them lament of a wounded soul…

what is it about love and everything that has to do with it, that we human beings are addicted to?

is it the avoidance of the essence of “no man is an island?”

is it the endorphins?

is it because we are qualified as a complete entity only when we love and are loved?

is it for all the reasons all the religions in the world teach each one of us?

is it our ultimate need?

is it our sole reason for existence?

or is it because they say love makes the world go ’round, and we fear that when we no longer love, the world will just stop?

as of the creation of this article, i may have gone through all the stages of this four-letter word: from when i was in first grade and was stolen a kiss from by a classmate named apolonio mendoza, up to this moment, this very moment, when i feel that all the meaning of love is lost to me.

crush, infatuation, adoration, admiration, ardour, attachment, affection, inclination, fixation, being in love, passion, lust and obssession. all these, i have felt.

i went through each possible emotion connected to all these words. i fell, was hurt, was ecstatic, was everything.  more often than not, though, i was more of hurt. but then again, just what is love without pain? what is ecstasy without anguish?

at times, i count all the times and all the ways i have abused love and been abused by it, and i weep, because i am so bad with numbers, and because it hurts my sensibilities that i allowed myself to be unwise about matters of the heart. a friend of mine once said, i should not be too careless about my heart because i only have one. i looked at him squarely, and told him that though i have only one pumping veined muscle in my chest, i have learned how to compartmentalize it so that i could allocate room for every single person who dares occupy it. i can’t remember if his nose bled, or his brain flatlined whilst listening to me.

but you know, i was wrong. i thought i was so smart that i could do what i said i could do. as it turned out, all of these people took up all the space, there was almost none left for me and for anyone else. what made it worse was the fact that after i allowed them access to my heart, they slammed the door at my face, leaving me outside wallowing in the rain. left with an immutable yearning to be permitted into MY heart. yet, i fear i have failed.

there are days, and the dreaded nights, when i would feel so lonely and desolated, with nothing in mind but to have someone with whom i can share my misery. someone who would want the same thing, to be with me just one night, when no strings exist, no promises will be made, no sweet words will be spoken. i would crave for the company of a stranger who will titillate my mind and my senses, a stranger who will be deeply known and intimate to me only for several hours, but is willing to go back to being a stranger again when the morning comes.

yes, i ask the gods for this, cry tears at times so that they would hear me. BUT, when they do listen to me, and grant me my wish, give me an opportunity to share a night with a stranger, thunder would explode in my head waking me up from my stupor, bringing me back into my senses, reminding me of my Philophobia.

is this a withdrawal symptom from my addiction to love?

is my brain telling me that it has given up on my heart and will no longer support it?

or does it mean that i should really withdraw from it, just like my withdrawal from alcohol?

will the world stop?

plagiarized truth…

Fear of Intimacy - the wounded heart of codependency

“Fear of intimacy is at the heart of codependency.  We have a fear of intimacy because we have a fear of abandonment, betrayal, and rejection.  We have a these fears because we were wounded in early childhood - we experienced feeling emotionally abandoned, rejected, and betrayed by our parents because they were wounded.  They did not have healthy relationship with self - they were codependents who abandoned and betrayed themselves - and their behavior caused us to feel unworthy and unlovable.”"As children we were incapable of seeing ourselves as separate from our families - of knowing we had worth as individuals apart from our families.  The reality we grew up in was the only reality that we knew.  We thought our parents behavior reflected our worth - the same way that our codependent parents thought our behavior was a factor in rather they had worth.”

“The simplest and most understandable way I have ever heard intimacy described is by breaking the word down:
in to me see.  That is what intimacy is about - allowing another person to see into us, sharing who we are with another person.

Sharing who we are is a problem for codependents because at the core of our relationship with ourselves is the feeling that we are somehow defective, unlovable and unworthy - because of our childhood emotional trauma.  Codependency is rooted in our ego programming from early childhood.  That programming is a defense that the ego adapted to help us survive.  It is based upon the feeling that we are shameful, that we are defective, unworthy, and unlovable.  Our codependent defense system is an attempt to protect us from being rejected, betrayed, and abandoned because of our unworthy, shameful being.

We have a fear of intimacy because we were wounded, emotionally traumatized, in early childhood - felt rejected and abandoned - and then grew up in emotional dishonest societies that did not provide tools for healing, or healthy role models to teach us how to overcome that fear.  Our wounding in early childhood caused us to feel that something was wrong with our being - toxic shame - and our societal and parental role models taught us to keep up appearances, to hide our shamefulness from others.”

“As long as we are reacting unconsciously to our childhood emotional wounds and intellectual programming, we keep repeating the patterns.  We keep getting involved with unavailable people.  We keep setting ourselves up to be abandoned, betrayed and rejected.  We keep looking for love in all the wrong places, in all the wrong faces.  Is it any wonder we have a fear of intimacy?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

source: Codependence: The Dance of Wounded Souls by Robert Burney is copyright 1995

time to soar, once more…

the interviewer asked me what my view on achievement was. it took me a full five seconds to digest the question and think of what sushmita sen would have answered this in the miss universe.

i said, ”i believe that the real essence of achievement is pride and joy in the successful accomplishment of any goal that you set for yourself, no matter how trivial it may be.”

this answer may be the reason why one of the best contact centers in the world has offered me a contract for a job that pays enough so i can feed 15 people a day for the whole month. haha. (that was the bytch in me talking.)

but the key word here is GOAL.

last december 14th, i set a goal for myself. of course you must remember that i promised not to drink anymore. and yes, i am proud and joyful that it had been (Whoah!!!) 5 months (and going) that i  am alcohol-and-problem-free.

