sitting amuck

i don’t know if it’s the weather. or something i ate. or something i saw.

suddenly, i am not well.

going to my playground didn’t help. ayala center, whose stores, interiors and people always readily cheered me up–even after a break-up–seemed like baseco compound—depressing and dull–when i visited it yesterday.

neither did stuffing my self silly with pad thai, chicken sisig, walnut overload and caramel sundae.

nor did shopping. the plain colored shirts, the pair of capris, the jackets, the earrings and the pot of lip gloss–which i purchased all in three hours–all failed to comfort me. where has the healing power of a new purchase gone?

so how exactly do i feel?

let me borrow from chuck palahniuk–the kafkaesque word smith–who is the genius behind my favorite flick–fight club–whom i will marry on any given day–that is, if quentin tarantino does not propose.

i want to open the valves of oil tankers and smother that precious fuel commodity on the french beaches that i’ve never seen. 

i want to put a bullet between the eyes of every penguin who refuses to procreate to save its species.

i want to breathe in the smog hanging 24/7 over this decaying metropolis–which will kill a portion of manila dwellers–either thru cancer or some bronchial disease—and put some more of it in a bottle.

i’ll put that smog bottle by my bedside.

because like a scab that has been picked on, i am, once again, an open wound.

and i am festering. pus is oozing, dripping off my persona.

my efforts to sanitize with my smile has proven futile in hiding the decaying sores that now clothe me.

what i’d give to lie on that proverbial couch. what i’d give to be healed.

what i’d give to be free.             

noting his havaianas as i took a seat across him at coffee bean and tea leaf, i asked: "have you seen my beachwalk?"

to which he answered: "i saw you walk in. so pretty much, i’ve seen your bitch walk." smirking. 

if i had my cup of chai tea right then, i would’ve poured its contents on him–then break the cup on his head.

ladies and gentlemen, meet anton.

preppy, clean, always mabango, with an impressive CV and bank account. i think whoever coined the concept of metrosexual must have been thinking of anton. 

we’ve been close friends for almost four years now. i even named a character in one of my fiction pieces after him.

he saw me on my hysterically drunk, uncontrollably bitchy, overacting-ly broken hearted moments. (now i know why we didn’t become a couple.)

but nonetheless, he never left me. except that now, he’s forever shuttling from singapore, where he is now based, to wherever there is procter and gamble.    

i think that’s the reason why i’ve become too exacting with men. because here is one guy, with whom i never needed to put my best foot forward. but still loved me.

or in this case, my best flip flops forward.

"beach– as in b-e-a-c-h. i got a pair that looks exactly like your brazilian slippers for a measly 80 pesos. and they feel really good on the feet." i said, subtly pointing out that his slippers are a rip off.

we then proceed to an intense discussion on slippers–just like the good old days, when we would stay up till the wee hours of the morning, lounging below the oblation at quezon hall and talking about the most trivial things.

we’ve been apart for almost a year and a half and we waste half an hour damning each other’s foot wear preference.

seeing that i’ll never win over this metro sexual– think–kyan douglas of the fab five–i got up to order my tea and my slice of guiltless chocolate mousse.

i left anton, crouching from too much laughing, at being able to beat me again even over the most pathetic issues.   

at the counter, as i was deciding what else to get other than my staples, i felt a tap on my shoulder.

i don’t understand why people have to get tactile on me to get my attention. they could always say my name. 

i slowly turned to see who was disturbing my peace. if it’s a stranger– i’d give him one of my eye daggers. if it’s someone i know–i’d tell him that i have a menacing skin disease that could have possibly already transferred to him.

