April 25, 2014 6PM at the 9th Ave.Cor. 34th St.
Bonifacio Global City Taguig
featuring performances by:
P I JAZZFEST
and Many More!!
SINO SASAMA?? TA ME
This was a story of forever in two connected lines. Half of the image of one of the lines was the Earth’s moon, and the other was the sun. The lines, intersecting each other, ran like two fingers of the clock. One is always at the far end of the other, but the two are always connected together. But unlike the clock and likewise in magnets, when the two far ends meet, they will have to stay away from each other. This was a story of forever in two connected lines and telephone wires.
I called. She answered immediately.
“Hey!” I greeted. Tonight is different, I could sense.
“Hey!” she greeted back, “I’m excited,” and laughed. We behave so weirdly tonight, but I guess it is normal for two people to be so awkwardly laughing about something they are both feeling so excited about. But I have to pretend.
“Uh, with what?” I grinned. Her voice shifted to a sad tone. I knew it. She’d bought my trick again.
“Hmmmmmmmmmp!” She was always so damn easy to kid.
“Just kidding, babe,” I laughed a little and added, “I’m excited too, of course. I wonder what your lips would taste like,” and slightly hinted, with another fake smirk, that I am already teasing her. She replied with a jovial chuckle. I wonder why her laughs mean so much more to me right now than ever. They feel so special tonight, so sincere, and transparent.
“Who says you can kiss me?” and with her response, started our another tender teases.
“Of course, you can’t! I will never talk to you again if you dared,” she exclaimed. I laughed so hard. She’s always the typical hard-to-get lady, which is exactly my type.
“Fine, I just wanted to be with you anyway,” and there was a little silence in between the lines, so I teased her once again, “There’s a lot of girls here that I could kiss.”
And there was a moment of a silence, that is longer, to say the least. It’s time to stop all the teases.
“I’m just kidding, again,” I laughed, “I wonder what your face looks like whenever I tease you.”
“Three more days babe, try to tease me and you’ll see,” she answered. Her voice uttered the words so differently. It was in a serious manner and I was surprised. I wonder what she means with her statement?
But I am drowning, once again, and melting at the thought of seeing her, of meeting her, of catching her into my arms, of doing all the little things a normal couple could do.
“We haven’t seen each other; but I miss you already.”
And silence—this is the kind of a peaceful silence that we always both long to feel at the wee hours of our time. A silence that only the two of us know, and only the two of us share—a nonverbal form of expressing affection that intertwines the moon and stars with the sun, something that nothing can outlast and overpower. We are at peace.
“I love you,”
I know, because I love her, too.
“I love you, too.”
It is almost ten in the evening, and I know that she still has things to do. It’s morning from where she lives, after all.
“Hey, I need to sleep. Good morning.”
“Good night, babe.”
But I felt the longing even before I have to say good bye. I can’t just miss her so much. But I can’t just say good bye and sleep and think about her when I know I can prolong the conversation even more. I need just a little minute more, to talk to her.
“What’s for breakfast, anyway?”
“I thought you’re going to sleep?” She laughed.
“Oh. Yeah. Haha. Good bye.”
But I didn’t sleep that night. I kept thinking about her smile, how different it is from her pictures, and maybe it looks better when seen closely, when seen in person. If photographs of her smiling made me melt from my seat and giggle alone, what else could the magic of her smiles do to me? I could die just by looking at her.
This is it. This is the day. This is the day that the two of us have been looking forward to, the day we thought will never happen, or at least, it seemed impossible to happen. I landed on the airport with no one I know, but it didn’t matter. This is a part of the adventure, and my prize will be waiting in the well-known mall in this place. I took a cab and went to my cousin’s place to unload my things, and as soon as I was done, I decided to go to the place, even if I am still two hours early. But time fled so fast; so fast that I didn’t realize it was almost time to meet her. I was buying her a stuffed toy when someone hugged me from behind, and who else would do that, but the most beautiful girl in my eyes.
