LOVE hasn’t been kind to me lately

you know the drill. in the heterosexual world—boy meets girl; girl meets boy; they fall in love; and live happily ever after. and we all know that that’s bull. what really happens is: boy meets girl; girl meets boy; they fall in love (or so they think); then boy meets another girl (or boy); boy dumps girl one; boy calls; girl one falls again; boy plays then meets another girl (or boy)… and so on.

it's boring how everything about the so-called-wonderful-emotion-that-is-love got so predictable. you love, you hurt. that’s it. there’s no other way around it. no bargains. no time-outs. when it’s there, it’s there. you can’t say, “hey wait a second, you can’t love me like that—i’m not ready, no fair!”

you just feel it, you know? it’s there… so overpowering, it’s almost tangible. yeah? so is “pain,” right? like love, you can’t manipulate it—you can’t choose which time of day you suddenly feel like dying from loneliness… you can’t tell your boss, “tears? what tears? oh, these… i must’ve poked my eye with my… eyelashes. yep, sure, it happens. haven’t you heard of it happening to anybody before?”

fuck it.

pain and happiness, i think, are universal. doesn’t matter whether you’re white, black, yellow or brown—feelings, emotions, are common. and just because i’m a woman doesn’t mean i ache more. and i know you know—this ain’t easy. you bury yourself in work. you walk aimlessly under the rain. you shop without purpose or direction—no wait, i take that back. shopping is vital. it needs apt concentration. but you get what i mean, right? i’m just aching, it sucks.

i miss him.

HDV—a love story

"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."

Whenever I call you friend I begin to think I understand Anything we are You and I have always been ever and ever

I see myself within your eyes And that's all I need to show me why Everything I do, always takes me home to you Ever and ever

Now I know my life has given me More than memories Day by day we can see In every moment there's a reason to carry on

Sweet love showin' us a heavenly light I've never seen such a beautiful sight

Sweet love flowin' almost every night I know forever we'll be doin' it right

Whenever I call you friend I believe I've come to understand Everywhere we are you and I were meant to be Forever and ever

I think about the times to come Knowin' I will be the lucky one Ever our love will last I always want to call you friend

Sweet love... sweet love You're the glowing light in my life The source of pride in my life Everything I do takes me back to you

long overdue

I'm a fan of music—but I'm a bigger fan of musicians who don't compromise their melody for fame or money. Sure, it'd be hypocritical to say that earning money from something-that-is-basically-a-hobby wouldn't be great, but really, should it be the end-all and be-all of every local Pinoy band? And just when the ewww-inducing-perpetually-muscle-shirt-wearing-totally-irritable-inexplicably-popular Cueshe is about to obliterate my senses with their tasteless (granted, relative) lame excuse for songs, I met Locks of Samson.

"We're part of Musicians for Peace, a cause-oriented music org in Polytechnic University of the Philippines. It is dedicated for struggling musicians like us, who create music for social change, not profit."

Wow, I thought, how noble. This I gathered from their 20-something vocalist, Amiel. There I was, the "white-collar" chick, feeling humble and envious at the same time of a kid who probably hasn't enjoyed "real earnings" from his choice of career. Perhaps I saw the 20-year-old me in him—idealistic, but proud and happy. Focused in the sense that he knows what he wants for the band—and that is to create music that will spew awareness about the problems of this country and empower the society to unite. And me? Let's just say, I used to have the same goal—maybe not as profound as Locks of Samson's—but as upfront, honest: to write about things that people can relate to... compose stories that people actually read and hopefully find entertaining. But enough about me already!These kids are braving the unpredictable world of music the only way they know how: by creating chords for a cause—and they're doing it great... which makes me really proud to have met them.

They say "there are two ways of spreading light: to be the candle or the mirror that reflects it." At this point, I choose to be the mirror—and I present to you Locks of Samson.

