) Sometimes I think pretty soon the world will all have tumbled down and gone to rest and I still won't find the happiness I deserve. But enough sentimental crap. After all, “…not everything has to be about chasing after boys,” right?
It’s just sometimes I wish I could take a break from all the forward-thinking stuff I’ve been trying to preoccupy myself with lately. You know. Just to stop. Take a breather. Have a glass of wine or two. Snuggle up close to someone, as that someone’s exhilarating scent comforts me and the feel of his arms around me makes me feel all safe and protected, and warm, the warmth that no amount of rainstorm, or hail -or deluge for all I care- could ever subdue --that kind of stuff.
But I won’t fight tooth and nail for that fantasy, at least not yet. I’ve got stuff to do. Life awaits. And I won’t stick around daydreaming or spacing out over things that I know will eventually come –that much I’m willing to expect.
After all, “…things are, most definitely, not all about chasing after boys.”