It's gone

While I still shed a tear watching Pretty Woman or show loving stare on genuinely devoted couples, sometimes I think even the tiniest romantic emotion engraved in the past years somewhere in my heart has completely, utterly, and absolutely thawed out and vanished. I no longer relish romantic gestures, much less, romantic thoughts and expressions. I cringe when I come across narrations of love and romances being forced out of people who have just been or, much worse, are presently in their first ever formal relationships. I have also ceased to be affectionate, warm, and adoring.

The feeling became apparent this morning when I came across a love story about an exchange of gifts between lovers spending their first christmas together. Stories like this normalle make me sigh. There have been times when I would suddenly close my eyes and re-enact events and place myself in the picture. The sighs definitely became deeper. Yes, if you will, a drama princess. To the highest degree. Even inanimate things as a red pen or a lifeless paper napkin would, without a doubt, gain life from my thoughts and assume very significant meanings and worth.

I now fear, when romantic feelings leave, are they gone for good?

Little things mean a lot

People might be surprised to know that I'm actually shy.
The most important thing I’ve ever learned was keeping private things private.
And what this taught me was I can become a good confidant.
My mother taught me charity.
My best ever outfit consisted of trekking shorts, leggings, dri-fit shirt, 60-liter backpack.
My Saturday night consists mostly of home-cooked meals and dvds.
The soundtrack of my life would include mostly choral music.
If I were invisible for a day, I’d slip inside the Pope’s bedroom and find out how he sleeps.
What makes me most angry are people who power-trip.
When I’m gone, the’ll probably say he was a good friend.
The world would be a much better place if everybody smiles and shares.
My hero is my grandfather Cesar.
The thing that makes my life worth living is respect from my family.
I’m saving up for my own place.
My biggest indulgence is a massage.
My current state of mind: melancholic.
My five favorite words are hey, dude, see you soon.
The worst thing somebody said about me was I was mayabang.
The secret to happiness is contentment.
When I retire, I would farm and do civic work.
I aspire to be a good son.
I haven't told my friends about that two-page feature on me in FHM.

An old loveletter

What I lack in a vibrant social life I make up with a marvelous collection of very touching love letters I have received over the years from people who have been part of my life in some very special way. I consider myself lucky or, if you may, blessed to have been associated romantically with these very few people who are intelligent (because they write in impeccable flawless english), sensitive (because they are in touch with their inner selves), romantic (because they know handwritten letters are timeless), brave (because self-disclosure takes a lot of guts), and simply attractive (because men who know how to write really are alluring).

One of them came from A. We were together in college although the letter came much later on. I came upon the one-page letter again last weekend after going over my several tin boxes which I use to store letters, pictures, notes, little gifts, and sometimes unused condoms. Even if I needed to get my moves on cleaning my room that Saturday afternoon, I still stopped for a while and read the entire letter. I felt good afterwards.

And so, to pay tribute to a gained friendship, I wanted to share an excerpt from this love letter. In more ways than one, I hope it will provide you a glimpse of me, of my true heart and self, and of the countless unspoken truths about myself. In parting, I wanted to express my sincere gratefulness to A. for a meaningful friendship.


My Dear J.,

Your question on whether a person should give the reasons why he loves someone has made me think in the past few days. I could have easily answered with a Miss Universe cliché like enumerating reasons would take forever, but certainly, a man of your intelligence and wit deserves something better. (Naaaaaks!)

So I tried counting. In the car, at work, at home, in the shower, before going to bed, while eating, practically while doing anything. I slowly realized, I could really go on forever counting. Pffffft, there goes my Q&A portion. But it’s true, in the past months that we’ve been seeing each other, I have grown to love each and every bit of the person you are.

You make me laugh. I immensely enjoy our conversations, be it about our provincial childhoods or our metropolitan adult lives. You inspire me. By being genuinely pleasant, you somehow bring out the better me. I’ve noticed how much more patient I am now, how I’ve become more cheerful, more forgiving.

