Sunday, August 22
Wednesday, August 18
Disclaimer: If you hate to hear/read me griping, do yourself a favor and move away from this post. Don’t give me the pleasure of giving you a headache.
I’m so f*cking depressed that I could feel all the violence fighting to get out of me. I want to hurt something, or even someone. I want to inflict the worst pain possible and with utmost glee. And with my bare hands. I don’t care if they send me to prison or something like that. I’m a depressed person so I plead temporary (hell, even permanent) insanity.
Actually, I was about to say that I’m depressed that I want to kill myself, but I fear God above all else. I heard people who commit suicide have a special place in hell. Besides, I’m already finished with the stage in my life when I was so fascinated about seeing a knife enter my flesh. The knife would make its way through the skin, going deeper, and then the blood would slowly seep out of the wound. But I’m not suicidal, mind you. I just have masochistic tendencies. (Ha! That’s an understatement.)
Anyway, my life is in shambles. My roommates hate me because I sleep through my alarm (which goes on and on for two hours. Aargh, I need a yaya to take care of me.). My best friend thinks I’m pathetic and self-centered, which are true, but you would’ve expected her not to rub it in, especially when I just broke up with someone. And the thing is, don’t we all have degrees of self-centeredness and being pathetic? My parents expect too much from me; it’s as if they want me to do the things they failed to do while they were younger. I bet that given the chance, they would live my life for me. Nobody could understand me, and I seem to waste everything I have: time, money, friendships, romantic relationships, even my body (you should see how thin I am now. No, I don’t take illegal drugs, you bitter envious people. My drugs of choice are nicotine and antacid. Kremil-S is already bubblegum-flavored. Yum.). My study habits (whatever’s left of them) give me terrible results, and I actually perform better on my exams when I don’t study. I have the worst sleeping pattern: narcoleptic by day and insomniac by night. Even my org offers no respite for me. How I miss Elmo, but then we’ve already established that iniiwan ako ng lahat ng mahal ko sa buhay. PUNYETA!
Please don’t give me that crap about how I should consider myself luckier than others. Of course I know that I’m better off than, say, women in some patriarchal (read: chauvinist) societies, where they are treated as second class citizens. I’m better off than kids my age in other less-developed countries where they can’t post in their blogs (They don’t even have computers, for crying out loud!) about how they are forced to do back-breaking work instead of letting them go to school. I’m better off than the college students decades ago when the writ of habeas corpus was suspended. But then again, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN. We all have shit to put up with, and patience is not one of my virtues. We’re humans, baby. If you prick us, do we not bleed? Or whatever Shakespeare said.
(And all that bullshit about being men- and women-for-others that Ateneo is feeding her students is just that: bullshit. Sorry, St Ignatius, that mantra probably worked in your time, but it’s gasgas already. How can you even strive to become a person-for-others when you see unscrupulous people scream “Every man for himself!” and then proceed to grab everything you have. Kalimutan na kinalimutan mo ang sarili mo para sa kapwa? Forget about it.)
I know that things don’t always go as we planned, but this is ridiculous. Several things turning differently I could accept, but this is my WHOLE life we’re talking about. It’s a movie with the cast and crew gone berserk. Time is such a naughty imp, spinning its yarn so fast I’m getting motion sickness already. “Come back! Come back!” I helplessly call after all the moments I have wasted.
I wish I could turn back time. Or at least have enough foresight so I would know the things that would embarrass me and/or make me suffer in the future. Minsan kasi hindi ko na pinag-iisipan mga ginagawa ko. I’m sick and tired of the uncertainty of everything. You might say, isn’t that the beauty of it? Yeah, if you’re the type who wants to be unpleasantly surprised even on your birthday.
Can somebody please bonk me on the head? Except you, Lorie. I know you really want to, but you might bonk me to comatose. Bonk, green-minded people, not boink. I could see Lorie imagining herself, wielding a humongous baseball bat over my head, “This is for being so pathetic; stop living in the past, loser! This is for being so self-centered; you’re not the only one suffering, eediot! This is for giving in to your lesbian tendencies; can you get any more desperate than that!?” And you can’t ask Andie or Jace to do that either. Plus, no divine intervention, please. That’s not fair.
Do I even sound coherent at all? Actually, I just realized that I could write better when I’m depressed. But when I’m inspired, I write worthless pieces of shit. See how weird I am? *sigh* bottom line is, my life is hurtling to the depths of despair, and I’m starting to come undone. Anyone out there with Messianic tendencies who wants to rescue me? Lesbian applicants also accepted.
