Ink.

Thinking about getting new tatts. Is it weird that I feel faint when getting an injection but not at all when getting a new tattoo? I don’t know why this is, but it’s completely illogical. I can feel the need to get inked, though. It’s like an addiction, really. I would never have thought that I could withstand the pain (I have a very low pain threshold) but I was surprised that I did. Here’s my tatt now:

Image

I’d like to make it a full sleeve (I have another star tattoo on my hand). I dunno, it’s kind of weird seeing all these gay guys with tatts now. Back then, when I started getting tattoos, I was one of the few who had them.

Well, anyway, I haven’t really had the time to visit all of your blogs. 😦 Please don’t kill me. I will be there, tomorrow seems a bit more relaxed in terms of schedule and work and stuff.

It’s almost the weekend! Cheers!

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Swamped.

Work has been hell this week. Sometimes, when I think about all the things I still have to do, I feel like vomiting. Which is funny, considering I don’t even have the time to eat anymore. I feel like time has just completely disappeared and I have accomplished nil.

I supervise three small teams of account managers. I love my job and I love the company I work for. It has just become so ridiculous that I spend almost 12 hours at work and I find myself doing things I’m not supposed to be doing. I know I’m good at what I do. It just sucks that I’m the kind of person who dislikes pushing back and actually loves the challenge of additional tasks.

I’m not particularly ambitious. Aside from the fact that I like my work (except for these instances wherein I find myself so completely overwhelmed), I keep this job because it pays well and it allows me to give something extra to my mom and my sister. But really, I can have any job and be contented.

I don’t know if I’m making any sense anymore.

Anyway. Uhm. Yeah, let me know how your weeks are going. Please. Hahaha. That’s it! Be blog hopping in a bit!

Mikhail Gorbachev.

In gay lingo (in Cebu, that is), old people are referred to as “gor.” I do not know why that is and for the longest time I thought it was in reference to Mikhail Gorbachev, once president of the Soviet Union. I used to say, “I look so Gorbachev,” and my friends would look at me with confusion on their faces. I thought they got the reference, but apparently, I’m the only one who thinks this way.

Is this post leading anywhere, you ask. Well, yeah, I’m getting there, I think. Over the weekend, I binge-watched The Americans (See? Another Russian reference!) and I was totally enthralled. I couldn’t count the number of times I wasn’t gritting my teeth, wondering if Phillip or Elizabeth were about to get caught. It is the most thrilling, thought provoking, emotional series I’ve seen in a while. I read an interview from the creator of the series and remember him saying that above all, it was about marriage and commitment. And in the midst of everything that happens on this show, the core really is about the principles you hold dear, and when, or even if, you should keep them or let them go.

Which leads me to my next point, which is I do feel so Gorbachev. I mean, I spent the weekend SLEEPING and watching DVDs! This used to be unthinkable, back when I was younger. The CJ of yore would’ve spent the weekend getting drunk, partying, and generally, just having the time of his life. But the truth is, I love the feeling of staying home. I actually WANT to spend my free time in bed, reading, or just watching a movie with the boy. Is this a sign that my heydays are over?

I really don’t know. Sure, I miss going out and getting drunk, and wondering what the hell happened the night before. I miss the days when I would show up at work smelling of booze and falling asleep on my keyboard (No, not really). But even if I do, do I want to go back to that life? Sometimes, I think I do, and I know enough to know that it’s when I feel most insecure about my relationship or my life. But more often than not, I find myself loving this phase. There’s a certain peace about knowing exactly what you want in life. And I think it comes with age, the realization that the things you used to love when you were younger just don’t hold the same allure anymore.

The best thing that I can think of that comes with getting older (and knowing and accepting it) is the fact that I know when to dress appropriately. I think it’s just the saddest thing to see a grown man or woman wearing clothes fit for someone a decade younger. I just want to grab them and talk to them and shop with them. You can look great, no matter what age. But you have to understand your body and your looks for it to work. 

Did I lead you anywhere? I thought so. It’s Monday and my mind isn’t really working. 😀 I hope you guys are faring better than I am. Cheers!

 

Where we can’t be found.

It was simpler then. It didn’t feel like the world was this huge, menacing entity, bent on tearing us apart. Of course, I’m not saying we didn’t have our share of fights and breakups then, but it never felt this way, as if too many things were outside my control, like I’m waiting for something terrible to happen.

We’ve been together for five years, and that’s a remarkable thing, I know, in the kind of relationship we’re in. Lately, though, the fears that I have managed to suppress has just resurfaced. I am terrified of the day when the world would just swallow us.I hate this feeling of doom.ImageA part of me wants to go back to that time, when it didn’t feel like there was an ominous cloud hovering above us. But I know better than to hope for the impossible.

Don’t worry, baby. I’m ready for the fight, and I hope you are, too.

Gone in 60 Seconds.

A friend said,

Accept him for who he is, flaws and all. If you decide to, then stop complaining. Stop whining.

If you don’t, leave.

I guess, it really is as simple as that.

When your happiness completely revolves around ONE person, I think it’s time you rethink your choices and options.

I have decided to love him, fully and completely. However, one of the things I will keep for myself is the simple happiness that small things give me, such as blogging. Or working out. Or just writing.

Love (I’m talking about the verb here and not the concept). That’s all that really matters.

Not like the movies.

