Time goes so fast, Heaven is lost*

My friends and I suddenly began talking about the songs of L'Arc~en~Ciel in the anime Fullmetal Alchemist. Everything about this franchise easily hypes us, and I don't really have to wonder why. Anyway, because of this sudden nostalgic mood for things Laruku, I remembered my dream about them a few days ago. Maybe it was the effect of my/our tremendous regret of not being able to go to the Thailand stop of their 20th Anniversary World Tour, which took place five days before this dream. It was really a once-in-a-lifetime chance and I think I didn't persevere enough. The odds were really unfavorable, but I think if we really wanted to, we could've made a way--robbed a bank or something. Kidding.

Anyway, I could only remember parts of the dream. I think I was a reporter covering the press conference of the band, which was being conducted in something like an open parking lot. Haha. I think I got the chance to hang-out with Tetsu (who was kind of aloof there), Yuki (who was the most childlike in the dream), and Ken (who was very mischievous) because there was a video to be shot and I was included in it. Hahaha.

When the crowd had gone and only a few were left, I saw myself sitting on the floor (of the parking lot, yes) with Hyde. I said to him, "Pwede bang makahingi ng souvenir?" (Yeah, we conversed in English and Filipino. Dreams are so convenient like that.) And then he searched his pockets, then his wallet. Finally, he took out a small paper which looked like a receipt and wrote something on it. He wrote something like, "Love yourself. Believe. Take chances. Be afraid of nothing." and then signed it. I took it from him and then we chatted more for quite sometime. Damn, I wish I could remember everything that happened! But I do remember feeling a lightness in my heart, like it's the most natural thing in the world to happen--discussing life with your favorite rockstar. Haha.

I wish there's a way to relieve that dream. More importantly and more realistically, I wish I could see them perform live already. For years, it has always been among the top things I want to do/achieve in my lifetime.

*Wait for me, Hyde, Tetsu, Ken, and Yuki, okay? XD

It’s always ourselves we find in the sea*

Ika-3-4 ng Marso, sa Puerto Galera, Mindoro.

Ito ang unang paglalakbay ko ngayong taon. At namangha ako sa ganda ng napaka-asul na dagat at sa pino ng puting buhangin sa dalampasigan. Ang pintig ng alon, at buhangin sa aking paanan, ang malakas na hangin, masayang  mga kasama, ang masarap na inihaw na pusit na pinagsaluhan sa tabing-dagat, ang mabituwing langit sa pagsapit ng dilim, at ang kamerang tatangan ng mga ala-ala--lahat ng ito ay nagpa-espesyal sa dalawang araw na pananatili namin sa Galê.

 

Hanggang sa muling pagkikita, Galera. :)

*Paumanhin kay e. e. cummings.

A Letter Unsent [04]: Do I dare?

Staring at the blank page of this document, I hesitantly began typing what ought to be the synthesis of  all the many whirring thoughts in my head for days, weeks... months even. I popped into my music player a record dubbed as "The Most Romantic Piano Album in the World Ever." Sure, I thought, that should perk me up and get me going while I throw away my inhibitions, and finally discern what I really feel but have haplessly been ignoring and denying even to myself all this time.

And yet, I hesitate still.

What is this really? Why do I try so hard to convince myself that this is nothing? I know am not cut up for this ridiculous sentiment. But no matter how I push them at the back of my mind, you keep springing up in my thoughts.

Who would have thought I'd give you more thought than I should? I who in her more than a couple of decades of existence never really liked somebody in a romantic sense? I who believed she'd never be fit for anyone because she's never ever even been satisfied with herself and with what she can do? I who prided herself in being stoic and purely pseudo-academic? I who dress and act roughly just so she could maintain the facade of indifference? I will not fit into those stupid stereotypes, I said.

But, here I am, writing about it. Writing about you.

Perhaps you are my antithesis. You seem to be ruled by emotions, while I try to see through things objectively. I could be extremely apathetic at times, while you know how to assert yourself and your opinions. I am the kind to take the days as they come, while you cling on to things and never really get over them as one should. Your world revolves around the beauty and precision of technology in the form of sleek gadgets, while I delight in sniffing old books and read about fantasies and the histories of lands far away. While I inform myself of the latest news in the political or economical arena, you'd be up-to-date with the team standings of the NBA. I'd rather listen to Beethoven and Chopin, while you'd rather sing along to the newest RnB songs. You have told me to watch "chick flicks" time and again, those romantic comedies and dramas, and I just couldn't tell you how I'd rather watch a Wong Kar Wai or a Hayao Miyazaki instead.

I disdain all your forlorn sentiments about the loves you had and lost, the clichés in the romance movies you so like to watch, the mushy love songs you play during work. I shudder at them all, because to me they could never be real, they were all silly. But you probably know already how I hated those formulaic love stories.

And you probably know more than what I'd care to admit: Know that I appreciate how you cared and asked how I am during a night-out (the kind I've never been to) when everybody was preoccupied and nobody else took notice of me. Know that I really couldn't finish my drink anymore no matter how the others egged me to, so you took the shots for me instead. Know that no guy has ever shown much concern for my welfare and so I am completely devoid of the notion of depending on others, yet you still insisted despite my resistance and annoyance. (I have guy friends but they are all idiots and my love for them is unquestionable anyhow.) Oh, and that birthday surprise? Thanks.

