Friday, March 30, 2012

Road to Recovery: Day 14

March 20, 2012
It's All Coming Back
"I'm slowly drowning in memories of him" <12:51> Krissy and Ericka
Slowly, the memories creep back. The vines of the past strangle my neck and I realize that I am suffocating, simply by the thought of him.

How do you forget when everything reminds you of him? How do you continue breathing when even the air that you breath carries with it his remnants, the carcasses of a past long due? How do you survive knowing that the best part of you has left?

What pains the most is that you can never fight for a love that's wrong. What you can only do is let go, let the film of happiness roll by and silently wish that you never thought of watching the movie in the first place.
Lesson No. 2: Do not stalk. Do not text. Trust me Mon, the more you get attached, the more hell will break lose. Keep your composure. Keep your distance.
The truth is, I still love him. And the many denials have done me no good.

Monday, March 26, 2012

Summer Stain Anthem

I grasped the butcher's knife and pressed it lightly against my shirt. Dusk has fallen, and the gasoline station in all its abandoned glory felt even more cold and uninviting.

"Perfect", I thought. The setting is movie-like, that scene  where the boy and the girl met one scorching afternoon in April. You were a perfect gentleman, nonchalant at first, but my constant gazes finally made you look my way.

You promised me forever and I unbuttoned your shirt.
You told me you loved me so I lifted up my skirt.
. . . . . . .
Our whirlwind romance, they never understood,
so I murdered them. I murdered them.

The last one was my favorite. She was my mother and her screams while I scraped off her skin was the most beautiful melody. Left her warm though, in the back of that van we once owned. I wonder how Mrs. Colombo would react seeing her dead body next to her dog house. 

She told me you were ugly, so I cut off her tongue
Saw that she was struggling so I stabbed her left lung
. . . . . . .
Our whirlwind romance, they never understood
so I murdered them. I murdered them.

I grasped the butcher's knife and pressed it lightly against my shirt. Oh crap. Now I have your blood on my H&M's.

You laughed at my thoughts, I spit on your carcass
Our whirlwind romance you never understood
so I murdered you. I murdered you.
. . . . . . .

The sound of children coming home  from school woke me up from my revelry. It's time I make a song.

The Emo Blogger's Happy Blogging Challenge: A Criminal Mind

Sunday, March 25, 2012

Road to Recovery: Day 5

March 11, 2011
Taking Flight

For the first time in the last few days, I am speechless. Maybe I've grown tired of everything, of heartaches, and the endless Adele songs (that's me while listening to her "One and Only"), and of course, the many regrets one commits whilst trying to move on from a failed relationship. 

And so, since I'm starting to feel utterly exhausted from yearning for stuff that aren't supposed to be mine, I have concluded that this is the time to stop wishing for the past to return. It's too unhealthy. 

So have I recovered? I suppose so. Thuogh I expected that I could go on for months doing this, but I guess I just cannot. Writing these, I believe, have helped me through these crazy five days but to continue doing so would only bring back the memories of something that are not meant to be remembered. 

I wanted him to read this. I suppose that'll give justice to my work. But somehow there's a part in me that doesn't. 

Maybe it's the part that wants him back, not now. But maybe in the next few years, when both of us have matured enough. We're young, I get it. And if ever that time comes, I wouldn't give him any reason to let me go, because by that time, I will NEVER let him go. 

Or maybe its the part that had enough of him. The one that cried so much on sleepless nights, the one who dreamed that everythng was a nightmare, the one who wanted the happy mornings back, the one that got hurt.

But whichever part of me, its clear that he will always have a part in my heart (and this is a crappy line).

They say that freedom is a gift...
I'm ready to accept it. :)

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Road to Recovery: Day 4

March 10, 2012
The Other (Wo)Man
Lesson No. 1: Just because he likes your facebook status doesn't mean he still likes you. Just because he responds to your pm's doesn't mean he wants you back. 
You're stupid Mon. Admit that. Do you think it was wise to chat him here though you know he was obviously avoiding you? Do you think its wise to thank him for the facebook likes and like some of his status updates too and silently view his profile every now and then?

You're stupid Mon. Snap out of it. 

You need to get him out of your life Mon, listen to me. Can't you see? He's already moved on. He's acting like nothing happened. And you sit there, lurking in the corner feeling like the whole world's resting on your shoulders.

You know who's being unfair? It's not him Mon. It wasn't his fault he chose his ex over you. He loved him still. It was your fault you meddled with their affairs in the first place. Malandi ka lang talaga. Bitch. 

And now you complain that you can't stand it without him? Pwe. Live a life!

