It’s A Sign
I believe in God.
I don’t exactly attend mass regularly and I almost always forget to say my nightly prayers before I fall asleep. Still, I believe in a higher being who knows everything that we do and is responsible for everything that happens in our life.
So when HotNurse’s motorcycle gets a flat tire for the 3rd time since we started seeing each other, I knew it was a sign, that God was watching me and telling me to stop sleeping with someone who has a girlfriend.
“Shit!” he cursed, as he put the vehicle to a stop.
“We have a flat again?”
“Yeah. But I think there’s a nearby repair shop around here somewhere.”
As we waited for the repairman to do his thing on the motorcycle, I looked at HotNurse inquisitively. “Didn’t you just have the tires replaced last week?”
“Yeah, I know! I don’t know why this is happening to me! A couple of weeks ago, the front wheel got a flat. A week ago, the chains broke and I had to replace them. I had to change the tires as well, since I was already at the repair shop anyway. And now, this!”
“Haven’t you realized we’ve never been out together without your motorcycle falling out on us?”
He laughed. “I know!”
“Maybe God is trying to tell us something.”
“Like what?”
“That we’re both committing a sin against your girlfriend and we’re not even supposed to be seeing each other anymore.”
Hot Nurse didn’t laugh. I guess he didn’t find it as funny as I did.
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Darna, a classmate of mine from medical school who was currently in a long-term relationship with her boyfriend after EngineerBoy, was just like the rest of the classmates in my batch who were in committed relationships. She found it her responsibility to set up the single girls in the class with her equally single male friends. Hence, Mr.Bisaya.
Mr.Bisaya was her boyfriend’s ex-landlord. He came from a rich family who originally hailed from Cebu. Because of his work, he moved to the provinces and was currently living at some boarding house with some friends. Darna gave my number to him and we started texting. Because he was of a different cellular network, I didn’t reply as much as I would have wanted to… Yes, I can be such a cheapskate sometimes. Well, it wasn’t as if he knocked my socks off with his text messages anyway.
Because I was bored and curious about him, I plotted on how I can find the opportunity to finally meet him. I was going home soon for a short weekend vacation from the community. Mr.Bisaya lived somewhere between the community and home. I told him I would be stopping by his area since I needed to catch another bus and that we should meet. He agreed.
I met up with him at a local fastfood joint. He was short, well-built (from all the tennis playing, I suppose) and average-looking. He was nice, yes, but he didn’t knock my socks off.
There was a major language barrier considering that he speaks in Cebuano (which is something like a deeper version of the local Bisaya) and although most Cebuanos can carry a good conversation with the local Bisayans and vice versa, I, on the other hand, can’t understand nor speak Cebuano. Although I do understand a little of the local Bisaya, that is, if you don’t talk too fast enough for me, I can barely speak the language. My Bisaya-speaking abilities is basically limited to the following medically-related phrases:
“Unsa imong gibati karon?” (How do you feel today?)
“Ginhawa lalum.” (Breathe deeply.)
“Kini imong tambal, imuhang ilumnon tulu ka beses sa usa ka adlaw, usa ka semana.”
(This is your medicine. You drink it three times a day for one week.)
And I am not even going to start ranting about my Tausug. It’s just sooo darn embarrassing enough – for someone who lived majority of her life around Muslims – that I can’t even make one coherent sentence in Tausug.
So, Mr.Bisaya and I ended up sign-languaging. LOL. Kidding… Actually, he spoke in Bisaya while I spoke in Tagalog interspersped with occasional Bisayan terms, in the hopes that we can both understand each other. I finally realized that it’s incredibly difficult to be your true self with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as you do. You find yourself unable to crack jokes and show him your great sense of humor, which is basically what I usually do during first dates… Yes, I don’t take life too seriously. So sue me… You find yourself drastically thinking and rethinking the things that come out of your mouth. My cerebral faculties goes on hyperspeed as it tries to catch up with the Tagalog-English conversations in my head, translating as much of it into Bisaya, and then leaving everything in God’s will as I let my lips and tongue enunciate the words as correctly as I can, hopefully without butchering the dialect.
It was no surprise that I ended up with a major headache.
I must have been a sadist in my past life because apparently I loved torturing myself and he was able to angle a second date from me after that. I spent one very wholesome night with him the next time. On my way to the community, I stopped by his area after a short weekend vacation at home and we had dinner, drinks and listened to some local acoustic one-man band show which he loved and I didn’t but didn’t tell him (The band was singing my grandfather’s favorite songs, for God’s sake!). We ended up checking in at a room at some hotel and sleeping on separate beds. There was certainly no canoodling in the middle of the night and neither did I give him any impression that I wanted him to sneak into bed with me.