I am happiest too when I’m able to bring out your smile. Nothing compares to the gratifying feeling whenever I have done or said something that has made you happy. I am also thankful that you have been a very good friend especially during my sad and weaker moments. I’m not wishing you’d have such times too, but count on me to be always there for you.

Mahal kita. Not just because of the things I just wrote about, but also because of all the other things that you are. It’s amazing how one feels love all over again. J., I feel really blessed, lucky and joyful that I met a very special person like you. I hope that someday, luck would bless me more times over and give me the greatest honor of calling you mine.

By now you’re probably on the plane or in your hotel room. Enjoy your vacation, do not hold back when a new experience presents itself, but please, please, please take very good care of yourself. I will be waiting for you back here in Makati.

Love,
A.

Reminiscing

I was probably around 12 years old that time when I sent out the first love letter which carried my name. I don’t exactly remember what was written, not even the events surrounding that fateful day. All I remember was feeling immense delight seeing a scented stationery neatly folded inside a colored envelope adorned with scattered tiny trimmings of hearts and stars and dolls. For one young boy on the edge and age of discovering things, that little packet seemed to contain everything a tiny heart yearned to share. I do remember holding that tiny thing in my hands and saw an exquisite labor of love.

It was, in truth, an unselfish sacrifice on the part of Ate Mag, our 18-year-old maid that time who spent many hours that Sunday afternoon leafing through songbook after songbook to find the right song lyrics which we can copy, send out as my own, and pray soon after that I can get away with it. I rode my bike to the girl’s house around 200 meters from our place and braved their dogs to hand in the letter. I must have been furiously tensed that time or desperately frantic that I didn’t even manage to stay for a conversation. I came and left like a terse and hurried sneeze.

Many years later today, I have probably written a few love verses here and there for somebody. Some were delivered still in paper and envelope, but this time, (thankfully) unscented. A few came as beeper messages. Others were sent via electronic mail. To my credit, each one was painstakingly composed, not by the maid anymore, but by myself. I am not gifted with the ability to weave words into some form of artwork, but I’m proud of my tireless labor to put a face, through words, on my feelings and my heart’s sentiments.

Answers please

I’ve been building up my list of when-will questions that have been begging a great deal for answers. The list comes after several solitary visits to a local coffeeshop or fastfood and drown myself with the sight of passing people.

1. When will women learn how to wear thongs and spare themselves from ridicule whenever they insist on wearing panties beneath their tight pants and give rise to awkward panty lines shouting to the world?

2. When will men discover the virtue of wearing boxer shorts over close-fitting briefs that hug your skin so closely they can hardly breathe, thus creating a groin area that’s so damp, moist, covered with sweat, and completely filthy.

3. When will men realize that belts have to match shoes in color and stop walking around the town displaying an unpardonable stupidity?

4. When will men and women grasp the simple yet critical truth that protruding nose hairs don’t have a place in this world?

5. When will women decide on going against the tide and risk being labeled as playgirls from choosing to accept dating proposals from several men (or other women for that matter) all at the same time knowing that that’s the only way they can intelligently judge who’s best for them?

6. And finally, when will women finally relent and give up their hopes of ever ending up with a guy who’s intelligent, witty, sensitive, and responsible because other men have taken most of them already?

Here we go again

At about this time last year, I was alone in my place. It was a weekend, the maid was off, I didn’t have an out-of-town trip, there was so much time in my hands I didn’t know what else to do to match up the cool December breeze and the seasonal melancholic mood that strikes usually at the end of the year. I decided to clean my CD rack and check out albums I haven’t listened to in ages.

One of them stood out: Lea Salonga's The Christmas Album. I slipped it in the player, propped myself on two giant floor pillows, closed my eyes and soaked myself with tears as I listened to two songs over and over and over and over again.


SANA NGAYONG PASKO
(Jimmy Borja)


Pasko na naman ngunit wala ka pa
Hanggang kailan kaya ako'y maghihintay sa iyo

Bakit ba naman kailangang lumisan pa
Ang tanging hangad ko lang ay makapiling ka

Sana ngayong Pasko ay maalala mo pa rin ako
Hinahanap-hanap pag-ibig mo
At kahit wala ka na nangangarap at umaasa pa rin ako
Muling makita ka at makasama ka sa araw ng Pasko.