Friday, March 23, 2012

Road to Recovery: Day 3

March 9, 2012

I had a nightmare-the ghost of happiness. And he lurks on the shadows of my mind. Can you cure darkness with just a tinge of light? Or do I need a kaleidoscope to survive?

I sense him. And the confident man I used to be crumbles. My butter fingers tremble with the slightest glance and I know that I could never bear seeing him face to face.

How long will I stay like this? How long am I willing to hold on to something that's killing me? And how long will I be willing to die for it?

I need the answers. Soon.

Otherwise, it'll be another suicide.

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Road to Recovery: Day 2

March 8, 2012

Finding solace in Adele.

His memory still lurks like ghostly premonitions and I'm striving really hard to block him out. It happens mostly in the morning, when I remember our sweet nothings via SMS and the way my heart always skips a beat every time he replies. This morning was no different. Except that instead of smiles, I spent its entirety forlorn.

There are moments when I think to myself that its my fault I signed up for this s**t. And there are also those moments, the hardest ones, when I question why everything happened. How can something, something that happened so fast be this significant? How dare it left this giant scar on my chest? And the even scarier question, "Is it possible to love again?"

Be happy, my intuition tells me. And so I will be. But as of now, I'll let the memories roll by, like watching films, memorizing every bit of action, every stroke of light, until that moment comes when everything becomes a blur-a figment of imagery. And then everything becomes mundane. And then normalcy. And then happiness.

*Update: Closure. And it tasted like freedom.

Wednesday, March 21, 2012

Road to Recovery: Day 1

March  7, 2012

And then reality dawned on the boy. Realities that are, although bittersweet, necessary for his sanity. He's gone now. And it hurts like hell. And it hurts like arrows, straight to your heart, piercing every layer of smile he smudged on his forlorn face.

But he let's him go. He loves him that much. He knew, even then, that he'd choose his happiness, even if that means sacrificing his own.

And so tonight, he lets the tears cascade. Because tomorrow will be another day.

"Like a phoenix burning bright, tomorrow he'll take flight.
But ashes he must now be, for change to happen to thee."

Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Underneath His Clothes

It usually begins in the morning.

The way he tiptoes his fingers on my skin. The way he stares at me, like I'm the only one that mattered. And then he'd kiss me, biting my lips every time and then I fall. Over and over. Like it was always the first time.

Then he'd touch my face, caressing it like I was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.  We'd snuggle underneath the sheets and he'd envelop me in his arms and those little acts, the way he'd kiss my ears or touch my nape, were the most comforting feelings I know I'd always yearn about.

Then he'd fcuk me. Everything becomes a haze of moans and orgasms, sucking and licking all over everything. Then one round becomes two, and then three, and then four, five,six, seven...

. . . . . . . .

And then everything becomes a blur. The dream rolls to another field and finally the dreamer wakes up-sweaty and horny, wishing that tomorrow he'd  have another one.

The Emo Blogger's Happy Blogging ChallengeA Lover

Monday, March 19, 2012

SimSimi and The Banana Song

Need I say more? LOL

Ba ba ba babanana Ba ba ba babanana
Banana, potato nah banana
To gali no potato ni ga ni ba no ba ni ka no ji ga ba ba ba banana
Yo plano hu la pa no no tu ma banana like a nupi talamu
Banana ba ba Potato ho oh
To gali no potato ni gani ba no ba ni ka no ji ga ba ba ba bana na!

The Emo Blogger's Happy Blogging Challenge: Madness

Friday, March 16, 2012


This was the moment I realized that I was gay :P
That's me on the left side, and that's K on the right holding my hand..

I think one of the reasons why man invented photography was that he realized that he can never really trust his brain. Time has proved to him that many of the things that he perceives in a day will be forgotten as the clock goes round. Of course, diaries and journals are written to remember such events, but these can never really compete with the photograph's ability to freeze a moment, to capture it, and forever take hold of the memory.

Graduations, birthdays, and yes, Facebook PP's,  are usually some of the many things that man tries to photograph. And fortunately for me,  my peeps are able to immortalize the very first time K held my hand. (I don't know if this is indeed the very first time, but let's just leave it at that, 'kay?)

I can't exactly recall how this happened (which makes me doubtful if this will qualify as a happy childhood memory) but I remembered taking a lot of photos when I was a lot younger. I even had shots on that old nativity scene on our plaza, on Rizal Park on our kindergarten field trip-which was also the very first time I have ever been to an airport, and some random memories of group shots and forced smiles while celebrating the annual birthdays and holidays.

You see, photographs have been and will always be an integral part of preserving memories. Sometimes they give an illusion of happiness, sometimes they capture the happiness, but most of the time, they give us  the happiness.

The Emo Blogger's Happy Blogging Challenge: A Happy Childhood Memory