I'm just a girl so quit the b*llsh*t!!!

Anyway, that's not really my point. It's the introduction to my "statement" towards the typical Pinoy and the atypical Filipina of my kind. You see, after almost 3 years of chaste and celibate living (Chaste is when you go without physical intimacy; Celibate is when you choose not commit to anyone. Bet you didn't know that!), I decided to go out and let myself be prosecuted on the altar of romance last weekend. And, needless to say, it was a bloody nightmare.

To elucidate on the external details of this mindless quest for a fleeting fairy tale, I would like to explain first that my former inactive social life is all due to choice. I've chosen to abstain from participating in the "meet market" for several reasons: a) I am independent, financially, emotionally, psychologically and mentally. b) I am wildly opinionated about various topics and I speak my mind. c) I am smart. I work hard at it. d) I am self-aware. Lastly, e) my last few encounters with men have been less than encouraging due to "insecurity issues".

Now, you're probably thinking that the "choice" part is bullshit and that I probably am some ghost-faced, bespectacled loud-mouthed girl with greasy hair, thick eyebrows and pine-tree looking legs who is bitter and shrewy and understandably detestable, but, seriously, that's not true. I, actually, look fairly okay by normal human standards, which doesn't in any way make my life easier.

I've been told, I'm downright intimidating. I am sure that many girls nowadays have found themselves in the same rut as I have-where you actually feel that being alone is better than having to settle, or (gasp!) change just to make a guy comfy around us. So, we choose to stay out of the rat race rather than have to waste our time with looking for the so-called Mr. Right and being repeatedly disappointed.

Unfortunately, the pressure of peers and elders alike pushed me to end my fast recently. You know how it is. Everyone tells you, "You're a nice girl. Why aren't you going out and meeting other nice boys?" Eventually, you hear it enough and think, "Yeah. Why don't I?" and then proceed to, well, go out and meet.

So, I went out and met someone. He was smart. Book smart, probably even more. (I wouldn't know, like I said, it wasn't a very enlightening date.) He was also of above average height and kinda cute in a "tall, dark, cute" kinda way. An achiever. A nice guy and also very sweet. That last one is usually the clincher. People think sweet is the trick. It's what trashy escapist romance novels are made off. Tough guys who are sweet. It's all about sweet. So, I tried it. But, sweet doesn't suit me. I tried curbing my tongue, I tried not to voice out my opinions, I tried to be agreeable, I tried to be a nice, sweet girl. But the real me I tried to hide, behind a sickeningly sweet smile, lashed out in my mind and I felt I was betraying myself. Pretending NEVER works. (Remember that.)

By the end of the evening, I was a mass of contradictions and my poor date was confused and downright bored. The latter part really got my goat. If I'm me, I'm entertaining but scary, if I'm not, I'm not scary but I'm boring! Argh. Maybe, he was expecting me to be different and I disappointed him, but he was at fault, too. Guys like to believe they're in control and it irks them when they're not. So the male machismo comes out and it can get really ugly. And, it did.

What went wrong? He had achievements, which paralleled mine. He's smart, so he should be able to handle it. He's not shorter than me. So why did I still feel that he felt intimidated? And then I realized, you wanna know what the problem is? It's the fear of not knowing. People make too much of a big deal over a few things different about a girl. Like suddenly, she's this mutant just because she has more on her mind than snagging the perfect boyfriend. When a girl succeeds in separating herself from the pack, by being unconventional and distinctive, the rest of the world doesn't know how to deal with her. The rules don't apply.

People so easily assume that when a girl is liberal and independent that she's a bitch. That's not fair. Strong-willed girls and independent thinkers, work really hard to be freed from the binding shackles of that WO syllable. They're always watching themselves, making sure they don't step on any toes or that they don't undermine other people's abilities, while trying to highlight their own.

Liberal doesn't mean promiscuous or loose. It just means she's willing to go beyond conventions and not have to be bothered with traditions and stifling "rules" that have existed for ages. She can talk about a number of things that any other girl probably would rather not discuss, but her morals are still in tact. Sure, girls who pursue independence, are go-getters. They're not above asking a guy out themselves, if he's worth it, but it doesn't mean she should be treated any less respectfully. She has pride. She has self-worth. She still deserves the respect.

As a service to womankind, I though of a few things men ought to know. First of all, just because a girl has opinions and she presents them well doesn't mean she can make conversation by herself. It takes two to tango, buster. The way it works is that both man and woman contribute to make sure that a discussion ensues. That's how the getting-to-know-you process works.

Second of all, when someone asks you an honest question, you give an honest answer. Half-baked answers don't hack it. Forget mystery. The thing with independent women is they like guys who are straightforward, because that's how they are. They lay it all out there. Not to intimidate, but to define.

