Note: Uhm, no disclaimer this time. This is not fiction. Uh, does it matter? Everytime I say something is fiction, you don’t believe me anyway. So what the heck? Here it goes.

Tagaytay City is more or less 30 minutes away from my mum’s house in Batangas so I’m always there. (Lucky me!) I was in Tagaytay again last Saturday night with a good friend. We were in his car parked somewhere near Starbucks, music-trippin’. I was enjoying my cup of hot white choco, and he, white choco mocha. My friend bears the same name as the performer of the song that was playing that time. Of course, I was singing in the car. (More like a mini-concert, really.)

It was “When I Get You Alone” by Robin Thicke.

“…When I get you alone (’lone)
When I get you you’ll know baby (know)
When I get you alone (’lone)
When I get you alone now (it’s all mine)….”

I was just singing when he suddenly threw me a look so sexy and displayed a mischievous grin. I turned down the volume, almost inaudible, and said, “What?!”

“What would you do if you got me alone?” He asked.

“Well, right now I got you alone and I’m not doing anything. So I guess, uh, nothing?”

“Why don’t you do something?”

“What? You’re Britney Spears now?”

“Come on. Do something. Do it.”

“Do what?”

“You know. It.”

“Oh I can’t do that. You have an effin’ girlfriend. My parents raised me well.”

“But you’ve done it once before with someone who was in a relationship. Still, you did it. Why not do it again now?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Oooh. I know, someone here is just afraid.”

“I’m afraid that you’re afraid that I might really do it.”

“No, I’m not. I dare you. Do it.”

“Do what?”

“It. Do it.”

“What is it?”

“What it is that you want to do! Do it.”

“And what do you think it is that I want to do?”

“It. Just do it!”

“Do what?!”

“Oh for Christ’s sake. Don’t do this. Do it!”

“Now I’m confused. You want me to do it or not?”

“I want you to do it.”

“Do what?”

“IT!!!”

“What is it? Why can’t you say it?”

“Why do I have to say it when you can just do it?”

“Do what?” My smile was the biggest I’ve ever had. Ever.

“Alright. I get it. Fine. I give up. That’s what you want, fine. Well then, as long as you’re in this car, DON’T YOU DARE DO ANYTHING.”

“Hmmkey. I won’t do anything.”

No one said anything for a while. We just sat there. After minutes of uncomfortable silence and unbearable awkwardness, (I was just flashing a wide smile the whole time) I asked, “Can I sing?”

He nodded. I turned the volume up, and played another song. It was Nelly Furtado’s “Do It.”

“…Do it like you do it to me (I’m burning up)
Do it like you do it to me (it’s not enough)
Do it like you do it to me (just open up)
Don’t you know how much I want you….”

He gave me a nasty look, and a cute embarassed grin.

I snickered. “WHAT?!”

pictures courtesy of zingmagazine.com and jupiterimages.com

Status: In Pain
Music: Never Be the Same Again - Melanie C feat Lisa ‘Left Eye’ Lopez

BREATHE IN, DAMN IT!
My nasty lungs are giving me the torture of the century. Every effin’ breath hurts. Damn. And now I’m imposing a cigarette ban on myself. For now.

###

A TALE OF MY BLOODY TOENAIL
My right big toe is swollen. I got ingrown toenails, and I had been complaining about it since, like, forever but I couldn’t do anything because I was afraid it would bleed. And you know how I react when I get up close and personal with blood. Aargh. My housemate told me to forget about shoes for a while. What?! Are you kidding me? I could stand that pain but not the feeling of looking like a fashion disaster. So I still wore my fave pair of Chucks and got through my day filled with walking, walking, and uh, walking. It was excruciating. Like I said, every breath hurt, and every step did, too. I knew I should’ve just worn slippers. Hehe.

Later that day, I went home limping. Bad mood, of course. I took off my shoes and turn my PC on. But it wouldn’t boot. I pressed power again. Nah. Restart. Nah. In utter frustration, I began jerking the monitor and kicked the CPU with my right foot.

HOLY MARY MOTHER OF CHRIST!

