.jpg)
People say that the best way to forget about someone is to turn him/her to literature. I’m not sure which group of people said this, but I’m guessing they are those who can and do write. And this works! Well, at least for the people who can actually write cohesive realizations. Angst ridden and juvenile “I hate you (insert name here), I hate you and your stinking guts”, or overly melodramatic “I would die from a broken heart” lines simply won’t cut it. The idea is to encapsulate those tired and kept feelings and thoughts into the realms of ink and paper. It’s like creating a Horcrux (from the Harry Potter series). But instead of transferring one’s soul into an object, you transfer and lock those heavy sentiments inside a fortress of parchment (or in the Digital Age, bits/bytes).
This process has worked for me several times and has, modesty aside, birthed some of my best works. Why? Because literature is always best when there’s an underlying emotion to every word, an echoing bellow to each phrase, a message buried under shallow graves of euphemisms and word play… And the story becomes more fluid. Fluid in a sense that all those sentiments – bottled up and shaken – will just pop and flow like an uncorked champagne fountain when triggered. Sure, it may start off as a chaotic and puzzling outburst… But you will shortly arrive to an apparent and calm conclusion – A conclusion that might help you substantially diminish the intensity of, if not totally forget, the thought that drove you into writing in the first place.
So here I am again, after almost 2 years of not writing anything longer than what Facebook status messages and SMS allow, summoning the powers of literature to free myself from a binding thought. Once again, I will cry a desperate plea to an inanimate object --- ramming and jamming halfway past my cuticles to quarter inches of plastic pieces… Asking and begging a modern product of human ingenuity to aid me through a mundane human emotion. I know it’s pathetic to find empathy from a totally apathetic object. But I find comfort in writing the things I think about and then reading it again. It’s like hearing an advice without the condescending tones and the I-told-you-not-to-but-you-still-did’s. Think of it as my way of “mental-masturbation”… and by reading this, you’ve been welcomed to watch. (That didn’t sound right…)
Chapter 1 – DISCOVERING THE CONCEPT OF HEARTBREAK
Being high school in the late 90’s was kind of funny. For one, I think it was the first time in the history of Philippine Television that young teens were mind-fucked by the media to buy into the concept of dating. I’m sure you oldies (people who’re old enough to remember EDSA 1) had those too, but not as prevalent as it was in the 90’s. It was the advent of shows like Gimik and TGIS --- shows that somehow suggest that it’s cool to date someone… even if you don’t really know why you should and how to do it right. Yes kids of the 2000’s, before there were vampires and werewolves making out with emotionless skinny young girls, there were dudes in baggy striped pants and middle-parted hairs trying to impress girls in baby T-shirts and side-ponied hairs. Being one of those dumbasses who bought in to the concept, I started trying to get a girl to date me. I was confident then because I already lost my little-gay-boy voice, and I already have hair growing on my balls. I felt I have grown enough to become a man after so many years of being a boy. I felt ready… ready to have long conversations over the phone… ready to hold someone’s hand… ready to write flowery letters… ready to buy stuff toys and flowers and cheap silver jewelry and fast food dinners… ready to kiss someone sloppily… I felt I was ready to “fall in love”. That was how it was to me back then. All those humdrum activities, the superficial things – I have mistakenly associated with “love”. And so there I was… “Loving” in the only way I know how --- with the enthused histrionics of a character on teen weekend soaps. I gave everything there is to give, everything that my measly allowance can afford. And not long after that, I realized I was doing everything wrong… so wrong.
I was 14 when I first got my heart broken. Sure, I had a dated someone before her… But this was, to me, the first blood. Back then I thought I could literally die from a broken heart when it happened. I started drinking, smoking, flunking subjects and I shaved my head (Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I was 14). The funny part about it is up until now, I’m not really sure if I ever loved her, the person, or not. Was it my “love” for her that drove me into madness? Or was it the idea of her wanting me one second and not so much the next? I’m not sure… The only thing I was sure of was I got my heart broken. Heartbreaks and such are not necessarily manifestations of the complications of love. I get my heart broken when I lose money, it doesn’t mean I’m in love with it (Or does it? Hmmmm…). I was fourteen at that time so maybe it was just the roaring hormones talking. I may have been upset that I lost someone who actually liked holding my hand and kissing me… I may have been just upset of not having someone to make-out and fill proverbial bases with anymore. Or, I may have placed whatever I felt in a pedestal as a derivative of all those Disney cartoons I’ve seen wherein everybody falls in love and gets to live happily ever after. I don’t know… I was too young to know, really. And now, the details of those memories are too murky to dip my analyses in.