Third, don't try to wow her with money or fame or whatever. She's not so easily impressed by name-dropping or fancy gifts or you strutting your stuff. It's what's inside of you, what you can do, how you think, how you feel that matters. That's what most girls are after. Even the girl who has everything going for her.

Next, don't place her on a pedestal. If she wanted to be on a pedestal, she'd get one herself. It's lonely up there. Why do you think she went out with you? She wants somebody who'll treat her on the same level, as an equal.

Lastly, don't think so much of yourself when she does come to you. When a girl who seems unreachable, reaches out to you. It means, she merely wants to get to know you. If you let your pride get in the way, you'll burn her. Being treated like a prize is an insult. She isn't a conquest you boast to your friends about. She isn't a trinket on your arm. She wants to be seen as a person, beyong the curves and the curls.

There. That's a couple of things men ought to know and women ought to be grateful for.

I should probably be jaded by my experience, but I'm not. I can sort of understand how it happened. I'm still hoping that someday I'll get it right and whoever he is, he'll get it right, too. To all the women out there who've made a choice to hold on to who they are, don't be afraid. It'll come. Our small world may not be ready for us yet, but someday, that part of our lives will bloom, when it's ready to take the risks. If it doesn't, there's always the rest of the world. I heard independence is really big in America and that in Europe, it's all the rage. Eventually, Pinoys will catch up. Believe you me.

And, there's always other dates and men standing in line (haha), for as long as capitalism lives on.

words

Letters, by themselves, are symbols. They may stand for a sound, a universally-accepted signal, they may stand for anything. But when these letters become strewn together into fine-woven tapestries, words are formed. Words… words hurt. They sear the soul and would sometimes condemn. They sound like a thousand different lashings, of every pain and suffering one can imagine.

My mother likes words. She shifts from sweet nothings to not-so-sweet harangues in a matter of seconds, particularly in instances when she knows of my insane actuations. It affects my whole being when she does that, somehow, the nerves and the emotional appendages attached to my brain act up, ready to blow a fuse. I could scream quietly. For minds are known for thinking and thoughts… most thoughts are known to generate practicable and reasonable ideas for application that it would be downright ridiculous, even sinful to scream. My brain cells knew better than set off my mom, my prototype, already an atomic explosion.

My father, on the other hand, does not speak a lot. He avoids arguments and always desires to settle for a compromise. My dad usually gets his way oftentimes, the way my mother would define what “his way” was. But his eyes tell you much more than utterances could ever express. I always feel guilty; I feel uncompelled to return a petty type of anger towards my dad, one that I always use towards my mother during those moments. One look and I knew how I had to act. Relaying the message silently, no loud screams, no arguments, no harsh sounds, I would still get it. I would understand.

Words are truly powerful, especially if they are unspoken. Words hurt more when they are silent.

the hero in me?

When I was young, I wanted to be a lawyer (blame it on the grand dad who exposed me to the career he worshipped). Now that I’m close to being all grown-up (close, huh), I still want to be one, probably to serve my precious country and its precious peole. To give not just my consultation but also my steadfast service pro bono. Back then I thought that I would survive without money so long as I make other people happy. But with the way things are going on right now, I could be so wrong.

I used to be very unmindful of things. I used to watch the Impeachment trial (Erap) from dusk ‘til dawn nonstop but I never really cared much about it. I just enjoyed seeing top notch lawyers defending a stupid ousted president famous for theft. I never really read newspapers except to look at my daily horoscope for daily dose of news has been a vicious cycle. I never really understand corruption. I wasn’t with the people who marched with the deprived workers. I never even joined even one rally that I truly believed in. I was just in for the kinship.

But I pity the masses, the people and every single child that has to be born in this wrecked land. I pity those who abused their power and their freedom. I pity those who don’t know how to enjoy life- the life that the sun showers us every morning; the life that nature boast of; the life that’s in the laughter of every innocent people that you may come across with each day you hurry off to school or work.

And yes, I pity myself- for doubting every drop of hope that is left for Juan de la Cruz; for thinking of migrating to any other country just to kiss my homeland goodbye; for hating the Philippines over and over again.

But I don’t need to be a lawyer to serve my precious country. It’s not about the pro bono service that I so wanted to give the masses. Deeper than that, it’s the selfless love for this land, this land that still can survive with my help and yours.

Election time is fast approaching. We are now observing scoundrels beginning to put off their most modest masks. I hope we see beyond those imaginary heroes, those newly painted overpass or superficial feeding programs that has no basis. Above all, I hope we see who will truly save us, whom we will help and support all the way to realize the land our ancestors hoped for.