You know that moment in films when the music begins to swell and things start moving in slow motion and you just know something pivotal is about to happen? It’s usually when the main character just had a major makeover and fiercely struts through her high school corridors while the crowd parts, as  if Moses was there, commanding the sea of people to make way by raising his gnarled staff (it WAS Moses who did this, right?). Or when the heroes get ready to take revenge on the bad guys, giving each other meaningful glances and grim smiles, and saying weird, cryptic things such as “Let’s do this,” or “It’s time.” Do what? It’s time for what? Don’t you like, need a detailed plan or something? Or when the boy finally realizes just how much he loves the girl and runs after her before she leaves for Alcoy (in the movies, it’s always to accept a new job or something monumental. Can’t a girl just take a vacation or visit her parents?). Or when the two characters meet by bumping into each other and things fall (usually books, never cellphones, because, yeah, let’s be realistic here) and they have both have to pick the things up at the same time and they stare at each other for like 2 seconds max and BOOM, they realize that they’re meant for each other.

Like this ever happens in real life.

In real life, nothing short of surgery or dressing up like Lady Gaga or a deranged version of her can make people stop in their tracks and stare at you in awe. When you are about to do something evil, you do not look cool. You look nervous as hell, that is, if you’re not a convicted felon or just possibly psychotic and the life you live isn’t that of a criminal. When you realize that the one you love was right under your nose the whole time, you actually DESERVE to be left behind, you dumbass. And when you do bump into someone so hard that your stuff (God forbid your phone!) clatters to the ground, I am sure there will be a lot of cursing involved, thus officially ending the possibility of that person ever thinking you’re the ONE.

Yes, I know these are all cliches. Yes, I know how the media has totally hyped things up to make it seem like it’s only moments like these that matter and that the more discerning consumer would know the difference between fantasy and reality. The problem is that some people find themselves starting to believe in them. They wait for the right moment for everything. They wait for the right moment to fall in love, make decisions, affect change. In the back of their minds, each step has to be monumental for it to matter and has to be accompanied by the surge of their very own OST in the background.

“Walang basagan ng trip,” you say. And sure, I agree. I succumb to these fantasies more often than I care to admit (which is always). The sad thing here is that some people (meaning me, and some friends I know) begin to forget that life isn’t measured by grandiose moments. Some lose the appreciation for things that are mundane and normal. Falling in love with someone doesn’t have to happen overnight. You don’t have to be swept off your feet in sixty seconds. There is something equally romantic in falling in love slowly, getting to know someone day by day and finding out things to love, like finding the surprises at the end of a treasure hunt.

Life decisions can be made cautiously and still have the same effect. There is something to be said about people who just make decisions on the go, but you see, these people do not rely on moments. They act on impulse, because that is what their instinct tells them to do, not because they are driven by the need to make these moments movie material.

We wait for moments to happen, when life is happening around us. When we get left behind, we find ourselves wondering where our life went. In movies, there’s a beginning and an end, peppered by exciting moments of improbable events. Life isn’t like the movies. It is fatal to think so. So play that OST in your mind (mine is Beautiful Ones by Suede) and live each second, savoring each and every moment because your life is the best movie you’ll ever see and really, you wouldn’t want to miss it.

there is nothing here

not anymore, he said

grasping his chest as if in pain

as if the knowledge of lost love is sudden, surprising

i imagine his heart, a room

filled with light that isn’t  mine

it is empty and hollow

cleansed of me, of us

here, there were no scattered memories

(him, singing in my ear)

(the warmth of his breath on my neck)

like a gallery missing its pieces

my voice echoes when i say his name

filling this strange, lifeless room

temporarily

i walk with caution

lest i am met with a memory

that isn’t of me

i fight the urge to shout, to break things

understanding how futile it is

in a room as empty as this

i look at him, understanding now

and i try to hold back tears

shed in memory of memories forever lost

 

 

 

there is nothing here

not anymore, he said

Break.

…and the funny thing is, at the first sign of trouble (or gain), people you’ve given your life to leave you like your yesterday’s trash. Like you’re not even worth the trouble. And you think, “What were those years for?” “What do I do now?” And that’s when you realize, when you’re completely and utterly alone, that no one, NO ONE, is responsible for you but yourself. And that the love and care you’ve given to people, you can never expect it back. 

I wish I had a heart capable of forgetting. I wish I had the resolve to turn away from a loved one just because they failed me and hurt me. I wish, above all, that my faith in love will never go away.

One day.

One day, I saw you. It really was just the back of your head. A glimpse in the crowd, so short and fleeting. I knew, with certainty, that it was you. After all, we spent a hundred nights together, my arms around you, and all I could see was your hair, and your nape, something so secret and tender that should be hidden.

I wanted to call out to you, my heart beating so fast I thought I would throw up. But you were already lost. In hindsight, I think it was for the best. I wouldn’t have known what to say. I wouldn’t have been able to look at you and ask the weird, stunted questions people who have grown apart ask each other. “How are you?” “What have you been up to?” It just puts a certain finality to things. It makes everything real. We are no longer part of each other’s worlds.

I stood there, for a minute, for a lifetime, who knows when these things happen. All I know is that when I looked up, you still weren’t there, not like in movies, you know. And I badly wanted to cry. But I was in public, and I just wasn’t made like that. So, I turned around and walked away. And the crowd swallowed the empty spaces where we both were, as if nothing ever happened. As if we’ve never been.

Crazy.

You struggle against the encroaching darkness. An ink black substance, solid almost, viscous and thick that has covered you, cloaked you. A darkness heavy with secrets and damp with fear, with tendrils that have lives of their own, cloying, clinging, like a thousand insecurities, a thousand hurts. It is a darkness all your own.

You struggle to find the light, dim as it is. You relive every memory that has brought happiness, only to see it rot as the darkness possesses it. Each step towards the light is excruciating. It is easier to give in.

But the light is a beacon, of hope, of love, of all things beautiful and right. And you push towards it, with the darkness around you like a cloak.

And when you finally reach the light, you see it for what it really is. A mirage, a dream.

There is no escape.