When I woke up this morning, after thinking of heating two large cups of leftover coffees last night, l browsed my inbox and read something appallingly stupid, or stupidly appalling. A student-friend of mine forwarded a text message and it goes a little something like this:
Types of boyfriends:
[Unsettling and idiotic part deleted for the sake of sanity and purity of my blog and all]
Forward this to your friends to give their boyfriend a lesson (something to this effect).
Reflexively, I deleted the darn message. For those of you who know me well enough, I really find stupidity offensive, and the last thing that I want to see after waking up with our pitbull puppy beside me is some smart-ass, utterly stupid quote implying their backward view of how non-marital romantic relationships should go.
The content of the message was a list of 5 offenses that boyfriends allegedly commit on a usual basis. The author of that text was obviously painfully preoccupied with the task of making her boyfriend's life miserable by making herself the guy's ONLY preoccupation. This is not a reality check, this is truth revealed: Unless you're a respirator, dialysis machine or a pacemaker, YOU CANNOT BE THE FREAKING LIFE OF SOMEONE ELSE. When I was in elementary, I watched this movie with Goofy and his teenage son. As you all know, teenagers almost always antagonize their parents for a myriad of things. The enlightening conversation was:
Son: Can't you see, Dad? I have my own life now!
Goofy: I know! I just want to be a part of it. [Silence ensued]
To those people who think that they are the life of their significant other vice-versa, get lost. If what you believe and what you are doing implies that your life is not your own, or God's, you might as well inject concentrated potassium chloride into your jugular vein. Go hurl yourself to the mouth of mount Krakatoa and burn, after transferring half of your property to me, and half to charity. You're wasting good, water, air, space. You're wasting not only your time, but other people's too, by dragging them into your black hole of low self esteem instead of letting them live their lives fruitfully, free from your pathetic excuse of a life. Get a life, or else be eaten by crows.
When your boyfriend doesn't show up to your sudden and unnanounced date, with you assuming that he's an on-call doctor when it comes to you, which he is not, and instead plays basketball with his peers, do not get angry. You have every right to get annoyed, but not nagging. You are not his mother. He was certain that this day he's free and decides to come to that game with his friends, knowing all too well that his social circle is diminishing unabatedly because of YOU. So he's giving himself and his friends a break, to catch up with one another, to play ball, to be with them. Because after all, they are his friends, his support system, and they were there, presumably a decade ago, before you got into the picture. Go get a life.
When he's texting with another girl, it might be that, duh, he's got a cellphone and enough credit. It doesn't mean that he's flirting, it might be that someone is flirting with him, but before you are certain that he's reciprocating it, do not flood the Yangtze with your tears. Come to think of it, you haven't made the wrong choice, because when someone is trying to flirt with him, its a validation that he is indeed a fun guy to be with. Or just plain good-looking. You said you trust him, right? So show it. Go get a life.
When someone tells you that you are their life, back off and leave that person. Because that entails that unreasonable demands would ensue, demands that are uncalled for, dumbfounding, vicious and inhuman. Love is a wonderful and meaningful thing, and meaning is derived from wanting something even if you don't need it. And by this I mean significant wanting, not capricious ones.
Love is liberating, not restrictive. Rid yourself of old conventions about such things and seek and experience the real deal.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Mimosa Pudica
I'm not really known for my rarely awkward moments, since I'm more known as someone who does that to other people. My nasty tendencies towards other people's object of fondness, and by this I mean those that are stupidly trivial and conventional, makes me shameless and other people shameful. I'm not really sure if I treasure these rare moments, yet I am weirdly fond of them. To wit: It is any day after having my daily workout, with friends opting for many drinks because of someone leaving two days away, and so calls for decent pulutan in the form of barbecued pork belly.
Since I am the most accustomed to cooking, we set off to buy meats and liquor on a nearby mall. There is some protest regarding the bought meat, prompting the following exchange:
Guy-with-the-Gs: Nakabili na kayo ng liempo?
Me: Oo.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Sarap nyan, yung may marinate na.
Me: Hindi yung may marinate ang binili ko. 230 yung meron eh, 180 lang to.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ha?! Eh magkano lang ba ang difference nun?
Me: Cincuenta. Marami na tayong mabibili nun, exempla garati: isang 2 liter na soda.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ang korni naman eh, nagtitipid masyado. Nabili mo na ba?