Saving the country has never relied on one people alone. It requires the whole population. You’re part of it, right?

jaded

Here they are again: disjointed thoughts. Just a jumble of ideas, without form, without coherence. No similarities, no familiarity, no nothing. Just words, ideas, dreams past and future, dead guys, living guys, murder victims-to-be streaming past my jaded brain.

A plethora of thoughts, some useful, some good as unconceived. Dissipating into nothingness before I could even make use of them. Let alone understand them.

It’s just words and words and words, like a cool mountain stream passing over a rock sitting quietly on the riverbed for centuries.

Only in my case, I’ve been on that sandy bottom for only twenty - six years.

Twenty six years. Such a brief period. Nothing but a heartbeat in the greater scheme of the universe. What’s 4 billion years compared to… bleh, twenty six?

But if it’s such a short time… why do I feel so old and jaded? I feel I’ve been through so much, I’ve seen too much. And yet I feel so… small. Useless. Non-existent.

Since when did my thoughts matter anyway?

The world would go on turning even if I thought it should stop. The sun would still throw wave after wave of radiation at the Earth every 8 seconds even as I think that men are such weaklings. Roaches would still stink and politicians would still be their greedy selves.

Who cares? Are they obliged to care? Am I?

Just thoughts, thoughts and more thoughts streaming into my jaded brain. Faster than a bullet train tearing through the subterranean tracks of Tokyo. Faster than information traveling upstream and downstream these fiber-optic cables.

Faster than a pickpocket's hands wrapping around your cellphone. Faster than a bullet through the head. Faster than a Leer jet with its resonating sonic boom. Faster than Ian Thorpe can splash across a huge tub of chlorinated water.

Faster than falling in love. Faster than him breaking your heart. Faster than getting f*cked without even realizing what was happening to you.

Being in love. being disillusioned. I don’t believe in justice anymore. I never see it served.

I don’t believe in truth anymore. I’ve seen it twisted so many times into so many grotesque forms to suit whoever’s abominable causes.

I don’t believe anybody understands what I’m saying. I don’t expect anyone to. I don’t understand anything.

preferences

Jee and I had a discussion about preference. Why not you? Why not me? What does anther have that each of us don't?

Among the seas of faces we encounter daily, how do we select the person we do select - for a friend, companion, acquaintance, object of our affection, the like. Yes, the labels. (And no matter how insistent we become about how we DON'T believe in labeling and how hard we deny that we don't condone such, much less practice it, the whole labeling thing is inevitable. Unavoidable.) Why do we make the selection? Why them? Why these people?

We issue standards. We comply with them 0 sometimes struggling as we do so, sometimes with ease: unconsciously, as if we were born to make our choices based on those standards. Other times, we discard them and declare our independence from personally established norms, so to speak. So, when do we do so? Why do we do so? Why pick that person among all of them? Why do we make that choice?

The answer, you might say, lies in the free will of humans. Freedom to select. Freedom of choice. Right to organization, even (as if friendships are organizations - well in a way, they are, but that's debatable). Point there. But that really does not answer the how's and the why's of selection.

The answer is different for every person. Yes. Of course. Or else, those not selected will never be selected. And there'll be hordes of people vying for the same people, as well.

Why me? Why you?

I could listen all day to each answer.

Encounters

He seemed ecstatic when he saw me. I can see it on the grin he flashed and the way his cool, baritone voice greeted me. They were all gone as he turned aloof, distant and businesslike.

Maybe this was expected of him, I thought, as I walked three paces behind him. Could it be that he has Japanese lineage and has to abide by their traditions? I wondered; perhaps, considering those tiny slits one would call his eyes.

Or it may just be sheer nervousness that made him act in such a manner---to think that he shall be doing this with a complete stranger. Then again, it was all part of the bargain.

We went inside the room where he asked me to lay down and then said, “Open.”

I, on the other hand, was most willing to assist him so I naturally complied.

It had been hours that we remained in that position. At least, he had the advantage to maneuver into a more comfortable position. While I, poor and helpless, sustained the same placement in prolonged anguish.

He was luckier for having the chance of viewing the entire proceedings that was fully presented to him. Whereas I have to content myself with staring at the ceiling, the lightbulb, his brown eyes and observe the way his eyebrows knit, creating a furrow between his forehead as he elapsed into deep concentration.

Only God knew what his hands did with me. During that time, I was not in the right situation to tell.

My mouth succumbed to the weariness it felt and started to slacken a bit. It was the wrong move. For in his frustration he said, “Open wider, I cannot penetrate.”

In my astonishment I submitted to his plea.

The pain was beginning to be unbearable. I prayed for my agony to soon be over.