But time really fled too fast; and it was already time for us to part ways—but it didn’t sadden me, for that moment marked the happiest moment of my life. And I all have to do now, is to keep on remembering about what happened; but it is no longer a must, for I was spontaneously remembering it every single second. I was looking at her the whole time—how her eyes shone in light, hair flowing through my arm on her shoulder, and the scent of hers that made my heart pound. That moment was more than I expected, more than magical, something that I can’t explain. It was a moment I would never forget. A year of waiting was nothing compared to that day. All those preparations was worth it.
She wasn’t at the airport when I was about to leave, but it didn’t matter—I was feeling happy and contented. I’m already thinking about how we will meet again, how I will be planning to save up so that we can be together more often, and how I will be planning to stay near her. I messaged her and told her that I’ll be back soon and I love her. I was so happy that I didn’t even notice that she didn’t reply.
I checked my e-mail as soon as I got home. I was expecting a message from her asking if I got home safely, but I received no word from her. I notified her through a message that I am already home and I already miss her. I was about to fix my things when my laptop flashed a new message on its screen.
It was a message from her. I don’t know the reason as to why she’s apologizing; because all I know is that we had a great time together. The day we had was perfect. I called her because it got me curious. She answered but didn’t speak, so I started the conversation. My heart is racing. There was something wrong. There is, I know. There is something wrong and she is not telling it to me. I was nervous, but I tried to feel calm. I greeted her with glee.
“What are you apologizing for, babe? I’m fine. My travel just to see you was worth it. Really, really worth it.” I spoke so enthusiastically. Maybe she’s just tired, I thought. Maybe. I have to cling on to that guess.
“Stop, don’t call me that,” As soon as she uttered those words, my body froze because of undeniable fear. Why? What was her problem? Why would she prevent me from doing so? Is she in a bad mood? Countless questions started bombarding my mind. But I can’t even speak a word. Her words were too powerful. They muted me.
There was a long pause, and I thought she was to hang up when she suddenly added the words that I sure expected would break my heart.
“I’m sorry, but we have to end this. Being with you, I… I just didn’t… I just don’t feel it. I’m sorry.”
I was both shocked and confused with what I just heard. She didn’t feel it. And then that’s that. She didn’t feel the deep imbued happiness I have felt when we were together. She didn’t appreciate all those little moments we had. That’s it. She didn’t feel it. It was enough to break everything apart, and to let them fall in shattered pieces to nowhere.
Tears started rolling on my cheeks, and I can’t stop them. Then it all occurred to me—how she looked when she was with me—no, scratch that—how she looked when I am with her. She was forcing a smile. She had been forcing her smile. She had been trying to enjoy that day with me, but I remembered how she would fall silent from time to time. It was right. She was faking it. How could I not notice?
Staring blankly at nowhere, I dropped the phone on my bed. I don’t know how I would respond to her. I don’t know what to think of with what she said. I opened my closet and reached for the top drawer and took a pack of cigarettes—the last pack that I bought before I knew her; the pack that I bought a year ago. I thought I would never smoke again, and there I was, lighting another cigarette between my lips.
By this time, I realized that ours is not a story of forever.
Look into my dark eyes, and tell me what my heart desires,
but you could never see through a closed window
for if you do,
then you would be my weakness
thus, I submit to you.
I want you, and I know everything comes with it, so even if there’s something I don’t like with the package, I’ll still take it.
Your eyes are beautiful, I love them, and so is the way you sneeze at me while we’re talking. Oh, I love your sneeze. You look fit, but I know about your belly, and I would love to hug you from behind and touch that cute soft flab. Your hair smells forever of sweetness, yet you’re too active that you sweat a lot. You smell more of sweat than I do, yet I love that.