Sana ngayong Pasko...


IT'S JUST ANOTHER NEW YEAR'S EVE
(Barry Manilow/Marty Panzer)


Don't look so sad
It's not so bad, you know
It's just another night
That's all it is
It's not the first
It's not the worst, you know
We've come through all the rest
We'll get through this

We've made mistakes
But we've made good friends too
Remember all the nights
We spent with them
And all our plans
Who says they can't come true
Tonight's another chance
To start again

It's just another New Year's Eve
Another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's Eve
Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve
It's just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through
This New Year you'll see
Will be just fine

We're not alone
We've got the world, you know
And it won't let us down
Just wait and see
And we'll grow old
But think how wise we'll grow
There's more, you know
It's only New Year's Eve

It's just another New Year's Eve
Another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's Eve
Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve
It's just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through
The New Year you'll see
Will be just fine

It's just another New Year's Eve
Another night like all the rest
It's just another New Year's Eve
Let's make it the best
It's just another New Year's Eve
It's just another Auld Lang Syne
But when we're through
This New Year you'll see
Will be just fine.

On getting serious

We are all too familiar with the little things that dating couples do when things start to get serious.

Let me count the ways:
1. Each one is in the speed-dialing button of the other’s home and mobile phones to make sure time’s not wasted punching numbers. On very rare instances that that doesn’t happen, one is expected to have planted the numbers from memory so they can be spewed out from recall with great ease.
2. Your mobile phone now becomes your most important material possession. It’s the only thing that ensures you’re connected with your prince. So you start buying several battery chargers – for the car, at work, to add to the one you have at home. Your mobile phones, thankfully, will never see dark nights again. They will never be seen without charge again.
3. Even the most inhuman and evil physical torture employed during the war will not erase from your memory all of his details which you managed to gather from research. You can easily and eloquently articulate his biodata even in your sleep.
4. You have perfected the art of worrying and being paranoid whenever the other person doesn’t call or even send a text message. When this extends to mid-morning and, God forbid, late in the day, your officemates consider being near you as wilfully exposing themselves to unnecessary danger. You become ferocious ready to clamp down anyone who unfortunately gets in your way.
5. The slightest mood changes are easily reflected in your face. Everyone who knows you will turn your face into some kind of barometer to warn every person who might want to come near you. Wrinkled look means the safest place to be is in planet Pluto.

But things have changed a bit in the recent months. Today, it’s easier to spot couples or those who plan to be coupled with another. All you have to do is check if they have, as a second line, a Sun Cellular pre-paid account. If they do, chances are things are getting serious, if not genuinely serious.

A confession

There’s no question about it. Jollibee’s Champ burger is infinitely more appetizing than the rest. The juicy patties oozing with flavor pressed between crispy lettuce and melted chese beneath two fluffy buns appeal to me all the time. I have to train my eyes not to look at the tempting product shots every time I line up in their counters. Otherwise, that would mean staying a little longer than usual doing cardio in the gym in order to wipe out fats.

But even with my open fondness for the Champ, I still queue at McDonald’s more often. Not for their burgers although I have grown to like McChicken already, but for, well, some mortal reasons.

For those in the know, you may have noticed how the fabric used by McDonald’s for their crew uniforms carry this special power to hug the body so closely. Especially the pants. I don’t know how the textile is called or where it is sourced, but it’s something perfect to emphasize some regions in the lower torso and, of course, the groin area. For one, it makes the pelvis noticeably broader, the waist fiercely slimmer, the thighs impressively firmer, the butt powerfully rounder, and of course, the champ down there brutally stiffer therefore easier to spot and make sense of things.

I’m sure your next McDonald’s visit will never be the same again. Tell me about it.