Members Vocals: Amiel * Drums: Wilson * Percussion: Tem & DJ * Rhythm Guitar: JP * Lead Guitar: RA * Bass Guitar: JV Music Reggae ("Never mind the genre, focus on the message!") Gigs Overpass and Underpass bridges around the Metro Shout-outs Domeng, MP, Jen and Agnes

I met Locks of Samson at AUDIO LOKAH, the ONLY band rehearsal studio that offers AFFORDABILITY notwithstanding top-of-the-line equipment and instruments with brands, such as Pignose, Fender, Pearl, etc. Audio Lokah is located at 2nd floor ARLE Building 145 Aurora Blvd corner J. Ruiz St., San Juan, Metro Manila. For inquiries, call 745.8777 or send SMS to 0916.524.9372 or 0918.566.3886.

you got SPAM

PLEASE TAKE A MOMENT TO ANSWER OUR SURVEY

i did. and my life hasn't been the same ever since.

now, i get character-changing emails like 10 minute abs (no time? no problem!) and soul-enriching editorials like Are Healthy Foods Making You Fat? or 3 Steps to a Better Butt.

sweet. NOT!

i know the concept of "over-communication," i live and breathe press releases. but these? you’ve got to be kidding me!

Your SacramentoRecruiter.com job agent - 02.25.06 Delete Nickey has updated her Friendster Blog Who the fuck is Nickey??? Delete Final Days - $5 CD Blowout Sale Delete Thinner or Smarter Shocking Survey Reveals... Hmmm... NO, LoLa, YOU WILL NOT SUCCUMB TO NAIVETE! You should know better! Delete

… and so goes my Sunday morning. Yes, I need a man. FAST.

old school

i'm not new to this. blogging, i mean...

you know, when i opened the computer, i had stuff to say... now, my mind's a total blank... oh, well.

here's one of my all-time fave blog entries

i complete me

A direct contradiction to the famous (but sappy) line, “you complete me,” from the popular pre-Katie Holmes Tom Cruise flick, Jerry Maguire, the above title is the new thought-provoking slogan of a Pinoy clothesline for women.

i bare. i seek cover. i make mistakes. i recover. i complete me.

Wow. Finally, a clothing line that promotes something more than fashion! Self-worth. Something often undervalued, underrated, taken for granted…

One minute everything seems perfect. Coming across your true love. Landing THE dream job. Finding the perfect pair of shoes. Then the next minute everything falls apart like in that cartoon where a ton of bricks plunges unto Wyle Coyote’s head. You discover true love is fictional… that your job is a joke… and the perfect shoes don’t go with any of your bags. Then you get depressed. Manic even. You have this imaginary list that you show your imaginary god every night: Please make me happy. I want the following:

• my soulmate • a higher-paying job • and while you’re at it, please let there be a midnight sale where I can buy the perfect pair of shoes

And you get what you asked for. Except it didn’t satiate that void. It felt… nothing. Just nothing. And you think:

i ache. i feel shitty. i drink. i feel empty. i don’t complete me.

Then you start to do every kind of stuff imaginable just to fill that empty space seemingly situated right in the middle of your chest. You try speed dating. You apply for another job. You rummage around the mall for the perfect bag to match your perfect pair of shoes. When will it be me? You ask yourself. How come everyone else is getting lucky? And you burden yourself with a million questions more; then you relentlessly quest for that someone or something that would make you feel what you’ve always yearned for – HAPPINESS. And it’s a vicious cycle, this roller-coaster ride. And by worrying yourself over things that only fate can answer, you miss out on the fun. You fail to benefit from the feeling of BEING ALIVE! Then your friends give you what they offer best – a good kick in the ass and a hard slap on the face. As my sporadic-Catholic friend once said, “God did not put you on this planet to WORRY!” And throughout the succession of depression and self-pity, you overlook the one true thing that is actually of importance. Yourself. Then, little by little, you learn to internalize the maxim, “you can never truly love anything else, until you learn to love yourself.” Self-worth. Then you smile. And have fun. And maybe come up with your own slogan. Maybe something like:

i hurt. i falter. i learn. i matter. i complete me.

liked it? check out some of my previous blog entries here.

pukengkeng... an introduction

Pukengkeng is a slang coined from two Tagalog words: puke, which means vagina and kerengkeng, a woman of loose morals.