But what that experience did to me was astounding -- It broke me. I lost good friends, a good deal of my self-confidence and pride, the ability to enjoy the memories of high school and some money…. You know, from all the alcohol, cigs and unorthodox haircuts I had. It broke me to a point that I, masochistically, chased her around for years hoping for one beam of redemption. There was no beam of redemption… just a sad and pathetic journey to futility. I couldn’t really blame her. At that point I was too crazy, too confused, TOO MUCH for any teenager to handle, let alone date. I lost myself… somewhere between my first kiss and the day she said she doesn’t want me anymore, I left my adolescence. I lost my cool and my “nice guy” status… I became “that horrible guy she used to date”.
It took me a while to get over her and that phase in my life. She was the first girl I “loved” (… or at least the first one who led me hard enough to fool myself in believing I was in love). And we never got to be friends again… Sure, we still see each other on reunions and small get-togethers. But the conversations we have now are more like hi-hellos-and-the-weather than actual sincere concern on how we’ve been through the years. And I think she secretly wishes I fail in my life!? (Haha I flatter myself… I know she couldn’t care less if I would or wouldn’t.) But seriously, friendship will never ever emerge from that wreck we had because the mere sight of her reminds me of that first heart break… and well, every other heart break that I had after. She laid down the blueprint on how to blow-up the Deathstar that is my heart, and somehow published it in the Rebellion’s Journal. After that, every girl from Tatouine or whichever galaxy-far-far-away have aimed their sights for the vents. Brilliant job young Padawan! Brilliant job…
Chapter 2 – THE LONGEST LULL IN THE HISTORY OF LONG LULLS
After a long overdue self-realization that what I’m doing is basically just chasing pavements, I started to look for other options. I’m moving to a new city after all. I’ll get to meet new people, have new friends and hang out with way hotter girls. The new city is a smorgasbord of nice and pretty girls, by the way. I could just take my pick… all I have to do is fix myself and pretend to be interesting. And I have some sort of a thing going for me. I’m not from there… I came from a place where everybody is chill and cool in a detached-but-still-cool kind of way… a place where people drink when they’re happy, when they’re sad and when they have nothing better to do… a place where it’s okay to kill drug dealers casually and for local officials to punch fellow local officials in the face (Davao reprahzzent!). I was a charmingly provincial and almost equally urbanized dude coming from a cool city. And no one knows me… So I’ll have the liberty of reinventing myself and repackage my image as someone who’d be more desirable to the opposite sex.
Alas! I did not capitalize on that opportunity. I remained the same sorry, pretentious, uncool kid I was in high school. I was an emo even before the word “emo” was coined… Totally… not… cool… But don’t get me wrong, I’m (probably) no loser, I still had tons of friends that genuinely like having me around. I think I’ve led them to believe that my often semi-smart rambles and occasional bullshit opinions were actual gold. And I can hold a drink as much as anyone I know, given all the practice I had from my hometown. I pride myself as most-often-than-not, the Last Man Standing in drinking parties. Ahhh… College… Good times…
But going back… The first years of college have not been nice to me dating-wise. Sure I’ve met girls here and there, and hanged out with them, and went out with them, and you know… college stuff *wink wink*. But I haven’t really met anyone who gave me a strong enough push to make me haplessly fall into the unfathomable abyss of “love”. It’s not that those girls were not lovable, because maybe they were. They all had their own strong suits… charms, sweetness, smart unwarranted opinions, breasts, the usual she-bang. There was just no magic, no spark, no fireworks… I know this sounds a bit old-fashioned, but yeah, I look for those. And most of time, I find myself faking sincerity in every romantic line I let out of my tongue. I was doing my best impression of Don Juan de Marco, whilst secretly checking out their boobies between their blouse buttons as they blushingly look away. Yup, there was no magic… no fireworks… no A-Whole-New-World magic carpet ride… no soppy indie song playing in the background when we look eye-to eye… There’s just a sad boy desperately pulling rabbits off a hat.
Do you guys want to know what Magic is?
Day 1 of College, Enrollment: I was standing in queue, checking out the Manila girls I’ve heard so much about in folklores. (I heard they like to kiss in public and put out in just, like, the 3rd date. That’s so liberated, hip and modern and so Cosmo chic!!! Exciting!!! )... Then I saw a cute girl with dimples and short hair, in her baby blue shirt, dark jeans and Skechers sneakers. I thought to myself, “She’s pretty… I think I’ll ask for her name later… and maybe her mobile number”. And then I realized I don’t have any game in me of any kind so I just shrugged it off and murmured to myself, “Naaah… maybe someday”. She was my first crush in the University… cool… And then I stopped myself from staring at her and started probing the room again for more of them Manila girls. But do you know who that girl turned out to be? Well… more on that later.
