bottled monologues - series 9

you,

i welcome you into my life, arms wide open, heart out on my sleeves but i'm confused. what is this?

there are a lot of things i almost equally know and don't know about you but then again, these are not of any help. this is the first time this has happened to me. i feel like i've woken up in the middle of a ridiculous intersection where every road leads to nothing but more questions.

yet, i feel good. at least i'm sure that not everything is alien because i'm experiencing once more that all too familiar warmth in the insides. is this valid? does this amount to something worth fussing about? i have no knowledge.

here i am again, playing the old game, casting the die, surrendering everything to fate and hoping---yes, hoping---not minding too much that cloud hovering over my head.

what's running through your mind? am i the sole passenger again? assumptions are deadly. i've been there before, have treaded the grounds treacherous.

why is there a sting whenever you casually narrate to me your misadventures---the promiscuity that should have thrown me away from you? it should have had.

i've done it before but am i doing it again? this time, with you as the new protagonist and i, the antagonist to myself?

this is not right. it hasn't even started yet and i'm already getting a few jabs left and right. i am no master of pain though with my history, i seem to be gunning to be one.

me

feet hurt! feet hurt!

the other day, my sister treated us to lunch on market! market!, the new mall cum activity center cum park of sorts just beside the fort. it was her birthday and because of a few hushed heckling from some relatives, she shelled out moolah for the celebration.

the place was huge or if you were astronomically speaking, it could be described as "vast". the facade seemed larger than life and the place gives the promise that it can cater to anyone's fancy with the specialized areas of the mall. heck, more than a shopping center because of the seeming "compartmentalization" of needs into certain regions. the shops inside were also fabulous that the ones that seemed to be exclusive to some malls were in a hodgepodge with the other regulars. that can be also said for the food shops. it was also very ingenious that there were lots of benches and tambay corners inside that were specifically designed for you to hang out and chat the while away with your people.

oh, i would very much love to come back!

pondering and theorizing about chokolat



is it true that some people are simply not destined for romance? is it something like being chocolate-intolerant?

one of my bestfriends recently snagged the person he prayed to have for the longest time. i remember months back wondering together with him about the time we would find that lone soul that was specifically designed for us. and now, here i am still praying, arms clasped together while he is in bliss because the star he wished on was the more generous one.

when he told me this february 14th about his "attachment", it was really an alchemy of emotions. i'm glad for him because i know how happy he is at the moment but i'm also envious.. yes, envious is the word. i'm not afraid or even ashamed to admit it.

he was brought home and introduced to his partner's parents. wow. how any better can it get? even i don't hope for that much. when the going went good for him, it really went good! i know he deserves it because he really is a good man to his family and the people around him.

i want to meet this person who makes him happy yet it would also be difficult because it might just rub in the existence of what i don't have.

what's the difference from the cynical "my happiness depends on someone else" stand before? oh, i know i'm not incomplete. i've had my shots of happy. i'm just wondering how this will all be as a shared experience.

i love dark chocolate. the bittersweet taste is the one to blame. it dawned on me that "bittersweet" is only great on chocolate and not in my life.

papa, don't preach... but can you?


i was casually perusing through the broadsheet when i encountered this article generically entitled "the art of letting go". i've encountered that phrase so many times that i could have created a new snazzy term---last cliche syndrome. could someone be more original?

i read it and it had some thought-provoking quotes from the priest-healer father corsie legaspi. oh, i'm so sure my old-time friends would be cackling to themselves, being sure that i would probably be the last person they would expect to seed out words from one of the clergy. religious markie is a oxymoron to them and i don't exactly raise my hand for a rebuttal. i'm guilty as charged. nevertheless, what he said made the wheels in my head turn philosophical---just enough to make a blog post about it.