Neither the melodious concertos of Tchaikovsky nor Mozart's symphonies in the background could help ameliorate the heaviness in my chest when I think of you. I could still remember the time when I couldn't care less if I don't see you,  when I could say I miss you, sincerely but just platonically, when it doesn't mean anything to me if we would romp around and you'd hold my hand just for fun, as in a game, in front of them. Because it was just a running joke among our friends, among us. And completely naive about such things, I played along. Peeved and clueless and annoyed, I just played along.

They kept pairing us up. I used to snicker inwardly, he likes somebody else. I am not at par with them--all pretty and prim. Besides, I thought, I'm too tough to fall for someone just because people around tell me we suit each other, just because he shows kindness I've not experienced before, just because he's funny to be with and he makes me laugh, just because we could banter and punch each other's arms and it's like we're in our own little world, just because he'd hear the first few notes of "A Hard Day's Night" and he'd see me perk up and he'd sing along and I would, then, too, just because he plays the drums so well and I couldn't help but listen to the beats he does on his table, just because he's fond of the moon and the stars as well, just because he'd snigger knowingly when I mouth the words to the song I'm listening to and ask, "Linkin Park?" and he'd be right, just because he'd see through my hardheadedness and demand that I take the food he's offering or get inside instead of waiting for a friend outside alone, just because if he's around I'd feel safer because I know there's somebody else dependable since I've been so used to being the one to act as the eldest sister, just because he'd tell me to rest already when it's already during the ungodly hours of the evening/morning, just because he'd encourage me to do my best in my school requirements, just because he'd open up a little about his personal life to me like no guy had, just because his presence is constant... No, I said. It's a trap and I wouldn't fall for it.

I know it was just a running joke. I've come to know my friends aren't really fond of your character, and pairing me up with you was just that... for fun. Not that anybody else has been affected, or has anybody been? You seem to have finally found a person for your legitimate affection, and we're not what we used to be anymore. I acted strange, didn't I? I'm sorry, I couldn't help it. I'd tell you I tried mightily hard to be my normal gay self. But I had to shut off for a while to negotiate the facts at hand. No, I'm not mad. Just... sigh, feeling pathetic, is all.

I'm so silly to blow it out of proportion. I know I'm not pretty and I'm flawed all over, but dammit, why would I have wasted my thoughts on you--you're not even half a percent of my Sho or Toma or... or Ryan Ross! (Though you play the guitar well, too.)

I have not dared to venture further into whatever it is that I feel. I resisted. I still do. I have been meaning to ask my friends if the symptoms I'm feeling are indicative of that elusive emotion. But I couldn't ask them nor tell them. They'd think it ridiculous and utterly funny. Especially coming from me? For you? Oh, that would make them ROFL.

But what if? What if instead of being defensive and en garde at the slightest provocation when it becomes the topic, I told T, yes, maybe I liked you a bit. Would she tell you? What would have happened? Of course, that's just me assuming, but dense as I could be, I felt a little tiny something between us, too, as they have often told me they observed from us.

Oh, bloody hell. Nobody'd like me, I'm not good for anyone. I'm not even good for myself. (The sunflowers are waiting, hey!)

And so I wouldn't give this feeling a label. No, I wouldn't dare. Not yet.

Not if I already know how it could be this tricky... and sad.


-------
P.S.: This is what those artics (1, 2) of the Opinyon section of Kulê could do to me. I felt like a wreck after reading them, so I had to write something along those lines, too.

P.P.S.: I wish this was another lame attempt at fiction-writing. I sincerely do.

P.P.P.S.: Hi, gheis. I could feel your seething eyes judging me already. :))))

Something so special doesn't need a label,

 I think.



Over the years, my friends and I have tried giving a name, a label, to the barkada that has been formed since we were in high school, tempered by dreary academic woes as assumed-to-be-diligent students back then, brought together by the same carefree spirit we still possess almost a decade hence. But these have all been futile attempts. Frustrating as it is, there doesn't seem to be a perfect way to call this group.

Last Saturday, I thought over shots and the ruckus from the videoke, these very same friends and I would discuss about serious things in our young-adult lives. After all, most of us are to graduate/have graduated already, while a couple have started on their careers. But another sleep-over with them and I have come to a conclusion: Hindi talaga matured ang barkada na 'to.

On the down side, we'd grow up individually or maybe alongside different sets of friends. On the plus side, we will always remind one another of the children we all are inside. I mean, we could turn to this barkada and be unpretentious of what we really are--we don't have to put on a facade of maturity, and seriousness and responsibleness. We could be petty and kid-like and still laugh at age-old jokes.

I wish we could be both, though. Somehow, I want to be there when they decide on the paths to take at the corssroads of their lives. I want to listen to their anxieties and heartbreaks. And I want them to be there for me, too. In conclusion, though, it's not a perfect company, we don't get to see each other often. We have other sets of friends, I might even think what holds us together is superficial. But it's a friendship I intend to keep.

After all, sa kanila (pa) lang ako willing magpaka-wagas. Haha.

I'm sorry

It's getting overboard, these pretenses and consequent confusions. It's uncomfortable, these rifts and denials. It's annoying, this sense of shortcoming and uncertainty. It's frustrating, this flux of hopefulness and chagrin. It's weird, this clash of pride and emotions. It's vexing, the way I feel sad and pathetic in spite of myself.

I had to shut off for a while to negotiate the facts at hand. Things got so messy and I couldn't help it, I'm sorry.

Oh, but what a really apologetic existence this is.