Wednesday, December 19, 2007

I hate Madonna.

So there I was, thinking I was okay. I thought I've convinced myself that I've moved on. It was hard, especially with her constantly in the background, but I forced myself to be indifferent, and I managed. For a while it worked, but like every passionate emotion, the feeling that I tried so hard to repress, to forget, came flooding back, and it was just as intense. I thought that the previous blog entry will be the last about him, but I guess I was wrong.

Our prelim exams finished a week ago. I like to believe I did well, fantastic even, but answering those questions wasn't an easy task. So to blow off some steam, my friends and I decided to celebrate the end of the torturous week by buying a lot of beer and heading to Bob's house. It was the typical night out with friends. Lots of drinking, lots of smoking, and lots of unruly conversation. Some of the guys brought weed but I didn't mind, thinking nothing would happen anyway. But then I got drunk, which would later cloud my judgment, and worse, my memory. When I woke up the next day, I thought everything went well. I must admit he and I got touchy, but only to a certain extent. I had my arm on his thigh, but it was more of a friendly gesture, like the time when I fell asleep on his arm and he played with my hair. Friendly. Right.

Usually, after a night of shameless drinking, I text my friends and ask what happened. But Bob beat me to it, since he was in a worse state because of the weed. He asked if he did anything foolish around Miko [the girl he's crazy for], to which I answered no. I then asked the same question, and he commented that Paolo and I were too friendly that night. I assumed it was the time when I had my arm on his thigh or when I drew happy faces on his leg, but he told me that we were already holding hands and we even had a quick kiss. The kiss I remember. It was the time when he was about to leave and we hugged and not being able to resist [blaming the alcohol can be very convenient, mind you], I gave him a kiss on the cheek. But the hand holding I don't remember. I just. Cannot. Remember. Holding his hand. Or him holding mine.

Honestly, I'm having second thoughts about what Bob said. Bob is a great friend. I have high respect for him, and he is one of the few people I can talk to when I want to talk about serious things, things I know not many people would understand. I trust Bob with my heart, but he was high as a kite that night, and I don't know if it was the marijuana's effect that made him see us holding hands. I guess he suspected that that was what I thought and he said he was wasted, not hallucinating. Good point.

"You guys were too friendly last night. You were holding hands and you even had a quick smack."

Two short sentences, that when taken apart means nothing. It's not even romantic. But it had a disconcerting effect on me. I thought I had moved on. I thought I was okay. I thought that seeing her name saved as hun hun would finally slap me till next week, but it didn't. It failed miserably. And then I knew it. If seeing something as painful as that can't make me get over what I feel, then it must mean something. Could it be? Am I in love? Or am I just stupid?

I don't even know why I'm so into him. He's not even my type. Given the fact that he's goodlooking and his smile can make my knees crumble, he doesn't really have the qualities I want in a man. I'm a big fan of intelligent, witty, and clever guys, and frankly, he doesn't fit the bill. So to think that I'm head over heels over this guy is pretty odd. I guess my feelings "deepened" when he admitted to me he had a thing for me and he wanted to court me. Naturally, I asked him why he didn't and he said it was because he made a promise to the girl that he'd wait. I was annoyed, but I can't really blame him. He had feelings for me, but his feelings for the girl is deeper.

I know perfectly well that he's madly in love with his girl, so why am I wasting so much time waiting for him? I've come up with a somewhat plausible theory on why I'm going bananas. Here it goes: It's a fact that I got irritated when he admitted to me he wanted to court me but didn't because of his promise of undying love. Who wouldn't be? Let's compare what is happening to a train station. I am a commuter patiently waiting for the train to come to bring me to my fabulous job. And then it comes. We were both there. We were both there at the same time, but he left without me. He and I, at some point, were into each other. I think the reason why I'm still hanging on is that the guy I like likes me back, and since he admitted he had feelings for me, I'm subconsciously hoping that it will come back, and we will live happily ever after. The question is, will that happily ever after come? Leave it to a romantic psychology student like me to come up with the most farfetched and idiotic ideas. I read a past entry, and I realized that I should have done last Thursday what I did almost a month ago:

Granting the premature end, drinking at Bob's was fantastic. Paolo sang me a song, "Every time I see you, I hear there's something that'll make you smile. So kiss me if you want to, don't you worry if we're apart, I hope this season will be a reason enough to make you smile". Instead of taking a suicidal leap into the abyss of unrequited love [he dedicated this song to me, but I knew he didn't mean anything by it], I chose to ignore it and gulped down my glass of beer.

He will never be mine. Neither do I think that he will leave the girl for me. So why wait? And then it hit me. Yes, I am in love with him. I love him. And I have made the difficult decision to wait for him.

The other night, the folks and I visited my mom's boyfriend for their annual christmas party, and on the way, I was listening to my iPod. What better song to listen to than Madonna's No Substitute For Love, whose lyrics go something like this: Face the truth, I will wait for you, no substitute for love, no substitute for love.

I hate Madonna. She's always right.

Saturday, December 1, 2007

I can feel your heart beat for the very last time.