I’m so f*cking depressed that I could feel all the violence fighting to get out of me. I want to hurt something, or even someone. I want to inflict the worst pain possible and with utmost glee. And with my bare hands. I don’t care if they send me to prison or something like that. I’m a depressed person so I plead temporary (hell, even permanent) insanity.
Actually, I was about to say that I’m depressed that I want to kill myself, but I fear God above all else. I heard people who commit suicide have a special place in hell. Besides, I’m already finished with the stage in my life when I was so fascinated about seeing a knife enter my flesh. The knife would make its way through the skin, going deeper, and then the blood would slowly seep out of the wound. But I’m not suicidal, mind you. I just have masochistic tendencies. (Ha! That’s an understatement.)
Anyway, my life is in shambles. My roommates hate me because I sleep through my alarm (which goes on and on for two hours. Aargh, I need a yaya to take care of me.). My best friend thinks I’m pathetic and self-centered, which are true, but you would’ve expected her not to rub it in, especially when I just broke up with someone. And the thing is, don’t we all have degrees of self-centeredness and being pathetic? My parents expect too much from me; it’s as if they want me to do the things they failed to do while they were younger. I bet that given the chance, they would live my life for me. Nobody could understand me, and I seem to waste everything I have: time, money, friendships, romantic relationships, even my body (you should see how thin I am now. No, I don’t take illegal drugs, you bitter envious people. My drugs of choice are nicotine and antacid. Kremil-S is already bubblegum-flavored. Yum.). My study habits (whatever’s left of them) give me terrible results, and I actually perform better on my exams when I don’t study. I have the worst sleeping pattern: narcoleptic by day and insomniac by night. Even my org offers no respite for me. How I miss Elmo, but then we’ve already established that iniiwan ako ng lahat ng mahal ko sa buhay. PUNYETA!
Please don’t give me that crap about how I should consider myself luckier than others. Of course I know that I’m better off than, say, women in some patriarchal (read: chauvinist) societies, where they are treated as second class citizens. I’m better off than kids my age in other less-developed countries where they can’t post in their blogs (They don’t even have computers, for crying out loud!) about how they are forced to do back-breaking work instead of letting them go to school. I’m better off than the college students decades ago when the writ of habeas corpus was suspended. But then again, I DON’T GIVE A DAMN. We all have shit to put up with, and patience is not one of my virtues. We’re humans, baby. If you prick us, do we not bleed? Or whatever Shakespeare said.
(And all that bullshit about being men- and women-for-others that Ateneo is feeding her students is just that: bullshit. Sorry, St Ignatius, that mantra probably worked in your time, but it’s gasgas already. How can you even strive to become a person-for-others when you see unscrupulous people scream “Every man for himself!” and then proceed to grab everything you have. Kalimutan na kinalimutan mo ang sarili mo para sa kapwa? Forget about it.)
I know that things don’t always go as we planned, but this is ridiculous. Several things turning differently I could accept, but this is my WHOLE life we’re talking about. It’s a movie with the cast and crew gone berserk. Time is such a naughty imp, spinning its yarn so fast I’m getting motion sickness already. “Come back! Come back!” I helplessly call after all the moments I have wasted.
I wish I could turn back time. Or at least have enough foresight so I would know the things that would embarrass me and/or make me suffer in the future. Minsan kasi hindi ko na pinag-iisipan mga ginagawa ko. I’m sick and tired of the uncertainty of everything. You might say, isn’t that the beauty of it? Yeah, if you’re the type who wants to be unpleasantly surprised even on your birthday.
Can somebody please bonk me on the head? Except you, Lorie. I know you really want to, but you might bonk me to comatose. Bonk, green-minded people, not boink. I could see Lorie imagining herself, wielding a humongous baseball bat over my head, “This is for being so pathetic; stop living in the past, loser! This is for being so self-centered; you’re not the only one suffering, eediot! This is for giving in to your lesbian tendencies; can you get any more desperate than that!?” And you can’t ask Andie or Jace to do that either. Plus, no divine intervention, please. That’s not fair.
Do I even sound coherent at all? Actually, I just realized that I could write better when I’m depressed. But when I’m inspired, I write worthless pieces of shit. See how weird I am? *sigh* bottom line is, my life is hurtling to the depths of despair, and I’m starting to come undone. Anyone out there with Messianic tendencies who wants to rescue me? Lesbian applicants also accepted.
Thursday, August 12
shopping and *ahem* boys
Shopping for clothes can be likened to our experience with guys. We girls insist on trying on stuff we very well know can’t afford, much like our falling for guys (or girls for the gender-confused like me) we can’t have… just for the heck of it.