now that is an achievement.

on february 1st, i set another goal. to be boyfriend-and-headache-free. and yes, thank you, my heart is now resting peacefully. although i still like he-who-is-the-radio-god-of-the-visayas. haha.

goal accomplished. but until when, i can not say.

may 1st brought a new set of goals. and a whole new batch of opportunities.

i have decided to go back to the big old metro, to the city that refuses to sleep, to be the corporate whore that i think i was bred and educated to be. i burnt half of my brain cells thinking about this, so do not judge me to be fickle-minded and impulsive. as was expected, i talked to my hero/father about this, and i thought that i was going to be presented with a long sermon paired with a bucket of tears, but lo and behold, i was wrong. my dad was at first hesitant to agree, but with a little bit more prodding, he consented, saying, ” Okay yan Ga, I’m sure kaya mo na, kasi di ka na umiinom.” and with that he smiled, with that special smile that he gives to me, and i hugged him. my father is once again setting me free.

free na magsabog ng lagim sa metro.

this decision was a bit difficult to make, what with my current responsibilities in the foundation, of course the radio program, and the teeny weeny bit of help that my presence gives to my family.

and also, i am in my comfort zone. here, i will never ever go hungry, or penniless, or destitute. i am as comfortable as i can be. i don’t have to worry about the rent, the food, and i don’t have to sleep late, i don’t have to wake up early, i don’t have to do a lot of things. i have financial freedom. i have a car at my disposal.  and most importantly, my dad is here, to take care of me when i am sick, to talk to me and listen to me and comfort me when my brothers are being assholes. really, one would think that there may not be anything else i could ask for.

i could stay here forever.

but, i know myself well. and some of you pickles reading this article know me as well. i know myself enough that i can not stay here forever.

i am not a creature made for comfort. this brain fizzles and shrivels in inertness. 8 months ago, my IQ was 147. yesterday, i tested to be to an all time low of 130. i can no longer answer complex questions such as “If John is taller than Maria, and Maria is taller than Bobby, how tall is your neighbor?”

i work and perform better when in a crisis, or a time frame.  i love multi-tasking, meaning, i can read a book while playing chess, while listening to my agent’s call, while answering an online personality test. and no, i am not kidding.

i love being in a crazy environment, where i can boss around, and be bossed around. in an environment where you deal with insanity on a day to day basis. i thrive in a place where your boss gives you a deadline now that was due yesterday, where he demands that you resolve an issue even a rocket scientist can’t.

i miss not being able to sleep for more than 5 hours because your travel time is as much as your time in the office. i miss waking up at 2 am and taking a cold damn shower a minute later, and fixing my make up in the elevator on the way down to a street where i can be robbed before i get to a taxi.

i miss avaya, and conference calls, and feeling superior against americans. i miss having to time in and out, i miss over time. i miss tall buildings, and new year fireworks that you look down to instead of up.

oh god, i miss the busses. ordinary or aircon. “o, ayala, ayala, libertad, pasay, quiapo, impyerno.” even that, i miss.

i miss the cholesterol-laden kwek-kwek, the authentic california maki, mcDo and mcDon’t, krispy kreme and gloria jean’s coffee.

i miss being alone in the house, naked, smoking in the window and watching the mall of asia from my 12th floor unit.

all these were my life for 6 years, crap i know, but dear gods, how i miss it.

and that is why i am leaving this comfortable zone.

aside from these reasons, i need to be able to take care of my daughter Nylxze Danyaelabelle Alvyette, who is going to be on First Grade at St. Scholastica’s this year. I want to be able to send and pick her up from school. I want to watch her grow into being a beautiful, smart and talented lady. I want to be there when everything happens to her.

more than all these, i need to go back out on my own to be able to prove that i can do it without the previous mistakes. i need to prove to my dad that i have matured a bit. i need to prove to my mom that i can be financially responsible. i have to prove to my family that i am no longer what they know me to be.

and i need to prove to myself that i can now fly high because my talons are not gripping a bottle of tequila anymore…

suck them all up… or perish

 

i hate being fat. i am tired of being fat. i have got to stop being fat.

yes, yes, more than anyone else in this world, i understand the cliche’ “beauty is only skin deep” and “fat and black” is beautiful, which is a lot of baloney if you ask me. these things only work for queen latifah and camryn manheim, not someone inconspicuously plain like me.

okay, i love myself. that is not the point. i am not insecure, that is the point. however, i do not love the oil that clings to my body like a million leeches that are slowly sucking the life out of me. i hate the lard that my belly can produce that may butter the bread of a multitude of starving african children.

i hate not being able to move like akiko thompson. i hate not being able to wear my low, low, low jeans. i hate not being able to use my manolo blahnik gorgeous, gorgeous knee-high boots.

and most of all, i hate and i hurt being commented upon about being fat.

“hey, you sound really slim on the radio. you have such a beautiful voice!” one fan would gush in awe of my fatness. yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. i know i am fat. and i never said on the radio that i am wonder woman. you expected. your expectations disapponted you. i disappointed you.  not me.

