Yes. I could not pick a better song or a better title. And probably looking back (maybe 15-20 years or so), I will read this post and get to laugh at it (or entirely delete the post). You know what they say sometimes, things are clearer in retrospect.

A friend told me that you’d know when it’s true love. You would just know it. There is a SIGN!  I was gunning for something really literal – like maybe a huge arrow with neon lights around it plus an embossed “YES, DUMBASS! THIS IS IT”.  There is no turning back. But no, for slow people like me – I didn’t pretty much get it until I found myself crying every single night listening to songs like “Need you now” by Lady Antebellum or “Love Song” by 311 asking myself  “What the fuck am I crying for?” or “Why does this have to be this way?” “Why the fuck does this hurt so much?” and “You???? Why does it have to be you???”  “Really??” “Seriously? I’m having a meltdown because you won’t talk to me and I cannot function like I used to???” “Really, is this what I get for working my ass for 2 years???”  And the crazy shit goes on and on.

You see at this point, I know I am not making sense. These are just random outbursts of rage slash….  I don’t know… misery. Truth is, I never saw it coming. Have I not been clear enough? I just need to reiterate this.. how could I not see this coming. Me, at 27 years never had it in me. Some might have even thought of me being asexual – I am a unicellular being incapable of relationship or much less a romantic inclination. I have been clearly blindsided by how brilliant you are and how sometimes I wish for one day, I could think like you and would very much want to marry your brain.

That is how sad this life has become – because that is how I felt after I realized that maybe you are what I have ever really wanted. But I lost you.  All this time, I haven’t been really looking for anyone I would want to spend my non-work days with. I was pretty much a regular workaholic – 14-16 hour shifts??? Bring it.  Life was pretty much linear to me – Workdays, weekends, they’re still work for me. Work, friends, family. Work, work, work.  It is all that matters to me because life outside work is just me, my imaginary kitty (by that I meant a pet), and quality time with friends and family.  I wouldn’t say it was boring or that I was unhappy then. I wasn’t really, unhappy being single.  That’s probably why I wasn’t looking then. But then you had to fluster me with your impeccable grammar, your brilliance in numbers (two of the things I unfortunately lack), and well, your confidence – okay, 3 of the things  a good candidate for any position should have.

The first cut may be the deepest (or whatever cliche you got there).  At first, I thought about how we click, just about our chemistry. The things I thought were just plain funny and that I was amazed at how you are not offended by my humor, like others would be and how instantaneously I could respond to your banters without really feeling such a douche. I thought connecting to you on a personal level would make it easier to work with you because I always had a theory about good working relationships, that you’d have to level with the person or that you’d at least be thinking at the same wavelength.

But then in between those sessions when my brain was just about to give up from work, we would have these conversations that are sometimes subversively entertaining and very very much conniving to the point when I thought, something is not right. But of course I dodged the idea. I was having fun. FUN is a relative concept. I realized.

Then we started having our own inside jokes, something that became intuitive and special (for me). Did our connection grow deeper? Are we now in sync?  Did our eyes communicate? Did actions need no further words?  For me at some point it came to that.

Didn’t had a slightest hint of weirdness in me. I continue to go with the flow. I just continued feeling comfortable. Maybe this is how we are, as friends. But then I realized I felt more than that when I began ending e-mails with TAKE CARE.

WHERE IN THE FUCKING HELL DID THAT COME FROM??  Was I being sweet? Wasn’t that beyond platonic?  Why is there malice now?

Who put those words in my mouth? Why are the walls going down?? And so this is how I fall?  HARD. FLAT. DELAYED FOR A YEAR?



My Brain is Hanging

I swear this  conversation happened when I was lucid dreaming.

You: What have you been doing?

Me: Nothing much. Work, stuff, secretly loving you. Pretty boring stuff.

You: What???

And then I woke up and I felt mildly relieved it was a dream and yet partially I want to give myself a lobotomy.


You’re So Vain

You’re so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You’re so vain
I’ll bet you think this song is about you
Don’t you? Don’t you?

The universe can sometimes put you in a shittiest limelight. The song you don’t want to hear suddenly blares on the radio of the jeepney you’re riding. Who in their right mind would go out of their way to step out and ride another one just to avoid a song? Certainly not me. That would be crazy, right?

