ghost of valentines past

Hey Kiddo,

I miss you. If only there's a way to freeze time and make things --make you, stay as precious as you are now, I’d take it in a heartbeat, whatever the cost is... I don't exactly hold the answers to all your difficult questions --the next sentences won’t even come close. I am simply giving you a glimpse of what is, what has and what led, and hopefully, through this, we can both figure out where we should, how we could, and what we can... Pretty neat, huh?

Where am I right now, you ask? Well, I’d love to sugarcoat and say I’m lost in the in-betweens, but that only makes things worse, for both of us. I’m stuck teetering over the edge. In three short weeks I’m going to be 23 and I’m still confusing love with desire. No honey, it’s not the same. It never is. You will learn that along the way. Let’s hope you don’t, but it’s a sad truth that in due course, you will. I’m lucky I’ve gotten a few instances where I got to experience both in the same person at the same time and I hope you do too. Heck, I wish all your encounters will be as dreamy as the few special ones I had, but that’s being insanely optimistic. You fall too much, too easy, too soon. I still do too. The only difference is, I’ve seen things, met people, felt sparks, anguish, nonchalance, guilt, every emotion you dreamed of getting immersed on. And as the glint of innocence in your eyes reveals how perfect and blissful you think falling for someone is, it’s not. I’ve come to detest that quality we share. The truth is: a relationship is only idyllic at the start. People can and will hurt you. It’s inevitable. And you crash and burn like everyone else does.

Love is intricate. More than you could possibly imagine. I’ve long given up on finding a formula or a guide or whatever, because love has this sick tendency of stunning you in the most unpredictable of ways. One thing life has taught me is that Loving does not only take the form of the romantic aspect. You’ve got your family –no matter how annoying they can get, and yes, that part does not go away. You’ve got your friends. Quite a number of interesting ones will come, several of whom I trust you’d know you should steer clear of, eventually. And lastly, you’ve got yourself. That’s probably the only secret I should reveal. Loving yourself is the most important thing in the world. You have got to soak up in every bit of self-love while you can. Spoil yourself, Indulge, Seek, Experience, Revel. Because when you come across dashing princes who sweep you off your dainty feet, you are bound to --as I, without-a-doubt know- give your all.

Your best features are, and will always be, your heart and your soul. If I could throw hints at why, you know I would, but what I can tell you is that the insecurities that trouble you now? It will always be there. You can spend time reinventing yourself all you want, but looking back now, I guess you don’t really have to please people that much. But if it can’t be helped, use those two valuable possessions –your heart and your soul, as beacons of hope to guide you through. You are special, unique, a rarity. You shine in that department, you always do, please try to keep that in mind.

You will most likely want to experiment, to bask in the grandeur of things, the feel of being grown-up and mature, but let me tell you that however exciting those things seem to you now, It’s not all that. Still, it pays to be able to retreat into your own corner and savor the simpler things in life. I’d give the world to be where you’re at right now.

You know kiddo, it’d be nice to talk to you, ask you about stuff… You see kid, the world is so different now. It’s a lot harsher and far worse than what you feared it could get. I know people have been telling you, that what does not kill you only makes you stronger. Well it’s a lie, and a big fat one at that. What does not kill you makes you less of who you are. I’ve dealt with potent strikes that I have to admit, shook me and left me with lifelong scars –and stronger was the last thing I felt. Well, depends on how you put it, I guess. Life is full of unexpected turns, massive blows of which the world is dead set on racking you with. I wish I could hand you a warning for every hit, but it doesn’t work that way. It just doesn’t. Just try to stay vigilant, and hopeful. And another thing, fragile is weak. I know how much you believe that that weakness has its own subtle appeal --it used to- but it doesn’t work for me now as much as I imagine it does for you. Try to balance things and draw strength from the people you hold dear. Although, when I do try to stay unfazed in my own share of bouts, I never really brandish toughness for show. It’s not something you build yourself on. As you well know how iffy we both feel about people like that. It’s perfectly okay that you –well I guess I could say we, wear our heart on our sleeves, no matter how crushed, beaten, wounded, palpitating, bleeding, flat-lining, or whatever the state it’s on is. We’re made that way. Emotions are our refuge, but using that to take advantage is a thing worse than selling out. I’ve been there. And the guilt I felt was the worst. I assume you know the feeling of betrayal? Well, betraying one’s self is a blade ten times sharper. Do try not to be so scheming, dear. Half the time, those ploys will only make things more complicated. Besides, wouldn’t you agree that getting ahead thru honest means is something much more worth getting proud of?

