Archive for the 'relating' Category

people who baffle me no.2

these days, when i ask women how old they are, the most frequent answer i get is not in the form of a number. they often give me this cheesy smile that i have grown to loathe and say “guess” in a kind of playful tone that makes me want to knock my own head into a brick wall.

guess what? what are they making me guess for?

when people ask me how old i am, i automatically blurt out my age. whether they think i look younger or older than my age is a non-issue, really. i am not offended when someone says i look older, as neither am i proud when someone says i look younger. it’s plainly and simply not a big deal to me. not that i don’t care about appearance, i am admittedly quite vain, but for some reason, age (or should i say a particularly lower age) has never been something i try to aspire to.

but since i have learned in various annoying ways that women get offended when you think they look older than they really are, whenever someone asks me to guess her age, i deduct 5 from my actual estimate. that’s to preserve my ass.

like this one who looked 43 to me. she goes, guess. i say, 38. tee hee hee i’m already 42 she says with a schoolgirl lift of the right shoulder. i think, well, you look already 43.

sometimes people really do baffle me.


lost things

i think the biggest thing missing from my life now is a cat. not since fifth grade have i lived in a place without at least one cat. even when i asserted my independence in flats that did not allow pets, stray cats abound in the parking lots and alleys, all of the ones who weren’t frightened by human contact i would scratch on the chin even if i were running late. neighbors had a dozen of them domesticated and begging for food from even me, the aloof girl next door.

i married into a dog family, that’s why.


no one talks to me now about boxing and basketball. except for my boxing trainer, of course, but i’m not even the most rigorous of clients.

everybody talks about rugby. and it’s a sport that i just can’t get, even if i tried my very best.

i also married into a rugby-playing family.


no one even tries to psycho-analyze our neuroses. i didn’t know i would miss the creeps that try to shed light on our subconscious even if we didn’t ask them to. i used to think they were just annoying. now i realize they were good for the laughs.

worth remembering (ca. june 2004)

(for c.u., on the crest of a frightful breakup)

  • there’s something about forgetfulness which brings people back to reason. amnesia occurs to every other bubble-haired heroine in siesta-time soap operas, so we dream at 3pm that our realities can also be distorted beyond recognition. we wish memory weren’t as persistent as that dali portrait of melting clocks.
  • you might notice that amnesia in soaps happen at the most strategic of moments: when the heroine is sick with unbearable longing. pining for her lost love, she listlessly walks across the middle of what seems like a deserted street when out of nowhere a punk driver swerves sharply from the curb and knocks her on the pavement, conveniently tossing her head onto the gutter. as she wakes up to fluorescent lights amid crisp-linen nurses and medical interns pretending to be busy with checking for vital signs, she is stricken with trepidation that she remembers nothing. shit, not even her own name. then, she is reborn.
  • she discovers a new love, this time more emotionally stable and more wealthy than the root cause of her amnesia. she builds a business empire of some sort or becomes a budding superstar while the new paramour looks on beaming with fatherly pride. and then she becomes famous all over mexico (philippines/puerto rico/wherever).
  • there’s a jim carrey-kate winslet film coming up about a medical procedure that could erase painful recollections a patient might wish to dispose of.
  • we could only dream it were that easy.
  • people try to rework the past by restricting memories. they commit to flames (quite literally) every object that jolts recollections of a history once held in a position of sensitive merit. they were content. but with dust in their eyes and a swelling in their throats, they linger a little longer as they scrutinize the gradually dying fire that took away every last piece of a putrid past. ashes never really amount to anything special.
  • personally, i’d rather stack them away where molds would fester them.
  • but the now-famous soap princess, bedecked with weighty gems, hair chopped to a mod bob or something radically different from what used to be low-maintenance, runs into the old flame and is heaved into a stupor of aching remembrance. the face is familiar, but she can’t quite recall where it belongs… and the season ends with a wedding.
  • the amnesiac ends up with the forgotten.
  • we could only imagine broken hearts were restored in such a fashion. pain would have been but a myth. we wouldn’t really want that, would we? there would have been less poets and more mortals.

a swig of authentic life (from my old neglegted blog)

i hardly even recall my other alter ego, that ghost from the past called sic ’em, saint!. and funny thing this marriage. it makes me recall how bad i was at relationships back when i was young and clueless. now that i am old and (still) clueless, i have learned to let reason prevail. that’s why we signed on that document: to let practical economics take its course in conjugal living. right, chief?

i still carry proof of my bad (or imaginary) relationship skills, though. through some entries in my own old neglegted blog,  i’m too ashamed to even read myself.

