Post 604

Tonight’s going to be the 90th night since I told myself that I’ve found the one I’ve been looking for. We’re still very much together, despite the conflicts between me and my family about our relationship. There’s a little buzz here and there, but the sound of my heartbeat remains louder. And even if going the distance sometimes mean tiredness and unexpected house parties, I’m still on the ride. There’s not even the thought of letting go.

I realize how much it means to have someone to hold, someone who’ll remember you in the morning and put you to bed at night. Someone who’ll be there, waiting for you to arrive from a journey of miles just to be together again. We may not be in the perfect situation, and we’re not always in wonderland, but even in the midst of confusion and weakness, we hold on. Even if it’s not everything that I want sometimes, I know I’d still go for it the next day. And that kind of endurance and willingness to stay is what matters. Love. It’s not just about sleeping together. It’s not about mercy or staying for the sake of promises. It’s the feeling you get when you hold this person close and feel a sense of possession and being possessed.

Randomness turns to magic then bounces back to being ordinary, but Love manages to give it meaning, something more beautiful than the face of magic: nature.

House Flies

Last night, I intentionally slept on the couch, for a few reasons: 1) so Manang wouldn’t have to pickup my mattress 2) so I wouldn’t have to feel an empty half of the bed 3) so there would not be a mattress laid on the floor for the next two days. I spend my entire life in the living room, such that I’d really miss our house after being away for three days and living at Kevin’s house with a bunch of people. I’d miss the yellow haze of our morning sun, blending with the yellow ceiling, glowing over the entire white marble-floored house, a photograph of a faded ancestral past. I’d miss the silence and the emptiness, the brightness and the width of the room, a claustrophobic-friendly space. Although I’m a gloomy person who faints at random moments, I still love this yellow couch, this yellow morning, this canary house. Though only after waking up in the morning do I come to realize that I love our house.

It’s not like I hate this house so I intended to escape and runaway, thus gone for three days. Fucking no. I had to fix a lot of stuff at school, such as my clearance forms and applications for transfer and the stupid STFAP. It had to take me two days because at Day 1, the Department Chair was out and had signed my clearance form only a day after. It was at Day 2 when I could gather the papers for STFAP and submitted them. I was just being practical and saving money and energy and time, so I didn’t take several trips back and forth. For Day 3, Kevin asked me to stay. And it was at Day 3 when I finally received a message from mom, “Is that the kind of life your flesh is thirsty for?”

I wanted to defend myself, but explaining has gotten so tiring and boring. It appears that I am the most selfish, wicked, person on earth again for staying in at my guy’s house. It’s not like we went club hopping or smoking pot or doing drugs or performing orgies or sleeping under bridges. Though yes, there was a little alcohol and some fun, it was still far from dangerous. At some point there was a house party, but I just curled up in bed. Anyway it was only a bunch of people watching tv and dancing Dougie.

Maybe I’m the worst person on earth for trying to stay outdoors on a summer vacation. Maybe I’m the worst person on earth for making love in my guy’s bed. Maybe I’m the worst person on earth for being away from home for three days. Maybe I’m the worst person on earth because I’m seventeen. Maybe I’m simply the worst person on earth. You just see the closed door and hear the party music coming from inside.

I want to come back to that old feeling, where you know the silence of the moment says so much more than so many words. I want to be alone with you, doing no more than looking into your eyes and touching the tips of your fingers. Touch my soul through my skin, burn me from within. Then let me lay my head on your chest, feeling only sanctuary, having no desire to move further southward; let me be passionless as dead grass. And maybe this will save me and clear the nightmares off my head.

Sometimes, Kevin jokingly asks me if this is just going to be a summer thing. Then I seriously tell him that this isn’t. But maybe some things would also be lost at the end of May: the long nights, the plain days, the warm afternoons, the unfelt dawns. Definitely, we would be more platonic, and desire and passion diving in too much in the way solemnity would be less worried for. But of course we’ll keep our relationship steady and strong, whatever the weather or the situation.