I don’t really know if he wanted me to though and frankly, I didn’t care.
As much as I would have loved to torture myself with migraine brought about by English-Bisayan translations, I didn’t think that it was going to work. We ended up on another date, this time with Darna, her boyfriend and some of Mr.Bisaya’s friends. Maybe he was becoming more comfortable with me because all their teasing finally brought out his caring and occasionally flirty side, but at that point, I really just wasn’t feeling it. We started communicating less and less until a year or so later I found out he got some girl pregnant and ended up marrying her.
I was okay with it. He wasn’t worth all those headaches anyway. Seriously.
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I was out with JR, an old classmate of mine from medical school, and some of our classmates for a nice dinner. He quit medical school after his 2nd year and like many others, was currently taking up Nursing. It had been a long time since we’ve seen him so, we definitely had a lot of catching up to do. When I told him I was single, he immediately wanted to set me up with his friend on an impromptu blind date. He believed that we would really hit it off.
“Come on, [mistress]. He’s a classmate of mine from Nursing.”
“How old is he?” I asked. I didn’t want to be dating someone who’s still in his first few years of college.
“About my age. He’s a graduate of BS Biology and teaches a few courses at the College of Arts and Sciences.”
Hmmm… Interesting. “He must be really smart then.”
“Yes. That’s why I know you too are just going to be perfect for each other!”
I was still feeling a bit skeptical. “So, what is he into, aside from Nursing and teaching?”
“Well, he loves James Blunt and can sing really well, if my memory from our last Videoke session serves me right. You’ll like him.”
I wasn’t such a big James Blunt fan except for the song “Goodbye, My Lover” which basically has the same tune as all the other songs in his album, no offense to James Blunt fans who are reading this. But I do love Videoke and guys who can carry a tune. Still, I had my second doubts about being set up.
“I don’t know, JR…” I’ve never been set up on a blind date before. I’ve always preferred meeting a guy the traditional way and finding out myself first-hand if he was worthy enough for a first date or not.
“Come on, he just lives around here. I can just text him and he’ll be here in less than a minute.”
I still had doubts and I certainly looked it.
“And he’s quite good-looking too,” he added, winking at me.
I was sold. “Okay,” I told him.
A couple minutes later, JR’s friend, Chinito, arrived. He was casually wearing a loose polo shirt, denim jeans and sandals. Very casual, as if he just took the closest thing he could get from his closet and dressed up in a hurry. For some reason, I didn’t feel any sparks between the two of us. Could it be because he wasn’t that cute? On the contrary, he was. Very cute chinky eyes, curly hair, nice teeth, well-toned physique. An 8.5 in a scale of 1-10. Could it be because he was smarter than me? Nahhh… I enjoy making conversation with smart guys. They’re very stimulating. I can spend hours with a guy who has a lot to say and not be bored than with someone whose best literary reads are limited to FHM. Could it be because he was cynical about love? Hmmm… maybe. A little. But then, I think I am just as cynical about love as he is.
Yes, I too believe that sometimes love shits you in the face.
Actually, when I thought about it, I think the reason why there were no sparks is because he seemed too good for me. Not that I was into bad boys – okay, fine, who am I kidding? I AM into bad boys. They give me a panty a puddle just by looking at me – but although he does drink socially and all, like me, I don’t think he’s the type who will be compatible with someone as complicated as me. He’s like Rockstar without the temper, the ego and the emotional hang-ups. I can already see a lifetime of forbiddens if ever I ended up with him. I will be too much of an emotional baggage for someone like him. Eventually, he’ll end up being the kind of guy who will try to set my life straight when in fact, as of the moment, I don’t see myself as someone whose life needs straightening.
Some might think that I’m just backing out from something that might be good for me. Or that maybe I still have commitment issues that I have to work out… Whoah! Commitment issues! I’m sounding like I’m 30 already… But seriously, I’m not that picky when it comes to guys. If a guy is into me, even if he’s not my ideal kind of guy, as long as the chemistry is there, why not? Getting to know a person is a lifelong process anyway so why bother with hang-ups as to a guy’s height, his built, his looks, his personality, his attitude, his vices or his quirks? Those are the things that make him unique as an individual. Personally, I find those character flaws the things that make a person more deviant from the norm and thus, make him more desirable.
