when reality and fiction collide

Forever Ago, Today.

2010-01-05T04:05:00.000-08:00

Intro: Sometimes, you write things at 4 am cause you can't get back to sleep. You write it in your email, and you never hit the send button. Even after you type in that email address you painstakingly deleted from your address book but have memorized it by heart. It hides in your drafts folder, and as you start to clean up the cobwebs to say "hello" to the new year, you realize that you can still find it, sitting there, waiting for you to hit the send button. But you never do, cause forever ago is a lifetime away, and tomorrow promises to be kinder to your heart.

It's funny how yesterday feels like so long ago, but how today feels like it's lightyears away. I float about, doing things mechanically, and not really feeling anything, but wanting to feel like exactly where I was a year ago. I'd rather feel any emotion than to live as a vapid human being devoid of the capacity to feel. Mad, glad, happy, sad, and all the other emotions in between. Anything to take this void, this emptiness, away.
You know how you used to tuck my hair behind my ear before you would kiss my cheek? And how your lips were always chapped and how you would discreetly apply lip balm on it...as if I wouldn't notice? (but, I did, after all, it's not everyday that you get to kiss strawberry-flavored lips).

Where did it all go downhill? It's like being stuck in the middle of a bad slasher flick and some psycho killer has just stuffed you in his trunk. You don't know how you got there, but you want out.

I think I've watched too many horror-slasher movies.

I vividly remember the first time we met each other. Sparks flew. A couple of heated arguments, a dozen sunrise breakfasts, and some shy whispers of admiration later, we became a couple. Thrilled, to say the least, that you liked me too, even if I wasn't exactly your kind of girl.

But the endless emptiness, waking up to a damp, tear-stained pillow...this wasn't how I wanted it to be. I thought I deserved a better ending to the swet love song that was our story. Just as quickly as "we" began, you decided to put an end to it but simply turning your back and walking away. No amount of shouting out your name, pleading on my knees, hoarse whispered promises of making things better (even if I knew not what was making it bad) could make you turn around and take me back to that safe spot, cuddled in your arms.

I don't know why I'm telling you this, or why it even matters. Cause I bet you're just going to hit the "SPAM" button. If e-mails were Facebook, you would block me and I would never know.

I'd just keep on sending emails, and never get a response.

Look, it's almost dawn, and I remember how the cool breeze of our first date on that field felt like. How you taught me to cup my hands over my coffee...and how to even drink coffee.

Hell, I'm never drinking coffee again......

Moral of the story: never drink coffee when suffering from insomnia. never send e-mails to the ex-whatever. never. just put them in your draft folder, and see how far you've grown...and laugh at the stupidity a broken heart can give you once you've realized you're over it.

http://itmightbefiction.blogspot.com/

Shattered Rainbow

2009-12-08T22:58:00.000-08:00

And the glass bowl she carried in her hand fell and created a pretty image of shattered glass amidst the scattering of rainbow-colored candies.

I couldn't hear much, actually, I was kinda spacing out. (Though to be honest, I grabbed a couple of my sister's painkillers and downed a bunch to calm my nerves and get me back to stoic normalcy versus the "jumping out of my skin" abnormal feeling I had fifteen minutes prior to the crash)

The bowl has always been my mom's favorite piece. It's small with some form of flower cut-out embossed thing on the side. I don't really know how to describe it, but it just happens to be her favorite. She has this Saturday afternoon ritual, you see, it has to do with eating her weekly dose of peanut M&Ms in front of the TV while watching her preferred showbiz gossip talkshow. By her feet would be the lady she hires to do her pedicure, carefuly, methodologically painting her nails in a gamut of colors from blood red to this shiny, transluscent-ish green. The color reminds me of scales. Fish scales.

But this Saturday would be different, I decided last Tuesday while Christmas shopping with my boyfriend and walking hand-in-hand in Greenhills. I saw someone who looked like my sister pass by the opposite row of stalls and I quickly let go of his hand, just in case my sister were to see me. We had an argument about it. He didn't like the sneaking around. After all, we've been together forever. I can actually see myself being Donya-ish just like my mom with him in the kitchen cooking our gluten-free dinner.