But if the song seems to follow you like hearing it for about 3 consecutive times for one day. Wouldn’t that just drive you nuts? Wouldn’t that just make you want to throw a fit!?

Wouldn’t It Be Nice

The first real date I think I was on was just last year.  I had no specifications on how a real date would be for me but based on the amount of time I spent watching romantic-comedy films, I have come to a conclusion that it can be summarized in three parts:
1.  The beginning. Two people. Let me rephrase, Two people who have mutually-agreed to be part of it. One of the two, initiated the it.
2. The middle. The basics.  Movie? Dinner? Or just Coffee. The meat of the pie.
3.  The Ending.  A smile on the face. A giddy unexplainable expression  that will leave  you sleepless for days, if it turned out pretty awesome or if it did turn out horrible, a proverbial kick in the nuts.

I am sorry but I would probably give you the blow by blow account on how the night transpired.I think it turned out great.

Going back on the three major pointers I specified earlier here is actually what happened in reality:

1. The Beginning –  He said “Let’s watch a movie.” I wasn’t sure if it was an open invitation to the rest of us who were inside the office at that time. And I am not sure if anyone else was paying attention. And I was thinking, it appears that judging from the statement it was already set. “Let’s watch a movie” as opposed to “Would you like to see a movie?” wherein the other person would have the chance to ponder and respond Regardless because I was clearly just overthinking,   I obliged. He asked if anyone else is joining . I paused and thought,hmmm. Well the others saw it already. The hype about the movie was so-last week ago. And instinctively, I already know the answer. I said none. I asked the same thing to him “You?”. He said none.  Two people. Mutually consenting. Check.

2. The Middle –  I surprised my supervisor when I said I would not be extending office hours for the night. And yes, it was unusual at that time. We went out of the office conspicuously( I think I was pretty conscious now that well, maybe this is really a date, date). I haven’t really been in one that I am looking forward to since College).  I picked the theater. I picked the time to accommodate the fact that he’d be coming from his class. No, he’s not in College. He was taking post-grad studies.  The movie was awesome. After it, he asked if there’s a coffee shop nearby. Sadly, the one I knew was already closed. It was  almost midnight at that time. And since we were hooked on the movie and were having unresolved issues about it,  I obliged to his persuasion to get coffee. We went to the coffee shop nearest to the building where we used to work. And we talked, and  talked about anything that comes to mind, mostly about work and some of his personal stories came about. And then we realized that it’s almost 6 a.m. and that well, we still have work later. The meat of the pie. Check.

3. The Ending – We walked out of the coffee shop. It felt surreal that it was already 6 a.m. Time flew by so quickly. I guess that happens when you are having fun.  I asked how he will go home and he said that he’d probably take the jeepney. He hailed a cab for me. Brushed my hair with his hand ( which was odd for me at that time), and said that the night rocked. And I was pretty speechless myself.  You can pretty much tell that I won’t be kicking anybody’s nuts at that point.

When I checked facebook that day. I saw his status update ” You’d know you had a great movie night, when you forgot about how awesome the movie was because the company was way better.” It may not be the exact words but I pretty much have a sharp memory. I think that was what have been said.

Chickened out to reply to his post (Yes, the cowardice began that day), I posted my own status message: “I concur. : )

I had to admit that at this point, you will start throwing rocks at me because that was the most juvenile thing that I have done. What’s holding me back from just liking his status or just well, commenting on the post itself?

It hit me that I am not ready to publicly admit that I had a great time with him and that I was being a douche. I am pretty lame at this point.  The night wasn’t.  And I hit me like a yellow school bus. I actually like this guy.

I didn’t admit it publicly. Was I suppose to? I didn’t know. I was not informed. Clearly, I have been clueless at that time that, that might have been it.  The first best date ever.  I wasn’t conscious about it the whole time, however in retrospect I have seen that it was the proverbial big bang.

I have never felt like this before — knowing the very exact details of how things transpire for that night and having recurring thoughts of it was one. I never thought about that like how I thought about let’s say the PROM or some other event I’ve have been in the past.  That sneaky son of a bitch! I really didn’t see this one coming.

I guess you can pretty much conclude that this was the real beginning of how things would come to a gruesome cliffhanger. Stay tuned.