“maa’m, parang galit kayo sa pagkain a.” or, “maa’m, sa kusina yata kayo natutulog, ah.” they would tell me this everytime they see me eating. even if it’s only a piece of carrot. or a stick of celery. or a spoonful of soup.

gods! i starve myself almost to death nowadays, but still, people think that i am gorging my fat ass like the devil.

true, this is not anyone else’s fault that i became a 154 lb monster.

 it is my fault.

 it is my fault for having an hormonal imbalance. it is my fault for having pcos (polycystic ovarian syndrome) that slowed my thyroids and my blasted metabolism to a goddamn halt.

it is my fault that i belong to a family of hedonists who considers lunch as a daily fiesta. a family who recently had 2 reunions, 1 christmas celebration and 1 new year celebration, 2 weddings in 2 months, and a food fest every sunday. yes, all these in a mere 5 months.

it is my fault that some people are so fond of me that they invite me to some of their gatherings which–as filipinos–is empty without serving a ton of food. i used to go to a business associate’s house (who happens to be my big radio fan) for a visit, and i would be welcomed with a feast fit for dignitaries and such. this would happen on a normal day. imagine, they would have a pig slaughtered for the occassion of my arrival, which happens almost every week.  gods! all my visits put together is equivalent to 36,789,699 calories, most of which is still in my thighs. yes, this is my fault.

it is my fault that i have a job that allows me to have limited activity. the most strenous part of my day is when i take a bath. thanks to my job sitting behind a desk all the time.

it is my fault that the world views fat people as hedonistic, lazy and ugly creatures not worthy of a “weet-weew” from anybody.

……i pause to wipe my tears…..

in my life, there could be no one else who has an open mind on things more than me. i strive to look at things twice and at both sides. that is not vanity, that is just the way that i have developed. and looking at both sides mean that i have to understand that this world and its people has certain expectations and beliefs that being fat is not beautiful.

 it might be because it is not healthy. which is true. according to recent studies conducted on mice, consuming less calories and lower body fat percentage increases the mice’s life expectancy. and increases their production of endorphins, which means they are generally happier. lucky bloody mice. i wish i could have been a lab rat then.

it might also be because out of 100 models, only 1 is acceptably fat. really. we all know that all models are thin. probably becaue being a thin model would mean lesser amount of cloth used for a dress that is barely there anyway. more revenues for bloody valentino and ralph lauren. yeah. i think that is really why models are like stick figures. one yard of fabric draped over them costs less than a dollar, but hey, i will sell this for $7000. haha!

one other thing that makes the world’s view on fat people dim, is… SEX.

let us face it, in men, as you go bigger, ’something’ there becomes smaller.

come on, i wasted a considerable 4 years of my life with 2 fat men to know that it is true. which, does not make it true for everyone, though (disclaimer, haha). in my limited experience of having gone to bed with about 40 people, oh yes, the bigger they are, the smaller it is. which in turn, makes it more difficult to do an overrated 69, of a hump-from-the-back, or some 56 other sexual positions.

this is so much truer in women. woe unto the guy who has a fat partner. who likes being on top. and who likes sitting on the face.

need i say more?

again, being fat is not that cool.

so back to my misery. that i fueled by my own words to depression.

i look at myself and i see a woman who is fat, and hates it. beautiful, but fat. talented, but fat. street-smart and intelligent, but fat. has gorgeous,gorgeous hair, but fat. can kick your ass in 5 seconds, but fat.

therefore, this is a cause for action. i have to stop being fat. i have never acknowledged this truth not until today, when i got so fat my kidneys almost killed me in pain. my sister in law A vowed to start a new trick (i hate saying diet) with me. the plan is, abstinence from food for 5 days, only warm water or tea is allowed. this is called fasting, i told her. and i double checked on my medical resources to make sure this will not kill my sexual functions. don’t worry, dahling, it won’t.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fasting

after the first five days, we will fast alternately, which means, fast today, gorge tomorrow. starve today, gluttony tomorrow.

and i am so up to this challenge. i managed to stay off of alcohol ever since december 13, (yey! 5 months now) thru sheer strength of will, so i know that i can do this too.

so dahlin, would you be an angel and whisper a little prayer for my fat to get all sucked up?

sino nga ba ang panalo at talo???

strength is not when we win, or when we are the best, but when we flounder, and still strive to move forward with dignity, grace, and a kick-ass smile… :)  keep on kicking ass, my friend.
 

yan ang mga salita na binitawan ko para sa isang kaibigan kani-kanina lamang. oo nga. minsan naman, tama ako.

pagdating sa pagkatalo, ay, expert ako dyan. pwede na nga akong magsulat ng libro tungkol sa pagiging talunan eh. pwede na rin akong i guest ni oprah bilang guest consultant about the art of losing.

talo=maxine. ganyan. dati. sometimes na lang ngayon. alam kong madalas akong matalo pero di pa rin ako nagpapatalo. patuloy pa rin akong lumalaban sa giyera ng buhay.

nung nasa elementarya pa lang ako, lagi akong panalo sa school. halos isangla na nga ako ng nanay ko sa junk shop dahil sa dami ng medalyang nakasabit sakin tuwing recognition day. hindi nga naman araw-araw na may makikilala kang bata na grade IV pa lang ay pinipilit na nilang mag 4th year high school. panalo, di ba?

pero talo ako sa maraming bagay. nag iisang babae pa lang ako noon na anak ng mga magulang ko. panalo ako pagdating sa tatay ko. ako yung ultimate papa’s girl, ika nga. pero sa nanay ko, talo ako. as in. tatlo ang kapatid kong lalaki. na pare-parehong paborito ng nanay ko. sila may laruan, ako wala. ngayon ko nga lang naisip na mag t trenta y anyos na ako pero di pa rin ako nakakatikim ng barbie doll. naalala ko pa ang mga laruan ko nun…mga gulong ng mga laruan ng mga kapatid ko. naks. talo.

don’t get me wrong. nag k kwento lang ako, di masama ang loob ko. dahil nga hindi ako loser. at wala akong loser mentality.

