L’s World











{March 2, 2008}   Blindness

selflove.jpg

written when i was so in love with a man that i can never have… year 2003

He is everything.

I love his face. I love his smile. His smile always makes me smile too. I love the way his eyes sparkle whenever he thinks of something mischievous to do or to say. I love his hair, though not to soft from too much gel and crazy hair products, I love running my fingers through each short tendril. I love how his hair smells so damn good as if he just took a bath. I love how he looks like he’s just woken up from some bizarre party and is still stoned. He either looks like he’s too giddy from hallucinogens or that he’s just woken up and has a terrible hangover. I love the way he looks at me as if he’s forever teasing me for being me. As if he knows what I’m thinking and what I’m about to do.

I love his hands, those hands I know so well. I love his scent, the way I could still smell him even when he’s already miles away from me. I love the way he looks stupid and awkward, with his tall, lanky frame and his poor posture. I love the way his clothes hang onto him like they were made to be worn by someone as thin as he is. I love his voice that always reassures me everything is going to be alright.

I love his unpredictable mood swings. Sometimes he’s too jolly and too hyper and so everywhere. And sometimes he’s locked himself up in a place only he could go to. I love his generosity and carefree attitude about life. I could safely say I learned to be less inhibited because of him. I love the way he scolds me about being a commitment-phobe when he isn’t aware that he’s the biggest commitment-phobic I know. I love how he thinks everything would fall into place even if they don’t. I love his passion for things I don’t understand. I love the way he loves the people around him, how he gives them importance and warmth. I love the way he loves his car, oh God, how could I begin to explain how much he loves his car? I love how he thinks of himself as a nobody, when in fact, he’s pretty much popular and well-liked. I love how he takes his responsibilities seriously, how he manages to be a good friend, a good son and a good person all at the same time.

I love the way he gets mad at me for petty things. How he gets jealous of other people that he thinks ‘might take me away’ from him. I love the way he tells me how I’m the pinaka-stupid person he knows, when we both know [and without bragging] that I’m helluva lot smarter than him when it comes to academics. I love how he frowned upon knowing I discovered the joys of DJMix and the fact that he scolded me for an eternity when he found out. I love the way he lets me scream at him all I want and he never gets mad. I love how he tells me to stop drinking when he himself is a walking beer keg. I love the fact that he calls at unholy hours of the day, each day just to make sure I’m still alive. I love how he used to drop by any time of the day or of the night.. or come to think of it, any time at all, just to say hi and make me coffee because I’m too stupid to make one for myself. I still love the fact that he attempts to come over even if he’s no longer allowed to.

I love the fact that we could sit beside each other or lie down together and not say anything but understand everything.

I love a lot more things about him. I love him for what he is and what he’s not.

He is everything.

Oh, yes…

He is everything….
….but mine.



{March 1, 2008}   Monster

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 i should have not reacted this way… i am so selfish… i feel like a monster… i can’t take everything away from him… but i can’t feel happy when he is happy with other people. i want him to be happy — just with me… because of me… for me…

if this is a crime, sue me. i just love him so much. i have sacrificed a lot of things in my lifetime. i do not know if i am demanding from him the same thing i have given him… i know this is wrong but i can’t help it…

i am a selfish monster, i know… but that’s because i love him!

Written: July 7 07



{March 1, 2008}   The Weakness in Me

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 Call it naiveté but, yes, I fell in love with you the moment you asked for a receipt. Call me easy but, yes, you had me at the first text message.

I had someone faithfully waiting for me but I chose to see you for a moment. We merely had shakes and breakfast but to me, they meant more than your regular ham and cheese. Call it childish fancy but I had been willing to admit that then.When I left, I knew I had to make a decision. It was an easy one to make but difficult to carry out. I had to hurt the one who had always been there, and to think that hadn’t actually done anything to deserve that. I had conscience alright. But it didn’t much serve its purpose when you came along.Pity sunk in and minced my premeditated lines. I chose rationally. In the last minute, I chose not to see you anymore. I chose being in control.It wasn’t easy to forget you. Neither was it easy to forgive myself for committing the grave mistake of staying with you that night. I became a wanderer. Cynicism took hold of my reasoning. I understood boys and men and their needs too much. I played along.

I played as I imagined you’d play. But the men I played weren’t like you. I had wished they were like you so that there’d be few complications and so my honed cynicism won’t be useless. I had wished they were like you so they would be easier to understand and I’d be able to determine their plans easily.

I had wished they were like you so that I’ll find my happy moment again.

I saw you – the first in a very long time. Your face was different from what I had been imagining it to be for the past three years. I figured I might have been dreaming about an entirely different person. Perhaps you were just evil in my thoughts; perhaps you weren’t evil at all. I was ecstatic: I had found you and I had no plans of losing you again.

I realized over coffee and dinner that you knew me as somebody else. Either that or I had changed drastically over our years of hibernation. You were expecting a cute girl with sparkling eyes and a hopeful smile to greet you with a peck on the cheek. You waited for a burst of energy and a handful of stories. But instead of a laughing teenager clad in a powder-blue skirt and a peasant blouse, I, in my racerback shirt and denim jacket nonchalantly stared at you.

You even brought me cigarettes which I didn’t smoke.

You asked for the little girl whom you had been with before. I told you she’s gone and you can’t fool the woman that was me anymore. I let you know that I knew all about your hedonistic tendencies and the venom in your rakish charm. I coolly informed you that I understood all too well your needs and continuously implied that I didn’t want anything more to do with you other than be your devil’s advocate or perhaps a well-respected acquaintance, whatever you fancy between the two. You kept your hands to yourself and told me I talked too much.

You were wrong. I hadn’t actually said anything. In my caution, I showed indifference. I became the cold-hearted pessimist I had been since you left. I didn’t offer you my hand. Again, I gave you myself, but this time, I was wary enough to keep the passion and tears bottled up.

I blamed the beer for my nearly committing the same mistake. I blamed my physiological seasons for the abrupt withdrawal of my surrender.

I blamed you for everything that had happened to me since we parted and for molding me into being the b*tch that I’ve been since. I blamed you for my pains.

You kissed my words away and my world fell apart.

You didn’t understand.

I couldn’t bear for you to see me after that. But fate had a classic bout of humor. I had given you my heart willingly before but situations and my very own foolishness separated us. And now when I had accepted my defeat, fate gave me an outstanding invitation to see you again. Your needs gave you substantial reasons to call for me.

Call it wishful thinking, but I’ve always imagined us finally being together – with me unhindered by any worry, not bothered by spells of insecurity and fear. I’ve always kept my hopes up for an eternity with you. It became the thought that would keep me out of depression. I would entertain myself and whoever would listen with my wishful interpretation of ‘our’ story. But in my solitude, I knew I wasn’t part of your life.

I’ve long been deluding myself that you loved me – even for a single moment in our past – and that in the end, it would be me and you. And I’ve long realized that there’s neither much truth nor hope to those notions. I’ve told myself over and over again that I won’t care for you.

But you remain to be the indelible weakness in me. I end up giving myself all over again.

And you always end up needing me for a mere moment again.

 Written: Oct 7 07



et cetera