Filed under: Philosophy of the Person
For starters, I give you a three-in-a-row. You may skip this part if you’re not interested in lyrics of shot-to-the-heart fall-apart songs. How do you cool your lips after a summer’s kiss? How do you rid the sweat after the body bliss? How do you turn your eyes from the romantic glare? How do you block the sound of a voice you’d know anywhere? Oh, I really should have known by the time you drove me home, by the vagueness in your eyes, your casual goodbyes, by the chill in your embrace, the expression on your face that told me. Maybe you might have some advice to give on how to be insensitive. How do you numb your skin after the warmest touch? How do you slow your blood after the body rush? How do you free your soul after you’ve found a friend? How do you teach your heart it’s a crime to fall in love again? Oh, you probably won’t remember me; it’s probably ancient history. I’m one of the chosen few who went ahead and fell for you. I’m out of vogue, I’m out of touch. I fell too fast, I feel too much. I thought that you might have some advice to give on how to be insensitive. Oh, I really should have known by the time you drove me home, by the vagueness in your eyes, your casual goodbyes, by the chill in your embrace, the expression on your face that told me. Maybe you might have some advice to give on how to be insensitive. – Insensitive, Jann Arden Taken in, taken in again, wrapped around the finger of some fair-weather friend; caught up in the promises, left out in the end. No pride, taken for a ride. You say I’m the only one when I look in your eyes, I want to believe you but you know how to lie. And if you say you understand, I don’t believe it. And when you reach out for my hand, I don’t believe it. And if you say that nothing’s changed, I don’t believe it, don’t believe it. Taken in, taken in again. Someone saw me coming, a fool without a friend. There’s one born every minute and you’re looking at him. And if you say you want me near, I don’t believe it. And when you’re holding back the tears, I don’t believe it. And when you swear that you are mine, I don’t believe it. And it’s your heart that’s on the line, I don’t believe it, don’t believe it. Taken in, taken in again, wrapped around the finger of some fair-weather friend; caught up in the promises, left out in the end. No pride, taken for a ride. You say I’m the only one when I look in your eyes, I want to believe you but you know how to lie. You say you want me near, I don’t believe it. And when you’re holding back the tears, I don’t believe it. Oh, there’s one born every minute, you’re looking at him. Taken in, taken in again, someone saw me coming, a fool without a friend. I want to believe you when you say you understand when you reach out for my hand. I wish I could believe you. Taken in, taken in again. – Taken In, Mike and the Mechanics Oh, I am just a moonlight. Oh, I am just a moonlight. When you look at me through your crystal glass, you will see that I’m now your past. Thought you’d give your love to me, but in your life I wasn’t meant to be. Oh, I am just a moonlight. Oh, I am just a moonlight. Fallen tear, that day has gone when you’d say I’ll be your only one. I will live the way it’s meant for me with ups and downs and mystery. Oh, I am just a moonlight. Oh, I am just a moonlight. Just a moonlight, fading away like water. – Mirage, Carlos Santana *** Today, I have decided to write about a break-up. When break-ups are imminent, people tend to be in a phase of temporary insanity. I will not deny. I have been in two tragic break-ups in the course of my almost twenty-eight years of existence, the latest being the most cruel break-up anyone could probably imagine. I will share this latest one with all of you. This latest break-up I was pertaining to happened in 2003. I knew a break-up was brewing, I knew I was being cheated on. Thing was, I did not have sufficient evidence to support my claim. But I went out of my way to search for evidences and I found many. On the night I have decided to ask Jackfruit about it (Yes, my ex-boyfriend is a jackfruit. Buy a jackfruit, yes, as in the fruit, langka, buy stickers of two eyes, a flat nose and a pathetic smile and you got his face alright. I’m not kidding or exaggerating things. I swear it’s true, he is a jackfruit. I also referred to him as Jograd. Hahaha!!!), my actual intention being the one to break it up to him, the fruit did not know how to respond to my question. The question was answerable by a yes or a no which went, "So, what now, is it still us or no longer us, just a ‘you’ and an ‘I’?" He answered after what seemed like a lifetime of snow falls and waves silently crashing on boulders, "I don’t know." A few serene seconds after uttering his last word, I slapped him hard on the face and I did other things that would be sufficient to earn me a title of Yokozuna. To summarize things, I beat the pulp out of the fruit in his grandparents’ house to hear what I wanted to hear and when I heard it, I walked away and it was over. A few days prior to this Jackfruit-beating incident, I could not eat or sleep or think soundly. I was lost in confusion because I did not know where I stood in his life. I would say that that was undoubtedly the time of my life when I was completely lost. Thinking about it now, lost is an understatement. I would play songs over and over and sang with them out loud, particularly that cheesy song I’m Never Gonna Let You Go by Sergio Mendes. I reread all the love letters of Jackfruit until my eyes bulged out of its sockets. I tried to paint, but what came out of the painting was a miserable piece of trash that I threw right away. I watched movies alone thinking that any guy with a silhouette that matches him was actually him. Define misery, darlings. For the twenty-three year-old girl that I was, it was synonymous to Ragnarok. My world was spinning in a different direction and I could not seem to pick up its pace and go with it. Then I went out drinking with friends, when I have decided to begin picking up the pieces. (I started going out, how long can anybody go without, before you start moving out of your mind. Even so, I confess, there are times when my heart rules over my head.) A friend by the name of JT, who was to become Mister P after a few months, advised me to run after Jackfruit until I become exhausted, until I have nothing left to feel but indifference and only indifference. I did as advised and the rest, as they say, is history. I can still remember the message I sent to Jackfruit’s officemate when the fruit was asking for another chance. It went like this, "Tell [insert real name of Jackfruit here] everything I have to say to him is written in Mike and The Mechanics’ Taken In. Now, don’t ever let him get to thinking that I will marry him—someone who feels gorgeous yet looks like a jackfruit, someone who claims to be intelligent yet is trying hard to digest things people are saying just to get a hint of it, someone who is an insensitive, arrogant, makapal ang mukha, good-for-nothing chauvinist pig. No sir. Oo, binilog niya ako, pero initlog ko naman siya. (Yes he succeeded in enticing me, but I dumped him.)" I hate the pigs in men. They bring out the worst in me. Honestly, my worst fear is myself when I am mad. See what happened to me. I acted like an uncivilized cavewoman in that bout. My redemption is that I never apologize for things I did/do, and up to this moment, I never did feel sorry or penitent that I did/do evil things to evil people. There are things that I did/do and I did/do them because they have to be done. Afterwards, I forget/will forget about them and move on with my life, feet gliding on air like Fred Astaire while singing Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head. Back to the break-up thing. I don’t like break-ups too, especially when it is dressed in gowns of brutality and silliness, like the latest one I had. I would prefer a break-up similar to that of Howard Hughes and Kate Hepburn as shown in The Aviator, or to that of Bruce Willis and Michelle Pfeiffer in The Story of Us. So suave and so real yet so painful. Gives me the fantasy that next time I break it up with a guy, I’ll make sure it is done with style, but with Mister P, who can say if a break-up is coming? I don’t see any in a lifetime. Let us assume he feels the same. Hahaha!!! I am not a misandrist, darlings. It just happens that the guys I write about make my blood pressure shoot to a 120/100 reading. (Besides, it is easier for me to write about hatred than to write about happiness. Bliss is a cloak that engulfs me in ineffability, leaving me with nothing to articulate except the words wonderful, fabulous, fantastic, superb, I am happy.) Yes, there are chauvinist pigs in this era, hordes of them, but there are still men who are worthy of being called knights in shining armor. I promise to write about those few good men in my next serious posting, for a change. Promise. Ciao! Side story: When I beat the hell out of Jackfruit, Mister Penguin was waiting outside the fruit’s grandparents’ house for me. I asked him to accompany me. We were still buddies in 2003. When the fruit learned that Mister P and I were already together in 2004, the fruit sent messages to Mister P and Mister P sent me a message that went like, "Huwag kang mag-alala. Walang sinumang prutas ang makapaghihiwalay sa ating dalawa." ("Don’t worry. No fruit could ever tear us apart.") Hahahahahahahahahaha!!! It’s been almost four years and the memory of that Mister P message still makes me laugh. I love you Mister P, my partner in crime, my best friend. Hugs and kisses! See how destiny plays its hands on things. Who knows, it could happen to you. The woman you accompanied to beat her ex is to be the woman who will sleep with you every night for the rest of your life. Hahaha!!! *==(‘*’)==*
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