OK.

I’m not making a very good first impression here.

Let me try this again: Pukengkeng, due to the complex intricacies of the Filipino language, is actually considered amusing. No, I’m not trying to be comical. It’s just that Vagina doesn’t have the oomph that Pukengkeng does.

And the Tagalog name gives me a sense of recognition and pride–Pinoy yata ‘to!

Proud as I am of my Filipino heritage, I have to admit, some of the customs perplex me—foremost is, why using Tagalog words that concern sex—from the act itself to the genitalia—considered as taboo. Have you noticed how self-conscious we get when we actually put into words anything that pertains to sex? Everything is reduced to ano or its spin-off of sorts, kwan.

(Babysitter to employer) Ate, Junior’s kwan is throbbing—an insect may have bitten him there when we went outside to play.

Why is it that we, Filipinos in general, flinch from or completely shun saying words like pekpek (vagina), tite (penis), suso (breast) or kantutan (sexual intercourse) and mention the English counterpart freely? I mean, not even the local TV regulatory board would censor the word “sex” but would likely cancel a show because of the word “kantutan”!

By doing random queries on this topic, I was able to find very interesting theories:

1. Filipinos are basically conservative—anything that pertains to sex should be discussed behind closed doors. Conservative or hypocritical?

2. The English language is universal—ergo, not likely to scandalize or be considered dirty. Because if you find the universal language vulgar, then how else can people communicate?Universal or bland?

3. The Filipino language is graphic, picturesque and passionate. If the Tagalog dialect is compared to a person, it is someone lusty. I agree.

Without doubt, the Filipino language is dynamic—creative even. Comical jargons that are easy on the ears (or on the heart of the old-fashioned) were borne to somehow liberate Pinoys from this language barrier. Some of these lingo are: pukengkeng and pepe (vagina); etits and tarugo (penis); dede (breast); tonting (sex, sexual intercourse); KTR (a guy oozing with sex appeal), etc.

Now a thought just struck me, what if we translate in Tagalog re-runs of Sex in the City like we do those Korean, Chinese, and Latin soap operas—it would be Kantutan sa Syodad. Hmm. Pangit nga naman. It just doesn’t sound right, does it?

... and i heart him

Cringe.

I know. I’m supposed to be “bleak” – my day should always be dark, where “it is perpetually raining and the atmosphere is very gloomy.” Yes, I’m quoting that-psychic-dude-who-thinks-he’s-Serj-or-maybe-even-god. (read here)

 

OK, back to me.

What can I say?

This.feeling.is… exquisite. (read with wonderment… almost robotic, and you’ll get the milieu I’m in.)

Nearly heavenly.

And to describe him – ah, sigh-inducing, toe-curling, just plain – dare I say it? – orga… nic. Yesss… organic. Natural – uhm, you know, raw – very rugged. Yeah, that’s it – rugged. (organic = rugged? pwede na yun!)

Yeah, well, I saw him the other night. Boy, was he spanking! I gotta give it to the guy up there, he really did a great job on this one… alluring eyes, generous mouth, teasing smile, perfect skin – well, the kind that I think is perfect for a man – smooth, but not gay-ish…

And he’s so much fun, too! I mean, the guy’s an energizer bunny – no, not that kind – I mean, he’s totally un-boring (is there such a word?) Anyway, the whole night, all he did was make me happy, especially with his singing – yes, he sings!

And that night, he sang to me – and to at least over 200 other girls…

Yep, this one is sooo like the telenovelas we all love (c’mon, admit it, you went home early for the final episode of ONLY YOU and cried when TJ turned his back on the family fortune just so he could be with his eternally-teary-eyed jowa, Gillian)! crash. there goes my rep

The scenes were sporadic.

