just thinking it loud...

Sometimes the most important thing that we get for a relationship is not the guarantee of permanence but the lesson that we learn for it when it fails. It’s not how much love we have received but how much love we have given. It’s not how many tears we’ve shed but how laughter we’ve shared. It’s not how many times we were accepted but how many times we understood when we were rejected. In the end, its not always happiness we have had, but how much we have given that made others happy. Thanks, Chino!

My Addiction

He is my addiction, the single occupant of my imagination.

He is the gandharvas personified. He is a designer drug. He is my midday dose of iced café latté. He is late night TV and the early morning weather report. He is my favorite song on the radio and the soothing voice of mood music. He is a detour on a crowded highway. He is the gentle rainfall that pours unexpectedly on the hottest summer day. He is the rustle of leaves on romantic afternoons. He is thunder and lightning on a no-school weekday, the final bell on a Friday, the steaming water on a freezing morning shower.

He is as precious as the sunrise and as perfect as the sunset. As fragrant as a newly-bloomed flower and as mysterious as falling stars.

He is my addiction, the cause and effect of my free flow emotion.

His touch, his words and his kisses are forever imprinted in my skin, my mind and my soul. I breathe in and the air smells of his hair. In the far distance, his laughter rings softly, yet clearly. He fills me with welcomed happiness, and I feel a certain glow when he holds my hand and when he wraps me in his arms. He is as real as I am.

I cannot elude him. Somebody save me because I have fallen in love, and I cannot walk away.

He is past obsession-- he is my addiction. He is the bittersweet truth.

I never thought bad karma could feel this good.

(an old post from my previous blog)

My former PE teacher GOT REAL TALENT!

He is my former Physical Education teacher in Silliman University. Manolito "Manoling" Saldivar auditioned for Pilipinas Got Talent and he wowed the audience and the three judges when he sang Luciano Pavarotti's Nessun Dorma. Amazing, I didnt know that he got the voice. He is a wonderful teacher as well. I took his PE 11, 21 and 22 classes. Now he become a national sensation, and most likely, international.
Go Mr. Saldivar we, the Sillimanians, are proud of you. We're behind you till the final night. God bless!

hindi na bale kung mawala ka

My heart is broken again. This time, it really hurts. I thought I got over with you already, but when i saw you holding her arms, I was really, really hurt. I already knew that you have someone new. I even saw your pictures on your fs profile. But seeing the two of you in person, together, is really different. My friend Mariel was even laughing at me when she witnessed how I lose my poise and confidence after seeing the two of you. You definitely took my stamina that day. I often stumble and have trouble concentrating on my work for the rest of the day. It sucks coz it gets into my nerves. That was the most stressful day of my life. Though on that day, I also learned that everything between us is totally over. And i have to accept that fact, that there will never be us, anymore.

Maybe I am really destined to be alone and miserable. To get hurt and left behind. But looking back on what we had, I thank you for those wonderful memories. For your time and for allowing me to be part of your life. As I try to nurse my broken heart, I came accross with a beautiful song which is apt to what i feel for you. It may sound a little mushy, but the lyrics says it all.

Hindi Na Bale
Bakit ba kay hirap tanggapin
Na ikaw ay 'di na magiging akin
Sa lahat ng bagay sa mundong ito
Wala ng hihigit pa sa pag-ibig mo
Kung tunay na't 'di lang panaginip
Ang aking nararamdaman ngayon
Hanggang kailan kaya nagdurusa't
Malulumbay ako ng wala sa piling mo


Hindi na bale kung mawala ka
Basta't iniibig kita ng higit sa buhay ko
Hindi na bale kung mag wakas na
Ang buhay kong ito
Ngunit sa puso ko
Ikaw ay naroon at hindi maglalaho
Sadya ngang kay tamis ng iyong halik
Araw-araw ako sa inyo'y nananabik
Sana'y makapiling ka kahit saglit
At mayakap ka ng kay higpit


Hindi na bale kung mawala ka
Basta't iniibig kita ng higit sa buhay ko
Hindi na bale kung mag wakas na
Ang buhay kong ito
Ngunit sa puso ko
Ikaw ay naroon at hindi maglalaho


Hindi na bale kung mawala ka
Basta't iniibig kita ng higit sa buhay ko
Hindi na bale kung mag wakas na
Ang buhay kong ito
Ngunit sa puso ko
Ikaw ay naroon at hindi maglalaho

I will love you forever, ONIHC!