Sometimes, when desperate enough, we settle for the second, third or even the fourth best because (1) we really can’t afford the best or the new arrivals, (2) they were the only ones left for us, and/or (3) they were on sale and we want to take advantage of that.
In addition, the stuff we have been coveting for for ages, however affordable it is, might already be sold out, ergo, taken.
Chancing upon a great catch is indeed a lucky break. Like spotting a tank top that flatters your figure and seems to go with almost every skirt or pair of pants you have in the closet. You fervently hope it would last forever, or at least, long enough for the price to be sulit. You also pray to the goddesses of fashion that this particular top would outwit and outplay the fads in fashion, and survive the quirks and fickleness of its worst enemy: you.
However, there are cases when you have finally settled on something (or someone, whatever context you’re in) and decided to call it your own, you might find out too late that it wasn’t as great as you imagined it to be. It might have looked perfect in the flattering mirror of the fitting room and with the enthusiastic fawning of the sales gay, but back in the real world, the flaws rear their ugly heads. Its color doesn’t really complement your skin tone, it makes you look fat, its fabric gets itchy after some time, you can’t match it with most of your wardrobe so you need to buy new clothes to go with it, or, horrors, there’s a tear in the seams that you have missed.
You begin to wonder what could have been had you chosen the khaki pants, simple and boring yet classic, instead of the low-waist jeans with sequins that you now have, daring and sexy but, in retrospect, has the makings of a mere flash in the pan. And the time comes when the fad for the sequined jeans is over, or when you no longer fit in them. At this point, you either try to change its design to keep up with the new fad, or send it to the seamstress for alteration to keep up with your waistline. If these attempts fail, your pair of jeans finds itself stuffed at the back of your closet or in a bag among other hand-me-downs. Either way, both you and your pair of jeans must accept that change is inevitable.
This is a very difficult thing to do. “Sayang. I only got to wear it for such a short time,” you might say about your sequined jeans. Then you try to philosophize, “But I have no use for it now.” And on your favorite tank top you’ve had for ages: “Gosh, I like this one pa sana, but it’s so worn out already. I’ll use this as my pantulog na lang.” Sooner or later you would realize that you have to break off any connection between the two of you, or try to remain friends. And you would do what you have left to do: sigh and move on.
Following the separation, you probably would decide to rest for some time. After all, you are pretty much content with the rest of your clothes. You window shop once in a while, lingering in your favorite stores, indulging yourself to walk into the more expensive shops just for the heck of it. You allow yourself to wander into the fitting room with some clothes, but never quite committing yourself to one particular item.
Then something catches your eye. It might be an item you’ve overlooked in your previous trips, or a new arrival. Either way, you start to think, is this pink skirt worth its price? Will its embroidered hem go well with my other clothes? Is this the one or will there be something better waiting for me in the next store? You think long and hard, trying not to let the sales gay sweet talk his way into your wallet, or to be distracted by your aching feet (and tired heart). You tell yourself that you could come back later, when you’re absolutely certain that you want that skirt. But there’s this nagging feeling that it might not be there anymore.
When you finally make up your mind on whether to take the skirt now or come back for it later, or even whether or not you want that skirt at all, you realize that in either aspect of your life, shopping or boys, you would always have to take risks. You face the sales gay and announce which risk you are going to take. And the cycle continues.
Sometimes, when desperate enough, we settle for the second, third or even the fourth best because (1) we really can’t afford the best or the new arrivals, (2) they were the only ones left for us, and/or (3) they were on sale and we want to take advantage of that.
In addition, the stuff we have been coveting for for ages, however affordable it is, might already be sold out, ergo, taken.
Chancing upon a great catch is indeed a lucky break. Like spotting a tank top that flatters your figure and seems to go with almost every skirt or pair of pants you have in the closet. You fervently hope it would last forever, or at least, long enough for the price to be sulit. You also pray to the goddesses of fashion that this particular top would outwit and outplay the fads in fashion, and survive the quirks and fickleness of its worst enemy: you.
However, there are cases when you have finally settled on something (or someone, whatever context you’re in) and decided to call it your own, you might find out too late that it wasn’t as great as you imagined it to be. It might have looked perfect in the flattering mirror of the fitting room and with the enthusiastic fawning of the sales gay, but back in the real world, the flaws rear their ugly heads. Its color doesn’t really complement your skin tone, it makes you look fat, its fabric gets itchy after some time, you can’t match it with most of your wardrobe so you need to buy new clothes to go with it, or, horrors, there’s a tear in the seams that you have missed.