Losing My Religion

I am now looking back and very slowly realizing that I didn’t really care much about PROM. But I have accepted that it’s okay that I didn’t.  The reasons why I didn’t wasn’t clear at that time. The proof that I didn’t have the slightest inclination towards having a picture-perfect experience of a night full of dancing and possibly making-out is the fact that I went out and look for a partner a week before it.

I didn’t have guy friends that were single at that time, they were already taken by my… friends. And really, at that time I didn’t feel the need to conform to the standards of the girl-world. I am a 4th year student who’s part of the school band. I play the lyre, by the way. And I am graduating soon. Imagine the possibilities or the fact that there may be none at that point. It’s Senior Year. For me it was another rite of passage that I need to go through because everyone has to go to PROM because it’s “Senior’s Night” and high school for you will be irrelevant if you were not part of it. Plus, it’s part of the tuition fee you’d be paying so why put good money to waste? And it’s my parent’s money at that time too!

Prior to that week though, I already have my dress, my shoes and well, I’m have pretty-much prepared for it except for the fact that I had no one in mind (and heart) to ask. I know it was ridiculous—to have been prepared and not having thought of who to take. It’s like going out of a country without a passport or getting into a surgery without the surgeon. W

My partner, whom I just met a week before the said event was the cousin of one of my friends. He was a year younger than I am and the only reason why he obliged is 1.)  because his cousin was my friend and  2.) yes, it’s a free pass to get to enter the world of an all-girls-school.

He wasn’t that bad I thought, except later you’d see how it will turn out.

Prom Night. Everyone was pretty excited. I felt so-so like it will just be one of the family gatherings where you have to pay attention to your Aunt’s stories, nod on cue, laugh at the appropriate timing, eat your cake and compliment your relative’s cooking.  Easy-breezy, I thought. No pressure. I felt good because I think at that time I look good. My partner is just a ticket for me to actually go. No date, no entry. Although the sign did not exist at the entrance, it was pretty obvious that it should have been posted for all of us to realize that really, it will take two to tango…

Proper introductions was done to the whole PROM committee, the batch President, the Prom Moderator and the entire nunnery.

Seats-check. I was seated with my friends of course ( where the prom king and queen) were seated.We were near the stage because two of my friends were the hosts too.

My only concern is it’s a wide open space and the chances of precipitation was somewhat high. My other concern was the food. I need to get my money’s worth. At this point you’d see how much I didn’t even notice what my partner was wearing, how does he look like. Okay, this is what I have remembered. He was wearing a suit. I didn’t remember the color of the tie.  I did not remember if we danced because I think for most part of the PROM he was frolicking the school grounds.

The music, I forgot to tell you about the music. The pop tunes of our time were played until right before the whole slow dance they played  R.E.M.’s Losing my Religion. And the whole song, got stuck to my head.

In one of the slow dances in which at that time, my partner is still M.I.A, my friend asked me to dance. He’s the boyfriend of my other friend – who might have taken a shot of pity slash sympathy. I thought it was sweet and he had earned some points from me.

Before the night ended, it rained. I was right. My boobs predicted the weather. Okay, bad Mean Girls reference. I wasn’t even finished eating my breaded pork. There was little victory left to celebrate on.  And since we’re in a catholic school exclusive for non-alcholic women, booze is OUT. Sad.

Final cut of the night. The whole picture-taking with your date is essential. At this point my missing cretin of a partner finally found his way back from Wonderland.

When it was our turn, I smiled and a posed like a good catholic school girl. When the photo was developed, I looked awesome, my partner on the other hand, was droopy-eyed and looked like he was on something very “illegal”.

Picture-perfect, didn’t I tell you? No expectations.  Most of us, attended the after-party which was held at the only club there is so everyone who’s anyone were actually there. I called the night early. I still have to take the night duty with my mom.  And PROM, the very first and last experience of it did feel like one of the family gatherings, except my Aunt wasn’t there to comment on how awesome my partner was and that I didn’t get a chance to finish dinner and comment “appropriately” or better yet gave a review to the caterer.