But chemistry, that’s a totally different thing. You can’t work with something that’s just not there in the first place. You can change everything else, the looks, the personality, the quirks but once the sparks aren’t there, what’s the point of trying to work things out?
TheRock once told me that maybe I’m always confusing chemistry with lust or simple physical attraction. But on the contrary, I can be incredibly into someone even if he’s not that physically attractive. Or I can also not like a guy even if he’s the school heartthrob or the most good-looking person in the whole world. Chemistry isn’t equatable to physical attraction. It’s an inkling of a possibility of mutually-shared romantic interest between two people. It certainly isn’t something you can just force to develop between a man and a woman.
If it’s not there, then, it really wouldn’t be there.
Actually, when I think about it, I’m kind of disappointed that I don’t like him that much. I mean, my blind date was really really cute and really really smart. He’s a good catch! But if we would end up together I’d be this little devil who will spin his world upside down and I will always feel guilty when I’m with him because I would always be unable to keep my hands off all things forbidden.
Tsk, tsk, tsk… too bad. Why didn’t I feel any sparks in the first place? Why, Lord, why?
There wasn’t any chemistry at all that we didn’t even act on any pretenses that we were supposed to be flirting with each other. I exude flirtatious vibes when I’m interested in someone, albeit subtle, and a guy usually picks it up easily if I liked them back. I don’t think he felt it too. No numbers were exchanged that night. I did thank JR for introducing me to Chinito. I told him Chinito was a good catch but I don’t think there were sparks between us. But he wasn’t that bad. I’ll probably be seeing him at the hospital next year when he starts his hospital duties. I told him to tell Chinito that if he ever needs to walk on the dark side and wants someone to spin his world upside down, just text me.
Of course, I was only half-kidding.
*** UPDATE – I bumped into Chinito a few months later during a night-out with friends. It took two of my closest girlfriends for me to realize that he wasn’t really all that. In fairness, he did slim down a lot and he looked pretty stressed-out… Arghhh!! Who am I kidding? He does have an effeminate air around him! I like my boys very masculine and naughty. Must be why we didn’t click in the first place. LOL.
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I am the other woman.
I am not proud of it. But I have to embrace the fact that yes, I am his other woman.
Before you start alerting my parents and labeling me a homewrecker, let me get a few facts clear. I am not living in with him and neither is he supporting me financially. I love my independence too much to actually do that. He is married, yes. But we do not have sex all the time and neither does he make me feel like I am his constant booty call. Yet I am aware that he has a wife and a kid out there somewhere. And maybe other girls, who knows? And that because of too many unwanted factors, our relationship has to remain a secret to almost everybody.
This isn’t a plea to justify my actions. I know what I’m doing is wrong.
I am just stating a fact.
So, why am I announcing this fact now?
Because I don’t want other girls to be in the same state of confusion that I am in right now.
If you ever see yourself going anywhere near that same path, don’t even think about it. Just walk away and don’t turn back. Trust me, I know what I’m talking about.
Being the other woman has its thrills, yes. Studies reveal that the chemical receptors responsible for that feeling of being inlove lasts only approximately three to eight months, but because our relationship has no set boundaries, I am constantly in a state of perpetual excitement. Our relationship neither has any limits nor expectations that if he ends up doing something really nice or really sweet, I swoon over the fact that he actually cared enough to do that for me. I would like to think that he is more honest to me than to anyone else. There is no need for anyone of us to bullshit each other and try to impress, thus, we enjoy each other’s company while simply being our true self. He occasionally surpassses my expectations and constantly surprises me because I never expect him to care for me as much as I care for him.
But I don’t really trust him that much. I admit to keeping myself from falling inlove with him even when I know my attempts are futile because I already love him, probably more than he loves me. I presume that when he doesn’t text me right away, he could be with his wife. That no matter how compatible we both are, somebody else has a bigger hold on him. That no matter how sweet and caring he is to me, I can only be at the most his second or third priority. That even if he did leave his wife for me, some other girl can still come and take up the role I used to portray in his life.
Yes, karma’s a bitch.
We both know that eventually what we have will end. We both know that when things get rocky, or the thrill has ended, or things had stopped being fun for both of us, neither of us are actually bound to work hard to still make the relationship work. I cannot delude myself to believing that I will marry him someday, or else I will only disappoint myself and get my heart really broken.
