my three cents worth. » gugmang giatay (love hurts)

i don’t know where this came from.

phaquer — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 23:20:08 +0000

Last Sunday afternoon, I attended my first cousin’s wedding ceremony. And although it was a simple wedding, from the marriage rites down to the reception, I still found myself smiling — because aside from seeing family members that I have not seen for the longest time there, I realized on that day that at my age right now, I ought to consider marriage too.

I am 26, after all.

But the funny thing was, I discarded that very thought just seconds after it had crossed my mind.

I remember having been so convinced back then that weddings are just social constructs, and that through time, they have devolved into mere shadows of their once unquestionable stature in society.

I am of the opinion that not all people are custom-fitted for marriage, and if they do not subscribe to this traditionalist take on concretizing the love that two people feel for each other before God and their loved ones, they should not be subjected to general scorn and ostracism.

Perhaps I say this now because I have not met my someone yet, or that my mundane musings have yet to be tempered by my attraction to someone that I can honestly guarantee my heart and forever to.

As I was looking at my cousin dance gracefully with her husband to be, her eyes were smiling even when her tears were insuppressible. As she danced delicately to the tempo of the music, with her heart showing right through her smile, I suddenly realized:

I know I have the tendency to overanalyse and complicate the simplest of things, but deep down, I know that when that person that I am destined to be with comes along, I would gladly discard all my constructed rationalizations about love and just stride off to the sunset where we will be spending the rest of our lives loving and loving each other more.

because i need to brush up on subtlety, i’m sorry.

phaquer — Tue, 24 Aug 2010 05:26:35 +0000

It’s a long, hopeless spell.

when colors burn into ashes.

and red fades into gray.

it’s when petals wilt.

and wither.

even when there are mornings.

and the rain.

whistles.

for it.

to blossom.

it’s devouring the poison.

and hoping.

that the monotony gives way.

to psychedelic escapes.

and momentary departures.

it’s when the insuppressible lets loose.

as it.

subsists in the empty crevices.

or the poisoned words.

and the stupor of a dreary.

existentially-angsty.

existence.

or not even.

it’s when marlboro lights.

is the only stick that sticks.

and wishing.

wishful thinking.

that as the smoke swirls in sad and nauseating circles.

and dissipates.

ascends.

so would this dry, dry spell.

when colors burn into ashes.

and red fades into gray.

* for you who might not talk to me ever again.

post-mortem.

phaquer — Mon, 23 Aug 2010 10:00:21 +0000

before you even try to cry and tell me that you will reject my words even before they are released from my lips, please do not.

look in my eyes and tell me that this is not the right thing to do.

look at my exhaused eyes and, for once, expunge your system of your glamourised perception of me, and see me, or at least try to, as i really am. or better yet, see us as we really are.

yes, i like you. but like is not love. and love will never be like. we exist in our world together. but this existence has the foreboding of an abrupt rupture – or of gradual departure; the latter worse than the former.

i look at your hands firmly locked in mine, and i see you smile, but is this all there is to it?

right at the onset, i have told you of my misgivings, my shortcomings, my paranoia, my brokenness. you have seen me stripped of that facade: you saw me at my worst.

thank you for trying. believe me, i mean it when i say that.

but ever since my vulnerability has taught me that things are not always as they seem, and that i am better off making sure my self-respect is kept intact, so must i guard my sanity from leaving me. i need to sift through what is genuine in the long haul, and liberate myself from the deception of short-term bliss.

i love you, believe me i do.

it’s just that. love. is. never. always. easy. and. loving. me. is. never. easy.

i look at you now, and i only see a shadow of who you used to be. in my mind.

i look at your eyes, and my heart instinctively closes itself because it sees what my mind chooses not to see.

i firmly intertwine my fingers with yours, but it does not stay long, because its clairvoyance is almost always certain: it prepares my fragile hands to pick up my broken pieces after our inevitable demise; it readies my heart for mourning.

adieu stranger.

and thank you for making me believe that i can be loved.

single, yes. complete, yes.

phaquer — Mon, 16 Aug 2010 15:33:42 +0000

‘why are you still single?’

then the look of pity cushioned by a gesture of concern.