You begin to wonder what could have been had you chosen the khaki pants, simple and boring yet classic, instead of the low-waist jeans with sequins that you now have, daring and sexy but, in retrospect, has the makings of a mere flash in the pan. And the time comes when the fad for the sequined jeans is over, or when you no longer fit in them. At this point, you either try to change its design to keep up with the new fad, or send it to the seamstress for alteration to keep up with your waistline. If these attempts fail, your pair of jeans finds itself stuffed at the back of your closet or in a bag among other hand-me-downs. Either way, both you and your pair of jeans must accept that change is inevitable.
This is a very difficult thing to do. “Sayang. I only got to wear it for such a short time,” you might say about your sequined jeans. Then you try to philosophize, “But I have no use for it now.” And on your favorite tank top you’ve had for ages: “Gosh, I like this one pa sana, but it’s so worn out already. I’ll use this as my pantulog na lang.” Sooner or later you would realize that you have to break off any connection between the two of you, or try to remain friends. And you would do what you have left to do: sigh and move on.
Following the separation, you probably would decide to rest for some time. After all, you are pretty much content with the rest of your clothes. You window shop once in a while, lingering in your favorite stores, indulging yourself to walk into the more expensive shops just for the heck of it. You allow yourself to wander into the fitting room with some clothes, but never quite committing yourself to one particular item.
Then something catches your eye. It might be an item you’ve overlooked in your previous trips, or a new arrival. Either way, you start to think, is this pink skirt worth its price? Will its embroidered hem go well with my other clothes? Is this the one or will there be something better waiting for me in the next store? You think long and hard, trying not to let the sales gay sweet talk his way into your wallet, or to be distracted by your aching feet (and tired heart). You tell yourself that you could come back later, when you’re absolutely certain that you want that skirt. But there’s this nagging feeling that it might not be there anymore.
When you finally make up your mind on whether to take the skirt now or come back for it later, or even whether or not you want that skirt at all, you realize that in either aspect of your life, shopping or boys, you would always have to take risks. You face the sales gay and announce which risk you are going to take. And the cycle continues.
tonight i can write by pablo neruda
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
Write for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
- Pablo Neruda
Can you just feel the overwhelming sadness in the poem? "Love is short, forgetting is so long." *sigh* I just wish I took up Spanish instead of Japanese as my foreign language. Poems are much much better when read in their original language. Spanish could be oh-so-romantic, English so... bland (for the lack of a better term). Don't get me wrong, I like reading and writing in English, but there might be some nuances lost in translation.
Hmm... is there anybody out there who has the CD of Pablo Neruda's poems recited by big stars like Sean Penn, Andy Garcia and Madonna? Can I please please pwetty pwetty please borrow it? I'll give you a big hug if you'd let me. ;p
Write for example, 'The night is shattered
and the blue stars shiver in the distance.'
The night wind revolves in the sky and sings.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too.
Through nights like this one I held her in my arms.
I kissed her again and again under the endless sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too.
How could one not have loved her great still eyes.
Tonight I can write the saddest lines.
To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her.
To hear immense night, still more immense without her.
And the verse falls to the soul like dew to a pasture.
What does it matter that my love could not keep her.
The night is shattered and she is not with me.
This is all. In the distance someone is singing. In the distance.
My soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
My sight searches for her as though to go to her.
My heart looks for her, and she is not with me.
The same night whitening the same trees.
We, of that time, are no longer the same.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but how I loved her.
My voice tried to find the wind to touch her hearing.
Another's. She will be another's. Like my kisses before.
Her voice. Her bright body. Her infinite eyes.
I no longer love her, that's certain, but maybe I love her.
Love is short, forgetting is so long.
Because through nights like this one I held her in my arms
my soul is not satisfied that it has lost her.
Though this be the last pain that she makes me suffer
and these the last verses that I write for her.
- Pablo Neruda
Can you just feel the overwhelming sadness in the poem? "Love is short, forgetting is so long." *sigh* I just wish I took up Spanish instead of Japanese as my foreign language. Poems are much much better when read in their original language. Spanish could be oh-so-romantic, English so... bland (for the lack of a better term). Don't get me wrong, I like reading and writing in English, but there might be some nuances lost in translation.
Hmm... is there anybody out there who has the CD of Pablo Neruda's poems recited by big stars like Sean Penn, Andy Garcia and Madonna? Can I please please pwetty pwetty please borrow it? I'll give you a big hug if you'd let me. ;p
Thursday, August 5
My friend Angela lost a thousand bucks a couple of nights ago. She had two thousand-peso bills kept in her wallet, but while we were paying in Starbucks earlier that evening, she only found a thousand inside. She said she said her wallet never left her bag (or her possession for that matter) while she was in school. She used that particular wallet only once during the day, and was sure that she never used that missing thousand-peso bill to pay because she liked keeping her money buo instead of barya. She also folded both bills together, so it was quite impossible for just one bill to have accidentally fallen off or something like that.