Love, for me, isn’t the desire to sleep with someone or to fall into their arms. Love is the silent happiness that you hear above all noise, the rainbow at the end of every storm, the desire to give without getting any in return, the safest answer to every how and why. Maybe I’m misunderstood for a bunch of valid reasons, but the hell with it. I’m here in the middle of somewhere far from first base, and Love has taken me here. The rest of the path, I’d have to figure for myself.

POST 602

Hey guys. I just woke up ten minutes ago and remembered that I’m the author of the most awesome teen blog in the world, so let’s get this post rolling.

Our plan to spend two days and two nights and one morning together was successfully carried out last May 18. Against all odds I kissed goodbye my limp grandmother who didn’t get the chance to see my sling bag stuffed with clothes good for three days. It was Kevin’s Dad’s birthday that was my primary reason for going out of the house, but it was the hope of seeing him once more that kept me sane enough to live through that day. Nevertheless, I journeyed like Ulysses back to his home in Quezon City, and like Boo I ran down the flight of stairs at the train station to eagerly meet Kevin’s embrace. Life has begun again. And even if the previous days had been rough (my going to his house has become an issue to my nosy relatives, plus we had a little misunderstanding in the morning after spending the whole night on the phone) we still managed to stay ourselves and take care of the house with just me and him and the day before us.

*NP: John Mayer, Your Body Is A Wonderland*

MEET AND GREET

I happen to wear the wrong kinds of clothes (this time my three sizes oversized Engineering shirt) each time I meet his family, but when meeting future in-laws, the last thing that should matter is your clothes. Take it from me. What matters is that outgoing spirit to say out “Hi Daddy!” to his father, to take the hands of each of his aunts and uncles (names memorized) and do the Mano Po tradition, to devour (like a pregnant woman) over a roll of mocha cake, chocolate cake, and pancit until his mother gets laughing. It was as good as I could hope for, and I still managed to pull out a little joke when one of his uncles asked:

Uncle: “Saan kayo nagkakilala?”
Me: “Sa internet po. High-tech po kami eh, ginoo-google lang ang pangalan ng soulmate.”

Okay maybe that wasn’t as cute as I’d intended, but let’s get on with the story. So his mom wanted us to spend the night beside a hospital bed, but Kevin refused since we weren’t prepared for a sweaty night at the UST Hospital. I wanted to stay for the sake of pleasing his mom, who looks very stern and cold as opposed to his father, but because Kevin refused, I didn’t stay. We took a cab and reached home around 1 am, settled ourselves for the night, watched The Onion Movie, slept together and woke up at 11 am to my mother’s text message: “PLEASE COME HOME YOU ANNOYING PIECE OF FUCK” (heavily rephrased)

SATURDAY

I forgot to bring my phone to the hospital so I wasn’t able to inform my parents about my whereabouts. So with my last two pesos of prepaid credit, I gave my excuses and indirectly said that I’ll be home the next day. She didn’t curse me but she still begged me to come home. Oh that was just mom, so let’s sleep again. (haha.) We spent the entire Saturday in bed, watching movies and painting dolphins in the air and sleeping and waking up at midnight without a clue what the hour is. Like always, there were people in the living room, separated by a sheet of curtain that was our fine line between exhibitionist and passionate. We were lost in our own world, a little world of whispers and loving and looking into each other’s eyes like we’ve never seen them before. And I told him I can stay that way forever, just me and him in this bed without ever getting hungry or needing to go to the bathroom. I just adore him all the more whenever I get the chance to glimpse at him. And right now, in my own empty bed I’m missing him and the way we hold each other, the way I hold him and feel for myself that he is mine, that we’re one flesh and spirit.

I long for that day when I wouldn’t have to be teary eyed, on a Sunday morning when I finally have to say goodbye. But we manage to stay strong and sweet even when apart, fueled by the promise of meeting again sometime soon. And we’ll see each other again on Thursday, as I settle my transfer to Art Studies. We’re counting months and smoothly going over the preliminary struggles in a relationship, but we’re ever strong as an iron fortress. I love you Loves!