‘what’s wrong?’

clyde (deep inside): first level of rebuttal, putang ina ka.

second level, i don’t need your pity, and you can pepper someone else with your concern –

because on the third level of rebuttal, i am perfectly happy with my current state, and no amount of pitiful gestures can make me feel miserable because i know myself, i know what i currently need, and i am not desperate.

gets?

one thing that i like about being in dumaguete is that everyone looks out for everyone. concern is everywhere, and i literally mean everywhere: it’s in school, in church, in family, and in all other social circles that are really just intertwined with each other. but this supportive social base is unfortunately, also the reason why we have to entertain the annoying snootiness of those who are convinced that they have the right to intrude just because they are part of any of your social circles.

first level of rebuttal: why is it so discomforting for these people when one’s status message says single?

let me substantiate this claim.

being in a relationship, mind you, is not something as trivial as choosing who your top friends in facebook will be, or deciding what’s going to be your pulutan for cali-tan (cali and tanduay, try it, it’s love). relationships are complex — almost as complex as love (if ever it exists), and so leeway should be given to those who:

a. have been burned before

b. are still unsure of the right person or,

c. just don’t feel like being in a relationship.

because personally, i believe that no one can really predict the path of our emotions. i remember, with fondness now but with contempt when it happened, how it took me two years to forget a surreal conversation that i had with a complete stranger in a bus ride in manila 5-ish years ago, whereas a relationship that lasted for seven months was nowhere near bothering me a week after it ended.

this, for me, shows the extent of its unpredictability, its complexity notwithstanding.

society, in all honesty, is actually very imposing with its standards of what is a happy life and conversely, what constitutes its miserable half. but these standards are almost always arrived at consensually, even if this concession is not really absolute and is thus, questionable still.

this is probably the reason why society thinks this way:

happiness = relationship.

and moreover, this is why those who are subsumed under this line of thinking feel helpless, hapless, and desperate when they are without a partner — they instantly feel that their temporary demise is a foreboding of things to come: a life that is sad and empty — that they will inevitably be alone and miserable. which is why they look for relationships even when it is clearly for the wrong reasons. they try to fill the void by feigning affection towards those who are presumably as desperate as them.

first level of clarification: you are not as unsell-able as you think you are — you just need to wait for the right moment and the right person. (but this has to be tempered by how you assess yourself physically, just kidding)

second level of clarification: screw societal pressure — they don’t get to fix your heart once it gets broken by a relationship that was not supposed to happen to begin with.

‘why are you still single?’

there’s that pity again. there’s that futile attempt at hiding their concern.

and here is my rebuttal again:

putang ina ka.

for dawn, who is beautiful.

claudiopoi — Mon, 24 May 2010 12:40:59 +0000

there is no tragedy far worse than the feeling of being unloved — or more damning, the feeling of being unlovable –

this was what i had gathered from my friend dawn in one of our recent conversations, after
we have lost touch for quite some time –

dawn was a blockmate in up, and after having graduated with honors in college, off she went
to singapore where, apart from being suddenly immersed in a new and foreign culture, she had
her first boyfriend — a singaporean whom she believed was her first true love.

‘ang hirap dito clyde.. hindi lang yung buhay ang fast-paced, pati yung love life, parang fast-tracked na rin’

and it seemed that while we were conversing, her pain was as palpable as that of a wound that had been sustained for the first time — although hers was, from what i felt, deliberately inflicted — and it had cut her deep.

dawn, who was the sweetest and most thoughtful blockmate that i had (she did not miss any
birthdays, and was always with a present), suddenly appeared cold, broken and lifeless
to me — because unfortunately, her first relationship was with a foreign man who was neither warm, thoughtful, nor caring — and after she took pains to understanding him, and tried changing her ways just to make the relationship work, he had left her without a proper goodbye — and had moved on to someone new.

i have always been awful at giving advice, and i know i do not always have the most consoling words when a friend needs rescuing — but this time, comforting words came naturally to me. perhaps it was because i have been in a similar situation before, or i knew that heartaches were the hardest to cure — but i felt her pain at that instant — and i knew that no human being deserved to be treated that way.
‘move on.. you are a good catch.. and i’m sure you will find someone new..’

it’s not that.. madami namang nanliligaw.. but i choose to move away, because i feel like they will shatter me to pieces again if i let them near my heart..’

it got me thinking — some of us can be most cruel, without us even knowing that the pain inflicted may be irreversible — that people, after having been tormented and broken, will sometimes choose to be distant and detached — all for preserving their self-worth and protecting what self-respect they have left.

and although i did not see her crying before me, her words bore the wounds of a
fragile heart that was so carelessly shattered into pieces –

i knew she just needed to heal — but i was seriously afraid that it might take a long time for her to be her old self again — because apart from not having the same support system that she had back here, she had blissfully submitted that perhaps, it is inevitable that the coldness of her fast-paced lifestyle would get to her — might as well not fight the steady onslaught of coldness that was fast seeping into her sensibilities.