My cellphone is me

My new mobile phone has been a constant object of funny remarks from friends ever since I got it about a month ago. Almost all of the one-liners thrown my way dwell on the phone’s perceived rightful place in the cellular phone family tree. In terms of sophistication, my phone’s supposed to be in an unflattering position since it doesn’t have a camera, the backlight is colored blue, no bluebooth, sound is far from being polyphonic, no built-in JAVA games, while compact it doesn’t use joystick for navigation or at least have faintest capability to receive photo images.

I have learned to laugh at all these. Not to mask hurt or feign offense, but really burst out loudly because it’s simply funny. Once, I was out in my favorite place checking out the latest pirated DVD releases and found myself checking out instead the mobile phones of the salesladies posted all over the area. Good, I wasn’t with my friend Adel otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to prevent myself from laughing. You see, the salesladies were almost outdoing each other with their high-end clamshell phones flaunting the cameras and the polyphonic ringtones and wallscreen images. They may never be able to grasp their camera’s functions and capabilities, but for them, it adds that tinge of style or elegance that has eluded them no end.

Deep down inside me, however, I feel a soothing sense of relief. My phone may not be really hot on a mugger’s eyes, but it has brought some very hot personal lessons to me.

Firstly, I have learned the virtue of contentment, to make do with what’s available. I’m glad the idea of keeping up with the Joneses has completely lost its appeal to me. I know now, one’s personhood is never dictated by cellphone models or apparel brands or other flimsy standards. The Little Prince comes to mind, what is essential is not visible to the naked eye.

Secondly, I’d like to think I know my priorities pretty much. I didn’t finish economics in college for nothing. I’m not gifted with an endless stream of money supply, my resources are extremely scarce, but I have sufficient amount to get me any of the recent phone models if I want. The thing is, the lowly Nokia 8250 phone I’m using now is serving me well. All I need in a mobile phone --- text messaging, voice, alarm clock, and calculator --- are conveniently featured in this second-hand phone.

Lastly, this phone has reinforced my image as a cheapskate, the man to beat in negotiations. Imagine, from 4,700 pesos, I managed to get the seller to agree on a price that's 1,000 pesos cheaper. Without dancing, blowing fires, eating worms, or anything like that. No one can beat that!!

Don't be stingy with praise!

As sure as virgins still exist, I will never understand as I have never understood the idea of some men that, to keep their partners in tow, sincere praises and compliments have to be scarce. I don't know where the idea came from, but I do know it's a widespread disease now among us.

Most men fear that incessant doling out of praises that show appreciation to their partners somehow unmasks them unnecessarily to expose their vulnerabilities. For example, some will never be heard saying how lucky they are, how their life has become more meaningful, how they look forward for each day with their partners. These verbal affirmations, as a popular reasoning goes, make them appear weak and thus, more vulnerable. They fear that they unnecessarily display desperation or patronage towards their partners and make themselves defenseless. And so, some men deliberately become stingy with praises and affirmations thinking it's the only way to protect themselves from being abused. This reasoning has frequently been challenged and found to hold more air than substance.

A lot of my friends who are partners to husbands, wives, boyfriends, and girlfriends have frequently complained to me about feeling unappreciated by their partners. It's a sad reality. And all too often, it has its roots in the stupid idea propagated over the years on how a man should behave. We are all too familiar with these illusions: men should never show any emotion, they should never be seen with a tear, they should hold, never to breakdown.

So what do we get? Men who are so obsessed with appearing as men leaving their partners feeling sad, unappreciated, and trapped in unfulfilling relationships.

Questions

For a moment, I wanted to get out of the office today and head straight to Marikina since it was nearer although Real, Quezon was where people should go to help. I couldn't imagine myself in my office attire sitting comfortably in an airconditioned office working while countless people are currently without shelter, food, wives, husbands, parents, and children.

I began to question a lot of things. For what worth is one's work if it's not of help to other people?

Who's better off?