As we neared climax, beads of perspiration formed on his forehead. I moaned as my teeth bit the insides of my mouth. I could still feel the constant friction happening inside me.

Soon, it was finished. I was filled deep and I laid there in consummation. He made me sit while he tried to give order to my tousled hair as he tried to smoothen it.

The ordeal was finally through when we went to the x-ray room to check my newly amalgam-filled tooth.

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Oh, dont give me that look, you green - minded freak! :p

Random Thoughts on the Holy Week

Holy week is a time when we are forced to sit back and reflect on what we’ve done in the past, on our stupid mistakes and forgettable follies. Also, it’s a time to reconnect with our spiritual self; a time to think seriously about our salvation and afterlife and Christ’s resurrection (as if I’ll be saved. With all the sins I’ve done, I make Hitler a gentle puppy). Oh, lest I forget, Holy Week also means beach, Studio 23’s 7th Heaven marathons and your annual dose of the movie The Ten Commandments (I bet you have watched it for the nth time).

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The best place for me to stay during Holy Week is Cebu City (Osmeña Blvd in particular). Not in Puerto Galera or Boracay or any beaches or Splash Island, but Cebu City. Why? I’ll give you 2 good reasons:

1. The traffic is heavenly. It’s like Moses has parted again the Red Sea and gave you a free pass to drive across the sea bed on your own. If you’re from Apas, you can go to Colon in 10 minutes. Imagine, almost an hour travel time reduced to 10 minutes. You can even go drag racing in Jones Avenue if you want to. That is because there are few cars traveling around. Plus, the CITOM people are in Holy Week mode.

2. At long last, PEACE. Isn’t it great that all those pesky children and backbiting and shabu-sniffing neighbors of yours are all gone, kaput, went to a vacation to their own provinces or went to the beach or went anywhere but here? Isn’t it just great that for three days, you virtually own the street and can do anything there? Ok, I can’t do everything and NOT that exhibition thingie if that is what you’re thinking. But at least for three days, you are spared from being friendly with your “oh so lovable and fabulous” neighbors (you know what, thinking of them makes me puke, and seeing them makes me really, really sick. I’ve already canvassed the prices for Scud missiles and torpedoes so that I could blow their houses to kingdom come but I scrapped it when I realized that it also means reducing my crib to pieces. Stupid, stupid, stupid.)

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Holy Week also means tons of time for reading. Last, last year’s Holy Week, on top of watching West Wing and 7th Heaven reruns, I was forced to read two Gabriel Garcia - Marquez novels, three Kurt Vonnegut, and some cheap pocketbooks. Ok, I heard you laugh and saw you smirk. I admit those were my darkest days in my budding literary life. What can I do, those were the only readable materials around. So, in order not to repeat the brouhaha, I now buy books specifically for Holy Week reading. Last year, I’ve read Ralph Waldo Emerson’s Collected Essays, Jane Hamilton’s A Map of the World, and Jospeh Heller's God Knows. This year’s Holy Week, I’ve read Salman Rushdie’s The Ground Beneath Her Feet, and The Satanic Verses and Umberto Eco’s The Name of the Rose. Next year, I plan on reading all the volumes of the Encyclopedia Britannica. Beat that, huh!
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Don’t you know that the Bible is the most widely read book in the world? Also, the Bible is the most bought book. Incidentally, it’s also the most pick-pocketed item in a bookstore.
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Lastly, Holy Week is all about the Camden family, that ever growing family that is full of love in the hit TV show 7th Heaven. I think the Camden family is one of the most envied families ever. Don’t you want to have a cool preacher dad and a tireless, caring, Mrs Do-it-all mother? And a neighbor named Cecilia (Ashlee Simpson, she is really cute you know)?

I have this funny feeling that Holy Week was specifically made so that we can watch 7th Heaven marathon. Yeah, another conspiracy theory of mine (I also believe that the Rockefellers killed JFK, Opus Dei is a cult, Jose Rizal is overrated and Barney is the worst ever dinosaur. I mean who would want to watch a scary purple dinosaur playing around with children. Michael Jackson perhaps, but he is not interested in Barney though, but rather in the cute kids.).

Back to the topic, there are lots of uses of watching 7th Heaven. Aside from watching a TV show that teaches values and good manners and has an AnakTV seal, guys, you can also use the show to have a date. Believe me, many girls really watch 7th Heaven. My cousin dated a girl once because he said he loves 7th Heaven and could name all the characters along with their family dog Happy. So guys, it pays to watch chick shows este family friendly shows.
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Holy week is a time when we must be at our holiest best. But in case you f*cked up and did everything that is forbidden, there is always the next year’s Holy Week to look forward to.