(Mis)judgments

I am loving/hating

that I DON'T have to think

for more than five seconds

to say "Yes" to this question -

"So, are you single?"

***

It's so hard to be unforgiving. It would be hardest to forgive oneself. Because of things that happened in the last few weeks, I am not the same. It will take a long time for me to get my groove back. I made some choices, (mis)judgments. Calls that I should've made so long ago. I have yet to find some vindication. I so want to be right.

***

Hiatus

starts

now.

"No" Means Rape*

*Statistics show 75% of the times that Joie Go said "No," she lied.

***

"I didn't know you were interested in fucking the last time."

"I was."

"With your litany of 'we'll see' "

"Now you know that I am. Does it make any difference?"

"It does. Of course we still live in a society where 'no' means rape."

"I never said no. I just said 'we'll see' "

***

When someone bitches at me, I bitch back. More, way much more.

Immabiggerbitch. You wouldn't want to know how much so. :)

***

A tired foot atop the equally tired other. Head propped on hand and a bottle of The Bar(rrrr. I can add an infinity of R's). Chin to the sky - a black shirt worn by someone who has bad dandruff (is there good dandruff?). I realize this - I am one with the stars.

Reach.

***

"Honestly I don't think you're hard to please. In bed, or out of it."

"Yes. You're right."

"You must have been involved with the wrong men. Deranged men."

"But if I don't like you, nothing you can do will ever please me. Even if you put an MRT station right in front of our gate."

"But if you like him, like your plastic plant of an ex, anything he does is still worth your while."

"He was a habit. "

Aling Diosy Learns How To Blog

*but changed her mind and watch SNN instead.

***

This is what my Mom's blog entry for today would look like. That is, if she had a blog in the first prize. (It took us 3 months to teach her the mechanisms of e-mailing).

Monday

October 12, 2009

Nagpatahi ako ng bagong pillow case. Hinihigaan lang ng magrasang ulo ng asawa ko na walang pakinabang. Yung anak kong bunso, alas diyes na, hindi pa rin nagpaparamdam. Pinatawagan ko kay Joane. Cannot be reached. Ang tanda ko na masyado para sa ganito. Ang dami ko nang hinanakit diyan sa panganay ko.

At yang asawa ko. Ang dami niyang opportunity para maging maayos ang buhay namin, ng pamilya namin. Wala. Lahat sinayang niya. Wala man lang kainvo-involvement. Pag may reunion ang pamilya ko, di man lang magpakita. Pag may reunion ang pamilya niya, ako pa ang naghahanda. Wala talagang kapaki-pakinabang.

At yung panganay ko na si Joane. Hay. Ewan ko ba kung bakit andami-daming oras na sinasayang sa tapat ng computer. Hindi ko nga alam kung ano ba talagang trabaho nito. Alis-alis pa kasi ng UP. Kung kani-kanino sumasama, wala namang magandang nadulot sa buhay niya. Sayang na bata. Sa lahat ng anak ko, siya pa naman ang pinakamatalino. Sayang, kinapos sa EQ.

Sana magising tong buntis naming katulong para maghugas ng pinggan. Ang daming pusa dito sa bahay. Puro buhok. Puro tae. Niligaw ko na tong mga to, nagsibalikan pa.

Ang dami-daming impertinenteng tao sa paligid ko. Parang mga turista. Putangina. Dito. Doon. Makatulog na nga.

***

Amazing how angsty Aling Diosy is. Just like me.

***

Whether we realize it or not,

we

are always on a spiritual journey

- even when we feel most lost.

- Frank, postsecret.blogspot.com

The Law of Impenetrability*

*states that no two things can occupy the same space, at the same time.

***

I haven't heard from him for weeks now, but he's still here. So here.

The Friendster pen that I used to jot down "buy hangers and panty shields". The Kermit green micro waste bin where my bus tickets are crumpled, together with my last pay slip. The nasal spray that I won't be needing anymore (and is now in the Kermit green micro waste bin.) The crayons, waxy stubbles of colors, that are gathering dust now, all of them are grey to me now. The bottle of Olay Total Effects cream that made me break out (which is going to the Kermit green micro waste bin as well.) The P80 track jacket, which my sister is wearing. Conversations that play no end in my head. Tastes. Touches.

Restless, I try to run.

But he's still there. With me. In me. All around.

The Daft Punk track blasting through the earphones that he bought me. The Kenny Open race singlet I'm wearing. The socks that once wrapped his feet, now embracing mine. And the AdiZero shoes, of which he has a male version, his superadvanced birthday gift (although I knew back then that he'd give me something else).

I don't want to do another postmortem analysis of what happened, who did what wrong. But I will not deny that I never stop missing him, breathing is labor many times, that I feel empty because he's not here but fuck, he's still here, and that right now (and yes, right now's end, but they linger for a painfully long time) nobody else can sit in that spot in my heart where he has carved the shape of his ass.

***

Dear Anna,

You know me all too well. I am hurting. I don't say much but as I sat there very, VERY still, right across from you, you knew something was amiss. You know that I am not the same. I do not keep it from you. And I know you are not the same, too. I don't know though if we're different now in a good or in a bad way. I take comfort in the fact that floods, yes, they come, but there are things that cannot be washed over, like this friendship that we have.

It doesn't matter who hurts more. The circumstances, our respective circumstances, are not comparable. Only one thing is parallel - both of us, we are in pain. It will take countless cups of expensive coffee and lunches for this to go away. Or maybe, the pain won't go away. At all. We'll just get used to it.

Contrary to what you may think, I do pray. All the time. I don't understand a lot of things now. I'd think I do, then I'd change my mind. Just when I thought the silt and mud and dust has settled, the waters become turbid again. At times, things don't make sense. There's anger and pain and spite and regret and sadness...just this consuming sadness. I do pray. If I don't, my breathing, hard as it is right now, would stop.

