For The Man I Love

I love you.  I loved you then.  I love you now.  And, I’ll love you tomorrow.

I am not ready to give up just yet.  My love is not strong, it’s not perfect and it will never go on forever.  One day I am going to wake up and realize that I’ve outgrown my feelings for you.  But that day is not today, certainly not tomorrow, or, the day after that, it will come, I assure you, just not now.

I cannot tell you how long I am gong to love you; you know how very hard it is to determine the life span of a sickly asthmatic like me, but it isn’t hard to know when a heart wants so much to live eternally, so it can love you even longer than the physical body lives.  Poetic isn’t it?  This is the never ending malady of sentimental, foolish thespians like me.  If ia have to get it out, I have to do so very dramatically.

I love you.  I love you without questions; without hesitations…

Yet with enough considerations, so as to control fits of jealousy and obsessive rages of anger.  I am not a saint; not, am I the devil.  Iadmit my faults as a person; loving you make me think of really awful situations, but am still in the right state of mind so as to know that such thoughts are, but, improper delusions.

I love you, isnt that enough?

If you still question the extent of my love, will it help if I tell you that I’ve been writing since last night until today?  Will it help if I tell you that I loved you yesterday and I love you, still, today…maybe until tomorrow, or, the day after that?  Will it help if I tell you that nothing has changed?  That for three years, without so much as a glimpse of your face, or, a touch of your hand, or the sound of your voice, I still love you?  Will it help if I tell you that regardless of the day, time or season, I think of you?  That your face is the last image dancing in my mind before I drift away to sleep, and that it is still your face that I see minutes before I wake up.  Does saying these things even help?  Will it ever change your mind?

I love you.  When will you answer my call?  Will you ever do?

It’s not that I’m getting tired…just a little lonely.  Waiting isn’t much of a problem, it’s just that, sometimes, it gets a little sad being alone, being caught up in my own inhibitions.  It’s all right, I guess, and hopefully, tomorrow I may have a chance of getting over you…or maybe not.

i wrote this piece almost two years ago…around January of last year…just sharing the rubbish that I keep in my clear book. for the people who know me…ano sa tingin niyo, fiction or non-fiction. hehehe

I’m pissed!

I’m pissed…And maybe nobody gives a damn about it but me.

I’m pissed, ’cause I have to wake up every morning to do the same things: feed my grandmother, wash the dishes, clean the kitchen, prepare lunch…ladida…

I’m pissed, ’cause I think I get no credit for the things that I do.  It’s the same thing everyday but I don’t get anything, not even a thank you or a pat on the back.

I’m pissed, ’cause maybe, I’m getting tired of being the "house in charge"…that it’s getting quite old.

Damn it…maybe I’m not pissed, just a little tired…just a little out of touch and, not to mention, bored.

Gosh…I’m shocked at how good it is to say these things…After the few opening lines, I ain’t too pissed anymore. Hmm…maybe I should do this more often, say how I feel…then maybe I won’t end up getting crazy and overly depressed.

Taking in the Reality Pill

There was a moment in my life when I was so gone over someone that my world revolved around him.  There wasn’t a day that I never thought about him.  He was my alpha and omega; the night, the day and the merienda.  It was a weird experience that, although I knew was unhealthy, made me happy in one way or the other.  But it was all for nothing, because I never mattered to him, ever.

It was sad, because he saw me as his "bro", "dude", and "tsong".  I never was a girl for him…only a barkada with long hair and evident female parts.  I was silly and crazily in love enough for him to accept even just a morsel of attention through that way; gosh, that was so low, but love made you do really low things.

And then, some time, when my world was taking on a rather vicious change…I decided to just chill and let go.  I took some sort of reality check and went out there to look at the world through different eyes.  Lo and Behold!  Life was better when you aren’t hindered by wrong decisions.  I saw how wrong I was in living a silent hell; torturing myself, when life is so much better when you’re not allowing yourself to be hurt.

Love is a chance we all decided to take; but, it should be a chance that will enrich your life, not ruin it into tiny little pieces.