Me buying ticket.
Me having my peppermint spray confiscated by dagul-looking-goon-like-guard.
Me looking for “strategic” site.
Me getting tapped on the shoulder by lanky, almost-gaunt student-guard for smoking.
Me telling kid guard to kiss my arse or I’ll kick his.
Me getting that Children-of-the-corn-like feel as other student-guards gave me dirty looks.
Me screaming with skinny-tank-top-sporting-lip-pouting-15-year-old girls.
Me despising my-now-late-20s-self for being in a school fair to watch a band.
Me being consoled by my also-feeling-teenager-friends.
Me trying to grab the to-die-for songster’s… microphone.
Me laughing out loud.
Me bobbing my head.
Me screaming with skinny-tank-top-sporting-lip-pouting-15-year-old girls.
Me despising my-now-late-20s-self for being in a school fair to watch a band.
Me being consoled by my also-feeling-teenager-friends.
Me trying to grab the to-die-for songster’s… microphone.
Me laughing out loud.
Me bobbing my head.

Basta, mixed emotions! (huh? Ano daw? Ang gulo!) Diba parang telenovela?!

Uhm, no, I didn’t snort anything illegal today.

After the concert, (er, yes, in a school fair) I was… smiling.

Hey, I actually had FUN! (picture clapping, hop-skipping, wide-eyed, little girls with pigtails – at least that’s how I imagine HAPPINESS.)

Feeling exorbitantly delighted, I gave myself a literal pat on the back (with my friends eyeing me disbelievingly) for laying off the snooty-brat persona and going to the elementary school fair of Don Bosco Mandaluyong to watch Bamboo… man, if that’s not love, I don’t know what is!

… and as I was walking away from the school grounds, I only had ONE solid thought in mind: “Hayup na guard yun, ‘di isinoli yung peppermint spray ko!”

Talk about being "introspective and deep."

Why Don't You Ask the Kids from Tiananmen Square?

Note: this is a write-up by an officemate that was posted in the company online newsletter where I also posted “I complete me” and “on pre-emptive messages…” under the nom de plume, Lola.

 

Writers are like songs. On the extreme, they are either the happy discordant nature of Franz Ferdinand or the infinite sadness of Mochiba.

Kira and Lola sound like Seattle’s Grunge Bands. They are introspective and deep. But as compelling and proficient as they can become, they are also bleak and cynical. Seattle ushered the grunge sound of the 90’s, giving birth to Alice in Chains, Nirvana, Pearl Jam and Stone Temple Pilots. Seattle is the physiological choice as the birthplace of grunge primarily because of the weather. It is perpetually raining and the atmosphere is very gloomy.

Meanwhile we have Rizal, Yuri, Ely, etc. They are our present novelty songs. If you are familiar with Lito Camo and other pop songs of recent, then you know what I mean. These songs are based on current tastes, relevant, radio-friendly and have the unmistakable mass-appeal.

Music genres naturally differ on topic as much as on how the music is played. Grunge music grinds and groans, hardly repeating chords. It focuses Inward; the self, the pain they are going through, the longing, loathing angst. Novelty pop sings about everyday life; noontime shows, telenovelas, baywalk happenings. The music aims for retention and singability for there is a single chord for the whole song.

Express Yourself is one big radio station catering to eclectic palettes. It’s fun tuning in to this station. The DJ is also kinda cool so it makes making songs that much more enjoyable. Me? I’m that Armenian band System of a Down. So, everybody chill and make your own music.

On pre-emptive messages and the curse to a lifetime of obesity

What would you do if some stranger, sitting next to you in a movie house mortifyingly “whispers” (read: malakas na bulong) the ending of this exciting, suspense movie you were watching?