When I meet my friends in the mall, grocery, a bar, or any other public place, I usually walk up to them and spend a few minutes to say hi and ask what they have been up to. It's one of those things I can't bear not to do. Considering that my circulation revolves just around the house-office-gym, I've been virtually shut out from the world of fun and places to see and be seen. That's why I make it a point to snatch every opportunity that keeps me in touch with friends. In cases, however, where saying hi personally isn't too ideal, a nod is often done or a text message or a limp wave from a tired hand which is the last resort.

My friend M. did a quiet, almost mindless nod yesterday when I bumped into him and B. in an appliance store. It shouldn't be too much of a problem really since I was acknowledged in the first place and we are both in an age where our capacity to understand has been stretched and refined by countless hours of very open conversation with each other. I was nevertheless alarmed with what and how it happened, and more especially, with the unspoken message it brought.

The couple has been together close to a year probably. My friend M. is older than B. Both lawyers, they have been one of the few couples I know who have struggled to make their relationship weather itches and bitches. In a world where fidelity seems as strange as an ice cream parlor in the middle of the desert, the couple has managed to be monogamous (at least that's what I think!). It's something remarkable, yes. But for me who's in the know, it has been very difficult to convince me of its virtue or merit. M. has practically severed his relationship with friends in favor of B. Or if not, M. has reduced his contact with us to occasional text messages or phone calls that came very rarely.

I'm not jealous. I know that a friend's world changes immediately after a relationship is formed and formalized with somebody. One takes a front seat; another should be contented being at the back. That's alright with me. In the first place, it's never a question of one winning and another one losing. I think I've been around long enough to know these things and how they work.

What I don't understand is how this seemingly sweet romantic gesture of putting your chosen one a notch higher than friends in your priority list is done so blindingly it leads to a suffocating death among friends. My friend M. has repeatedly asked me to understand as he explains that I, along with other friends, can never be seen with him alone lest B. becomes suspicious and leads him to ask questions which my poor friend M. thinks he might not be able to adequately and convincingly answer. To this, I have made strong assertions to make my friend look at things differently and at least attempt to challenge B.'s mindset. I always get a blind stare as an answer. My friend is a bright lawyer I know, but he's disparagingly dumb on these things.

Which leads me to proudly declare, I may be single and I'm better off this way than be in a relationship with somebody whose concept of reality is as fatal as his notion of relationship as ownership. The passion ceases after a while, then what?

Heart friends

I don't take it against my friends when I'm the last one in their minds on the few times they feel kind and try to hook up their single friends on dates, yet I figure out prominently in them whenever they get whacked by a host of problems, mostly about love. I'm not sourgraping or delivering a litany of long-held annoyance. It's far from that. I like to think most of my friends are fine right now in their world of work and love since I haven't been "consulted" in a while. Either that or my friends have all turned a new leaf and have become matured and rationale people wisened by the years.

There was Vince, a friend I met in 1995. Over the years, I have been privileged to hear his most painful cries and confused look as he recounts countless mishaps in the heart arena. We don't usually get together everyday like other friends do. In fact, we have never gone to the movies together or Friday dinners with other friends. We'd bump into each other in the bar sometimes or send a surprise short notes on email, and that's about it. But he affirms that I was one of two or three people who know more about the real him than most of the guys he hangs out with every night. I feel good especially when he says he makes sure he gets to hear my take on most of his concerns because he respects me a lot and what comes out of my mouth. Through Vince, I realized friendship must not be weighed against constant presence or regular phonecalls. It's with the heart that it blooms.

Next to Vince would be Dan, whom I met in the early 90's when I was starting to work. We're of same age and birth sign, but that's not the reason we click. It's goes far beyond that, something that only the heart or the sixth sense can rightfully explain. I have forgotten the last time we spoke on the phone. It's more than a month at the very least. But Dan and I virtually remember the tiniest detail from every conversation. Whenever we get to talk, which mostly happens on the phone since he works nightime, we take our most comfortable position on the couch or bed to prepare for an hour after hour after hour of animated yet very revealing conversation ranging from his latest conquests to his self-proven oral techniques. We usually end our conversation affirming each other's friendship which makes the next conversation all the more exciting, something to really look forward to.