But twice during that day she went back to her apartment, and she left her wallet on the coffee table in their sala (she’s quite, um, sabog that way. Peace tayo, Angie!). It was only logical to assume that it was stolen while she was at home. The culprit probably took just one bill so that Angela wouldn’t notice immediately.
You could only imagine how pissed off she was. I tried to comfort her, reasoning that at least it was a gift from her uncle, and not her allowance from her parents. But I knew it was a weak argument. Besides, for her it wasn’t just an issue of losing money; it was an issue of losing money in her own house. She had called that apartment home for more than three years already, and it was difficult to think that it wasn’t safe enough. Seems like she couldn’t trust anybody anymore. And I guess with all the rising costs of living nowadays, even an honest man could be tempted. I guess Angela learned her lesson too late: never to leave her valuables out in the open like that. (Have you, Angie?)
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suspecting any of her housemates. Anybody could have just come in unnoticed and then took her money. Who knows? We could never be certain. (Although their maid suggested that we ask a manghuhula, but Angela doesn’t believe in that. Would have been fun to visit one, though.)
This incident really got me thinking, if we’re not safe at home then where can we really be safe? Are there people in our lives who we could totally trust, who we could say are absolutely honest no matter what happens? I guess we could never be quite sure, knowing that tao lamang tayo, vulnerable and inconsistent. In this life, there are no guarantees, only risks and leaps of faith.
But twice during that day she went back to her apartment, and she left her wallet on the coffee table in their sala (she’s quite, um, sabog that way. Peace tayo, Angie!). It was only logical to assume that it was stolen while she was at home. The culprit probably took just one bill so that Angela wouldn’t notice immediately.
You could only imagine how pissed off she was. I tried to comfort her, reasoning that at least it was a gift from her uncle, and not her allowance from her parents. But I knew it was a weak argument. Besides, for her it wasn’t just an issue of losing money; it was an issue of losing money in her own house. She had called that apartment home for more than three years already, and it was difficult to think that it wasn’t safe enough. Seems like she couldn’t trust anybody anymore. And I guess with all the rising costs of living nowadays, even an honest man could be tempted. I guess Angela learned her lesson too late: never to leave her valuables out in the open like that. (Have you, Angie?)
Don’t get me wrong. I’m not suspecting any of her housemates. Anybody could have just come in unnoticed and then took her money. Who knows? We could never be certain. (Although their maid suggested that we ask a manghuhula, but Angela doesn’t believe in that. Would have been fun to visit one, though.)
This incident really got me thinking, if we’re not safe at home then where can we really be safe? Are there people in our lives who we could totally trust, who we could say are absolutely honest no matter what happens? I guess we could never be quite sure, knowing that tao lamang tayo, vulnerable and inconsistent. In this life, there are no guarantees, only risks and leaps of faith.
Tuesday, August 3
Birthday Bullsh*t
I hate birthdays. Birthdays depress me so much. Hindi ko nga nararamdaman na special ang sarili kong birthday. At may I just say? Malas, as in sobrang malas ang birthdays (kahit ng ibang tao) sa buhay ko. Lagi na lang may nangyayaring nakasasama para sa akin kapag birthday ng mga taong malapit sa akin. Oh well. That’s life. Punyeta.
getting sentimental
Hindi na ako marunong umibig. Maaring sabihin ninyo na imposible sapagkat biniyayaan tayong lahat ng kakayahan magmahal. Inaamin ko na kaya ko pa, ngunit tila may pumipigil sa akin na magmahal tulad ng dati. Ilang beses na akong nagmahal at umibig nang lubusan, only to get hurt in the end.
Don’t get me wrong. Hindi naman ako puno ng poot at galit. Wala akong planong itakwil ang buong mundo, dahil ayokong iwanan ang ang aking pamilya at mga kaibigan. Miyembro din ako ng Tugon, isang SOA dito sa Ateneo, at layunin namin na mahalin at alagaan ang mga abandoned babies sa CRIBS. Ngunit kapag pag-ibig na ang pinag-uusapan, lumalabas ang aking pagkabitter, cynical at pessimistic. At hindi ninyo ako masisisi. Sinumpa yata ako na iiwan ako ng taong mahal ko kung kalian natutunan ko na silang ibigin nang lubusan.