 

1. cuss and shush him;
2. cuss and spit on him; or
3. cuss and sulk

In general, people hate it when some wise-*man* (actual word deleted for restrictive reason; it is also composed of three letters; and yes, it rhymes with “glass”), for logic only his dense brain cells can comprehend, decides to unabashedly announce an information so vital that he pre-empts what could have been a most wonderful experience.

 

It’s like making out the punch line in the middle of a joke… or finding out about the “surprise party” your officemates planned for your birthday… everything just becomes – wala lang, alam ko na ‘yan, corny na… useless.

 

Boink boink. I automatically reached for my cell phone, and read, somewhat mechanically, “Panalo na Pacquiao 10^th round KO Morales.”

 

This, when I was almost (k)issing my pants (again, ersatz  idiom) with suspense on the 4^th round of the most important event in the life of the newest Filipino hero, the “it” boy in boxing, Manny Pacquiao, in his do-or-die fight against Erik Morales, who beat him to the title last year.

 

Argh! Practically pulling out the hairs on my head, I threw my cell phone on the sofa (d-uh I wouldn’t smash naman my phone over boxing), and cursed to a lifetime of obesity the guy who texted me that Pacquiao had already won.

 

To most of us mortals who don’t have a pay-per-view TV channel, the fight that we saw on advertisement-insatiable ABS-CBN was actually delayed by a considerable number of minutes.

 

But, so what if it was? It’s not like I had a million-peso bet at stake here! I just wanted to see the match… shriek when necessary… and experience the thrill of seeing the hailed Pacman pull out all the stops to win for his country… (yeah, right!).

 

OK, so I’m not a die-hard Pacquiao or boxing fan, but really, I did want to watch the fight together with the people I care most for… to share bonding moments of actually enjoying doing something together… like yelping together at Pacquiao’s blows, hurling creative curses at Morales (dude, nothing personal), saluting Pacquiao for his will to win…

 

And because of a thoughtless p-p-p-person (you got it, rhymes with brick), those moments were gone.

 

It’s appalling how some people suddenly elect themselves news authority and disseminate news that would elicit either indifference or extreme emotion to the majority… and for what? For the purpose of using the “send message to group” function on their cell phone!

 

And since I didn’t have the heart to tell the people around me that I knew Pacquiao had already won, from the 5^th round until the end of the match, I was motionless – well, I wanted to be… just so to emphasize the drama of “knowing what everybody else doesn’t,” but I couldn’t for the life of me sit still – not because of the thrill of watching Pacquiao pound the life out of Morales – but because of wanting to punch somebody myself!

 

Quinito Henson. What the…???

 

Sure he’s a long-time sports commentator, but that doesn’t mean he’s good! (Case in point, Gloria Arroyo is President, but that doesn’t mean it’s legitimate… but that’s another story).

 

I mean, does Henson think that the greater part of his audience are folks in some bucolic island huddled together, listening to a primitive, wooden AM radio for him to illustrate every minute detail in that sore-throat-inducing voice of his? Either that, or his No. 1 fan is blind.

 

I mean, c’mon, Henson! Do you really have to yap that much? I don’t usually disturb the dead but I sure do hope Joe C. and Frankie E. are reading this – guys, some pointers here for this man, please… Or else, for the second time because of Manny, I would again be forced to curse another man to a lifetime of obesity.

 

So, there.

i believe

I believe

How can I not?

 

I look up at the sky

And realize the infinite possibilities

 

Could you really be up there as the great book describes?

Or here, somewhere with me?

Around me, in spirit, as my heart swells with joy

 

I believe

How can I doubt?

 

I look at myself

Humbled at my insignificance

 

Have I really crossed the line as my conscience prescribes?

Or fear, chastising me?

Surrounding me with guilt, as my principles puncture with conceit

 

I believe

How can I not?

 

I feel you close

And understand your strength

 

You really do know me

i want more

To want is human.

To want more, divine?

 

I wonder, where exactly did this concept of “wanting more” start?

