Aside from my 10-year old sister trying to memorize the whole Fame Monster album of Lady Gaga, this last week of summer spent in the province is boring me. Staying in my my father's lair is like going back to the past and being treated like a five-year old kid who can't even finish his own meal. Plus, my figure suffers whenever I am here.
This is the only time I am thankful that I have cases and articles to read, so I better savor the moment. And yes, I don't have anything else to say.
Arthur: So where are my flowers? Or is she the only one to receive a token of your affections?
Bromance. Gahd. Why do they have to be cute English boys playing two of the most interesting characters in the fictional world? Well, not Nicolas Hoult hot(which is like hothothot), but there are more reasons to watch British drama now.
Armed with a boy-next-door smile and adept limbs, you trapped me in the corner. I was caught by the emotion. But I was quick enough to escape from your trap, from you. I did not even look back to say goodbye. But I secretly smiled as I walked away from you.
Truth is, you trapped me. From the very first time I learned of your existence, you got me. My mind contains every angle of you, every gesture and motion you do. My heart longs for your smile and all the emotions that come along with it.
I want to escape from the truth, for looking at you makes me crumble. It hurts to see you belong to someone else. But what can I do, I am trapped by you.
somelostboy: I might not be home this Sunday. Baka next week pa.
randomfriend: Ah, sige. Pasalubong ha?
somelostboy: Ok. Ano bang gusto mo?
somelostboy: Tangina mo. Bakit naman kita bibilhan eh ako nga walang mabili.
randomfriend: Namimili ka ba? Diba ayaw mo ng ganun.
somelostboy: Point taken. Bibilhan na kita ng pasalubong manahimik ka lang.
"The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had." The song plays in the background while I stopped my world and begun to check some demented realities.
Company awaits me in a few hours. Out of nowhere, my girl best bud in high school, Ara, wants to spend the weekend here in Metro Manila to visit her boyfriend. Unfortunately, the guy stays in a dorm. And being the nice guy bud I am, and the boredom I had for the past weeks, I offered my place.
Being the perfect friend is far and not my life goal. If asked one word that would describe me, my college barkada would most likely make use of the word bastard. But you know they would be kidding.
I am the guy that would stay at McDonalds with a drunk friend just to wait for him to sober up because his mom would kill him, but would still join him the other day in another drinking slash vomiting spree at Drew's. That one who is always appreciated because of realistic advice and ideas and would make you smile without particular reason? For some cosmic significance, I was born to be that guy.
In high school, I would spent a whole night listening to a friend over the phone discuss about the quote a crush sent her despite having a long quiz the next day, and the heartbreak that came when she found out it was also sent to another girl. Or give up some alone moment just to talk about rumours being spread in the campus that might involve someone's someone's boyfriend.
And despite my theistic non-sectarian sense of religion, I even went to a friend's praise and worship session and listen to their priest talk about finding yourself in a very sinful world and watch a play that abominates homosexuality. But I went anyways, because I am nice like that.
But the thing is, I am not tired of being characterized as being ubiquitously nice. I may bitch, but I don't mind opening the door of the restaurant for my friends or offer to accompany one to shop just to get over a major break-up.
And for all those crazy times that lead to some absurd or inane things I have to do or tolerate, for all those times I feel like some nameless hero, I just think that there are more to this world that awaits, some deserved vindication perhaps.
I saw her eyes scan my soul from head to toe before finally approaching the bookshelf where I was browsing. I reciprocated her gaze and smiled, then dropped the book I was holding. Just as I was to pick the book, she pretended to look for something on the lowest of the shelf. We acted as if our skins touching were nothing but accidental and those stare of libido were mere friendly act.
That was the prelude to a flirting that lasted half an hour inside a bookstore. If this was an ordinary day, I could have just continued with my business and indulge in my make-believe world. But this is the first time I went out of my apartment after four days, thus the appetite for some adventure.
In the end, I got a copy of Sycujo's Ilustrado and her number.
Before going to another bookstore, I wonder why I am a better catcher of girls than guys. I spent some time in the mall. The image of the lady already a blur to my memory.
As soon as I got home, I checked my computer, hoping to see an email from him that could probably break this life's sullen monotony. There was none. I checked his Facebook account. There laid in front of me were wall posts from him and the guy he currently dates. Before I even had the nerve to check his photos, I closed the tab, freeing myself from possible sentient the action could bring.
I ate my dinner and pondered on how I manage to pull all sentiments inwards without bursting. The moment I sat down again to surf the internet, he came online. I resisted, but something always brings me down to him. Again, I checked his account and read older wall posts and tried to hold myself. Without chain, he still hold me, no doubt.
For the second time, I left his profile page and opened my mail.
Lying in my draft folder is the email I hope I had sent him a year ago before everything became more complicated between us. I stared at it for a while, no need to read since I have memorized every lines of the letter.
I guess, this is why I am lost, partly.
*I went to Booksale and saw some second-hand American textbook on Business Law cases. Which reminded me of school.
For three days, the farthest I got outside my apartment was the Sari-sari store at the corner of our street. If not for my cravings for some overused oils and E. coli, I would be stuck on my couch in front of the computer with occasional digestion of trashy entertainment from Kris Aquino.
School doesn't starts until the 8th, Caramoan trip postponed due to conflict with my corporate slave friends, I am currently broke and I have no reason to go back to the province up north anytime soon. Thus, leaving me with no option but to engross myself with the internet and some random chat with a friend who has employment problems.
There is nothing new, actually. For more than a year now I have lived alone, relying on my parents money and hopes that I will be that person they have always dreamed of. It was a perfect setting. I could walk around the house naked, not clean in a week and bring home any guy I want, except that I don't do that. I was the perfect example of the probinsiyano boy sent to the urbs to be what other people expects of him.
So there I was at the brink of my profanity. But this came.
One can be lost and not know exactly why he is lost, or what it means to be lost.
He can be lost when he feels preoccupied, maybe with all the current buzz of his world or simply by his daily rumblings. Or when some random guy he met on his PE class won't take the risk to be with him, thus feeling ruined, and lost. Or put simply, the most common use of the word: he had him in his hands and the next day gone.
I may be lost. I am not sure. But let this blog be an avenue towards redemption.