The life of the other woman is unfulfilling. Yet I stick it out with him because I have never felt this free and this comfortable in a relationship. Except for a few minor hitches, he could have been the ideal man I’ve been looking for.
He is after all the male version of me.
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Coming home for a short weekend vacation from the community, I decided to go for a night-out with my highschool friends. Somewhere around past 1 AM, Mcplayer called me up and asked me where I was. As we were already about to call it a night, Mcplayer decided to meet up with me after he himself had attended a birthday party for one of the surgery consultants. Because we were all poor chaps with no cars (but apparently with money to go out for drinks), Mcplayer agreed to drop off my friends home first. Drunk to the point of no return, he regaled my friends and I with stories about how one time he was so drunk yet he was made the designated driver that he ended up smashing their car on the side of a truck. Despite his ability to drive in a relatively safe speed and still recognize the meaning of changing colors of the traffic lights, my friends and I began to fear for our life. As they sat at the backseat, a couple of them texted me.
Damn u, [mistress]. Dis car is a Death Trap.
If we die in dis Death Trap, our ghosts r sooo goin 2 haunt u evry nyt.
From the back seat, away from my boyfriend’s watchful eyes, my friends sign languaged choking my neck and I just smiled at them sheepishly in the hopes that they will forgive me should anything happen to us. Mcplayer, oblivious of what his revelations had stirred in us, continued chatting brazenly, unaware of my embarrassment and of how he was making a total ass of himself.
Afterwards, as we lay in bed together and tried to nurse his drunkenness and my own throbbing headache, we got to talking. Funny the things you find out when you’re with people who are inebriated to the point that they cannot help anymore what comes out of their mouth. Their loss of inhibition can be an eye opener. Mcplayer wasn’t really a funny guy but I was completely amused with the things spewing out of his mouth that night.
“I’m so drunk, [mistress].
“I know.”
“You know, I’ve wronged you so much, [mistress].”
I raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”
“Remember when you texted me this afternoon? I couldn’t reply to you right away because I was actually with my girlfriend.”
I just nodded my head and shrugged nonchalantly. “I kind of assumed that already.”
“But you,” he looked me in the eye, almost sincerely. “You’re different. I like being with you more. You stimulate me mentally and physically.”
“Yeah, right,” I replied back, smirking sarcastically. I lit a cigarette and shared a drag with him.
“[Mistress], why are we doing this, [mistress]?”
I laughed.
“Hey, don’t laugh. Why are you laughing?… Do you love me, [mistress]?”
I started laughing even harder.
“I’m serious. [Mistress], do you love me?”
I smiled at him sweetly. “And who told you that I loved you?”
“I know you do. I don’t think you’ll still keep on seeing me even if you knew I have a girlfriend if you don’t really love me.”
I shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Let’s get married, [mistress]. When do you want to get married?”
“Year 2008. When I’m 28 and have already passed my Board Exams.”
“Okay. I’ll wait… I’m so drunk, [mistress]. Why don’t we just live together?”
I laughed even harder.
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Anakan mo na lang ako, [mistress]. (Bear me a child, [mistress]).
I laugh aloud.
“I’m serious. I want to have a son with you, [mistress].”
“Go and ask your other girlfriend for a son.”
“But I want it with you. I want to see the fruit of our relationship.”
“But why me?” I asked him.
“Because I know you’ll take very good care of him.”
I took another drag from my cigarette and blew the smoke to the ceiling. “Let’s talk about that some other time. I am not yet ready for that.”
“Then, let’s get married, [mistress]. When do you want to get married? Next week? Next month? Next year? We’ll just have a civil wedding first.”
I smiled and took his face in my hands. “Look, baby, I am not yet ready to get marrried… Besides, why should I marry you? I’m very idealistic when it comes to marriage. If I was to get married, it’s going to be with someone whom I’m perfectly sure would be completely faithful to me.” I then punctuated the statement with a quick kiss on his lips.
“Okay… If you don’t want to marry me, then let’s still see each other even when you’re already married, okay?”
I started laughing again.
“Don’t laugh. Promise me we’ll still see each other even when you’re already married, okay?”
There was no way I’d allow that to happen but hey, if it rocks his socks off knowing that I would, then, by all means. “If you can find me, baby.”
“I’ll look for you.”
“Oh, really now?… God, you’re so drunk
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I walked into the Clerk’s Quarters and found her waiting for me, her doe-like eyes unable to mask her current inner turmoil.
I nodded to her. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Where have you been? I’ve been waiting for you.”