anyway, nung na bwiset na ko sa pagiging sobrang talino ko, at na b bore na ko sa paulit-ulit na turo ng mga guro ko, nag laro na lang ako ng iba’t ibang libro sa iba’t ibang library sa tacloban city, leyte sa eday na 9 at sa albay naman sa edad na 10 pataas. halos nakabisado ko na ang mga libro sa kung saan-saang library sa kung nasaan man ang nomadic kong pamilya.

naging talo ako sa paningin ng pamilya ko. ako si ms. cutting classes at si ms. absent. di na nga ako makapag uwi ng medalyang pwedeng ipa kilo sa junk shop. puro notes from the principal na lang.

ganun din nung nag high school ako. yung high school ko na collectively ay halos dalawang taon lang. mahabang kwento, kaya wag ka nang magtanong. ok?

anyway, lalo akong naging talunan nung magsimula akong uminom.

nag ka boyfriend.

nag ka tattoo.

naglayas.

scholar na nag drop out.

sumali ako sa singing contest sa school isang beses. akala ko ako yung first kasi ako yung unang tinawag. yun pala ako ang thrid. at makakapag uwi ng napakalaking premyo na P20. ang masaklap pa, nandun ang tatay ko na proud na proud sakin pero nakita ko ang disappointment sa mata nya. naawa ako sa kanya. at sa sarili ko.

kaya mag mula noon, di na ako sumali sa kung ano mang contest. kahit patayin pa nila ang kuko ko.

kanina nga, niyayaya ako ng kapatid ko mag audition sa pinoy big boobs brother. ayoko nga. patayin nyo na lang ang kuko ko. ayoko pa rin.

oo, alam ko, maganda ang boses ko, at malamang pag narinig nila akong kumanta eh kalimutan nila si charice pekpekmo, at ako na ang sasambahin nila. oo na. magaling akong kumanta. pero ayoko pa rin. kahit ampunin ako ni oprah, ayoko pa rin sumali sa kontes kontes na yan.

sabi nga ng tatay ko, sa kaka tago ko daw ng boses ko, inamag na tuloy. kaya pagkanta ko nung isang araw sa kasal ng kapatid kong lalaking gwapo, “ikaw ” pa naman yung song, naks, umiyak na lang ako kunwari kesa tapusin ko pa yung kanta. at least, napaiyak ko pa silang lahat. kahit hindi sa galak.

anyhoo, sa pag ibig naman, ako ay isang katerbang talunan din. yung tatay ng anak ko, napaka swerte nya na sana sa akin *wink wink*, iniwanan pa ako. ganun din yung part-life partner ko noon. umalis ng walang paalam. basta na lang nag laho sa life ko. taloser. bwiset.

pero go pa rin ako. nag kaka fling pa din. nag kaka boylet kunwari. umiibig ng limang segundo. tumitikim pa rin ng maka mundong kaligayahan. kasi nga fighter ako di ba?

kesehodang masaktan, ang importante, nag try ako. nag try akong masaktan.
ganun naman talaga. sa bawat pagkatalo mo, may sugat. sa bawat sugat, may pilat. na kumakapal at nag ke keloids. para pag dating ng panahon, para ka nang  anak ng elepante at buwaya, makapal pa kay gloria arroyo ang mukha mo. di ka na tatablan.

at sa bawat pagkatalo, may leksyon tayo na dapat matutunan. ewan ko lang kung ano, kasi so far, ako, bobo pa rin hanggang ngayon sa math.

basta ang alam ko lang, ok lang matalo. maliban sa wala na tayong magagawa dahil di naman tayo pwede mag demand ng recount sa comelec, hindi talaga pwedeng sa lahat ng pagkakataon eh panalo tayo. ma tatawag na tayong buraot nyan. sakim at gahaman sa pagkapanalo.
pag natalo tayo, try ulit. kung di na kaya, wag na, hanap na lang ng ibang pwedeng gawin. madami pang mga bagay ang di ngagawa dito sa mundo. malay mo, ikaw na yung pinaka unang taong makaka pag swimming sa ilog ng dumadaloy na lava sa loob ng bulkan ng mayon. di ba, panalo???

sabi ko nga, let us keep our dignity and grace in the face of failure. bleeh, talo!!!!

me…

 

name: gary nelle maxine salvana capinig

birthday: april 9,1981

what makes me busy: traveling, manning the clinic, ensuring my daughter’s future and happiness, shopping, manning a radio health show

what makes me smile: belle, my freedom, my semi-financial indepence

what i love on tv: aang the avatar, rachel and ross on friends, discovery channel’s how do they do it and how they’re made, discovery travel & living shows

what i do first thing in the morning: brush my stinking mouth

bathroom rituals: play red alert while detoxifying, don’t-shampoo-only-condition my hair,  shave whatever needs to be shaved, only ivory for my body, brush ugly feet…head first before body…up to down…

what makes me beautiful:

• elseve for hair
• Schwarzkopf Daily Conditioner for my hair
• johnson’s milk bath for face
• ivory for body
• shiatsu with sugar scrubs for weekly facial,
• avon wellness electric toothbrush for teeth
• hapee night tooth gel
• avon wellness electric hand and feet buff
• vmv hypoallergenics pressed powder–the only time i splurged $40 for a damn face powder. i love the suede case….
• semi-briefs “Blue is Black” panties…sometimes none at all. LOL
• silver, silver and more silver for accessories

what keeps me connected:

• Baby Fuckard, my 2gigs and 2Mhz packard bell, valued at P59kiyaw
• o2 xda
• apple itouch
• nokia n95

what angers, annoys and irritates me:

• incompetent waiters and waitresses
• incompetent shop boys and girls
• incompetency in general
• stupidity
• morons and idiots
• gloria macapagal arroyo
• americans

what impresses me:

• street smart people
• honor and nobility
• individuality and uniqueness
• confidence
• arrogance with measure
• self-assuredness
• variegated skillsets
• honesty and truthfulness

where do i want to go:

• cairo, egypt
• beijing, china
• palawan, philippines
• batanes, philippines
• 90 mile beach, new zealand
• vienna, austria
• the swiss confederation
• the library of congress
• greece
• italy

what do i think about sex?