The ingrown nail cut through my big toe and blood started to squirt. Painful is a freakin’ understatement. Not to mention the blood that made me feel more uncomfortable. My initial reflex was to wash away the blood with something. Looked into my bag and found my bottle of Green Cross alcohol, and without thinking, poured some on my bloody toe.

You know what happened next. (Was I cursing in Russian?)

Damn alcohol.

###

THE TROUBLE WITH LOVE ME IS
And of course, there’s this painful feeling of being alone. I’m happy but I still believe I could be happier. My last relationship ended almost two years ago. It was with Liza. Back then, I was busy with my thesis and crazy over someone else (ehehehe, I was so evil).

Hmmm. I’ve been single that long already. Wah.

Prech and Patti told me once that I didn’t know how to handle relationships. That all I was good at was just fall in love. But relationships… I suck (they say). I believe them.

I’ve only had three girlfriends (and zero boyfriends, hehe) but not one of them lasted more than five months.

###

“OKIE. NO BIGGIE.”
Here’s how one of my exes, Michi, and I broke up.

“Hey, so how are we?” She said.
“I don’t know,” I answered.
“Do you want it over?”
“It’s up to you.”
“Won’t you say anything?”
“If you want it over then fine. It’s really up to you.”
“I want it over.”
“Okie. No biggie.”
“I’m serious. I want it over.”
“I am, too. And it’s really no big deal.”

After that, we hated each other sooo much. Both claiming how we still loved each other but incredibly hurt that the other did not even try to fight for the relationship. Yeah. I know, right? I just didn’t want to look like I was on the losing end. Too bad, she shared the same thought.

Oh, pride.

###

“…So when I’m lying in my bed, thoughts running through my head
and I feel that love is dead, I’m loving angels instead….”
— Angels, Robbie Williams

Note: I already posted this on my previous blog, click here. I just had to move it here so I could file my short stories under one category. Anyway, usual reminder: blogger’s original work. Please see legal and ethical reminders on the sidebar. Thanks very much. Again, this is fiction.

When one of my bestfriends and I were at a resort somewhere in the south three years ago for his despedida party (he would be flying to London in less than two days), we decided to leave the crowd for a moment and stay on the beach. We were lying on the sand. I was staring at the moon and I was quite sure that he was staring at me.

He was the first to speak. “Have you given it a thought?”

“Not much,” I replied.

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to think about it.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t. Why does it always have to be a reason?”

He didn’t utter a single word. And then he sat up and felt the grains on his palms.

Then he spoke again. “We’re bestfriends.”

“Yeah.”

“And it’s all we could ever be. We’re bestfriends. And we’re both guys.”

I just looked at him while he stared blankly at the sea. Then he somewhat rubbed his palms against his knees, and said, “So you really don’t feel anything for me? Anything more than friendship?”

“I don’t.”

Silence fell.

“You’re too honest, it hurts. You never lie. Never.”

Then the moon caught my attention again. I just stared at it for God knows how many seconds.

“I just did,” I said.

By the time I could even finish that sentence, he was already standing, about to leave. He didn’t even hear what I just said. I watched him as he walked away.

“I just did.” I whispered.

We’ve never seen each other again since.

picture stolen from jakehowlett.com

Note: Blogger’s original work. This is fiction. Please see legal and ethical reminders on the sidebar. Thanks very much.

Here we are again. In the usual corner. Usual table. Usual diner. Usual time. And most probably, usual meal. I’m getting tired of this really. Everything’s a routine. And for what it’s worth, you’re the only same old thing that I’m not tired of. But I’m tired of this. Having the same food for breakfast before we go to work.

“What are we really?” I speak first.

You give me a puzzled look.

I speak again. “You said we’re friends. But the things we do — the things I do with you — the thing’s I’ve done FOR you — and the things I’m so willing to do. They are things I don’t usually do with or for my friends.”

You reach for the menu and browse through it like you’re not hearing a thing.

“And the things you’ve done. They are things no other friend has done for me…. Are we really friends? Is that all we have? Friendship?”

