Far, far away

Off to Bukidnon for the holidays - a good two weeks. It's my second day here today. I had arrived yesterday. So soon for things to come crashing down on me.

Yesterday, he drove me to the airport. And I cried silently in the passenger seat. No, it wasn't just because I hated to be apart from him - although I did tell him that, to which he replied, "Para kang nananakal niyan." I strongly fought back an urge to snap at him and point out that I could never be described as one who suffocates or strangles her boyfriend, much less inhibit his actions.

I cried because things weren't going well. Our last week together before I left for my vacation was a stressful one. He had a lot of things to do, a lot of parties to attend and I was only invited to one of them - our block's Christmas party. So we didn't get to spend time together. Although I was awfully disappointed, I couldn't do anything. His busy schedule and top secret tasks, I've been trying to understand, rarely voicing - if ever - my opinions against them. That was his life, anyway. I had to accept that from day 1. I told him I was hurt because I had thought we'd be spending at the very least Saturday (my flight was on Sunday) together so I had made plans, made reservations, blocked off the day. But, no. Another party. To which he could not bring me. He told me off for being hurt. It was too much, he said. He was fed up. He was bringing me to the airport on Sunday, anyway, so what was I yakking about? And he brought up the "break up" idea, which numbed me. I didn't know wanting to spend time with someone before going away for the holidays was a bad idea. Never knew it was.

So I cried silently. He didn't say or do anything. He smoked and drove. Just smoked and drove. At one point, I reached out for his hand. He pulled it away from my touch. I couldn't even hold his hand anymore without pinning it down! And even if I did pin it down, he'd only yank it away again. A small act of rejection, like that, really does damage to one's spirits, as it did to mine.

i tried acting as though things were normal. I really did not want to have another row with him. Not when I was leaving him for two weeks. During the holidays. At the airport, I tried to hug him, but he opened his car door and went out. So I kissed him on the cheek. Luckily, he gave me a brief hug. He's not the PDA type. So I appreciated the gesture.

He texted me that day. I was so happy. Things were finally going smoothly. It must have been the distance factor. He realized he misses me now that we're not in the same region. He called me that night to say he's going out to play in the basketball championship and I wished him and his team well. I called him at two am to see how he was doing. He only got home and told me it was late. That we should sleep.

This morning, he wished me a good day. And I was so happy about it that I went to town with a smile plastered on my face. Late afternoon, I called him up to say hi. But after telling me about his fish, which took about 1 minute and 40 seconds, he hung up.

Now, he's online. I buzzed him. I sent him only about 5 messages, consisting of 6 words (so as not to make him think I'm pestering him), but he hasn't messaged back.

Now our life together as a couple, the conversations we have had, everything we've shared came flashing before me. And I realize that during our conversations, I couldn't really talk freely with him, save for the time when we had a bit too much to drink and he finally listened to what I have got to say without being sarcastic or without cutting me off in mid-thought. I am always cautious around him, so as not to start a fight.

Being miles away from him, I realize my "helplessness" in a way. I wouldn't know how he was, where he was. I couldn't ask - he would clearly blow his lid off and I wouldn't want that to happen. It's hard to be mad at a person who's so far, far away. It's harder to make amends with such person, considering the distance and that the only means of reaching him would be either through the phone or through email/ym and he could always dodge your messages. And its most difficult when you aren't sure whether the person you'd like to call and talk to feel the same - especially when his behavior toward you reflect otherwise.

Trust issues? I had trusted him. Had trusted. But the trust had flaked away when he betrayed it. Lord knows I had tried to rebuild it. Been trying. Now, as I think about it, I have no choice but to trust him, give him the benefit of the doubt. I am, after all far away from him. There's no use wasting energy being paranoid. Thus, however difficult it is to trust him and his words again, I have to do it. But, honestly, I am scared.

The fear is not just about what he can possibly do but also of what I am capable of doing. I know my college friends would say otherwise since I've always maintained a carefree, nonchalant attitude towards relationships, but, really, I am perpetually hoping for a lasting one. A happy one, where we both can thrive as individuals but still be delighted with each other's company. A relationship wherein we can depend on each other for comfort and conversation, wherein laughs are aplenty, and troubles - of course, there will always be trouble - are still surmountable.

I'm bound to be disappointed, what with this kind of hopeful stance. Sure, I let people think otherwise - that it's all in the bag, that I'm actually really glad to see people get out of my life. But, really, I hope for stability. Normalcy. Sanity.

This is not to say that I am completely dominated by my hidden idealism. I am, after all, a cynic also. Pessimistic about all things good happening to me, I numb myself. I will myself to become indifferent to anything which could encourage me to hope. That's why I keep my idealist self hidden. My indifferent shell protects me somehow. But sometimes, I crave for some of that sanity I hope for, that enthusiasm and verve that would make me feel human. I rarely experience that. Until now.

When I start to drift away to indifference, my idealist self reaches out for that someone who acts as an anchor to sanity. It's becoming a bad habit but... at this point, I am not altogether sure whether I should give him up and take the complete plunge into the uninviting numbness - which is at times broken by tears, anyway, but rarely by laughter - or bask in the comfort he surprisingly gives me, albeit unknowlingly, and be happy (both insanely and sanely) for a moment. You see, this happiness, however temporary, recharges my spirit. It's as if I can stomach an hour's worth of drive without breaking a tear and without snapping at anybody in anger. I'd have something to smile about. And something to ease my fears away.

