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10 Things I Hate About You April 30, 2010

Posted by semikaljunkie26 in Love and Relationships A Chu Chu, Mushy.
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I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme. I hate it, I hate the way you’re always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.

***Too bad Heath Ledger is gone while Julia Stiles is in hiatus. I miss them both.

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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…

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