“I was told by one of the nurses to write a couple of discharge notes before I left the ward. Why? What’s wrong?” I asked her nonchalantly as I rested my weary back on one of the beds… Ahhh… paradise… The muscle spasm in my back wanted to sing praises.
“[Mistress], I’m late.”
I sat up straight from bed. “WHAT?”
“My period hasn’t arrived yet. It’s been five days. My cycle never acts up. My period always arrives like clockwork.”
She was known for her paranoia. Prior to every exam, she’s right there wailing about how she wasn’t prepared for the exam since she apparently didn’t study at all. As we waited for a few days for the results of each exam, she’s halfway to throwing herself off the bridge with all her exclamations of woe that she was going to fail. And she almost always turns out to get one of the highest grades in every examination.
We were one of the smart girls in class. We were the ones who occasionally studied but managed to pass every exam. We were also the Bad Girls, the Drinkers-slash-Smokers. She was the flirt who always goes after what she wants, I was the more conservative slut.
As such, she frequently finds herself in situations that constantly brings her panic and because she can be such a drama queen, her problems become magnified to one hundred thousand times its value. Of course, she would constantly have to drag me in and help her find a solution that will fix her problems once and for all.
Which is pretty much futile considering that she never listens to me.
Truth is, I have finally accepted the fact that even if she tells me that I help her fix her problems, the actual role I play in her life is a soundboard, since I’m the only one who has the patience to listen to her and everybody else has gotten tired of listening to her same-old rantings.
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“Yes! And it’s probably Alvin’s since he was the last person I slept with!”
“And to think you’ve slept with your boyfriend for so long, but one time with Alvin and you’re pregnant? Oh, come on!”
“I just know it’s Alvin’s. I wasn’t quite that safe back then.”
I sighed. Two weeks ago, she had slept with one of the interns she had a fancy for. Forget that I told her not to do anything because he didn’t seem that into her. Forget that Alvin, an intern, was currently courting one of our other co-clerks. Forget that she had a long-time boyfriend studying far away. She wanted Alvin and she made it extremely clear to him.
And you know what they say about worms in the proximity of any chicken…
They get eaten.
So, one fateful night during one of her 24-hour duties, she climbed into bed with him at the Intern’s Quarters and they slept together, the bulkiness of her sleeping bag, their only cover to the lascivious acts that they were doing under the mattress.
As I pondered on what she had told me, other clerks began pouring into the quarters. There obviously wasn’t anymore privacy so we decided to talk outside. As we sat on one of the benches, she buried her face in her face. “God, what am I gonna do? My boyfriend will kill me.”
“Maybe you’re just panicking too much. Stress can delay your menstrual cycle, you know. I mean, with all these work, the papers and the duties, our cycles are bound to screw up. Plus, we both know you’ve been incredibly stressed out after you slept with Alvin. Maybe that had something to do with this delay.”
“But what if I am? God, what am I gonna do, [mistress]? I cannot be pregnant.”
“Okay, wait. Let’s look at this as rationally as we can. First of all, you could just be delayed. It’s only what, five days? You are bound to have some irregularity in your cycle because of all the things that are currently occupying your mind.”
“But I’m very regular… How about if I take a pregnancy test now?”
“And waste your money? No. You’re probably just delayed for a few days. Why don’t you just wait for it? Besides, it’s not as if a month has actually passed since that time you had sex with him.”
“I want to bleed now, [mistress]. What do you think can I take? How about I buy some MTX now?”
“Seriously, how are you going to buy one? We both know they ask license numbers for that in almost every pharmacy in this city. And I don’t think they accept pers.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I can ask from one of the doctors in Internal Medicine for a pre-signed prescription and pretend I’ll be using it for something important. Then I’ll just fill in the rest using my own handwriting.”
“Come on. This is crazy… I mean, what if you take MTX and you start seriously bleeding? You can’t tell your aunt and I’d have to be the one to bring you to the hospital. I don’t have any money to put down as deposit in case you need to be admitted, by the way,” I told her as I tried to make light of the situation.
“I want to start menstruating now, [mistress]. So I can finally decide what I’m supposed to do. How about those herbal medicine thingies they sell near City Hall? Do you think those are effective?”
“The ones whose leaves or treebark you have to boil and then drink? I don’t know… You seriously can’t imagine the two of us going there and trying to buy one?”
“Well… I… ahmmm…,” she started, staring at me angelically.
“NO,” I told her, before the first word ever left his mouth.