I actually think that most of your interests are either boring or non sense, yet I’m willing to listen to you while smiling. And by listen, I don’t mean just hearing what you say, but seriously listening to every thought you share. I will understand them and mind them like how one should listen. I want you to read me your notes, and I don’t care if I don’t care about them, I’ll still listen. You can tell me about your day that I don’t really care to hear, yet I will care for they are of your day, therefore, they are of you.
You circle the mall for hours, looking at different clothes that look exactly the same. It feels like years when you’re comparing a white shirt from a white shirt. It takes you three hours to choose between a size 8 pair of shoes and a size 8 pair of shoes, yet I’m willing to wait till you decide choosing from those two identical footwear. I’d be more than willing to waste my time with you at the mall.
Oh, how could I not mention how hostile you become when you’re having your monthly period. It’s like I’m in session with a court trial just by talking to you. You can be so ill-tempered, yet I won’t mind; I’ll still love that about you, I’ll let you win any debate, and I’ll hug you even if you punch me.
No matter how flawed you are for being a girl, you’re still perfect. I love all those annoying things that you have for they are of you. I love you and I have to love everything that comes with you.
"Dad, how did you and Mom meet?"
"Oh, we met in the friendzone, son."
"huh? What do you mean?"
"Well apparently, your mom was broken-hearted, and so was I."
"What does that have to do with the friendzone?"
"It’s a long story."
"oh, then make it short."
"Maybe next time son."
But actually, it’s not that long my boy. I’m just to lazy to tell you about it, and I still can’t help to find it funny that I was the one who friendzoned your mother. We were both broken-hearted, and that’s how we got close. It was back in 2013 when your mother entered the male restroom in a restaurant. Your aunt Marise just denied my love at the same restaurant. I didn’t cry, but my heart did ache that time. It was awkward really, I was taking a piss when your mother entered the restroom crying. I was so shocked that I immediately zipped my pants, so quickly that the zipper went loose. She was crying on the tub as she washed her face, when I think she heard me zip my pants. She looked at my direction while I was shockingly staring at her. She apologized clumsily as she tried to walk out of the restroom, dropping her things into the sink and running water. She was so clumsy that she slipped on a puddle and hit her head on the sink. Apparently, the restaurant had no clinic, but they gave her a bag of ice.
She was still unconscious when I put her in my car. I can’t drive her home for she was a stranger, but I have to at least bring her to a clinic. She woke up, and as soon as she realized that she was in a car, she panicked.
"Who are you and where are you taking me?!"
She repeated the question while slamming her bag to my shoulder. I really don’t see the sense why she has to repeat the question over and over. I turned the wheels quickly to the right then back straight just to get my little revenge for her hitting me.
"You hit your head on the sink, then you were unconscious. Not to mention you entered the MALE restroom while I was pissing." I shouted at her and she went silent. "I’m bringing you to the nearest clinic which I don’t know exactly where," I sad calmly when I noticed she calmed down.
"Turn right, then the nearest hospital is just 4 blocks away."
"Thank you, but really you—"
"Thank you… and sorry, for entering the male restroom, and hitting you."
She was actually a pain in the neck, not to mention that this was a very bad day. I turned right, and for some reason, I started laughing. She smiled, then started laughing too, till we reach the hospital.
"Can you go on your own? This has been a very tiring day for me and you gave me a lot of stress tonight." I smiled. "Make sure you get a check-up. That sink was made of a very hard marble, unless your head’s a whole lot harder.
"You don’t have to be harsh on me kind sir. Thank you," and she laughed again. "Entering the male restroom, what was I thinking?"
She was walking towards the hospital entrance when I shouted at my car window. “Hey sinkhead! Can I have your number?” I actually thought she was cute and there was no harm to ask.
"My head’s really spinning right now, and I don’t think I can think of numbers. Just look up my blog. It’s ********.tumblr.com"
Arbitrarily, I’m a blogger too. I took a pen in my pocket and wrote her blog on my wrist.