a swig of authentic life (may 2004)

four days and counting since we terminated whatever little was left of our relationship. there were no eyes brimming with tears nor breath held in anxiety to accompany the momentous minute we decided to quit. it wasn’t poetic. i was sitting on a makeshift cushion on the raised portion by the ramp going to our company’s bank affiliate. there was lucky strike in between my fingers and i counted three more joints before wish stick. it was a cross-breed between argument, lecture and curse. all in all a decent conversation. i might have sounded defensive, but i was generally within bounds of reason, i suppose. clients glanced, but didn’t stare. agency leaders hurled the usual insipid jokes at staff who sit alone away from worktables. the security guard found nothing out of the ordinary. i was always there anyway.

this morning i didn’t report for work. the sadness was beginning to seep into me. funny it took four days. i woke up with a start, surfacing from a dream that a president had been proclaimed at the grandstand. the image stuck ’til daylight, but issues of national interest could hardly shake me away from this budding drama. so i got up with a flourish to sms everyone at work that i’m not showing up today, to which they all replied a concise “k”. i love my officemates. they probably think i’m sick, but i didn’t forward an explanation and neither did they ask for one.

to give added impetus to my brewing wrath, i let both cats in and gazed emotionless while the orange one trimmed its claws on the furniture upholstery and the white one pilfered sardines from the breakfast table. if job the pug asserts himself today, i think i’d shove him with a little extra force than usual.

it rained at 8, so I was spared from the thankless task of watering plants. i took the bike out for a ride in the shower. it wasn’t that “insane thing you do after a breakup” kind of act. i do ride in the rain because that meant stray dogs are off the street and i’d have the subdivision all to myself. but today i seriously wondered if the denr truck would hit me at the curb. just wondered.

when i parked the bike back at the porch, i was glad to see that daisies have reared their buds from the foliage. it reminded me that i had to do my own laundry today. which i did.

gives me visions of hiding under the sheets today.


it didn’t have as much spontaneity as britney’s las vegas overnight, nor was it doused in that romantic glow like jfk jr.’s very private one. we didn’t and still don’t mean to run off into the unknown through some path as wide as an interstate highway. it was just as brief, we have to admit. we were fast, but we were thorough.

the actual cermony only takes 15 minutes, we were told, so we said we intend to keep it at 15 minutes. and no entourage, no flowers, i’ll have none of that interminable white train straining with the mass of a hundred thousand glass beads hand sewn by middle aged ladies in the backroom of a dimly-lit design studio. i certainly wouldn’t go under that gossamer veil, the one that makes me look like an apparition when you see me against the sun. and no gauzy gloves, i never figured out what they’re really for anyway. heck, no rings even. i’d rather we put the money away for that impending flight.

but i’d at least want to wear that dressy top with my jeans. if that’s alright.

and we were witnessed by a very intimate few. the same people who shared lunch with us the same day. the same people we share lunch with on many days.

we got married february 6, 2009 with no fanfare. if we have to do it all over again with all the pompous trappings to please the gods of our families, sure. but it won’t be as memorable as the first one. all fifteen minutes of it.

white flag

here i am again, with this some kind of feeling. a compound of anxiety and hopelessness to create a new substance: existential boredom. not that i’m not contended with what i’ve been doing, nor am i complacent with what’s been happening. it’s just another day when i concede defeat in the face of another resounding turn of events.

you didn’t have to insist on the subject when i clearly regret having brought it up. and you should know by now that i always mean what i say. i neither embellish nor subtract details in sorry attempts to preserve my ego: you just have to believe me when i say no. and while your sarcasm shines forth, i wish you don’t lash out like that when i couldn’t figure out which statements are earnest and which ones i can poke fun at. i was surprised, honestly. especially during a moment of mental turbulence, i don’t think i have enough energy to sift through your witticisms. i will surely not use the word “scald” for a long time yet. so please, a little sensitivity.

i don’t blame you though. you’re not biologically bound to the same worries. you can be a prick about these things and you can summon any express excuse from a whole spectrum of excuses, conveniently laid out before you in display cases only the likes of you can reach. while the likes of me parry the blows as they crash.

i am being unfair. you’re not a prick. just a little insensitive when the going got tough. i would expect the behavior from the other douche, but hey, that’s how he was spun. i would still like to believe you were spun better than that.

anyhow, i am sorry for the inconvenience i may have caused (this statement again?!). this time, it will surely not happen again because the night is over. new day, new troubles. i’d rather not recycle the same problems.

ok, so that was infinitesimally smaller than should warrant the white flag. yes, i am being unfair for having flung the guilt at you. but what have i got to lose? we don’t have too much at stake to begin with. better turn back while the skillet’s still warming up. nobody wants to get burned.

just think this is self-preservation, if it would make us both feel better. that’s the essence of survival.

so, av, i give up. it’s been nice, but the emotional aftermath is just too tough to handle. but i mean it when i say it’s been nice. a little sad, but no regrets. see you around!


…that may also be just a bunch of hot air. perhaps because he would like some attention from other people on father’s day. for the first time in his life. celebrate it like the rest of them.

yep, that’s most likely it.

because i know for certain that he is selfish and his motives are shady.