And the last would Alvin, whom Dan and I both know. I met Alvin about the same I met Dan. The three of us belonged to this group which regularly met one day each week to discuss common concerns and serve as support group to each other. Many years later today, I am sure that neither Alvin nor Dan know what each has shared with me. Most are very personal details, one which can make or break each other. I relish at this thought being a vessel of their most private information. It tells me there must be something in me that's good to make them risk disclosing things which even their parents or partners can only hope to know. I take pride in that.

The only downside is, two are currently based outside Manila while Dan is heading to London in a few weeks for work. I don't know if that means anything good. Is it a sign? Maybe people who want to be based abroad should be friends with me? Or maybe I help people build their wings so they can fly?

Breasts and cuts

Tomorrow, my groovy Tita Judy, my mom's youngest sister and a favorite, will undergo a breast operation. They found a lump somewhere and they wanted to take it out. She's likely the third or the fourth family member who got the cut in the same area. It's a bit disconcerting, but I'm relieved since care facilities in the States where the family's based will certainly be more superior than what she would have gotten had the operation was done here. I pray for peace in her heart and comfort in the family as she's led into the operating room.

My first encounter with breast operation was in the early 1990's with my mom. I was still in college then when a lump was discovered and an operation scheduled soon after. It was summer, classes were out, so I was expected to be the one looking after her since my dad was left in the province along with my sister. I don't remember being so bothered about the whole thing to make me think about anything negative like death. But I remember managing to sit during the entire operation in a room reserved for family members who might want to witness the operation. I sat there watching every doctor's move alternately with any possible reaction from my mom. But she was just lying there heavily sedated and unmindful of what was happening. Biopsy results showed it was benign.

A few years later, a re-growth was noticed and a trip to the doctor was scheduled again. This time, my parents opted for something drastic, a mastectomy. It was probably one of the most painful decisions they have made as a couple, but it was the only response they knew that would avoid an agonizing trip to the doctor every now and then. I didn't watch the operation because I had classes then, but I came after just in time when she woke up. The only thing I can do then was caress the mass of bandage wrapped around her upper torso.

It has since been more than ten years I think after that operation and I pray to God for complete healing. Unlike her eldest sister, Tita Elmie, who didn't survive and died of breast cancer in 1995 and became the family's first brush with death.

One truth

I am not ashamed of my roots. My humble beginnings do not embarrass me. I do not have a hard time recalling my childhood memories spent in a very remote province known mostly for its isolation as it is for howling winds and thunderstorms. On the contrary, my story uplifts me and makes me attractive. At least that's what I think.

Something else bothers me. I can't bring myself to look at my body for long in front of the mirror. It's like I feel disgraced when I spend a little more time than usual looking at my contours. I have seemed to be conditioned to think that nothing there is worth looking. And so by habit, I have perfected the two-minute routine of drying my torso with towel after bath, wrapping it around my waist afterwards before applying deodorant and other stuff. All the while, my gaze never falls below my clavicles. Otherwise, that would start an endless rant of foolish blaming and pathetic wishful thinking.

That should stop. I have to learn the virtue of admiring my body and looking at it to carry far deeper meaning. Otherwise, I will never get to the point of fully accepting and loving myself. For how can you love something which you can't even bring yourself to admire.

And so last night, I willingly allowed myself to drown in this truth: Only when you learn to love and cherish your physical body will you start loving and cherishing yourself. I'm sure that this truth is nothing new and it has lived with us for life. But it takes a little special effort to realize and accept it.

It has since been very inspiring. I know I have to burn a few more fats here and there as well as tone a few flabs here, there, and everywhere, but it no longer becomes so numbing. I know I couln't even come close to Adonis on the outside, but, my God, I'm beautiful!

Losing things

Some people have come to know me to be thorough and mindful of even the tiniest details. That's why I work best where attention to details is a crucial attribute. I'm proud of this, but sadly, all that is disappearing slowly each day. That feeling struck me in the face really hard yesterday. After losing at least three costly personal items in the last few months, I thought I'd be numb and dazed for the next ten years and, worse, completely rid myself of even the faintest libido for the next twenty.

