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When Marga and I Shared a Draft Beer and a Cigar March 29, 2010

Posted by semikaljunkie26 in Love and Relationships A Chu Chu, Mushy.
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Marga was crying while relentlessly drinking a bottle of draft beer and puffing her cigar. For almost four extensive years of solid and unadulterated friendship, that was the only night I saw her lost herself. I can’t blame her. Allan, her boyfriend for over two years, apparently exchanged her for some obscure print ad model.

I said nothing upon hearing Marga frantically professed how she still badly wanted Allan back in her arms. I didn’t even bother say any word of encouragement for her to at least manage to feel relieved and eventually function well once more. I did nothing. Not that I was droopy towards the episode. It was just because Marga unintentionally made me reminisce a vivid picture of what was it like to be left alone by someone who told you would stand by your side no matter what, by someone who told you that love would conquer all. I remembered when I was in the same situation, trying to be hard-hitting for my own sake even though deep within, the twinge was too much to endure and swallow. Fragment by fragment, both quixotic and appalling memories of Chris, my ex-partner, twirled into me. It was the summer of 2001.

I must confess it was a fast-paced relationship. We met through a common friend. We exchanged numbers. He called me up the night after. I headed to his place. We had fried chicken for dinner. We kissed. We slept together. The next day, we were officially a couple. It was like a horse race. Mikee Cojuangco can run for her money.

Chris’ place in Makati became my second asylum. Since it was a summer and I never took extra courses, I got to spend myriad hours with him. Good thing his work in one of the premiere makers of succulent and vigorous pineapple products both in the Philippines and abroad wasn’t really a tedious and demanding one. He finished his degree in Liberal Arts in the De la Salle University. After college graduation, he applied as a junior account executive and eventually promoted as a senior account executive at the age of 28. He got promoted so young I thought maybe he used connections to reach that status. I was erroneous because Chris was really brilliant in Marketing. Notwithstanding the fact that I was the immature, know-it-all party at 18, I always wanted to be the more intelligent character between the two of us. I occasionally mocked him about how La Sallians act, talk, and think. Before, I seize on a prejudice that La Sallians were just a bunch of rich students who learn at a snail’s pace (But not anymore…I swear…Really). With these issues, he would just say, Pangit naman facilities nyo, talunan pa sa UAAP! To defend UP, I would immediately say, at least our brains are functional. And to end our discussion, he would suddenly jump on me and tickle my sensitive spots, causing me to holler all over his place.

Oftentimes he would wake me up after a strenuous night just to ask me to properly tuck his long sleeves in his trousers. And since I am not the type of a human being that can suitably get back to slumber after being disturbed, I would sometimes make his coffee, work on his laundry, organize his much disorganized closet, or at times cook for him the dishes I learned from taking basic culinary arts when I was still in high school. In return, I would criticize his indolence when it comes to doing household chores. Nevertheless I can’t blame a guy who grew up with a yaya until the age of 13 and a person extremely allergic to detergent soap. But then again, I never felt I was domesticated, even a bit, for I cherished how he actually appreciated my simple efforts to become a good partner to him.

On the other side, I also did appreciate his very own way of showing me his passion. He several times drove me to nice dinner. There were occurrences that I silently grumble to him about the price of each plate, but money never really became a large deal to him. Also, he gave me Winnie the Pooh items. He even knew the birthday of my mom and until this year, he greeted her. And he gave me a new mobile phone on the first month of our three-month long relationship.

Whenever we were free, we do movie marathons. He told me that he was crazy about Julia Roberts. He was so engrossed that within the span of our relationship, we watched Pretty Woman for eight times. Chris had already mastered some of the movie’s lengthy lines delivered by both Julia and Richard Gere. One time while watching the mentioned film, he recalled that the first time he watched the movie was way back 1990 in Quad together with his ex-girlfriend in high school. I simply ignored his recollection of it and instead thought that Chris was just really a huge aficionado of the physically big-mouthed yet competent Hollywood actress.

Speaking of competition, Chris and I battled on a lot of things. We played lawn tennis together. We also went to the gym together and raced through the treadmill. I would never forget our encounters over play station. We even considered having eating contests and the one who finished last takes care of the mucky dishes. Chris and I were so tough and so competitive that in some instances, even the smallest sparks lead to destructive forest fires just like what we see on the Discovery Channel.

If Sandra Bullock became the Ms. Congeniality, Chris was the Mr. Congeniality and his portrayal of the role would definitely hand him a Golden Globe nomination. He was extraordinarily congenial that he flirted with different guys and went home with the “others” when I wasn’t around. I knew that awful truth when I got to read from his mobile phone’s inbox a message from another person, thanking Chris for a wonderful and amazingly erotic night at his house. He even asked my Chris when would be the next saga. I retained my forbearing stance and calmly asked him about the guy. It was just sex. I’m sorry, he said upon realizing that I had discovered his duplicity. With those words of admittance, I just considered it a pebble that got inside my loafers. Then came twice. And thrice. I tried to keep my temperance. I won’t care if other people would get a taste of Chris as long as I know for a fact that his heart is still mine, I firmly told myself. On that particular moment, I knew I was in love. Unfortunately, it was also the similar moment when Chris lost his love for me.