–a yummy thing that should be enjoyed by two OR MORE people without the expectation of ties of any sort. it should be a mutual and generous activity that should strengthen the bonds between the involved.

what do i think about love

–love is what i feel when i look at my daughter. and my family. love is wanting the best for others, wishing for their happiness and success. love is never ever selfish.

i like the color blue tinged or bordered with silver.

what i think about myself– a unique individual who never fails to learn from each and every action, interaction, thought and experience. i am strong. i strive to conquer what makes me weak, and works hard at improving myself.

i may not be what others expect me to be, but i am me.

the oscars, baz luhrmann, and my one half-arousing night

 

i rarely watch the oscars, and i honestly could say i am not a fan. it just so happened that tonight did not present other TV options, so i watched it, while Googling. i now write as i watch, and oberve and take part.

when you see it in such a way, the oscars really is a celebration of an art, the medium being motion pictures, which i love so much, being a movie maniac. us here in the philippines, we may not care too much about the oscars, but heck, let me give it a shot.

i can say that this year’s oscar is a lot more mature and serious, and seriously funny, mainly because of the yummy hugh jackman, who sang and danced his way into a million ladies’ hearts. ben stiller stole the show and gave everyone a reason to laugh heartily when he parodied the great yet currently and seemingly confused Joaquin Phoenix, with his beard and glazed appearance.

i appreciate the “sensitivity towards recession” the actors had shown in wearing less opulent jewelries, yet remaining pleasant to the eyes. jennifer aniston was particularly beautiful, and so was rival and my personal goddess, angelina jolie.

as i watched the awards show, i now understand how this night is not only a night for the stars to show off their stuff, but really, you can feel such respect and reverence for the art that these talented people have, which is shown by the  way they showcase the movies that were produced throughout the year, the careful direction and extra effort in the execution of the whole awards night.

i had been a big, big worshipping fan of BAZ LUHRMANN. for those who do not know him, he directed, produced and wrote the movies Romeo and Juliet, Moulin Rouge and Australia. But I first heard and was awed by him when I first heard and fell in love with the essay song “Wear Suncreen” in 1999. now, i am a much bigger, bigger worshipping fan of Baz Luhrmann, after seeing Hugh Jackman and Beyonce’s performance in “That” production number. they sang songs from different movies, and my, what a production that was. i could never have expected less from the Director-god, Baz Luhrmann, but man, this was really good.

 By the way, Beyonce’s nipple peeked out for a while.

Below, Getty images from her performance, ending with an AP snap and a NSFW zoom.

hmmm..

really, eye-popping, huh?

well, one thing’s for sure. i temporarily lost my serious oscar fever and started thinking about that nipple….. damn.

i couldn’t have stopped salivating on that nipple if not for the original song nominees performance, which featured my new favorite a.r. rahmann, and the super delicious john legend. i was so impressed by the drum works, and of course to mention that handsome chinese-looking drummer. Jai Ho is such a powerful song, and so was Down to Earth from Wall E.

Queen Latifah was beautiful in blue, and totally proved that black and fat can be beautiful, and really talented. She sang with such aplomb and heart that it tore me apart. She sang while featuring the artists who passed away this year. I didn’t even know that Michael Crichton is now dead. Also Sydney Pollack, Charlston Heston (who was Moses in the Ten Commandments and was Marc Anthony in Julius Caesar), Ingmar Bergman, and of course, Heath Ledger.

writer’s block follows….another damn…

that night, revisited…

 

i am so touched in an electric and fateful manner, touched  that he remembers all those things after all those years.

for me, that one night was a “bridges of madison county meets serendipity“ kind of an encounter. hell, i wrote a whole novel out of that night. i kept approximately 36% of my heart locked and reserved for ten years in the hopes of meeting him again. for all those years i haven’t forgotten him too.

ten years. in those years, i searched for my elusive unicorn.

i remember his favorite verbal expression. “goddamnit the rambo GADEMET RAMBO.” he loved saying that while watching my fighting fishes. he was sitting lazily in my sofa, and i watched him with both temerity and aloofness, false confidence managing my insecurities. i was watching him with a strong urge to take care of him, be infatuated with him, and mainly, i watched with a strong primal urge to rape him. :).  i was 17 then. i haven’t been plucked. so to speak.

           most of my college days were spent at the bar in padi’s point timog. i would be there at 9pm so i could take the prime bar seat. i would sometimes bring my laptop or my notes to prepare for my term papers or such, a pen in my left hand, and a bottle of my then-favorite: san mig light, on my right hand. after 7 hours, i would be escorted by the guard to a cab waiting to take me home. once when nokia 5110 was the rage, i had the misfortune of losing one because i was so wasted. sometimes, i would be drunk silly  that i would go home penniless, having been cheated by the ruthless motherfuckers waiting or bussing at padi’s.