Take Elmo, yung unang baby ko sa Tugon, for instance. He was almost seven months old when he was assigned to me, and I took care of him for almost a year. Nasubaybayan ko ang kanyang paglaki, mula noong gumagapang pa lamang siya hanggang sa natuto na siyang tumayo, maglakad at tumakbo. Palagi kong tinitingnan kung may tumutubo na siyang bagong ngipin, o kaya kung marunong na siyang magsalita. Paborito kong araw ang Biyernes sapagkat area ko iyon at alam kong magkikita na kami. And for the rest of the week, bukangbibig ko si Elmo. Kahit yata yung boyfriend ko sa mga panahong iyon ay nagseselos na sa kanya.
Alam ko na maiksi ang panahon ng aming pagsasama, na mawawala din siya oras na mahanapan siya ng adoptive parents. Ngunit pinili ko pa ring mahalin siya. At siguro, in his own way, minahal rin nya ako. I’d like to believe that he regarded me as his older sister, if not as a surrogate mother (Palagi siyang nagsasabi ng “Ma Ma Ma Ma” kapag magkasama kami. That’s enough proof for me. Hehe.)
Matagal ko nang pinangarap na sa araw na kukunin na siya, pipilitin ko talagang pumunta sa CRIBS upang makausap ang mga taong mag-aampon sa kanya. Kinikinita ko noon na tutulo ang luha ko habang yinayakap si Elmo sa huling pagkakataon, at habang kumakaway sa sasakyan na dala siya papalayo sa akin. Magkaroon ng closure, kumbaga. But it was not meant to be. Mabilis ang mga pangyayari. Dahil summer noon, at walang pormal na area, hindi kami nasabihan agad na malapit nang kunin si Elmo. At sa lahat ng kamalasan, dumating ang kanyang bagong pamilya mula sa Norway nang nasa Laguna ako para sa isang group project. May mga nagpunta sa CRIBS nung araw na iyon at minabuti nila na tawagan ako. Sinubukan nila na pakausapin sa akin si Elmo, ngunit tahimik siya, as if he knew something big was happening.
Akala ko manhid na ako dahil marami nang false alarms tungkol sa pag-alis ni Elmo. Akala ko tanggap ko na he wasn’t meant to stay. Akala ko handa na ako oras na mawala siya. Ngunit hindi pala. Tuloy-tuloy ang pagpatak ng aking luha. Maya-maya ay humahagulogol na ako sa harap ng aking groupmates. Later that day, iiyakan ko ang mga pictures nila Elmo at ang kanyang bagong pamilya na kinuha ng aking mga kaibigan sa Tugon.
Ilang araw ring akong malungkot. Sumama ang aking loob sa Diyos. I started to question Him. Bakit sa lahat-lahat ng araw, iyong Sabadong iyon pa ang pinili Mo? Bakit taga-Norway pa ang umampon sa kanya? At bakit hindi Mo ako binigyan ng pagkakataon na makita siya bago siya umalis? But eventually, I got over it. I realized that I shouldn’t dwell on the fact that I never got to see him for the last time. Na-mimiss ko siya palagi, ngunit iisipin ko na lamang na masaya siya sa piling ng pamilyang nagmamahal sa kanya, at sumasaya na rin ako.
Isa pang halimbawa si W. Hindi ko ikinakaila na minahal ko rin siya ng lubusan. But barely two months after maging kami, nagkaroon kami ng problema at gusto na niyang humiwalay sa akin. Naguguluhan daw siya. Nagmakaawa ako sa kanya na manatili sa aming relationship kahit na alam kong may iba na siya. Sa tulong ng aming mga kaibigan ay nagkaayusan din kami, ngunit natrauma na ako. Pilitin ko man, hindi ko talaga mabura sa aking isipan ang mga pangyayaring iyon. Nagtagal nga kami ng mahigit isang taon, ngunit madalas naman kaming mag-away tungkol doon. Di naglaon ay naghiwalay din kami. Palagi niya akong sinasabihan na bigyan ko pa siya ng pagkakataon, ngunit nasaktan na ako ng lubusan sa kanya. I can forgive, but I could never forget.
Strike three ang sumunod kay W. Mas bata sa akin si R, ngunit natutunan ko siyang mahalin. Nagkakilala kami habang may girlfriend pa siya, ngunit hiniwalayan niya ito nang malaman niyang may pag-asa siya sa akin. Ayon sa kanya, hindi naman niya talaga mahal iyon at napressure lang siya ng kanyang barkada kaya naging sila. Naisip ko na baka pressured din siya ng aming mutual friends, but I was too intoxicated to think much about it. Akala ko magiging masaya na kami kahit bihira kami magkita. Hindi na rin pumasok sa isip ko na magselos sa mga ex niya kahit na alam kong maari silang magkita sa kanyang paaralan. Naging complacent ako sapagkat napaniwala niya kaming lahat na mahal niya ako.