 

In the beginning, when God was supposedly in His “creative mode,” He designed the heavens and the earth. Now, at that time, “the earth was formless and empty.” And so the Old Man flicked a finger and there was light. “He saw that it was good.”

 

And so, for seven days, He pointed here, and perhaps clapped there until Adam was “born.”

 

Ah, Adam. “The Man.” Created in the “image and likeness of God.” Adam supposedly had a little of God in him… or something.

 

As most of us know, by this time, the earth was seemingly complete – there was light, darkness, water, land, fish, animals, trees, air – everything a man could need… “bliss by remote control,” so to speak.

 

But no, God felt it needed something more. He wanted more for Adam.  “It is not good for the man to be alone,” He said.

 

And so, there was Eve.

 

Now, why would He want more for man if He knew it would lead to his eventual destruction? “God is all-seeing, all-knowing,” remember?

 

Was it not Eve’s fault that He was forced to banish his precious Adam from paradise and curse the sinful temptress for all eternity?

 

But He wanted more, right?

 

He wanted more for the earth, so he needed to create more so everything would be complete… Perfect.

 

And so, is it safe to say that the present man actually “inherited” his insatiable need for perfection from God?

 

… that in the struggle for completeness, we have the propensity to want more. It’s in our genes. We were “made in His image and likeness,” remember?

 

Now, my point really is, who do I attribute my inexhaustible I-want-more disorder? To the figurative serpent/“the devil” who allegedly dangles all worldly desires to tempt the feeble man? Or to our creator, God, who actually started the trend in the very first day of His reign?

 

Really, if I may push a little farther, I hold the Catholic Church responsible. I mean, they published these parables, right?

 

Talk about major ingenuity. Really, I think these people are the first entrepreneur… but that’s another story.

 

Hmm. I wonder what my cousin-priest, Father Johnny, would say about this.

until I conquer Jose

I feel myself smiling.

This is nice.

Everything is warm… dreamy… almost fuzzy.

 

Wait.

Ouch.

Something hit my head.

 

No blood.

That’s funny.

I could’ve sworn something smacked my skull.

 

Must be the noise.

Why is everyone shouting in my ear?

Stop! I shouted.

Laughter.

 

Why is everyone laughing?

Why do I feel like I’m floating, with my arms outstretched, like a bird that’s about to fly?

Now, this doesn’t feel nice.

 

“Is she okay?”

“What happened?”

“She locked herself in the restroom for almost an hour!”

 

Wow. Really?

Who are we talking about?

I turned my head to see the face behind the voice.

 

Whoa!

Why does Mike have three heads?

Or is that Christian?

 

Something’s really wrong here.

Everything feels queasy now.

I tried to tell my friend, whose face, I suddenly realized, is severely squashed to my cheek.

What the…?

 

“Hello? What’s happening?”

Again, laughter all around.

“What in f*cking hell is funny?”

 

Was that me talking?

Why does my voice sound like a slow-motion drone from an old recording?

Disgruntled. Incomprehensible.

 

Suddenly, a chorus of disgust.

“EEWWW!”

 

My stomach feels creepy.

My mouth tastes sour.

 

I feel myself smiling.

This is inexplicably funny.

HAHAHA!

 

Wow. It’s cold.

Is it raining?

 

Somebody is stroking my hair.

Now that feels nice.

Reassuring. Calming.

 

It feels warm again.

This is how it must feel like in a cocoon.

my life-saving saturday nights

All work and no play make Jack demented… so to speak.

I wake up weekdays and I hear Korn playing “Freak on a Leash” in my head. You can imagine my mood.

And so I go to the office, Monday to Friday, like a malfunctioning robot with a scowl.

But come Saturday, I wake up, and like in a music video, the curtains slide open and the sun’s rays light up my bedroom and I hear a remix of “Shiny Happy People” by REM and “Groove is in the Heart” by Dee Lite.

Now, that must be a really bad video. I know, I know.

But you get the point.

Saturday. I look forward to it like a kid does to recess… with hand-rubbing anticipation and pent-up exhilaration.