Me: Oo nga.
Guy-with-the-Gs: OK na yan.
Me: All the more reason this debate is pointless.
We leave the grocery, heading out to our friend's car outside. With approximately 6 meters before the door, someone comes out of a boutique with, presumably, her sister. Wearing a sleeveless shirt whose color is somewhat in the shade of yellow, her long hair tumbling down her shoulders, the girl looks at me. We lock eyes for about 3 seconds, then she smiles, waves. Since I was cut short on laughing on a friend's joke that time, I was already smiling, conveying a see-I'm-happy-to-be-with disposition. I waved back, exchanged greetings with her and continued to walk. The name's Kimi.
My friends were a little excited and asked me how old the pretty girl is. They always reflexively ask me that whenever they see me talking, greeting, dancing, or even just chatting in YM with someone pretty, since it's an inside joke within us, because of my profession. I told them she's 16, and someone almost immediately said something apalling: "Penge naman ako nun!" I just rolled my eyes and answered inquiries about what school, how and why we know each other blahblah.
Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeing, I recognized something: I'm wearing crappy clothes, those that are good for playing basketball in the street, but inappropriate for malls.
This is not something new. I usually wear shorts and t-shirts, especially when I go out to the gym. I always wear these things, after thinking what to wear, then remembering not to think what to wear, wearing what I have worn have I not thought of thinking what to wear, the look of no look at all. What's new is me being conscious about it. I felt awkward, having to meet her, at the mall, with me like I've been in the public market.
I don't know if this is a case of me being awkward in front of someone pretty. But then again its not really a bad thing, the girl's darn pretty by objective standards anyway.
Tinatablan na ba ako ng hiya ngayon sa mga hindi naman nakakahiyang bagay?
But then again, maybe that's not the case, because I'm still brutally honest. If I weren't, I wouldn't be here, writing this post.
Since I am the most accustomed to cooking, we set off to buy meats and liquor on a nearby mall. There is some protest regarding the bought meat, prompting the following exchange:
Guy-with-the-Gs: Nakabili na kayo ng liempo?
Me: Oo.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Sarap nyan, yung may marinate na.
Me: Hindi yung may marinate ang binili ko. 230 yung meron eh, 180 lang to.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ha?! Eh magkano lang ba ang difference nun?
Me: Cincuenta. Marami na tayong mabibili nun, exempla garati: isang 2 liter na soda.
Guy-with-the-Gs: Ang korni naman eh, nagtitipid masyado. Nabili mo na ba?
Me: Oo nga.
Guy-with-the-Gs: OK na yan.
Me: All the more reason this debate is pointless.
We leave the grocery, heading out to our friend's car outside. With approximately 6 meters before the door, someone comes out of a boutique with, presumably, her sister. Wearing a sleeveless shirt whose color is somewhat in the shade of yellow, her long hair tumbling down her shoulders, the girl looks at me. We lock eyes for about 3 seconds, then she smiles, waves. Since I was cut short on laughing on a friend's joke that time, I was already smiling, conveying a see-I'm-happy-to-be-with disposition. I waved back, exchanged greetings with her and continued to walk. The name's Kimi.
My friends were a little excited and asked me how old the pretty girl is. They always reflexively ask me that whenever they see me talking, greeting, dancing, or even just chatting in YM with someone pretty, since it's an inside joke within us, because of my profession. I told them she's 16, and someone almost immediately said something apalling: "Penge naman ako nun!" I just rolled my eyes and answered inquiries about what school, how and why we know each other blahblah.
Then, in a flash of pure truth-seeing, I recognized something: I'm wearing crappy clothes, those that are good for playing basketball in the street, but inappropriate for malls.
This is not something new. I usually wear shorts and t-shirts, especially when I go out to the gym. I always wear these things, after thinking what to wear, then remembering not to think what to wear, wearing what I have worn have I not thought of thinking what to wear, the look of no look at all. What's new is me being conscious about it. I felt awkward, having to meet her, at the mall, with me like I've been in the public market.
I don't know if this is a case of me being awkward in front of someone pretty. But then again its not really a bad thing, the girl's darn pretty by objective standards anyway.
Tinatablan na ba ako ng hiya ngayon sa mga hindi naman nakakahiyang bagay?
But then again, maybe that's not the case, because I'm still brutally honest. If I weren't, I wouldn't be here, writing this post.
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