but most of the time, i was hitting the nightspots drinking alone so i can wallow in my solitary misery. primary as a come on for guys cazy enough to bitch me with their corny hitlines. at 17, nobody would ever mistake me for the real meat trap goddess that i was. i do not have sex with them, mind you, i just like bringing them home to see what they’ve got, have conversation, watch them make a fool of themselves.  if in an hour i am not satisfied, i free them, with a kick out of my house.

thus i lived so for sometime. until i met my match.

one hung over night, i went to padi’s with a lady friend. not hoping for anything special for the night. i knew i was not gonna get me fish that night, coz the friend i was with was a bombshell, with her boobs being ahead of her a kilometer away, thus, overshadowing my not-so-spectacular self.

that particular day was a total bore, with yours truly having been totally useless the entire day due to a severe case of hang over. 

but that night, oh that wonderful night turned out to be really special.

and i remember everything.

it was a thursday night.

when he went up the stairs, Jay-z’s “Can I Get A…” was blasting on the speakers.  that party had barely started. it was 10pm.

when he passed by, the running soundtrack in my head was “Iris” by GooGoo Dolls. i saw him, then, everything went on slow motion, and my eyes focused on him.

yes, he caught my eyes and my nose. he smelled like freshly baked brownies. fresh from a bath. he was wearing a button down blue shirt. and faded jeans that hung quite nicely on him. those chinky eyes had me at first glance.

he sat at the far end of the bar. my usual seat. hmmm. a breeze blew, and i decided to take my chance. i pulled my friend to the bar, and i sat beside him. bitch that i was, i turned my back to him, and had a cozy fake conversation with my friend. all the while i was swimming in his scent, waiting for a chance to talk to him.

“aherm, don’t you feel cold?” his chinkiness asked. in a heartbeat, my world was showered in kaleidoscopic rain. i turned to him, and looked at his eyes. brown. ish?

“excuse me?” i tersely asked.

“oh, ahm, tinatanong ko lang if malamig masyado. yung aircon kasi nakatapat sa ulo natin,”he replied.

 i think i said “ok lang. you can have the a/c adjusted, if it’s bothering you” i turned my back to him again.

bytch, through and through.

after a while, i probably got tired of pretending to talk to my not-so-smart friend, i turned halfway so i can pretend to watch the maids and boys dance like natives. but i had my periphery locked on him.

he was looking at my bottle. or was it my nice hands? he held his pilsen with his left hand. on his right, he smoked a red. i tried to think about his current thoughts. for the life of me, i can not.

“hi. ano yang beer mo? “ stab in the dark question si pogi. nice pickup line, buddy. lol.

“ahm, san mig light.” handed him my bottle. the cuteness pretended to read the label. gosh, i could have kissed him right there.

“5 % yung alcohol content nya noh?” he again asked. wrong question to ask an information whore like moi. i felt like a dog thrown a really juicy bone. i grabbed and gobbled.

that was when the conversation about the ins and outs of beer and other poison began.  anyway, we talked about hops and grains, barley and malt, and how beer is made. that time brews brothers still existed beside padi’s timog. we pretended to be connoisseurs of the brewery industry. oh how it felt good to be smart. LOL.

 we talked about poetry. i think he quoted yeats:

Aedh Wishes for the Clothes of Heaven
by William Butler Yeats

Had I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

did he quote it? or was it me? well, i know we also talked about other poets, and e.e. cummings, for gods sake, was also mentioned.

we were like college students trying to impress each other with the things we both know  and pretend to know. well…it was fun and informative.

then he asked me, “what paper do you read?”  this was what he exactly said.

i found it odd. for someone to be able to ask that question, he must have an IQ of at least 140.

i asked for a definition. he obligingly said, ” well, what newspaper do you read? mine is pdi.“ (philippine daily inquirer, moron).

“oh, i like both manila bulletin and pdi. kaya lang you get ink stains on your hands from the bulletin,” i fakely answered. hehe. i love reading, but then, i was not a big fan of dailies.

then we had another conversation on dailies. and books. then he went on about loving crossword puzzles, and how he could answer one in an hour. hmmm. we also talked baout pugad baboy. snoopy. newspaper cartoons.

we talked about a lot of things. but his pheromones must have clouded my thoughts 3 hours into the conversation because i can not seem to remember the other topics we talked about.

i know that he mentioned that he lives near my place, somewhere called dapitan. and that he studies dentistry at ue. little nifty information that i was gonna use days later.  

we talked about our horoscopes, how the world began, etc., etc.,

i noticed my not-so-mentally-gifted friend was no longer around, and so were the people in the bar. it was almost 3am, so someone between the two of us thought it was a good idea to continue killing ourselves with alcohol in my place.

when i was in college, i had a nice two-bedroom apartment complete with everything i needed: carpets, fighting fishes, a collection of cds and cassette tapes, cable, countless books, a really nice set of sofa, and a really nice narra dining set. the apartment and the hefty allowance made drinking every night possible. at 17.

 i lived alone in that apartment for i dont know how long. alone. so while we were in the cab, thoughts of not being alone anymore crept into my head. i was starting to…whatever.

anyway, we stopped by the 24-hour mercury drug along mayon avenue to grab some booze. his handsomeness argued with me that a drugstore would never ever sell booze. i had to grab him by the jugular just so he would believe that there was actually booze there. he couldn’t believe his eyes when we got there.

you are right, honey, this was during the time when convenience stores were unheard of.   i said that this drugstore does not only sell booze, they sell cigarettes, and oh, they sell DRUGS, too. duh. a total sin store, huh?

so we got some stuff, like, i think i got a toothbrush for him, and slippers too, if i am not wrong. and we headed home, a block away.

i introduced him to my fishes, all 6 of them, each in his own bowl. he was somewhat bored, i dont know.  he asked ” these fishes, all of them are yours?”

i said “yes,” after which he would reply, “goddamnit the rambo GADEMET RAMBO.”