I absolutely loathe going to noisy, dirty disco and resto bars that are full of pretentious, dumb kids who sponge on their parents’ money for a weekend night-out with their equally shallow friends.

Been there, done that.

Weekend romantic escapades were a rarity even when I was still attached. Poor me, I’ve only had losers for boyfriends.

For the longest time, I have practically searched everywhere, befriended everyone, done everything and gone everywhere just to fill my Saturday nights.

And I would always wake up Sunday mornings feeling tired, irritable… unhappy.

Until Quezon. As in Quezon Province.

Just when things were starting to go wayward in my life, one of my friends arranged for a weekend getaway for us, a group of old college friends.

We’ve always been really close, these friends of mine. We were inseparable as   teenagers. Then  came  college  graduation…  then  first  jobs…  then relationships…   then   marriage… then  kids…  then  self-absorption  and disorientation.

Despite all these though, we would always try to call each other. Or see each other maybe 2 or 3 times a year. Or whenever one of their kids would celebrate a birthday or something.

And that’s how it was for many years… that is, until Quezon.

It was neither Boracay nor Palawan, but for us cheapskates, Quezon was paradise.   With big waves and warm water, it was perfect for us, small-minded guffaw-loving geeks.

It felt like college again:  careless, reckless fun and major chatting, while downing SMBs like drinking water. Silly stuff, really.

But beyond beer-drinking and merry making, we found what we’ve lost through the years – the warmth of friendship… the sense of belonging… the strength of togetherness…

Like a kid finally stumbling on her Hide and Seek playmates, I finally found something to shriek happily about.

My friends!

And so, we made a pact after Quezon – to see each other again regularly at least twice a month. And like kids who never really kept promises, we broke the pact and saw each other every Saturday since then!

I’ve known these people for 11 years, but I’ve never really valued the role they play in my life until now. I’ve never really told my friends about this, but they save a part of the dying me every time I see them Saturday night.

Having said that, I may have just risked a lifetime of Saturday nights of torment and mockery for being a sappy shithead.

Oh, well.

“shiny happy people holding hands (groove is in the heart)…”

the dreaded 30s

Two more years and I’ll be 20-10.

 

Kill me now.

 

As I write this, a number of celebrity names pass my mind who are over 30 and are also still single or have just broken up with the supposed “special other” – Jennifer Aniston, Nicole Kidman, Renee Zellwegger, Sienna Miller – no, wait, that waif is barely 25.

 

Oh, so that’s what this is all about? The shitty life of singledom and the deafening ticking of the fuckin’ biological clock.

 

Yes. So, sue me.

 

Sure, I think about it, man.

 

I ponder. I wonder. I bite my nails endlessly over it.

 

I’m tired of filling up a form and marking an X right next to “single” box.

 

Then again I see people everywhere breaking up and insulting the hypothetical sanctity of marriage, i.e. the abovementioned Hollywood stars.

 

Then I take a really close look at myself.

 

3-0. (cringe)

 

Do I look it? (For the wise-ass, this is a rhetorical question.)

 

I certainly don’t feel it.

 

I mean, half the time, I think like a 17-year-old college freshman for Pete’s sake!

 

So, what’s the freakin’ big deal?

 

I certainly love my life right now – well, not at all times, but you know, I’m OK.

 

I earn my own money. I buy my own jewelry. As Beyonce and the rest of the children would put it, “I depend on me.”

 

And maybe I’m better off without a man – how would I know when all I’ve ever dated are boys?

 

Oh, fuck it, I don’t know, OK?

 

Contrary to what most people think, I don’t know everything. Couldn’t resist – now, this is the real me talking. =D

 

Argh.

 

I hate this.

 

Maybe I’ll go shopping today… and have a haircut… and buy some nice stuff for the house… and…

dark

i’m a mess.

 

not that my day ever started out fine.

 

well it used to…

back when i still believed in the unbelievable.