The early parts of college, as un-magical as it was, still didn’t spare me from the menacing sting of heart break. Like I said earlier, you don’t have to love someone to get your heart broken. You just have to put an ample amount of effort on a matter, a dash of emotional investment, try to mess it up a little and then watch on the sidelines as the shit inevitably hits the fan. Voila! You get your heart broken. Simple! Right? And I’ve mastered the fine art of getting my stupid heart broken with very little help from the other party. I’ve fabricated problems that were not there… I’ve told cringe-worthy lines inspired by pseudo-jealousy and insecurity… I’ve been intentionally pushy and unlikable just to see if the bad boy routine works for me. (It didn’t… apparently, you can’t fake being bad) The drill goes like this: I will like you, then you will like me back, then we hang-out and will be happy with each other’s company, and then I’ll scare you off. Crazy!? Crazy ingenious is what it is. It has helped me purged out those who can, and who cannot take me as I am. After all, a good partner is not only one who you can enjoy sunny days with, but also one who’ll weather the tempest with you. My Theory: If she can stand your crazy, she’s probably crazy about you. The sad part is it’s hard to find someone who carries a big enough parasol to withstand my storm. And I totally understand why they run for the hills. I’m not stupid, believe it or not. I’m stubborn, not stupid. I am totally aware of what I do, well, most of the time. I do honestly and literally hear “myself” telling myself saying “Dude! C’mon! What the hell!!!???”… It’s a sickness, I can’t help it. It’s my own schizophrenic battle that I somehow insanely broadcast to one pitiful little girl. In the end, what was once a mutual and genuine attraction becomes something close to a celebrity stalking incident. It’s embarrassingly pathetic, I know. But that’s how I am… crazy… it’s part of my charm… If you fall for that you’re probably crazy too…
But not everyone is crazy enough to understand the genius of my way.
The most frustrating part about being in an unrequited thing is the soliloquy it elucidates. You’ve battled with yourself over and over to make yourself realize you’re wrong, but you cannot get yourself to listen. You’d end up being depressed over something that could’ve been avoided early on. It’s like crying over a glass of milk that has already tilted halfway -- In freeze time you’d wish that the glass was made of the same stuff like those things you try to knock down and would just straighten back up (Punchman ™, scotch glasses, a teenage boy’s erection, etc.) – but still it crashes to the floor boards. You’d find it a lonely sight even though you know that your idle and careless fingers caused the glass to tilt that way in the first place. Warranted sadness, you might say… I agree… The early years of college were full of those.
A Quick and Abridged Rundown:
Scenario 1:
Girl likes you because you’re witty, can handle a good conversation, not bad looking, good in the things you do and “nice”… but you scare her off because you were too witty and too damaged and too obsessed about wanting the things you want… And you we’re too crazy… You get your heart broken…
Scenario 2:
Girl likes you because you’re witty, can handle a good conversation, not bad looking, good in the things you do and “nice”… you scare her off because you can’t handle the fact that she likes seeing other people too, and you were too overly opinionated about it. You scare her off because she realized that you were about as smart as her, if not more, that it’s frustrating for her that she can’t drag and toy you around like a little Chihuahua. Sure you went out for a year, but she loved the substance in you more than you. And you’re crazy… You get your heart broken…
Scenario 3:
Girl likes you because you’re witty, can handle a good conversation, not bad looking, good in the things you do and “nice”… you scare her off because you’re just too damn good for her. She has got so overly used to dating assholes and dumbasses and is just not used to dating guys like you… So… (Bitter much?) And you’re crazy… Your heart and blue balls get broken…
Scenario 4:
Girl likes you because you’re witty, can handle a good conversation, not bad looking, good in the things you do and “nice”… You scare her off because you’re not exactly the type of person she wants to date. You scare her off because her friends hate you because you seemed like the type of guy who just runs around and breaks people’s hearts. You scare her off because she just got her heart broken by some jerk and she just can’t gamble her heart to someone who resembles the same jerk she has just dated. You scare her off because you whisper songs to her ear, you hold her hand with such enthusiasm, you honestly like her for whom she was, and you try too hard to like the things she liked. You scare her off because you come off as someone who is just too straight forward, too awkwardly honest, too true-like to be true… You scare her off because you’re crazy… and can’t help but make her feel you’re crazy about her… Damn straight, you’d scare her off… But…
Chapter 3 – FINDING CRAZY
No comments:
Post a Comment