All will be well. We both know that.

I missed you a lot.

***

I know he doesn't care about me at all. But just so he knows, I wish that someday (and I know this might not be soon, but I know that this someday will come) I'd make him proud.

The Right Way To Pronouce Chaos*

(image is from the Instituto Cervantes website)

*is NOT "tsawos." But this is debatable.

***

Three Spanish films in five days. Some badly needed culture. The fat blob inside my skull has been disintegrating aggressively. Caotica Ana is up in the ranks with Trainspotting as one of the most beautifully disturbing films that I have seen. First time in a movie that I saw someone shit on someone's face. Literally. The second time I see it won't hit me that hard, I'll automatically deem it as a rip off. Odd that I find it easier to appreciate a film if the actors don't speak a lick of English and I need to rely purely on subtitles.

Caotica Ana was pregnant with metaphors. Doors. Dreams. Cracked skulls. I felt retarded as I was watching it, more retarded than Anglo, the guy who spoke Spanish with an American accent (Re-queer-dow. That was a giveaway). He reminded me of my cousin JC, (who just headed back to his "native" Cali and is sorely missed by the Cortina girls) who speaks Filipino just a knot better than Troy Montero (Who is most retarded of the lot. Geez. Ten years in Manila and he still bastardizes the language.)

I doubt that I will ever see a more brilliant sex scene in another movie. Mouths agape in orgasm. Skins bronzed by erotic sweat. The tension of the muscles. A momentary regression in the evolution ladder. The seismology of making love. The motion, yes, the motion. How the other senses blur, drowned by some electricity.

Ravenous birds. Circling. The last breaths of the dying woman was perfume to them. Tearing her up piece by piece. The sinews of the eyes being pulled out. Powerful images.

And the shitfaced white man. The "stolen" sausage. The brutality that Ana took, in her nakedness and vulnerability, in which she discovered her truth and beauty and strength. A bruise. A blow in the head. A lip busted. A tooth missing. A dementedly enlightened smile.

This is a woman's journey to the center of herself. The excruciation of going through lives (and deaths) of other women. In going through many, many deaths, slipping through borrowed dreams like one does into borrowed dresses, Ana was born.

I so wish to be born. It looks like I need to die first. Many times over.

***

Significance. Yearning for significance.

Three Thousand Six Hundred Seconds

You try to hit me just to hurt me

So you leave me feeling dirty

Because you can't understand

- Mayer

***

I spend 9 hours a day

five days out of seven

hating, hating myself

being constantly reminded of the disgusting choices that lead me to the draining, mind-maiming grind that is my everyday

of the incessant, "Shit, shit, shit, I'm am so fucking better than this."

The pretending to care.

The knowing that we're good, but plain sucking at what we do.

And there's that one hour

that one hour out of the nine...

an hour of sanity

of unpretentiousness

of knowing that we can curse in rage (and knowing that the other understands, really understands)

an hour of saying things without regard for propriety or manners (or eavesdroppers)

of saying things without regard for pertinence.

The bad food.

The people who have less IQ points than we have (but whose paychecks are less malnourished than ours).

The stunningly beautiful women. The stunningly ugly women.

The science of orgasm races.

The sorry state of this republic (and me choosing not to complain as I haven't casted a single electoral ballot in my life).

Intellectual masturbation over lunch (and wiping our messes, knowing that the hour, the 3600 sweet seconds, will be over).

The lunch hour is over.

The day is halved.

The day was made bearable.

(Here's to more Frosties and laughter and the things they'll never figure out)

***

Oh, no, don't get me wrong... I still won't sleep with you. :)

Noodles, Canned Goods and Sex

"I had birthday sex. With a guy who came from the seminary."

"Good for you."

"It was as good as instant noodles. Go figure."

"Depends on the brand/type of instant noodles."

"Quickchow."

"Soggy noodles, or just right?"

"Soggy. Melts in your mouth."

***

"I really need to get laid. Soon."

"Well there's tomorrow. Oh wait. I'm still exempt from your request."

"You are?"

"I remember you communicating I'd be more of a desperate choice."

"I did?"

"Yet I'm still here. Fancy that. Why? Have I been promoted in your list?"

"Huh? Not really. I'm just horny. Anyways, I'll text one of my exes."

"Regardless, pretty sure I've made thinly veiled hints of my willingness."

"Yes, yes."

"Perhaps I should text one of my exes. Soon as the flood goes down."

"Exes. They're like canned goods."

"They still expire over time."

"2 years."

"I suppose you've stocked up quite a menu over those two years."

"Oh yes."

"Lucky you. I think you outlining your escapades will drive me mad at some point."

"Come on. Give yourself more credit than that. I'm 26. I can't sleep around when I'm 43, can I? Or God forbid, 57.

***

This I have figured out - I don't really want a relationship. I just want intimacy.

(I will change my mind. People hope so.)

Lover. Fighter. Woman.

I'll let you in on a secret:

I spent

the first three hours

of

my

26th year

in

my

birthday suit.

(And no, I wasn't alone.)

***

26

I will be more honest with myself.

I will be more true to my desires.

I will say "yes" when my body screams for something.

I will say "no" when my heart feels bridled.

I will live at my own pace.

I will let my dreams fuel me to such great heights, and slow me down when need be.

I will aim to outdo only myself, because in this quest, I will always win.

I will not look back in shame or regret or self-loathing.

I will listen to my song.

I will bask in the love around me.

And I will love, love without restrain - the only way that one should love.

***

Lover. Fighter. Woman.

Here's to another year of love, lust and life.