I woke up this morning with a million and one butterflies in my stomach and, no, it had nothing to do with the beer from last night. By lunch time I hadn't left my room yet. I told the maid I'd skip lunch. By around 3pm, I heard the doorbell ring, and I knew it was the girl who did mom's nails. I went down from my room armed with confidence, knots in my stomach, wallet in my pocket, and sweaty right palm leaving icky imprints on the screen of my new iPhone, the Christmas gift from the boyfriend.

Then it became the moment of truth. Quick check out the window showed a cute guy sporting a newly shaved face (omg, he shaved for this?!) and the nice black military jacket I bought for him. I went out and grabbed his hand, basically dragging him inside the house. I saw my sister coming down from the stairs, but I didn't mind her. I heard her gasp though, and caught the "I knew it!" gaze she gave when she saw my hand in his. I dragged him with me to the kitchen, where my mom had just finished filling up her beloved bowl with her candies and said:

"Ma, boyfriend ko"

The words she never expected to hear from her first-born son.

http://itmightbefiction.blogspot.com/

It Could Have Been Us

2009-12-02T18:59:00.000-08:00

Another night, another "al fresco" bar with a name to be forgotten.The cold Christmas breeze entangles itself in my hair, lifting strands in a completely un-sexy manner. I exhale. Sip my beer. Pause. Sip again. I look at you from where I sit, you on the pathetic excuse for a stool a little bit off stage-right, waiting for your "big moment" to shine.

I don't know why I'm here. Then I see you look down at your shoes, your shoulders slumped inwards, you look defeated. Then I remember why I went. I'm your "support system", you said. I have been for the past two..three...five years. Everyone around us back then would wonder why we weren't together. We were young then, I think, and naive enough to believe that this special friendship was just, that, a friendship of sorts. Or at least I thought that way. (Though I'd find out later on that you always thought of me as a little more special than that).

Someone starts to giggle. A demure, high-pitched giggle. I look to where the annoying sound is coming from. It's your girlfriend. I cringe at the sight of her. Her: with her typical chinita features, the cutesy attire, the frail frame. She with her paisley-printed blouse and ballet flats. Whatever did you see in her? All fluff, no substance.

I look away. I can't stand to look at her. I prefer to look at my shoes, ratty, dirty, has seen every nook and cranny of Manila in all of our crazy misadventures. My feet, a good three sizes bigger than hers.

Another giggle disrupts my thoughts. You had left your place beside the stage and greeted her with a loud smack on her porcelain white cheek. After untangling yourself from her arms, moved towards me. You lean in and tuck a wayward strand of hair behind my ear, looked deep into my eyes and said: "I love her, but it could have been us, you know?"

http://itmightbefiction.blogspot.com/

The breakup song

2009-11-22T20:25:00.000-08:00

Have you ever had one of those moments where you kust knew what would be happening next? It's almost like being the omniscient narrator of your own life. It's not deja vu, but rather, just this sinking feeling in your stomach when all the warning signs are there and the logical next steps would actualize and become your reality.

For the past couple of weeks, nay, months, we've been rocky. I refuse to admit it, but I guess we were both just waiting for the other person to come out with it: I'm not happy anymore, let's breakup.

Breakup, breakdown. See, that's how my brain works. And, it's just not breaking up that would be the problem, it's going to be the untangling of ourselves from each other's lives.

***
We've been together for three years. He was my first boyfriend, but not necessarily my first love. Before he came along, I had no interest in being in a relationship. I just wanted to revel in my singlehood. And revel I did.

College became a whirl of school work, random drinking afternoons/evenings, and impromptu weekend getaways. Somewhere in the midst of all this organized chaos, I met someone. A friend of a friend of a friend. You know how these stories go.

Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, etcetera etcetera.

And two and a half years of happy, mushy bliss, I suddenly started to yearn for the chaos before we got together. This boy. This man. Maybe it was us stepping out of our own chaos-filled lives and entangling ourselves in each others lives that made our relationship exciting. And tiring.