I headed back to work from lunch completely bewildered. I keep saying, not again, not again in between heavy sighs and frowning. The entire five-minute walk from my bank to the office was a spinning headache.

I first lost an Oakley titanium sunglasses. It has been around serving me only for a few months. One Sunday afternoon, I decided to do something different and headed to Luneta to catch the 4pm Concert at the Park show. I was seated in one of the concrete benches near the stage surrounded by a sea of blue-collar community as well as maids and drivers on their day off. I had a good time watching the featured university-based choir. I was even more delighted finding everyone around me appreciate avant-garde choral music. I left without noticing that the sunglasses drifted from my pocket to the bench. To this day, I sometimes still blame myself for not doing a once-over before I left. That's unthinkable for somebody like me listed as a mountaineer with an outdoors group. More than 300 meters later, I figured it out and went back for it. A parent who sat at my back said she could only scold the vendor who took it.

Next came my mobile phone. On my way back to the office from gym one lunch time, I remember still using it till I got to my office lobby. I finished my take out food first when I got back to my desk. I then decided to do a five-minute power nap first before hitting the computers again. An hour later, I was going to use the phone and, lo and behold, I couldn't find it. I looked everywhere. I headed down to my building's security office to have the tape from the surveillance camera reviewed. A guy (probably a messenger) was the only person who entered our office and was seen tinkering with something on his way out. I felt bad but at least I had the closure I needed.

And yesterday, I knew that there was going to be at least two thousand pesos left in my wallet after I deposited my November rent to my checking account at the bank. I froze at the teller's counter when I saw only one 500-bill left.

Now, I'm learning a painful lesson. Maybe I shouldn't be too overconfident of my ability to cover bases all the time. I'm no obsessive-compulsive, but my training as a mountaineer taught me this. On one hand, maybe my being thorough isn't really the problem after all. Maybe it has something to do with my tendency to be trusting of people and believing that man is by nature good, one basic life truth I have held deeply since before.

Has man failed?

A different tune

When a phone line was finally installed at my new place the other week, the first number I called was V.'s apartment. I knew he was going to be surprised which I really wanted to do, but he wasn't home. The following night, I called again and almost every day after that. The person who answers seemingly never ran out of reasons he probably hoped would sound new and believable to me each time I call. The only thing that never changed was his voice and how he says hello.

I became suspicious one time when this housemate asked me to wait while he calls V. I couldn't make sense of the mumbling worried voices in the background, but it sort of gave me a hint. A voice came on the phone saying V. left the apartment and they don't know where he went. I sighed. In all the phonecalls, I would end it saying my thanks to hide a heavy heart, replace the handset quickly and afterwards breathe a desperate sense of loss.

The last time V. and I talked, everything seemed ok. As usual, he would rant about schoolwork that leaves him out of the house all the time and without a bit of time for himself. I updated him with any thing that I would guess he'd be interested to know about me. Almost always, they were things happening around my new place, my games, my gym sked, my trips. And in all ways, they're never about lovelife or a faint tinge of social life which I was unfortunately not gifted with at the moment.

He'd ask me if I'm dating anyone right now, and I'd set off the same answer everytime. He knows the answer. My dating life is the next boring thing in the world next to copying a whole Webster's dictionary by hand. I would be curious to know and ask him about his dates, but he would always say he didn't have time for it. When our conversation wound up about us, we knew something about each other even though we may not be telling. Deep inside us, I think we both knew we still have a flame burning, so to speak. I like to think we still think fondly of each other, we don't have anything but good words for each other, and we don't have a prayer other than love and care for each other.

That's why his text message yesterday asking me to leave him in peace because he has a new partner completely numbed me. It's not the idea of him getting a new partner that unnerved me, but more about the sudden demand for me to vanish just because there's a new one. I can't seem to really put the whole idea into chewable bits for me to digest after our repeated affirmations over the months with each other to always be connected.