“all these books, too? and all these cds and cassette tapes?”

“why, yes.”

“there is a lot. goddamnit the rambo.GADEMET RAMBO.”“

we got drunk. rambo and the bytch, each to our own thoughts on what will happen next.

for me, a 17 year old bytch who hasn’t had a serious relationship yet, it was an awkward moment. it was somehow, a flight or flee situation. i kept thinking about ways to look cool and relaxed. at the same time, i was relishing EACH AND EVERY SINGLE MOMENT OF HIS PRESENCE. i didn’t know how to define it at that time, but i was  half hoping and half wishing that this night could lead to something else. i felt like meryll streep in bridges of madison county. something out of the ordinary comes my way, and i stumble around for something to hold on to because the confusion is making my rhytm unsure. yet, i feel so womanly, and sexy, and insanely attracted to this man.

yes. right on target. i was physically attracted big time to that man.

his round face, chinky eyes, lips that were insanely sexy.

at 5′10″(i think), he was chubby, and fair skinned.  which made him a god to my eyes. a yummy god, that was what he was. this man is THE man whose mere presence turned me to mother packing mush.

more importantly, i felt drawn to the man in a surreal way. it was the first time i met a guy who could travel down the same wavelength i was wired in. someone who can carry a conversation with me without exerting extra effort to read between the lines.

honestly, i felt i found that molecule-mate my young soul was kind of hoping for.

so…further intto the night, er, morning, i made him take off his shoes, so he would be more comfortable. and my, what feet he has. until now, no one has ever broken his record in my internal book as the man with the cleanest and most delicious feet. i drooled at the sight. sort of like a visual orgasm. oh your feet…

we went upstairs when we can not contain the alcohol anymore. i helped him take off his clothes, hehe, yummy, and i gave him a sponge bath of sorts. powdered him, pampered him, drugged him for the morning hangover, and well, basically tried to take care of him

and… i worshipped his feet.

in the process, i was able to look at him for a long time, and i felt that tug at my innards, making me want to take care of him for an even longer, well, long, long, time.

i watched and looked at him for a long, long time. i etched into my head every single inch of this god who fell onto my bed, every single nook and cranny, committed firmly into my memory. it was as if i knew then that it was the only chance i had in a hundred years to peruse his hunkiness, the baron of pale pilsen.  with all honesty, i tell you this,  i memorized his whole countenance, i beheld him long enough to fill me for the next lifetime.

then we kissed.

the kiss was the tenderestand softest and the best i ever had. the 69 kiss.

i touched his face wishing that the kiss would never end. i wished to my gods that the night would be in time warp so each moment will be a million years long till i can savor it forever.

i wished with all my heart that he felt the same way too.

but i knew that wishing alone does not get you what your heart longs for.

i knew that when the sun comes up, i would wake up from a dream. that the bubble will be burst by uncertainty and hangover.

and i was right…

it was, so far, one of the most romantic evening in my life. so romantic, a novel has been written about it. this was one of the few nights when i was drunk yet sane.

i remember every single detail of it.

and i remember every inch of him…

i should have bled for my wish and begged my gods more…

my 14 year marriage with alcohol has ended…and i am not crying

 as i clutch an ice cold bottle of cali, i smile, and offer a toast to the gods…

…december 13, 2008. the day the half-bytch, half-goddess last indulged in alcohol. the day she drank too much tequila and brought shame to her name and reputation, and her family’s name and reputation.

 

after this fateful day, never, and mind you, NEVER, have i let even a single molecule of any kind of intoxicant touch my being. which is a record in itself.

why?

taking out the 12 months i abstained from alcohol due to my pregnancy, i had been almost always drunk for the last 14 years of my life. beer, gin, beer-gin, tanduay, emperador, white castle, gilbey’s, southern comfort, napoleon, ton collins, jack daniels, black label, vodka, baileys, remy martin, hennessy, oh my favorite poison, ABSINTHE, and a lot lot more.

 wait. let me see. hmmm.

i had my first ever bottle of super dry beer when i was in 6th grade. that makes me an alcoholic novitiate at age 11. not bad. of course, being underaged and a parent-reliant individual, i was an underground drunk. i remember drinking gin at 13 with my high school buddies. downed countless bottles of that poison since then. when i was in a band, i used to play majestically and superbly, with fans vowing their lives to me because i was so great, though half-dead, thanks to red horse.

as they often said, mine was an incredible talent, but a courtesy of alcohol.

i seem to just have breezed through middle school and college, oh how time flies so fast when one is inebriated. but you guys don’t know about the pain.

 the pain of constant hangover. in the morning after an orgy with gin, or red horse, or colt45, or whatever poison was available for the day, i would wake up smelling like  a horse pissed at me, with bad breath that could kill the horse, and with a head ache that seemed as if the horse that pissed at me actually kicked me. even a long bath couldn’t make me feel better. i would be totally useless for 48 hours, believe you me.

the pain of bringing pain to others. unknowingly. unfortunately, i was not gifted with a strong sense of diplomacy and decorum when i get drunk. as a matter of fact, i tend to blurt out inalienable and tactless truths when i get drunk. i say things to the people i am drinking with that in sobriety, i will never ever say or tell. i become obnoxious, audacious, and pugnacious. that was what my ex said of me. “You are pugnacious when you drink”. Definition: aggressive and antagonistic.

yes. i hurt a lot of my friends in those 14 years of inebriety. from the top of my head, let me name some of them and apologize.

my family:  my dad, my mom, my brothers, they were all victims to my acerbic tongue and combative words. i broke a lot of family codes in the name of drunkenness. i hurt them terribly with all the things i said and did.

capinigs, i am still your daughter and sister. but that doesn’t change the fact that i was an asswipe. and i deserve to be disowned for all the things i said and did when i was drunk. im sorry.

ruby–my governess of sorts for almost 6 years. took care of me lovingly and devotedly all those years. in countless drunken stupors, i threw beer bottles at her, punched her face, slapped her, and worse, said hurtful and inhumane things to her.

i am sorry, ate ruby. i am an asswipe. i did not know better. i really am sorry.