It was a tiring and stressful day, not to mention my heart was broken, so I jumped into my bed as soon as I got home.
I woke up on a Sunday, so I don’t have work that day. I made coffee and immediately opened my laptop to blog about what happened the day before. I blogged about how your aunt Marisetold me that she only loves me as a friend and nothing more.I also started to tell about the weird girl I called sinkhead. It was like a comedy to balance my sad story. I told the part when I drove her to the hospital, then I remembered that she gave me her blog. I browsed for it and it seems like she already blogged her part of the story yesterday.
She was brought there by her boyfriend just to break up with her. I felt a soft pang of guilt because of my harsh jokes to her, and what she’d been through was already harsh. She told her story like she was laughing about it, though when I remembered her in the restroom, she seemed to be crying like the whole of her world was dying.
I messaged her, “sinkhead,” and she again replied apologies and thanks. That’s when we start to become close. We would read each other’s blog and message each other to talk about our day. We would meet on weekends and usually goof around malls and parks. We had fun. Your mother was the best friend I ever had.
We were becoming so close to each other, that one day, your mother asked me what exactly is our status. I told her that we were the best of friends and she went silent for a second then laughed all the way. She went home that day in a hurry without a goodbye. That night, I read her blog— a poem to be exact— that seemed sad and hurt. It was a bit vague, but I understood it. I remembered the night we met in the restroom, how I did not cry, yet was hurt deep inside. Your mother was in love with me.
I called her that night, but she didn’t answer. She messaged me and told me that she’s too sleepy to talk. I know I have to talk to her, so I went to her house first thing the next day. She just woke up when she opened the door, eyes red, and hair was frizzy. I knew that she cried, and I knew it was because of me.
"No it’s fine, I actually need to wake up early today, and your knock served as an alarm clock," she said, smiling. I knew I have to tell her, and I know we have to talk about it, but I don’t want to hurt her more. I was a coward that morning.
"You look like a mess, I’ll make breakfast. You go upstairs and fix yourself. I know you have to go somewhere if you were supposed to wake up early."
She went upstairs, and I went to the kitchen. I was cooking breakfast when suddenly, I heard the front door closed. I called her, and looked for her, but she already left. Her closet was half empty. I opened her laptop, which is weird because she left it plugged. The browser was open, and she booked a flight to another country.
That’s when thoughts rushed in. That night when she hit me with her bag, all those weekends together. Then I opened her blog. It was still logged in, and I saw all her private posts. They were all about me. I was laughing and crying at the same time, and I knew, I love her too.
I rushed to the airport cursing myself. I should’ve gone after her as soon as I saw that she booked a flight, but no, I have to stay for half an hour and open her account. Again, I was laughing and crying at the same time, while I was driving. Her flight’s in 45 minutes, so I went looking for her. I saw her at the lobby drinking coffee, when I shouted “I love you.” It was a but embarrassing of course, but I have to say it. Everyone looked at me, and she saw me looking at her. She was surprised, but I knew she wasn’t crying anymore. She was actually forcing her self not to laugh.
I sat beside her as soon as everyone stopped looking at me.
"What are you doing here?"
"I’m so sorry for being an idiot, but I love you, and I don’t want you to be far from me."
"But I already bought a ticket," she raised her ticket "and overseas are a bit expensive."
"That’s why I’m coming with you." I reached for my ticket in my pocket and showed it to her.
Finally, she can’t stop herself from laughing. She was laughing so hard that she didn’t notice that my hand reached for her cheek, and I brushed my lips to hers.
Ok, so maybe it really is a long story, and I might be not too lazy to tell it after all. I was able to tell the story in my head anyway.
"You know what son, there’s a better way for me to tell you about how your mom and I knew each other."
"Are you going to tell me your story before I sleep?"
"No, you should check our blogs. Look for it in our blog archives. Those are very old blog posts and our recent ones are mostly about you."
but I admire them for coping up with weakness.