I’m in a state of mush…
I have come to a certain point in my life, where I seem to be desparately out of touch with the real world. I have started listening to sad love songs (I’m so sick of love songs, so tired of tears), crude hate songs (waiter na guwapito ano bang meron dito) and interestingly weird songs (I wanna see ya grill…yaa…yaa grill); I seem to be daydreaming all to often; and, worst, I have started devouring romance novels (Stella stared at those unhuman black eyes, smouldering with liquid fire. "You brute oaf!" she screamed as he locked her up in his room, laughing as he did so.)
Yes, my beautiful friends, yours truly has been secretly languishing in the corner of her bed, crying as the lovely heroine battles personal disgust over the oh-so charming object of her desire and being oh-so kilig as the stupid oaf professes his love to the voluptous vixen/angel/heroine.
I am quite stupefied at the sudden change that has taken over me. Imagine being used to reading novels done in the spirit of social relevance (echos!), morals and imaginative care; imagine being used to finishing it for a few weeks, taking in every word and scene. Imagine all that, and then imagine me during the holiday season, in the corner of our house, head bent over a thick volume of Harlequin Romances, halfway through the familiar plot and characters.
Ah…the tragedy of failure in the arena of love…how cruel are you? This is the disease, I believe of women of twenty plus ages…interesting, huh? Well how about seeing a heavyset, tricycle guy, reading a copy of PHR’s Kristine series…and you think we ladies are crazy? Take that! Hah!
Uncategorized | Comment (0)Nothing to Write but Love Again
Sometimes I wonder if loving you makes even the teeniest sense. Then, wondering causes me to weigh the logic of the circumstances and I realize, what kind of a stupid barnacle would fall in love with a weird looking guy like you? I mean, really, you’re not the hottest guy in school; you’re not half as smart (or good-looking) as one of the guys I’ve almost fallen for (read: almost); you’re not even a Jose Rizal! Why then, in the name of Obi-Wan-Kenobi, am I so damn in love with you, still, after all these darn years? Logic…logic has no place in the realm of love and hearts. Therefore, weighing the logic of the circumstances is totally wrong. So I think further…deeper…
THEN, I realize, I don’t have to go deeper, because it’s right before my eyes. I have no reason for loving you, because love does not ask for reasons, it simply happens. Like that Ally McBeal commercial, when she gets hit with arrows, the reason for that dream sequence is different, yet, I believe the effect is the same. That’s love…that’s how it happens. I know because I felt it…with you.
I must be crazy, really crazy for doing this, for just saying this things. Gosh…what have you done to me?
Uncategorized | Comment (0)Being “Ate”
Let the author take a breather from the usual brouhaha of her non-existent love life. Just a second…let this second be for her part as a sister…
It’s so fun to be an "ate". You get to boss someone around without having to worry about being sanctioned for it. Gosh…it’s your job to do that…you’re the "ate." You could also do things and get away with it. You can ask your younger sibling to wash the dishes, feed the dog, feed your grandmother and clean the house. Of course, the younger sibling can hate you for it, but the fun part is…he can’t hate you for long because you’re the "ate."
But then again…being the "ate" isn’t so good after all. Attachment could very well be the downfall of the very domineering "ate". Once the younger sibling starts to grow up and begins realizing that "ate" loves him, he starts calling her by an endearing term that refers to "ate" but isn’t as strong it is…take for example the term "teteng" .
Once he starts calling you that, you get all mushy and yielding, that simple cajoling can get you to do his every bidding.
The worst part is when the "ate" enters the age of "maternal recognition". Remember that every young lady who steps into the wonderful age of twenty suddenly realizes that she is a girl…pardon the term…WOMAN. She, therefore, acquires the traits that she only saw MOMMY doing…weird but true.
So when the "ate", the self-proclaimed Hitler, becomes twenty, the younger sibling gains the upper hand. Hmmm…isn’t this familiar?
It’s hard to be an "ate", but believe me, the hardships are worth it!
lovingly dedicated to my younger brother John and my beautiful doggy-daughter Gina (I wonder who your daddy is?)
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