You refuse to talk. You just sit there.

“Just friendship? That’s all we have?”

But I seem to be talking with myself. You give no decent reaction to the question I’ve long wanted to ask you. The question I think I’m wasting all my energy asking.

Disappointed, I release a deep sigh. You continue to pretend trying hard to decide what to have for breakfast when we both know you’ll be having the same old thing. You’re just avoiding the topic. So I just let go of it and try not to spoil this morning like it hasn’t been yet.

I change the topic. “You ready to order?”

“Sure. I’m starving.” Finally, your first words for today. It’s so clear how much you hate talking about that topic. Talking about us.

I call on the waitress, the one who’s always served us our meal. In fact, she knows our name and we chat when she’s not busy. We are regular customers. She approaches our table.

“What are you two having?” Her tone sounds like she never really has to ask for she knows exactly what food we are gonna order.

You put down the menu, look at the waitress, smile, then turn to me. And say, “Something more than friendship.”

(I swear I heard the waitress say “I know, ‘right.”)

picture courtesy of associatedcontent.com

The Father, the Son, the Holy Ghost;
The Wise Men who visited Jesus;
Hades, Poseidon, Zeus;
the heads of Cerberus;
The Godfather series;
The Lord of the Rings;
Harry, Ron, Hermione;
Tito, Vic, Joey;
Randy, Paula, Simon;
Hanson;
Destiny’s Child, TLC, Dixie Chicks;
the musketeers, the blind mice, the little pigs;
papa bear, mama bear, baby bear;
I came, I saw, I conquered;
core, mantle, crust;
solid, liquid, gas;
protons, neutrons, electrons;
the King, the Queen, and Jack;
the number of strikes before a player is out;
I, love, you;

It was just my second chance I blew.

…

…

…

… I just freakin’ wish you feel the same for me.
Whatever it is that we have, it’s officially dead. I killed it. OK. It’s resurrected. Hehehe.

But I know, it’s never really over. And it’s not over. I hope it won’t be.

..

Note: This is not a poem.

To you, uber-cute son of a bitch (sorry, foul language),

Damn you, don’t text me.
When you text me, I can’t help replying.
When I reply, we start talking.
When we talk, we get to know each other better.
If we keep on doing that, we’ll become friends.

And we can’t be friends.
If we’re friends, we’ll get closer.
If we’re closer, I’ll care so much.
When I care that much, I might fall.
If I fall, I might get hurt.
When I’m hurt, I become vengeful.
You won’t like that.

Your sister won’t like that, either.

So please, don’t do this.
We can’t be friends.
Seriously.

And oh, again, don’t text me.
And stop calling me!!!

So there. I said it.

*** Actually, I really, really like the guy. He’s intelligent, knowledgeable, articulate, funny, and most of all, CUTE. But that’s exactly the problem. If he continues being nice to me, I’ll fall. To quote Ian Hainsworth (Desperate Housewives): “If we can’t have anything more than friendship, then we’d rather have nothing. Nothing at all.”

Waaaah. But damn! I like him.

Status: In Pain
Music: Look After You - The Fray

I just received the most ridiculous text message from Frances:

“Sudden realisation. I think you’re in love with Astrid. I don’t know, it just entered my mind.”

What the..?! Where did this come from?! Asta is an incredibly good friend. Yes, she’s very special to me, considering the ups-and-downs that we’ve been through. We’ve experienced the worst in our friendship. We hated each other so much, and now, we’re good friends. We’re close, but nowhere close to having a romantic relationship. Really.

Anyways, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about the condition of my heart lately. And I realised something:

The truth is: B1* is the reason I smile everyday. But B2* is still the reason I cry at night. Damn.

Considering that it’s been more than a year since B2 hurt me, I just can’t get over it. I want to be angry at him but he’s too cute to be mad at. Gawd, I hate myself. I hate what happened. And until now, I still haven’t forgiven him, myself, and the other guy. But it pains me that they seem to have moved on, and now, I’m the only one left in pain. It’s just… painful. And sad. Good thing B1 is here. Obicham Te, B1.

(more…)