Imagine

At this moment there are 6,470,818,671 people in the world.

Some are running scared. Some are coming home.

Some tell lies to make it through the day. Others are just not facing the truth.

Some are evil men, at war with good. And some are good, struggling with evil.

Six billion people, six billion souls.

And sometimes... all you need is ONE.

the Encounter

I felt the electricity bolted all throughout my body at the mere touch of your hand. You looked deep straight into my eyes and whispered something inaudible in my ear. No, I did not understand what you just said. But I didn't care. All I cared about was that you're standing in front of me, staring at me with the most sincere pair of eyes I've ever seen in my entire life. As you stare, I could feel your heart talking to mine in language only the two of us could understand.

We closed the gap between us inch by inch, and before we knew it, we found each other floating as we kissed passionately. It was the most passionate of all kisses. I closed my eyes to savour every moment. In my mind, I would like to preserve the intense feeling of your lips against mine.

We both grasped for air as our lips drifted apart. Looking sincerely into my eyes, you started to run your fingers from my cheeks, down to my neck, then lower, tracing every contour, exploring every single curve.

...

I felt myself shaking as our body became one. You reached deep down inside me then suddenly you paused, looked at me and gave me a sweet kiss. Then we moved rhythmically in beat that only we could hear. I closed my eyes to feel both the pain and the pleasure you're giving me, and even with my eyes closed, I could feel you staring at me, sweat falling down from your forehead to my cheeks. You moved slowly at first, and the thrusts became faster and faster as the heat intensified. We paused for a split-second as our bodies screamed for release.

The anticipated took place.

Finally...

Everything has its limit .. I've finally reached mine.. must everything end with a not - so - happy ending? I guess for peace and proseperity and love to all mankind???
I will be taking the vow of silence .. in order for everybody to be slap happy... and be happily swimming about ..

When everything is well ... maybe then will you hear me .. sing .. and see me dance about .. for now ... there will be silence of the lambs ..

"I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end. Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next. Delicious ambiguity."

Last Night I Slept With A Married Man

My heart is breaking again, and I sit here in front of the screen, searching for meaning, waiting to be absolved, and wonder if this is really what I said I expected. Of course I deserve this feeling and everything that comes with it: those moments of rottenness, of feeling alone, those vents of pointless jealousy, those wasted tears; because if you were a someone in your proper mind you wouldn’t play with fire. But I did. I slept with a married man.

I didn’t even know what I wanted to accomplish, and I sometimes make my own self laugh when I think about that ruthless, vicious biatch I make myself appear to be when, in front of all my colleagues, as they listen goggle-eyed and speechless, I relate my wild stories of obsession, design, compulsion, and finally, sweet conquest. Oh, they were good friends. They tried to warn me about what could happen to me. Disease and scandal. A broken heart. But I am bullheaded. Always wanting to be one step ahead of them, I reassure them that I’ve been through it all, and didn’t I survive? Look at these scars. I wear my brazen honesty like a rusty halo. The daredevil stunts I perform with these breakneck stiletto heels on the deadly ramp and my bloody pumping heart on my delicate sleeve are no match to my strength. Ses, I eat pain for breakfast everyday, and didn’t I turn out quite marvelous for it? Aren’t you glad you have me as a friend? Don’t you wish you were more like me?

But do you know the secret of my immeasurable strength? I did not derive it from common and filthy pain. I get it from the love of a man, a man I appear now to have forever lost, but my heart knows otherwise. Don’t ask how it knows, because my heart and I have a private language and you won’t understand it. But it knows.

I know it now more than I know that the sun would rise tomorrow. I know it as much as I know that I’ll be all right when all this is over. Because he love me, and I will find him again. And because of that I have a will and a reason to pull myself through each hitch, each mess, each broken heart, because at the end of this mud-stained and gory tunnel, he is waiting for me…

Why do I still pull these stunts then? To pass the time? To prove myself to somebody? Maybe to retaliate at this awful stupid world because it endeavored to, and still does, pull my only source of true beauty and true strength as far away from me as possible? I’ll give you three guesses. I don’t know.