Raya: one of my closest friends when i was in the call center industry. there was only 1 time i could remember when i said a really nasty thing to her. and it totally ruined our friendship. i was never able to bring it back.

rayatot, i am so sorry. i have been apologizing to you for three years now for what happened. and i still am sorry.

angel: bestfriend of my heart. housemate for months. loved me unconditionally. when i get drunk, i tend to tell her some truths that hurt her. i bit my inaanak rodgel. huhuhu.

mars, alam mo na kung ano sasabihin ko. ganun ka naman eh. i know you are one of the people who will be genuinely happy to know that i finally have stopped drinking.

Dave: my partner for 2 years. our love affair blossomed in a pool of alcohol. it thrived fertilized with alcohol. it dwindled in the throes of alcohol. it died with the help of alcohol. he saw the ugliness of it all. a primary victim of my wrath. a total saint for living through it all. and a total saint for leaving me so i will learn a lesson.

beb, you are one of the best people i had the honor to be with.

Novie: physically hurt by a deranged maniac who did not know what she was doing because of tequila.  a total gentleman for being professional and a sport about it.

N: lo prego mi amore. you were the catalyst that i was waiting for. that fateful night and irascible action was fated by the gods, to bring change to a troubled soul… i both apologize give thanks to you… 

So there are still a lot of people on my list, but i just toned it down to the people who matter most.

the pain of remebering the “un-rememberable”: so when you wake up in the morning, there is this hole in your heart knowing that something happened and you can not, for the life of you, remember what it was.

you open your eyes, dread snuffing the breath out of you. you check your cellphone. not there. why are you wet? you smell of piss. your pants are drenched. you are outside of your house. keys. where are they? you can not find them. hmm. no phones. no keys. locked outside of your door and you need to pee. you try to remember.

hazy memories fly back into your pathetic mind. at 4 am, you took a cab. lost your money so you pay the cab driver your cellphone. while rummaging through your stuff, your keys fell. so you are locked outside of your house, totally drunk. so you decide to sleep outside your gate. it’s nighttime so no one will mind, in your dreams. you lose control of your bodily functions. you piss in your pants. you wake up 9am, with hundreds of people passing you by. and you still can not get into your house. and you do not have a cent in your motherfucking pocket. what a totally pathetic fucking loser.

a million other memories. im sure all those 14 years brought me thousands of embarrassing moments, unforgettable forgettables, death wishes, and other untellable crazy stuff.

THE PAIN OF EMBARRASSMENT!!! imagine. i can’t even imagine it now. it makes me want to puke. makes me want to kill myself. but i won’t.

i am writing this not to embarrass myself further. my reasons are simple. i want to remember. i want to apologize. i want to start a new book in my life where i become a clean bytch.

in the end, all i really want is to be able to read this in the future, that possible future when i want to check a drop,  and remind myself the reason why I WILL NEVER DRINK AGAIN….

I hurt a god…

And so we go through a moment in our lives when we fervently wish our brain would not betray us by shutting down without your knowledge. That your body can actually absorb a whole spaceship of alcohol and not fold on you.

I hate the fact that I am half-human and bound to commit acts of forgotten lasciviousness and mindless misdemeanor that may cause harm and physical damage to a god being idolized by many and vowed to be protected by a multitude.

I hate the fact that I am half-human, only, and unlike the gods i know, I have several weaknesses, one of which is to lay my eyes on a particular self-absorbed god.

So, alright. How does one qualify to a mistake punishable by insults and reckless image-bombardment?

Lawfully, if a conduct is performed by a suspect while influenced by a powerful substance–for example, a leaf-extracted substance of alcoholic nature– and the suspect is clearly and obviously inebriated to the extent of not being able to perform simple bodily functions, then that person is considered to be temporarily insane.  Hence, the suspect is less aware of his actions and considered less guilty. A husband who kills his wife while in a black jealous rage is often found not guilty and the case is dismissed.

If we check on the motives of the suspect, if there is any, then we can probably find out what actually led to the conduct, and perhaps, be able to judge the suspect more wisely. Thus, enabling us to ask if the suspect really does deserve a little bit more understanding and less unfair judgment.

Yes, I am half-goddess and half-human. And yes, I commit mistakes. And yes, I hurt your god, and yes, I am very, very sorry. But stated by the laws of humanity and the laws mandated by the gods, each of us should learn how to be fair in the judgment of our fellows. That we will be better off if we know how to feel compassion when we think about other people.

That is why there is a left and a right. An up and below. right and wrong. heads and tails. because we need to see both sides of the object of our sight. In understanding things, this is what is vital.

 In the end, the fact remains that my heart bleeds still for what happened. And my heart beats still for he-who-must-not-be-maimed-and-named. the god who is not a god for me but a regular joe who got hurt in the name of tequila.

my heart beats for you. and i am sorry.