Pero barely a month after naging kami, may masama na naming nangyari. Isang linggo siyang hindi nagparamdam sa akin. Our monthsary came and went, pero wala man lang text message o miss call galing sa kanya. When I confronted R about it, it was my worst nightmare coming true. Napag-isip-isip daw siya na mas mahal niya ang ex niya (yung sinundan ko) kaysa sa akin, at ayaw naman niya akong lokohin. Kung wala akong kasamang kaibigan sa mga panahong iyon, marahil nagmakaawa na naman ako sa kanya tulad ng ginawa ko kay W. Handa talaga akong magpakamartir.
Mahigit isang buwan na ang nakalipas mula nang kausapin ko si R. Isang malungkot na buwan ng pagmukmok at pagiging tulala. Pero naniniwala ako na unti-unti nang naghihilom ang aking mga sugat.
Nauunawaan ko na ganito talaga kasalimuot ang buhay. Nauunawaan ko kung bakit kailangan nila akong iwanan. At siguro naman hindi ito parusa mula sa Diyos. Ngunit hindi talaga mawawala ang mga sugat ko. Sabi ko nga kanina, mahirap talaga makalimot.
Kaya ngayon, hindi na ako marunong umibig. Natatakot na akong itaya ang aking kalooban. Inaamin ko na nais ko pa rin umibig, ngunit kung masasaktan lamang ako, huwag na lang muna. Alam kong demanding kung pakinggan, pero kapag ako’y iibig muli, kailangan may guarantee na it won’t be a “one-month-wonder,” na magiging tapat siya sa akin.
Napapaisip tuloy ako, is there someone out there for me? Someone na makakapagturo sa akin na umibig muli? I can only hope for the best.
Don’t get me wrong. Hindi naman ako puno ng poot at galit. Wala akong planong itakwil ang buong mundo, dahil ayokong iwanan ang ang aking pamilya at mga kaibigan. Miyembro din ako ng Tugon, isang SOA dito sa Ateneo, at layunin namin na mahalin at alagaan ang mga abandoned babies sa CRIBS. Ngunit kapag pag-ibig na ang pinag-uusapan, lumalabas ang aking pagkabitter, cynical at pessimistic. At hindi ninyo ako masisisi. Sinumpa yata ako na iiwan ako ng taong mahal ko kung kalian natutunan ko na silang ibigin nang lubusan.
Take Elmo, yung unang baby ko sa Tugon, for instance. He was almost seven months old when he was assigned to me, and I took care of him for almost a year. Nasubaybayan ko ang kanyang paglaki, mula noong gumagapang pa lamang siya hanggang sa natuto na siyang tumayo, maglakad at tumakbo. Palagi kong tinitingnan kung may tumutubo na siyang bagong ngipin, o kaya kung marunong na siyang magsalita. Paborito kong araw ang Biyernes sapagkat area ko iyon at alam kong magkikita na kami. And for the rest of the week, bukangbibig ko si Elmo. Kahit yata yung boyfriend ko sa mga panahong iyon ay nagseselos na sa kanya.
Alam ko na maiksi ang panahon ng aming pagsasama, na mawawala din siya oras na mahanapan siya ng adoptive parents. Ngunit pinili ko pa ring mahalin siya. At siguro, in his own way, minahal rin nya ako. I’d like to believe that he regarded me as his older sister, if not as a surrogate mother (Palagi siyang nagsasabi ng “Ma Ma Ma Ma” kapag magkasama kami. That’s enough proof for me. Hehe.)
Matagal ko nang pinangarap na sa araw na kukunin na siya, pipilitin ko talagang pumunta sa CRIBS upang makausap ang mga taong mag-aampon sa kanya. Kinikinita ko noon na tutulo ang luha ko habang yinayakap si Elmo sa huling pagkakataon, at habang kumakaway sa sasakyan na dala siya papalayo sa akin. Magkaroon ng closure, kumbaga. But it was not meant to be. Mabilis ang mga pangyayari. Dahil summer noon, at walang pormal na area, hindi kami nasabihan agad na malapit nang kunin si Elmo. At sa lahat ng kamalasan, dumating ang kanyang bagong pamilya mula sa Norway nang nasa Laguna ako para sa isang group project. May mga nagpunta sa CRIBS nung araw na iyon at minabuti nila na tawagan ako. Sinubukan nila na pakausapin sa akin si Elmo, ngunit tahimik siya, as if he knew something big was happening.