The judgment day came. Chris called me and he asked if we can talk. In his unusual sinister tone, I felt a sudden rush that pulsated all over my system. Still, I overcame the uneasiness I have had inside and after a few seconds I agreed to talk with him. Blah…blah…blah…and he finally said, It was not you. It was me. Chris wanted me to react. But I decided to ask or retort no more. I dropped the game, I gave up the competition.

After a few days of hearing Chris’ farewell antics and eventually getting separated with him, nobody even had an inch of clue of how much pain I went through. I still loved Chris so much that I endured dialing his number even though he kept ignoring my calls. I still loved Chris so much that I would send messages to him, telling him how much I missed our time and how much I longed for everything even though I got no reply from him, even though I would start feeling tiny pains in my thumb. I still loved him so much that I incessantly left messages to his answering machine even though I knew he was home and just purely didn’t want to talk with me. I loved him so much that I almost lost my sanity.

When the wound was still fresh, I decided not to live in the past. Yes there were memories that I just wanted to linger forever, but sometimes some memories just don’t. It was not really me. It was not really my fault. It was really just how life went for me. After some sighs and sobs, there were lessons learned that helped me continue my life. The “it-was-not-you-it-was-me phenomenon” soon became over.

Two years ago, I was crying loudly while relentlessly drinking a bottle of draft beer and puffing my cigar. That was the only night Marga saw me lost myself. She can’t blame me. I just fell in love…truthfully and faithfully… without conditions… one hundred and one percent, if it was possible…

*The author had already recovered. Really.
**DISCLAIMER: I was so young when I wrote this. Yes I am being defensive. Hahaha!


About Ruel March 24, 2010

Posted by semikaljunkie26 in Narcissistic Tendencies.

Ruel entered the University of the Philippines Los Baños in June 2000. Hoping to become a writer, he took up Communication Arts, a 4-year degree course, and spent a great deal of time reading Jessica Zafra, composing essays, acting on stage, drinking beer, smoking a pack of cigarettes each day, and figuring out how to pay his apartment rent. He considered math and natural science subjects as brain-stimulating, pulse-quickening adventure with extreme prejudice. And due to the overwhelming feeling brought about by solving algebraic expressions and balancing chemical equations, he made himself believe that quality education takes time. Bachelor of Arts in Communication Arts slowly became a 5-year degree course and with only one academic unit left on his final semester, simultaneously he began working for a call center and finishing his manuscript.

One of the university rules states that freshman students are not allowed to join any type of school organization. The Office of the Student Affairs thinks that a student’s initial year in the university is a period of adjustment. Being the unconventional person that he is, he joined UP Oroquieta, a duly recognized varsitarian organization of Lucenahins in UPLB, on his first semester. The following semester he entered the UPLB Com Arts Society where style and substance combine; where love and hate collide; where plasticity is sometimes a virtue; and where gender-bending is considered normal. (i.e. girls love girls, gay loves men, men love lesbians, fraternity boy loves soc hunk, et al.)

Prior to living a life in UPLB, Ruel finished his primary and secondary education in Sacred Heart College Lucena City, one of the premier Catholic institutions in the country. Daughters of Charity nuns supervise the students, and it is without doubt surprising to know that Ruel graduated from that school in March 2000.  He has memorized The Act of Contrition, The Seven Sacraments, The Apostle’s Creed, The Mysteries of the Holy Rosary, Hail Mary, Our Father, Angelus, The Morning Prayer, The Noon Prayer, The Three O’clock Prayer, The Night Prayer, and all other types of prayer the Catholic Church expects its believers to seriously internalize. All he knows is that he believes in God who does not thrive in expensive sanctuaries dressed in fancy looking costumes with all the sequins and beadings. He believes in a God who can not be impressed by swanky candles and donations. He plainly believes in a God that dwells in us that you can talk with even using the worst kanto language you know.

Until now he keeps vivid recollections of his younger years. At age fourteen, he first fell in love.  He was thirteen when he began smoking and drinking. He reached the Grand Finals of Battle of the Brains at age twelve. His very first article was published when he was eleven. At age eight, his mom left for abroad and since then he knew the definition of independence. Five was his age when he almost died of an accident. He learned to read at age four. He learned to pray and scribble on walls at the age of three. He began uttering syllables and a few sensible words by two.    

Born on October 29, 1983 in Lucena City, Ruel has set out to disprove that things in life are naturally born. He has always been certain that a person is not naturally born to become somebody. What he means is that skills are learned and developed; there is a little room for success based on any so-called natural qualities. Yes it is possible to be born with a natural aptitude to sing high-pitched ballads and to gain success from developing such talent. But life is not a talent; it is an ability. It must be acquired and mastered. Life is more than a cute smile. At least this is what Ruel thinks.      

He still doesn’t have direction in life. Well, like everyone else.