"hi g.h.," the tapper said.

oh…my…gosh…

it’s my ex-whatever–as we were undefined together.

i don’t exactly know how to feel for this dude– who took my heart…broke it in two…then sliced…chopped…minced…diced…cubed–and then finally, jumped on it over and over again till it’s fine dust under his feet.

what i’d give for the courts to issue him a permanent restraining order.     

i got my tray, brought it to the table and left it with anton.

i then bolted out of the coffee shop, then started running as fast as my beach walks can carry me.

without saying goodbye to anton.     

i would’ve sent you another message through this network if i were certain that you read my previous message.

you probably read it, but forgot about it entirely the moment you finished going thru it.

when will you take me seriously?

when will you stop dismissing my dysfunctionality as just my imagination?

when will you start seeing me past my labels, past the image that i project?

in case you don’t remember, i asked you to stay away from me.

till i get well.

for now, just please let me enjoy my shopping.  

i’m writing this blog on the assumption that people will understand.

so there i was, lounging at cocomangas one evening, when my phone rang.

"ghee!!!!," the person at the other end of the line shrieked, " is it true that you’re getting married next year?"

i almost spilled my coconut mango shake. 

"where did you hear that?" i asked, recovering from the shock.

"someone told me that a daughter of dr.ambat is getting married. since ur sisters are all married, it’s ur turn to walk down the aisle–hindi ba?" she answered excitedly.

since i haven’t gotten in touch with this friend for a looong time, i was thinking she must have become a wedding coordinator–and not wanting to be out scooped, she, without hesitation, decided to call me to offer her services.

i had so many thoughts running in my head— (should i tell her that yes, i am getting married, but not next year, because: 1) i have yet to outgrow my madness and selfishness, 2) i’m still undergoing therapy for my being relationship dysfunctional, 3) i am having a grand time as a single woman by choice, and— lastly 4) i’m having second thoughts on case. aargh, not again)– that she must have waited for two full minutes for me to speak again.   

"no, it’s my younger sister who’s getting married next year." i finally managed to blurt out.

"ay ganun. akala ko pa naman ikaw."

i would’ve been relieved if the conversation ended there. but no, since she belongs to a nosy race, she proceeded to ask questions that i dread. 

thankfully, the music at cocomangas raised to blasting levels.

"girl, i can’t hear you na. it’s getting really noisy here. let’s have coffee one of these days and try to catch up." i said–trying to end the call.

"o sige. basta keep in touch more often. para ka kasing taga ibang planeta–ang hirap ma reach. bye." end of conversation.

had it been a normal day in manila, i would’ve analyzed the topic of the conversation. try to answer the why’s and what if’s.

but then it was no ordinary day.  i was at the beach on a summer day.

there’s no room for rationalizing. no reason to ponder on constructs such as love, relationship and marriage. 

so i turned off my phone, put it inside my pink summer bag and continued to drown my thoughts in my coconut mango shake…listened to the waves crashing on the shore…and hoped that next time, i can give old friends, who call me on my mobile, the answers that they expect.    

just when we thought april was hot.

yesterday, May 1, temperature was somewhere between 33 and 35 degrees celsius.

today, the second day of May, i was told that it could get to as hot as 37.

my…. freaking…. gaaad.

and i have this unbelievably long hair, that i refuse to cut short, till i decide what look i want for the 1st semester.

and i have all these fat, which insulates my body, that i refuse to burn, because i’m too lazy to exercise.

i love summers. but sometimes, in this country,it can get unbearable.

too unbearable, that last night, as i was dozing off, i had this dream that i was doing rain dances–like the indians did–for heaven to pour out rivers and rivers of refreshing water.

i must have been dancing in bed–because when i woke up at 5AM, my night clothes were damp from sweat.

so i got up, went to the bathroom, stood under the shower.

i heard someone knocking on my bathroom door.

it was my mom, asking me if i was ok. she feared that i was sleep walking and that i might have already been drowning in the shower.   

i must have been in the shower for a long time, just letting the water fall on me–drown me.

what i’d give to be in oslo.

wait, what am i talking about? oslo? will episode three also be shown in oslo on May 19?

if not, then i’ll just stay here.

to wait for the rain, to wait for the revenge of the sith, to wait for case…