I still haven't understood everything. No matter how I try to keep my peace and smile to the world, everything around me seems grainy and out of tune. I'm left with mostly unanswered questions, heavy breathing, wishful thinking, unimaginable hurt, and, quite ironically, hopeful heart. Do endings really mean devastation?

Let me explain

Many definitions can hold, but in the case which I wrote earlier to mindfuck means, plainly speaking, playing it straight. It happens when you willfully lead somebody to believe something mostly about yourself that is untrue in order to gain momentary pleasure. It is a cruel form of self-gratification, if I must say.

The pleasure is derived from many things. Some of them can be fathomed even by those who carry the least ability to make sense of things. People do it to obtain a gleam of superiority. Others just fancy seeing people bulge their eyes in amazement. I'm sure there may be profound reasons behind these which we unfortunately just don't know. Different folks, different strokes.

But in my case, I do it mostly to give people reality check. I don't find it heartening to see them assume right away that every love story they hear profused with so much heartfelt romance and selfless affection only occurs between a man and a woman. I find it extremely offensive to see them mindlessly promoting the idea that fulfilling relationships are a monopoly only of those whose attraction follows what is deemed usual.

And so on these occasions, I thought it's best to shake people's obtuse mindsets and keep them in touch with the truth even if it means me playing a cruel game. I only wish that their deep-seated traditional thinking are challenged and given a much needed awakening. If that one happens, let my soul be redeemed.

I don't want you to think that this is something I'm still having fun doing. I have long ceased to find appeal from it. Something's improved with age. It's better to throw pebbles of truth straight to people's faces sometimes.

A mind-fuck

The first time I played mind-fuck with somebody was more than five years ago. I don't even exactly remember how far back it has been. But that was one early evening in summer. I was standing by the stairs in front of Tower Records in Glorietta while I was perfecting meditative breathing. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

And there she was, about three meters across from me. Our fate probably intersected that particular time as we were obviously destined to wait for somebody. For her, it was likely -- or hopefully -- a loving husband who was going to fetch her along with the two kids holding her pantsuit one on each side. And for me, a loving creature who was hopefully going to sweep me off along with, not just two, but countless apprehensions holding me back everywhere.

I'm sure we noticed each other by the time five minutes have passed. She smiled to me quite sincerely, and I smiled back. Smiling really does wonders. The moment I stretched my lips sideways there began a roller-coaster conversation skimming through our work, college, and of course love stories. I would normally become aloof about strangers probing and feasting on my private life, but surprisingly this time, I was very friendly. I shared some of my romantic moments, those ones that my friends have grown to be so envious about, and let her relish the thought of how lucky my partner could be with me and my romantic side overflowing.

"So, what's your girlfriend's name?" she asked innocently.

"Marco," I replied while quietly looking at her face expecting distortions to erupt anytime.

"Uhhh..I hope I heard you correctly..is the name.."

"Yes, it's Marco," I emphasized, quickly cutting her off. "And speaking of him, there he is now." I said sorry to have to cut it short and ran to the car as fast as my romantic knight-image vanished from her.

For the next ten minutes, my excited voice and my cousin Clarissa's laughter filled the car.

Changes, changes

Time was on my hands today and I decided to give my blog a new look. Initially, I just wanted to update some links and list new interesting ones I have come across recently. I am no techie, so I was glad to see Blogger.com come up with idiot-friendly guides for bloggers.

I spent several minutes trying to decide which design suits me well. I thought my groovy look today would influence my choice and make me click on that one with colors splashing all over the page. I was having my eyes set on an earthy look, something consistent with my nature. In the end, UP's maroon color won. I was happy. In the first place, I have bias for silver combined with maroon or burgundy. It's elegant, timeless, and very stable, rigid.

There's just one thing I'm sorry about. I'm not sure, but when you migrate to a new design, all the comments posted on your previous layout vanish. I can't see any one in my new blog. I feel really bad. Is there a way out to recover those ones?

Is there a saint to call for all computer mishaps and plain ignorance?