Which reminds me, please throw that Dorian book in the dump, burn it, and vow never to worship its enticing lies ever again. It’s a crapload of bull. No matter how romantic Wilde speaks of corruption’s aesthetics, tainting your pure heart is not at all as grand as your fickle mind assumes it so. Neither is it an effective way to reason out your hedonistic curiosities. Actually, were you? Justifying, I mean. If so, then I’m surprised at how sly you were even then. Stop underlining his words about punctuality, friendship, beauty and love. I find  making that book your bible the most unwise thing you ever thought doing.

Speaking of unwise, I know we both have the penchant to measure love on how much we put out. I’m still debating if that is indeed something hasty and absurd... Maybe? Then again, maybe not. I would’ve gone ahead and told you to hold back. To reserve something special meant for that future love --the one person you are destined for- but that betrays the whole concept of loving we both are notoriously known for advocating. But consider this kid, like Gray’s decaying portrait, I have gone well past my prime. I don’t care much for love (the romantic sort) these days, not out of spite, but out of inadequacy, weariness, complexities, fear of deception, trauma --things of that sort. I’ve nothing left to give but my own baggage, a whole Pandora of issues, insecurities, doubts –quite a package, huh? I’m not like you kid. I’ve spent most of my existence sacrificing almost everything just to please. And that left me with what? A giant whopping box of empty.

 

Hmm… Come to think of it, there is something I have left,

You! I still have you! You are the hope left in that box of ruin! 

Because no matter how the worst ones left my heart in sorry shades of black and blue, no one, no relationship as of late, has ever really gotten to a point where I’ve completely felt like my sixteen-year-old self again. No one ever really came close to bringing you back… I guess now I could say that I’m both excited… and reassured.... that someday, someone actually might… And it would be such a delight for me to introduce you kiddo. To shed my pretenses and return to becoming you, all for the right person, and the right reasons, in due time... Love is definitely still worth believing in, thanks for making me realize that. Maybe there is hope after all...

Love always,

You, six-seven years after,

give or take. ;)

photo taken here

justifying an inebriety

When moments, fleeting, like common people you previously chanced upon but casually forgot, throughout the course of your jaded life, takes a few good forehead wrinkles to remember, vaguely.  Like the word refuge, or disarming --strange, yet leaves a slightly odd nostalgic feel.

Like how I made myself breakfast when you held me captive that day, willingly, in childish joy, like all was just a playful game, and that huge hotel room was our playground --those blissful hours just before you left, the way your kiss promised me you'd come back. The feel of longing and content and peculiar freedom as I woke up after a good six hour sleep, after the sex, after you left, after your promise. As I walked on unfamiliar corridors, elevators and floors, quaint streets and Makati alleyways on weekends serene. As I rummage through convenience store shelves looking for what to eat, what to eat…

A moment where people never cared, and the bellmen half smiling as I went back, and the walls, the bed sheets never seemed to mind --I felt so wide-eyed and obscure, which is fine because I knew I meant everything to you.

I remember feeling whole –caught, half-anticipating, half- what's the word...something about not caring, living in the moment, in stillness... perhaps, secure? ...peaceful? ...I can't be sure...

I remember you and your scent.

I remember each time you held the door for me, on those secret dates we had. The way you squeeze my fragile hands, on the off chance that no one was looking. Moments, forever etched in my memory.

The look --ah, yes the look you gave.

Of wonder and excitement, I was a breath of fresh air, you say.

I remember the first time, the first invite; you just had to have me drawn to your corner. “What’s a cute kid doing all by himself in a quiet cafe?” I remember smiling, sensing, hoping that that could be the start of something wonderful. The simple advances, the careful steps we took, towards each other, it’s interesting now how we inched our way closer to what we were never really sure of. But we couldn’t care less, only ‘cause we both were thrilled at what could possibly come of it.

I remember holding you as you fell asleep. I remember looking at you. Kissing your closed eyes --my way of telling you how safe it was to dream. On the off chance that this might be it, that I, that we, might perhaps, have a chance --my way of trying to prove to you that dreams can come true.

I remember clutching your pillow as I tried to inhale your scent, the moment I realized it's morning already --and for the last time, you were gone.

I remember bits and pieces of our encounters, the good ones,

Ones I’m willing to remember, and keep...

Because when parting, harsh, like the heaviest of traumas you desperately try to put behind, lost between the vivid and the lies, takes a few good swigs of beer to unlearn, momentarily. Like the words, trust, rely and expect, paired with too much --trite, yet still pokes sharp stings on your weary heart.

It’s true that in sleep, the moment you start questioning a dream, you wake up only to realize how silly it was to think it’s something you can hold on to. You fumble, as each strand of thought escapes your grasp. Those moments will stay as such, and really, that’s all they’ll ever be: intangible memories, encounters, dreams… Much like these flashbacks...

Still… It’s nice to be reminded of how happy we-- I was… once…

photo taken here. 

heavy rains

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.”