Or maybe it's stepping out of the confines and careful balance that school brings. College relationships, I think, might not be made to last once you go your separate ways post-college. I had school, he had corporate work. I couldn't keep up with his new brand of partying, and he couldn't bring himself to step back into the confines of school. Stress for him meant 8-5pm, M-F. Stress for me spilled over to weekends.

We became too lost in our own little worlds, that the two of us became lost to each other.
***
One party date night, after another round of fighting, I thought "damnit, I don't want this."

And we had "The Talk". In his car, parked outside my house at 245 in the morning.

While he was telling me that he'd always love me, that he was always true to me, but that he felt we should go our separate ways, I heard my heart scream: NO, YOU DON'T WANT THIS. YOU LOVE HIM.

But I'm logical, I guess, I listened to my head. And I don't regret it.

With tears gushing out of my eyes, I started to laugh. I said I agree, I agree. You'll always have that special place in my heart. But it's just not working anymore. and I started to laugh some more.

He leaned in to hug me, I wanted the comfort and safety of his arms. But I also needed to get out. To breathe that first breath of fresh air as a singleton. He let me go, that easily.

And yet, the song playing on the radio while I stepped out of the "girlfriend seat" stays etched in my mind like a bad LSS:

It's like I've waited my whole life for this one night
It's gonna be me you and the dance floor
'cause we've only got one night
Double your pleasure
Double your fun and dance
Forever (ever, ever)

http://itmightbefiction.blogspot.com/

Date Number Two

2009-11-19T18:22:00.000-08:00

I sat in the coffee shop, impatiently waiting for my date to arrive. We agreed to meet at 7 pm, a good 3 minutes ago. I feel so antsy, nervous and excited at the same time. I light my third cigarette, sip the slushy pathetic excuse for caffeine that I hold in my left hand and watch as couples walk past by my lonesome self.

Four more minutes pass, and he hasn't even texted.

"Calm down" I tell myself. It could be traffic. It could be that he had to render an extra thirty minutes at work. It could be. It might be.

The tabletop shakes slightly, causing the little pools of water to tremble. My phone has started to vibrate. I listen to the sound it makes against the faux wood table, counting, hoping it's a call and not a text message. Too bad, got my hopes up. It's just a text message.

"What time are you going home?"

Mom. My mom texted. Ugh.

She texted at 7:12 pm. At least she bothered to text.

With numb left fingers, I clumsily reply "dunno, will text when am on my way home". But given my lousy coordination it ended up saying" dumno,wikk text wen amonmy way hmme". Almost like drunk texting without the drunk part.

Too lazy to redo the message, I hit send. It's now 7:13 pm. No word from the date. "Five more minutes" I utter while the last cloud of smoke escapes my lips. Five cigarettes since 6:30. There are two more sticks in the semi-crumpled Marlboro Menthol soft pack. The pack he said on our first date made me look like a sidewalk vendor in business attire. Well, I'm sorry, I can't help dressing this corpowhore way, it makes me look fierce and makes people take me seriously. Or so I think.

I'm running out of fake coffee. I'd rather be drinking that frozen margarita I'm missing with my girls. 7:17 pm--I grab my phone, and press away furiously at the keypad

"Where are you? I'm waiting at the coffee shop. I'm hungry :)"

SEND.

one minute, two minutes..five minutes..one more cigarette...no more coffee...eight minutes and two lousy bossa nova songs later:

"Sorry, work emergency."

It's now 7:29 pm. I've been waiting for almost an hour for nothing. Date number two has officially ended. And I doubt there's going to be a date number three.

I hurriedly compose three messages
"Leaving makati now, heading over to ortigas to meet the girls for some drinks" (to mom)
"date fail, see you in 30, leave me some margarita". (to the girls)
"ok, have a good night" (to the ex-date)

Silly me, I mixed it all up. The girls got the one for mom, the mom got the good night, the ex-date for the date fail. Whatever, it's not like there's going to be a date number three anyways.