"people who are unhappy have killed themselves by loving others and forgetting that they have their own life to live and love."
-- father corsie legaspi
i know this isn't a breakthrough advice but seeing it explained plainly and simply in one line makes it almost factual, like on the verge of being scientific.

when i begin loving someone who doesn't and will never love me back, amidst the turmoil that i choose to label as love, pain coincides with pride. i bleed yet like a soldier submerged in a losing battle, i hold my head up high and bathe in the nobility of it all.

but is it really about me giving away too much? is that the source of this morbid and perverted sense of achievement? i tell myself that everything is worth the sacifice because i've become a generous donor of unwanted affection at the surplus shop of the cosmos. i pimp myself to a lot of self-serving ideologies but in doing so, i overlook the little boy who i've deprived and abandoned in moments when he longed for me the most.

this isn't a case of me being overpowered with love for another that the world dissolves in a crazy swirl. this isn't about me being selfless and chivalrous. this is me not giving too much of a damn about myself.

funny that something i knew all along would have to be put in together in a sentence by someone else.

arrows which never hit the mark

i was texting with one of my bestfriends when we arrived at the topic of dateless valentine's days gone past and the one at present that casts a looming gray cloud on some people.

my friend was losing faith that he'd ever find that someone for him amidst the workplace that he despises. it was a cruel play for him that his loathing for a job which only satisfies the cravings of the bills at home ran parallel to his feeling that single-blessedness wasn't so blessed after all.

it comes with the territory. it apathetic to valentine's day. it's just one of those occasions fabricated by man. two kinds of people are pulled in the scene, one type more giddy than the other: there are the couples who always want the adjective "happy" used on them, the ones who rub to other people's faces that bliss is theirs with every intimate lustful caress. then the other one consist of the bulk of the unattached, some wallowing in despair and envy while some going to the extremes of heaven and hell just to discredit cupid's busiest day.

i told my friend that today is just one day of commercial crap and made this sunny blog. i don't need to say which group i belong to, do i?

bottled monologues - series 8

you,

why?

why are you making me the person that always said i will never be? i don't want this role you dumped to me. i don't need the helplessness, spare me from the inability to choose myself over you.

you make me weak. you break down all my defenses without even wanting to. i am eternally defeated in a game where i pit my sanity against your weight in my life.

am i just this to you now? i am reduced to this?

i constantly convince myself that you are not doing this on purpose, that my knowledge of who you really are can vouch for this alibi as condescending truth. your innocence amidst all these rips through my body like a blunt persistent arrow.

innocence? i'm foolish enough to make them all see that i comprehend matters so clearly but here i am washing your hands and wiping them dry with my very own clothes.

i dread the words that may escape my mouth. i fear that they may wound you and in the end, i will be the one hurting more. i don't know what to do.

don't take the easy way out. don't turn your back. stay.

i don't want too much from you. all i want you to do is listen to what i'm not saying.

me

where i don't belong



i was planted in the middle of a room teeming with faces that neither branded me as stranger nor friend. therein lies the sheer emptiness, the indecision i am cast in---the uncertainty of human emotion.

the gravity resounds.

i yawned and tapped on the antiquated armchair with my half-frozen fingers. i yearned to rupture the silence of myself with each minute movement a spite to the rumble of familiarity that i am not part of.

this breathing mass of voices roars. shrapnels of thoughts, indistinct yet definite, pierce me like malevolent bullets for i am now pinned inanimate by anonymity.

my hands are tired waiting for commiseration.

time drags on and i succumb to the indifference. this is how i survive.

scratching heads

i wrote "where i don't belong" one busily lazy afternoon, just before psychology class. i was sitting on a chair amidst the commotion of my blockmates for that subject. in the back of my head, i prayed for someone to reach out to me, just talk to me, the outsider. i recited the prayer of every anti-social daria who wanted something a bit different from the routine. i guess it was too much to ask for because they all just went along with their own stuff, oblivious.

the situation presented me with a choice. i could have sulked, cursed and pitied myself. instead, i sulked, cursed, pitied myself... and wrote about it. i snickered with delight afterwards.

the root may be bitter but the fruit is damned sweet.