Akala ko manhid na ako dahil marami nang false alarms tungkol sa pag-alis ni Elmo. Akala ko tanggap ko na he wasn’t meant to stay. Akala ko handa na ako oras na mawala siya. Ngunit hindi pala. Tuloy-tuloy ang pagpatak ng aking luha. Maya-maya ay humahagulogol na ako sa harap ng aking groupmates. Later that day, iiyakan ko ang mga pictures nila Elmo at ang kanyang bagong pamilya na kinuha ng aking mga kaibigan sa Tugon.
Ilang araw ring akong malungkot. Sumama ang aking loob sa Diyos. I started to question Him. Bakit sa lahat-lahat ng araw, iyong Sabadong iyon pa ang pinili Mo? Bakit taga-Norway pa ang umampon sa kanya? At bakit hindi Mo ako binigyan ng pagkakataon na makita siya bago siya umalis? But eventually, I got over it. I realized that I shouldn’t dwell on the fact that I never got to see him for the last time. Na-mimiss ko siya palagi, ngunit iisipin ko na lamang na masaya siya sa piling ng pamilyang nagmamahal sa kanya, at sumasaya na rin ako.
Isa pang halimbawa si W. Hindi ko ikinakaila na minahal ko rin siya ng lubusan. But barely two months after maging kami, nagkaroon kami ng problema at gusto na niyang humiwalay sa akin. Naguguluhan daw siya. Nagmakaawa ako sa kanya na manatili sa aming relationship kahit na alam kong may iba na siya. Sa tulong ng aming mga kaibigan ay nagkaayusan din kami, ngunit natrauma na ako. Pilitin ko man, hindi ko talaga mabura sa aking isipan ang mga pangyayaring iyon. Nagtagal nga kami ng mahigit isang taon, ngunit madalas naman kaming mag-away tungkol doon. Di naglaon ay naghiwalay din kami. Palagi niya akong sinasabihan na bigyan ko pa siya ng pagkakataon, ngunit nasaktan na ako ng lubusan sa kanya. I can forgive, but I could never forget.
Strike three ang sumunod kay W. Mas bata sa akin si R, ngunit natutunan ko siyang mahalin. Nagkakilala kami habang may girlfriend pa siya, ngunit hiniwalayan niya ito nang malaman niyang may pag-asa siya sa akin. Ayon sa kanya, hindi naman niya talaga mahal iyon at napressure lang siya ng kanyang barkada kaya naging sila. Naisip ko na baka pressured din siya ng aming mutual friends, but I was too intoxicated to think much about it. Akala ko magiging masaya na kami kahit bihira kami magkita. Hindi na rin pumasok sa isip ko na magselos sa mga ex niya kahit na alam kong maari silang magkita sa kanyang paaralan. Naging complacent ako sapagkat napaniwala niya kaming lahat na mahal niya ako.
Pero barely a month after naging kami, may masama na naming nangyari. Isang linggo siyang hindi nagparamdam sa akin. Our monthsary came and went, pero wala man lang text message o miss call galing sa kanya. When I confronted R about it, it was my worst nightmare coming true. Napag-isip-isip daw siya na mas mahal niya ang ex niya (yung sinundan ko) kaysa sa akin, at ayaw naman niya akong lokohin. Kung wala akong kasamang kaibigan sa mga panahong iyon, marahil nagmakaawa na naman ako sa kanya tulad ng ginawa ko kay W. Handa talaga akong magpakamartir.
Mahigit isang buwan na ang nakalipas mula nang kausapin ko si R. Isang malungkot na buwan ng pagmukmok at pagiging tulala. Pero naniniwala ako na unti-unti nang naghihilom ang aking mga sugat.
Nauunawaan ko na ganito talaga kasalimuot ang buhay. Nauunawaan ko kung bakit kailangan nila akong iwanan. At siguro naman hindi ito parusa mula sa Diyos. Ngunit hindi talaga mawawala ang mga sugat ko. Sabi ko nga kanina, mahirap talaga makalimot.
Kaya ngayon, hindi na ako marunong umibig. Natatakot na akong itaya ang aking kalooban. Inaamin ko na nais ko pa rin umibig, ngunit kung masasaktan lamang ako, huwag na lang muna. Alam kong demanding kung pakinggan, pero kapag ako’y iibig muli, kailangan may guarantee na it won’t be a “one-month-wonder,” na magiging tapat siya sa akin.
Napapaisip tuloy ako, is there someone out there for me? Someone na makakapagturo sa akin na umibig muli? I can only hope for the best.
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