I met him in the bar he had just then been commissioned to DJ in every Friday. His first Friday. People, secondhand cigarette smoke, tequila shots, eyes laced with mascara, gays and playas out for blood. A hiphop party. He was introduced to every person in the club, but singled me out for reason that up until is a big mystery to me.

Then followed the chase. Ahh, sweet enticements and stimulating little rewards of hunting down the pursued. The thousand-peso L’Oreal makeup, scandalous miniskirts and the heavy-chandelier earrings. How young I was and how brash and how reckless. How delicious each moment of breathing the midnight air and letting it wake you up to the roots of your hair when your parents are far away, asleep at home, oblivious of where you are.

How simple it would have all been if he had not been married, but he was, and he told me right up. I could have backed off because there was no way I was going to get entangled in another one of those cute little postcard street pictures with the pretty smiling wife, chubby little baby, barbecues in the backyard and the pleasant newspaper boy riding among the acacia trees. I should have known better and I did. But wanting some piece of that gangsta love I proceeded with the seduction and eventually succeeded.

Did I tell you the sex was incredible? Did I tell you my spine still tingles thinking about it, my mouth still sore where I enticed him to bite it, my senses still on fire? Did I tell you I’ll probably never forget it, the way he moved and the way I followed every time he did? Did I ever take the time to make you understand that kind of raw pleasure, that deep intense want, those illusory
images of reaching out to him spiritually so we could hold each other to the core of our beings?

And here I am three weeks later diagnosed with this.

How could I have been so stupid? When the rubber didn’t fit that could have been my cue to get out, pack your bags and go home. But i didn't.

I’m sure I deserve this, maybe more. A girl with everything to lose should know when to stop, and I didn’t. It is not something that would kill me; I am taking medication and would be just fine in a couple of weeks. It is inconvenient but it’s not what I weep for.

I have fallen in love with him. And therein I lost everything.

I wish he were the sort of guy who runs away after they get what they want from you. Or the type who gets freaked out by overly obsessive girls who can’t eat, can’t sleep, and spend the better part of each night sending moony text messages as if he and you were teenagers all over again. Or the kind of cheater quick on
the draw but also on the guilt, so that right now his conscience would be eating away at him and he wouldn’t be able to look his wife straight in the eye and would make a sign of the cross every time I was near.

But God damn it, he isn’t. I come at him stripped of my lace and leather, wearing only my bruised heart crying to be nursed back to life and he takes it in his arms every time and sings to it as if pain had no place in my life. I wish he would do something that would turn me off, something that would deliberately hurt me so
that I could hate him and cry about loving the wrong man and ultimately move on.

But every Friday he plays out there waiting for me.

But the fact still remains that I did love the wrong man.

But somewhere in that sentence is the fact that I love the man.

I wish, I wish, I wish. A hundred million things with a hundred million reasons standing on a hundred million dreams. Does he know that my hands are smaller than his? Does he know that his shirts smell strongly of the fabric conditioners they use on Laundromats? Does he know that he is a good dancer, and a smart talker?

That I remember every word he says, and read every message he sends more than once?

And does he know that I do expect of him to put his wife before me, but it still hurts me every time he does? Does he know that when I walk, when I sleep, when I eat, I am actually writing a love letter to him inside my head, a love letter I can never write?

I am too smart to be a mistress and I’m not going to be.

And why am I still so damn proud? Talking as if I got matters in control when in truth I am neck deep and can’t cry out for help. Thinking that I could ruin him with one fell sweep of my pen when in fact I am sitting here in front of my screen trying to elude having to hold my pen because I am deeply ashamed.

When I hear hiphop music it scares me.

Six weeks ago, when I met him, I wrote with these hands, with my pen, “…I am feeling a beautiful ache, the sweet and gentle one that makes you sing and cry and shout at the moon. How a single night and a couple of fantasies utterly change you. Words can only take you so far in describing it. Somewhere in this vast
universe, there is a beat playing itself, and I resonate to its drums as if I had danced to it as an unborn spirit. The next time I see the sweet and sexy him, I’d thank him for doing this to me.”