When I went home, my dad was surprised. It wasn’t 2.a.m. and I wasn’t drunk as hell. I was completely sober and I didn’t lose anything. He asked how it was and all I can muster was a smirk and said “It’s prom. BEST DAY EVER.”  We laughed.

Funny fact. My partner was one of his students. I would have asked him to flunk him but I wasn’t as sinister as I am now.

The Freshmen

Can’t be held responsible
‘Cause she was touching her face
I won’t be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place

The first time I had butterflies in my stomach, I was in the third grade. It wasn’t because of that impending doom that involves my Math assignment and/or a science project about growing plants out of cotton which I was procrastinating on around that time. His name was Brian Sibulo. Of course, that was his real name. I mean. Now, he’s probably in his late 30s and he does not have a clue who I am.

He was a freshman at that time in my Dad’s English class. My dad sometimes brings me to one of his classes. An all-boy-school plus the only girl in the classroom — that’s somewhat a big deal for a third grader from a  Catholic all-girl-school. A little grin always comes up to my face when I pass by B114. That was the name of the classroom.

Brian was different from all those fresh out of puberty squirts. He smiled at me the first time he  saw me walking with my Dad. He pinched my cheek at one time and let me sat on his lap.He pretends to listen to my Dad during his class and I would just look at his awesome face and sigh. Of course, that not what I did, I was in the third grade. I simply doodle away in his notebook while he effortlessly pretends to listen to my Dad’s lessons.

The definition of crush spelled out his name and from my innocent little giggle when he asked if he’s cute, I could pretty much tell that he is my first ever dreamboat, until one day he said he’ll show me something.

Shut the front door. It’s not what you think it is.

So one day, he, as usual asked me to sit on his lap while my Dad lectures away. For some reason he trusted Brian, to have let me sit on his lap. And I trusted him too and wished that he’ll pull out a lollipop from his pocket and give it to me as a sign of his unwavering devotion.

But of course that wasn’t the case. He pulled his wallet from his back pocket and instead picked the very first picture  that I have mentally burned the very first time I laid my eyes on it.

It was his girlfriend at that time (who knows she may have been Mrs. Sibulo now or the mother of his first bastard, who gives a fart?). I stared at it for a very long time. She was very pretty and she was from my school too. And I hated her guts, I think.

Brian started blabbling about Sandra. Actually, I wasn’t so sure if that was her name. I was mentally spacing out in between. But what I did remember — is  him asking me if  she was pretty and if I wanted to be like her someday.

I might have said yes. I wanted to be Sandra or whatever her name was. I don’t like her innocent smile or her pimple-free face though. I wanted to be a Sandra because Brian wanted her.  I smiled at him  and pretended I was happy as a clam but in my mind I was really mentally cursing him and his Sandra.

And so that’s how I held my very first grudge and how I became the little school girl who punched the next student who called me “fat girl”. Yep, it was in my Dad’s class too – a classmate of Brian’s and he became the easy scapegoat for my passive-aggressive tendencies towards the first dreamboat.

Congratulations I’m Sorry!

Did you see the sky, I think it means that we’ve been lost
Maybe one less time is all we need
I can’t really help it if my tongue’s all tied in knots
Jumping off a bridge, it’s just the farthest that I’ve ever been

Yes. It would have been cooler if you’re about to hear a review of Gin Blossom’s album, something about music.

But no, this is about..mainly, about a coming of age story. No, not really. But just a possibility that this is just a phase that one, twenty-something has to really go through, some during puberty at which the normal timing would be just around thirteen or so. But for others (case in point—-moi) it would be around their late twenties, when things are about to just get serious like cancer.

I’d like to think at this point that this blog is what it really seems. I would like to tell you now that this may just one one of my blogs with a huge disclaimer that says. I am a girl. I have issues just like any other girl – trying to step up in a man’s world,  earning a  decent living and trying not to fall apart despite the fact that at this point….I have reached a major bump on the road because I met you and temporarily stepped out of sanity. How come?  Hmm, let’s just say the real pre-adolescent me regain consciousness: took me out of my comfort zone, gave me another acne outbreak and made me sing “I will survive” when I am alone during weekends. Yeah, that person is still me and I am still coping from this huge mess I made – by myself (without you coercing me to do it).

How that came to be? Let me try to excavate the murky and slightly dark memories before YOU. The beginning.