 

that smile…

i would give anything to have him smile that smile at me again…

 

oh, how lethal remembering could be!

 

it hurts.

like it does now…

 

and it’s almost physical, this hurting.

like a twisting pang from the stomach to the heart…

 

biting. raw.

 

then it fades…

but not the self-loathing.

 

then “if only’s” flood.

 

suffocating.

choking.

sickly sweet.

pseudo-entrepreneur

For as long as I can remember, I’ve done nothing but write.

Professionally, I mean.

And it’s OK. I’m not complaining.

It’s like playing your favorite sport for a living… only on a way lower level, salary-wise.

But you get what I mean, right?

 

As much as I enjoy what I do, I’ve often wondered if I could actually do anything else.

Professionally, that is.

So, I always take on what we Pinoys call a “sideline.”

Raket ako…

 

I’ve this affinity to sales.

Don’t ask me why but I love selling stuff.

From hot pants to boneless bangus – I’ve sold them all.

 

I’ve done MLM or what we call here networking.

I’ve done Puciel, Forever Living, First Quadrant, and now Agel.

 

I’ve owned a food cart a la Kiss – and even cooked fish and squid balls myself.

 

I’m a sucker for “business.”

 

Naks, ang galing mo naman, may day job ka na, may business ka pa!

 

I love hearing that.

 

It makes me feel like I’m smart with money…

Like I’m very “together”…

Like I actually know what I’m doing…

 

Truth of the matter is, I’M BORED.

 

I’m bored with the sleepy, sluggish way my life is going.

I’m bored with the sense of ordinariness that seems to envelope my entire being.

I’m bored with being bored.

 

So, raket ako.

 

And whenever I’d start a business, it’s always with passion and enthusiasm – that is, in the first couple of months.

 

After I’ve gotten back my start-up capital and earned a few bucks for a major drinking spree, I’d go back to my normal mode – bored.

 

And you know what happens when I get bored, right? You knew it – I’d start another business, leaving behind the one I’ve previously started like yesterday’s stale LOs (left-overs).

 

Downer, huh? So, sue me.

 

And so I was bored again.

 

So, very recently I partnered with three people to open a small restaurant.

 

Boy, was I hyped!

 

We had what we called the silogs – the all-time Pinoy fast food favorite. Well, at least to me.

 

(Side story: I once dated this American guy, who was into food and asked me about exotic Pinoy cuisines. And because of my lack of involvement to food, except to eat it, I went on to describe the “exotic” tapsilog. He said, “That sounds like breakfast.” I mumbled something incoherent, I think it was, “But you know the beef is soft and shredded. Like corned beef. You know corned beef?” He never called me again.)

 

Anyway, I was hyped about my new business.

 

I’d go there almost every night after work, at least 3 or 4 times a week; stay until 3 or 4 AM, or until every customer has gone.

 

I was tireless.

 

Regulars became more than just customers, but friends.

Suppliers became more than just dealers, but lifelines.

 

Before I knew it, I was in love.

For the very first time in my pseudo-entrepreneurial life, my business wasn’t just for show.

 

I was a restaurateur.

 

And while delighting in this idea, I turned a blind eye on the problems that have obviously cropped up among the partners.

 

Until one of my partners left… I was devastated.

He was the closest to me.

 

And so there were three.

I tried really hard to make our relationship work.

And so did they – with each other.

 

Hanky panky is never good for business.

How can one think clearly if, in his mind, he’s in it for the screw?

 

And so one of the partners left.

Me.

 

I have no excuse or details to share.

It felt like filing for divorce – due to irreconcilable differences.

 

And it hurt.

It hurt when I said goodbye to the customers.

It hurt when I hugged the cook and crew and thanked them.

 

It still hurts now.

 

Maybe I’m better off as a writer.

Maybe business is not for me.

Maybe I’m right, I’m a pseudo-entrepreneur and that’s all I’ll ever be…

 

I’m bored.