Just the other night I wrote, while I still could (I can’t now), “I am so intensely miserable. Sometimes you’d imagine it’s scary being in the complete mercy of a married man but then you end it to start getting things right again and you realize it is unbelievably frightening to let go of that crazy illusion that he just might love you back when that illusion had been the backbone of your nights and the beauty of your mornings for quite some time. It is very scary to realize that not only have you been alone all alone, but that you are alone right now.”

My friends say I write poetry.

I want to write a love letter, but I can’t.

Please, don’t judge me. I have already judged myself.

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an old post from peyups.com

i give up...

I have decided to take the backseat.
The play is finished. The curtain has dropped.

I have reached my melting point.
I have arrived at a crossroad and all I can do is stop.
I can't believe being so transparent will be the death of me.

Who can blame me for being so disillusioned now?

Friends who tell half-baked truths…make me want to wring their necks until I see only the whites in their eyes.
A Specter that would’ve continued to interest me if it only showed a bit of partiality and disclosed what it wants from me…makes me want to drop a bucket on its head, bang it a few times until it sees stars.

I thought everything would come off nice if I let my self out in the open.
I was in for a disappointment.
I considered taking a step forward and not wait for things to happen in the hopes of getting a just reward or maybe someone or something I deserve.
Again, I was in for a disappointment.

So this time, I’ll take a step back.
Focus the light on someone else.
I’ll just stay on the sides.
Be a mere Observer this time.
Hoping that life catches on somehow and drag me back on track…

Til then "Bahala na Kayo"

to the LOVE that I never had, GOODBYE!

For a while you think that everything’s perfect, and that there’s nothing more you could ever want. But then you realize that it’s not how things should be. Reality is far from what we imagine. Sweet, unpredictable, cruel. You never know what to expect. “Life is like a box of chocolates,” he said. “You never know what you’re gonna get.” But chocolate, like everything else, doesn’t last.

I was so happy that day, lying in his arms and laughing by his side. Everything seemed so perfect. It felt so different, so inevitable. For the first time, I truly felt alive, not knowing how the roots underneath were slowly dying. I revel in each moment, oblivious to the nothingness that awaits.

Why is it that each time that I am happy, I seem to pay the price with my tears? Is it because I don’t deserve to be happy? Because I’m simply unworthy? Don’t I deserve such gift like everyone else?

I have long reconciled with the fact that death would be the final payment for the debts that I owe, for the life I’ve lived, and for the memories that make me who I am. But must I take each breath of joy incompletely, knowing that pain’s unrelenting embrace awaits at dusk, as I lay shivering at the chill of the knowledge of being unworthy? Nothing is without a price after all. What we think is free has already been paid for by someone else’s tears.

I ask these questions in silence, while drowning in the recognition of being alone.

He doesn’t understand. I am but the razor to make him see the truth. And I am afraid that my words might shatter his soul… and the life he gave to me.

To bathe in the glory of happiness and fulfillment, and to be pierced by daggers of ice not long after I’ve tasted the sweetness. We all live in borrowed happiness, each second fleeting, leaving you with an emptiness so full at its wake. I sit here paralyzed and unable to grasp its real meaning, not knowing how to stop hurting you… wanting to stay away yet having no courage to walk. I need to go… to shield you from the pain that I am causing. But leaving would mean my death, and our lives’ end. The vows we kept, the promises made, and dreams envisioned shall fade in a blur, no longer living, but not yet dead.

Forever didn’t exist. Forever was a dream, something one could never grasp.

I would never know whether I was wrong to believe in something so unreal as death lurks in every corner, stalking its prey. The death of life and the death of hope. But with you, I believed in the happiness of living…

I believed in us.

Those fairy tales did have a semblance of reality after all… Only that life’s stories end in many ways. Among the many boxes on the storyboard, the last one always ends up torn.

For fate to bring us together and hate to tear us apart, I could never understand… I had the chocolate in my hands, but somehow along the way, it turned bad.

“God is a comedian, playing to an audience too afraid to laugh.” – Voltaire