but i mourn for her — and for everyone else who had to go through such a painful journey –
because no one deserves to feel cursed, nor be convinced that they are unlovable –
it’s just that some people are innately evil, and sometimes, they prey upon people who are capable of so much affection — as for my friend dawn, i know she will be okay — but for now, i will just let her be and let her heal — because i know that after everything subsides –

she will once again see how beautiful she really is.

banban ako.

phaquer — Fri, 14 May 2010 15:32:26 +0000

friends, because im still new to blogging, i have a hard time establishing links — hehe, i will figure this out (sooner than later, i hope) — and as soon as my better instincts would have taught me how, i will populate my blogroll box. lol

my rizal boulevard rendezvous.

claudiopoi — Sat, 17 Apr 2010 14:03:47 +0000

*this is actually a repost from an article that i wrote that was published in the philippine daily inquirer youngblood section dated december 01, 2007

every morning when I was about seven or eight years old, my parents would take us all to Rizal boulevard for early morning walks.

as they would briskly walk along the endless stretch of cemented pavement, my siblings and I would try, with little success, to keep up with their pace while pointing out the differences of those who also take refuge in the boulevard’s allure – we would see old people who barely move an inch every time they walk, athletes with earphones who breeze past everyone else, dog-walkers who are wary of those who are afraid of dogs, and lovers who seem oblivious to everyone else around them.

back then, this was the early morning ritual which jumpstarted the day and, young as I was, I did not complain each time my father had to shrug us off from slumber and make us prepare for our early morning itinerary. i remember that as a young boy, I was enthralled and totally captivated by the beauty of the first few streaks of light of the breaking sunrise and the cool gusts of wind which greeted us each time.

the rizal boulevard beckoned everyone to momentarily escape from the trappings of a stress-filled day and bask in the soothing monotony of rural living. the chilling morning breeze, which permeated with the raw scent of early morning dew, was always relaxing to my senses, making me face the new day with much zest and optimism.

when I had my first girlfriend in high school, I remember that the boulevard was the first place that we went to for our first date. no matter how young we were during that time, we were convinced that what we had was for keeps – that no matter how cheesy or cliché, we would inevitably spend the rest of our lives together.

the boulevard then, provided for the most picturesque setting to a love story that was slowly unfolding. I remember the golden silhouette of dusk hovering over our heads while we talked about how our life together would be. she would be a doctor and I would be a lawyer in Paris or new zealand perhaps and, back then, we sincerely believed that this was our absolute destiny. perhaps it was the unraveling of newfound emotion which led us to believe in the folly of a perfect relationship, or probably, it was the boulevard’s touch which made us hopeless romantics and believe that our love would transcend the physical plane – that what we had was ethereal and, more than that, magical.

it did not, however, take a long time for me to realize that we were just blinded by the rawness of our emotions. we were broken, as sooner or later we would have been, to the simplistic truth that the ideal partner does not exist. after successive bouts of petty quarreling and endless disputes over the most trivial things, we finally decided to end our relationship.

fresh from the bitter pangs of my first heart break, I invited my close friends to a drinking spree in the boulevard. save for the momentary euphoria of alcohol intoxication, the boulevard then, was cold and lifeless for me. it conformed to my cluttered state of mind, and the dizzying sodium lights only exacerbated the dreadful feeling of desperation that brewed inside me.

the solace of our young dreams and unadulterated love was also where I learned that life and love are never constant – and that we are oftentimes broken rather than complete.

just November of last year, the boulevard was where I spent most of my pensive moments. much has happened since that fateful night of heavy drinking when a group of young boys foolishly believed that Tanduay 65 was a comforting respite from the onslaught of solitary pain.

this time, i had been broken to the world and to the reality that life is what you make of it.

as I basked in the poetic allure of the last few traces of light giving in to darkness, I was contemplating what I had done with my life: i had squandered three years of it in a university which taught me that although academic and personal freedom are essential, too much of the latter can actually make you lose your focus and direction in life. the boulevard was my place of consolation when I felt that my life had lost all semblance of meaning; it was where I chose to collect the fragments of my broken self and consolidate my resolve to start anew. it was where I realized that change is never too late, and that yes, failures exist to solidify our perception of how our lives ought to be.

the boulevard for me, as with everyone else who grew up in this city, has been a constant source of comfort. people come here to take a breather from the intricacies of everyday living, they celebrate happy occasions with family members and friends, and at times, it is where love stories unfold.

but more than anything else, it taught me that although life is a constant struggle, the turbulence is never permanent – that although we occasionally succumb to the complexities of living, it merely serves to redefine our perspectives and make us see the grander scheme of things.

that although life and love are beseeched with constant torment, we can, through our own ways, make ourselves complete – because life, as with everything else, goes on.