I never knew that it would take someone as kooky as Weird Al Yankovic to wake me from my delusional fairytale. Weird Al Yankovic, who is widely known for doing parodies of popular songs [Click Here to view one of my favorite Yankovic songs, eBay], served as my wake up call and slap in the face. But what really woke me up was watching his video spoof of Madonna's Like A Virgin. His version, titled Like A Surgeon, was definitely funny, but oddly, it struck a chord in me. His last line, I can feel your heart beat, for the very last time, was sad, if not hilarious [Click Here to view the video].

I can honestly say that I am happy for Paolo and Pie. Yes, I still have strong feelings for him and I don't think they would go away anytime soon, but after having lunch with the two of them yesterday [I was initially hesitant, but I agreed to lunch with them anyway], I saw how happy the twosome were, and I didn't want anything to come between them, especially me. The three of us are friends, and I think it would be better if we stayed that way.

I came across Weird Al Yankovic when I went to YouTube to search for a song about eBay I heard months ago on Saturday Night Live. I was interested because recently, I made an account in eBay which resulted in my unwavering addiction. I am currently broke because within two weeks, I have bought a grand total of 14 books and 2 CDs, and I have committed myself into buying 6 more books. I must admit I have spent an unmentionable amount of money on books that I won't be able to read right away [I have 59++ books in my reading list], but I must say, it's worth every cent. Despite that, I am not condoning this kind of behavior. I have made a vow that after paying for this batch of books, I will make a considerable dent in my reading list before buying the next batch, instead of allowing books to pile by the dozen.

I'm glad my academics has been steady regardless of my obsessions [both Paolo and eBay]. Usually, I get hung up over something that my academics take a back seat. Let me reiterate that Madonna was wrong when she said that time goes by slowly. It feels like only yesterday that class has resumed after the semester break, but the prelim exams are now only two weeks away. This semester is a good one, not only because my grades so far are stellar [except Trigonometry], but because I am getting along with all my professors. My Biology professor is good at her job, and learning from her is an easy task considering her subject is scientific in nature. My professor in FCL is a kindly old lady who loves regaling us with stories and songs. My PGNC [Philippine Government and New Constitution] professor is a Law graduate who seems to know the Philippine government like the back of his hand. Listening to him is very stimulating. My Philippine Lit professor, although boring, is competent in the teaching department. My Arts Appreciation professor is my favorite in the lot, because she is, as she says it, the only one in the department qualified to teach Arts Appreciation. She may be demanding and she may have high standards, but if you do manage to pass her subject, you know you have learned something. My professor in Trigonometry teaches an absolutely boring subject, but she is great. She's approachable and friendly, which are qualities I require in a math teacher. My Trig professor is actually my second in the subject because I dropped my first one after my first professor called me stupid. It happened during the second week of the semester when he asked us to bring an index card and a 1x1 ID picture with a blue background. I wasn't able to have my picture taken the day before because I went over to Khaye's [Perpetual Khaye, not UST Kay] to drink with some of our friends. Instead, I brought a passport sized photo [I had my passport renewed a week before] because it has the background color the professor required. So on that morning, I asked him if it was okay if I use the passport sized photo instead, because come on, it's not as if it's going to matter. Instead of answering with a yes or a no, he mutters stupid loud enough for the entire class to hear. At that instant, I felt the wind knocked out of me. Never in the 18 years of my existence has anyone called me dumb, stupid, or anything synonymous to a brain dead idiot, because I am not. Yes, I must admit, I did not follow his instructions, but that does not give him the right to call me harsh names. It's just wrong. It's wrong on so many levels. I wanted to retort "Excuse me, but did you just call me stupid? You do not have the right to call me that, because not only is it rude, but it is unethical. Your status does not justify your lack of manners". Because it is true. He does not have any right to subject me, or any of his students for that matter, to verbal abuse and moral degradation. Instead, I packed my belongings, stood up, and walked out. I went straight to the dean's office and transferred to a different section. I could have written the dean a complaint letter, or get his ass out of the university, at least my Trig class, but I decided to let it pass because I realized that I do not need to prove myself to someone who gives "one exemption points".

All things considered, I've been well. I've gotten over my addiction to Paolo and instead focused my attention to eBay. I'm not seeing anyone, and I'm having the time of my life drinking with my friends [on an almost-daily basis] and coming home drunk as fuck. There are times when I miss having someone love me and take care of me, but I haven't found the person who would take my breath away and sweep me off my feet. In spite of that, I am not rushing because I've realized I'm young and I have all the time in the world to find Mr. Right.

The coup d'etat by the very papa-ble Sen. Antonio Trillanes inspired great fear amongst my countrymen and my friends' parents last night, which caused the early end of our inuman [we were supposed to celebrate a friend's birthday, but Kristia had to cancel, so we decided to hold our own party]. Some of us rigorously followed the 12-5 curfew set by the government [I got home exactly midnight, how Cinderella of me], while the hardcore drinkers didn't. I'm actually one of the hardcore drinkers in the group, but the curfew set worried my mom, so I dashed home [without forgetting my glass slipper, mind you]. Granting the premature end, drinking at Bob's was fantastic. Paolo sang me a song, "Every time I see you, I hear there's something that'll make you smile. So kiss me if you want to, don't you worry if we're apart, I hope this season will be a reason enough to make you smile". Instead of taking a suicidal leap into the abyss of unrequited love [he dedicated this song to me, but I knew he didn't mean anything by it], I chose to ignore it and gulped down my glass of beer.
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