Yes, even if I am, after all, far, far away.

Then again

Oh, but it is so nice to dream...

Bye bye, fiction.

Law school's assignments and readings have become a little more tedious; the classes have become so monotonous that my ears can't help but drown out class discussions and recitations. God help my grades, then.

When I'm in Veritas (our classroom which is located at the 4th floor of our school building), I often find myself staring out of the glass windows, that is, when the blinds aren't drawn. Otherwise, I'd just be staring at the wall behind the current professor's head and dream.

Hah! So times haven't really changed. I'm still physically present in class but my thoughts are elsewhere. I don't think it's normal since all my other classmates can thoroughly immerse themselves in the Rules of Court and what-nots. I, on the other hand, dream about actors, and singers, beaches, and Volkswagon autos, and musical compositions, and going to Ireland, and Korea, being swept off my feet by the perfect man ever, and... everything that I can never have and everything that can never happen to me, really.

*Sigh.* Just thinking about having to stop daydreaming and creating stories in my head depresses me. It's only in my head that "things" happen. The hopeless dreamer. Or hopeless romantic. Suit yourself. My classmate told me to stop reading novels and to stop watching movies or series which cater to the emotions. She said these catalysts will only make me idealistic and, obviously emotional. I got the impression that those "states of being" have to be avoided, just like the plague.

And I think to myself, wouldn't that be really hard - to be devoid of emotions, I mean, and to be so cynical that all you can see are the sharp angles and lines of everything around you? Angles, lines in all harshness. But with dreams, idealism, and a heart, I can play with these angles and lines and turn them into something fun and creative. Or something impossible. Fiction. Whatever you fancy. But still, the life is there. My life and my heart are there.

I don't want to live in a cold, indifferent world. But if I continue dreaming about impossible things, I'd find myself in a backwater town, hanging clothes early in the morning while whistling country tunes. But if I quit daydreaming, I'll turn into an unimaginative old prude who's as robotic as the Energizer bunny.

Daydreams lull me to sleep. They calm me somehow. They cheer me up when I'm down; they entertain me when there's nothing to do. They give me my healthy dose of sadness at times, even. But they also distract me like crazy, as if my brain is on daydream autopilot and there's nothing I can do but watch the images. And everything gets drowned out, even the important things. In that case, they blind me.

As anticlimactic as ever, I know now what to do: I have to let go. Grow up. Forget the fantastic stories in my head.

It's going to be a hard withdrawal issue. But I just have to deal with it.

Lightnings

Looks up at the sky, waits for a meteor shower or something that will break the constant stillness, sighs in defeat.

So, the night is still still. I don't mind the cold - it's just a reminder that the holidays are coming. Soon, too soon. The year's about to end and here I am: still hoping, struggling against pragmatism, that lightning will strike, or at least that I'll come across some excitement somehow.

I really don't want to be stuck in a hustle-and-bustle world. I need excitement. I need fire. Magic. The real kind. I want to be swept off my feet. I want to run. Run free. I don't know why that phrase came up, I just feel like I have to run. Run free.

I want to have a reason to laugh out loud. Or just laugh out loud for no reason at all. But I also want someone to join me in the laughter. I want my lightning to strike now. I need it to strike now.

But there's a little pull inside my head, still. What if there's really no excitement to look forward to? What if life really was supposed to be constant and monotonous? What if I'm really supposed to be contented with... this stillness? And my constant yearning for "magic" and "the great relief" will only catapult me into despair - since those things will never come, anyway?

Gah. But I don't want to think about the possibility of magic not ever happening in my life. I just want it to happen. I want it to come and find me. And when it does, I'll take it from there. For now, I'm just wanting for it to happen. That's all.

Goong (Gung)

I have just finished the whole "Goong" series (or "Princess Hours") and I have to say I didn't quite like the ending.

What the heck did BingungMama see in Shin?!? Fine, she's Shin's lawfully wedded wife and, yes, a divorce is so not doable for members of the Royal Family, but COME ON! If after 2.5million years, all of them gets to walk on earth again, she'd still like Shin? Is she blind? Retarded? A masochist?

Okay. So I favor Yul's character. There.

But what's there to like about Shin? Bullies might appeal to a lot of girls out there but, COME ON! A rock who likes a pretentious so-so ballerina against a sensitive man who knows how to treat his lady right? A fashionably-challenged phlegmatic-choleric man who wears pedal pushers with a coat versus a fun, independent ex-Prince who wears a Tiffany&Co. feather loop necklace - never mind if it's a bit feminine - and who has such a good voice (fine, so singing wasn't part of his role but he DOES have a great voice! p.s. was he the one who sang the theme song?). Isn't the better choice supposed to be obvious?

It's an old series, I know. But I discovered it only this week and I was hook for days. Now that I've finished the series, I don't have anything to do anymore (other than study). Oh, drat.

Off to find another addiction.