I chose to love and get hurt.  This time I chose to move on and get out of that entanglement for my sake.  I will never forget how he inspired me to write all the beautiful love stories and poems for the last six years.  But life goes on, so I must to.

My Golly

A few reminders for boys…(I haven’t posted since I said that I’m moving on, I feel like I owe it to myself to just say something):

• If you’re thirteen and you like a girl your age, and the word comes to her about how you feel, and she starts acting really weird, please don’t make a comment that she’s CHILDISH or BOYISH.  What you need to realize is that you are both in an akward age and the girl could very well like you, too.  Saying that will make her feel awful, like she’s the worst female in the world.  Well, how would you like to be called CHILDISH and GIRLISH?  So, just keep them mouths zipped and if you really like her, the way she acts wouldn’t even matter to you.  But if they do, they’re only HORMONES raging.
• If you’re fourteen and you like a girl, as in, you feel like you REALLY like a girl, and you want to hold her hands…DON’T sit close to her and make your hands crawl like Mr. Itsy-Bitsy Spider.  Man, that’s weird!  Sometimes, talking to her would really matter to her MORE than the I-Wanna-Hold-Your-Hand gesture.  Remember that you’re still at an age where nothing is permanent and changes happen in only a few seconds…holding hands may lead to…well…something else.
• If you’re fourteen, and a girl likes you, don’t abuse her feelings and DON’T, please, heed me when I say this, tell her that she’s chubby or that the clip in her hair looks like a mushroom.  You better dang have the sensitivity, because she’s virtually trying to please you.  If you don’t like her, don’t say anything; if you like her, let her know, in one way or another.
• If you’re fifteen, and you are courting a girl, don’t continue to show affections if you have gotten tired of the loooong courtship period and is already in a more prolific relationship.  If you do that, you are a total jerk, because you have really made a fool out of that girl.
• If you’re sixteen/seventeen, and you are in love with a girl (who doesn’t like you) and is infatuated with another (who likes you).  Don’t you dare use the other girl to make the other one jealous or as your fall back…you have no right to do that.  That’s illegal in any law book.

So, what’s my basis for this?  My experiences during the past few years in my life.  There were a few instances when I fell and I got hurt; but the hurt and the falling thing is nothing compared to the process of learning through your mistakes and moving on.  I am not an expert on this area, only a fool would declare total expertise in the arena of loving, but I have gone through certain mishaps in that part and this is only a "word of advice" for the younger peeps who are still in the dark as much as I am.

I’m okay

This won’t be long, my time is running fast and the internet center would be billing me a thousand bucks if I stayed too long.  So let me make this one brief, brief but meaningful.  I’m going to try my darndest to make this so meaningful.

I’m getting over you, this would be the last piece for you.  No more tears, no more drama.  I’m going to move on, because I have to move on.  The world is not going to stop and comfort me when I sit and cry for you, so I’m doing what I know I should have done six years ago.  I’m going to stop being a complete fool.  It’s over…goodbye…sweetdreams…I’m okay now!

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!

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?

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?)

If…But…

If I can…I would tell the man I love that I love him.  But…he’s taken, in a relationship and I’m not the type who would ruin somebody’s life for the sake of my own happiness.

If I can…I would find myself a boyfriend who’d be worth fighting for and loving.  But…that kind of man does not exist at all and I’ve already signed up to the exclusive "Fight Bachelorettes For Life" Club.

If I can…I would sing, dance and go crazy under the rain.  But…I’d get an astma attack.

If I can…I would go bungeejumping.  But…I’m afraid of heights.

If I can…I would.  But…the things is, I can’t and won’t

Ouch! Moving On Hurts!

Aray…I said I’m moving on and that I’ve forgotten him; that I’m not affected anymore.

Aray…I said I don’t feel for him anymore and that he does not matter to me at all.

Aray…I said he’s just a memory, but why am I hurting like I am hurting for the very first time in my whole damn life.

Aray…I thought that love is understanding at its finest and that jealousy is poison; why am burning with pure, deep seethed rage, when I saw a woman’s photo in his picture collection?

Aray…I thought it’s all over, but here I am hurting again…

Aray…you MF jerk!  What the hell are you doing to me?