“What about any other drugs? Do you know of any other drugs that I can take? I told Alvin I was late and he gave me the name of some progesterone-based pill. Correct me if I’m wrong but isn’t progesterone supposed to increase your threshold for uterine contractions and make the fetus attach itself more to the uterine linings? I kept thinking, God, what if this guy actually wants me to bear his child? Ewwww!”
I laughed. “Progesterone? Didn’t we use progesterone-based drugs for those with threatened abortion?”
“I know! That’s what I thought too!” she chimed in.
I remembered something I read from the Internet before. “Hey, I heard something before about overdosing on Vitamin C as an effective abortifacient. I think you have to take about 6,000 to 10,000 milligrams in one day or something. And you have take as little water as you can or else the vitamins just gets washed out with your urine. I’m not quite sure with the dosage but I’ll check the Internet when I get home later. It sounded very effective. I mean, there were these written testimonials and all about it.”
“That sounds plausible. How much does one bottle of vitamins cost?”
“I don’t know really. But I imagine it wouldn’t cost as much as MTX… Do you even have any money?”
“I still have some left… How about a pregnancy kit?”
“No. This is probably all just stress-related delay.”
“God, how could I have gotten myself into such a mess!” she wailed again and again, burying her face again in her hands.
“Hey, relax. This is probably just nothing. Today, you’ll go buy those vitamin meds and start taking the customary grams per hour. If after a week, your menstruation still hasn’t arrive, we’ll go buy a pregnancy kit already… Don’t worry, okay?” I tried to reassure her as her eyes started tearing up.
She smiled, albeit forced.
“You know,” I started as I caressed her hair to calm her, “They say it’s lucky to have somebody pregnant around you.”
“Yeah. But I don’t want the pregnant one to be me!”
“Can you just imagine yourself with a baby?”
“Jesus Christ, no! Not yet!”
“Who would it even look like? You or Alvin?”
“I don’t wanna think about it!”
“Well, if it’s bald, at least you know, it’s definitely Alvin’s.”
We giggled like highschoolers as we made fun of Alvin’s receding hairline. I was glad that I was able to make her calm down for a while. That afternoon, we bought the vitamins and she started taking them right away starting that night.
The next day, she got her period. She looked at me sheepishly when she told me.
I wanted to strangle her.
So much for making ME panic along with her.
The moral of the story is if you have to do one-night stands and screw around with boys who are not your boyfriend, play it safe. Use some protection.
Just a friendly message advisory from your dependable pseudodoctor.
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4:00 PM
It was a lazy Friday afternoon. I honestly wanted to waste my night just surfing the Internet. I had just woken up from my post-24-hour hospital duty nap and I intended to spend it lazily at home, in my most comfortable shorts and T-shirt. But then, a classmate of mine from medical school who was also one of my housemates at the community started the cascade of tonight’s events:
Wer on our way hom. Cocolee has sum pipol he wants u girls 2 mit
I wanted to hide.
I’ve been set up by friends so many times I was probably a master in blind dates. And it always ends the same. We remain nothing but acquaintances. Occasionally, I bump into one during my nights out and I sometimes pretend that I don’t see him or I hide, afraid to find out if he even remembered me. One in particular just disappeared out of the face of my inbox without any warning only to see his Friendster default pic a month later with him and his new girlfriend posing infront of his cellphone cam.
But I disgress.
So, the guys arrived and I finally met Beckham, the one my classmates were apparently setting me up with. I reluctantly entertained the guy for my classmates’ sake. In all fairness, it surprised me that he wasn’t actually as bad as I expected. He wasn’t shy but he wasn’t very talkative either, which was a good thing because I usually get bored with shy guys who don’t talk and I could not tolerate guys who are too talkative. I don’t like it when you have uncomfortable gaps of silence and I absolutely hate the skipping rope conversations: The ones wherein you’re just waiting for the other person to catch his breath in between sentences, just so you can inject your own lines into the conversations.
He wasn’t from around here and was only in town to celebrate the festivities for the day with his cousins and relatives, whom he was currently staying with. He was two years younger than me and physically, okay… he was quite good-looking, I admit.
This could be interesting, I said to myself.
6:00 PM
Despite my adamant protests of not wanting to get out of the house, my classmates were still able to drag me out of it, into the guy’s SUV, and into the house of his relatives for a scrumptious dinner. Beckham took it upon himself to be an ever-attentive host as he personally served me various utensils, presented me with viands and made sure I was not without drinks. He continued to regal me with tales about his hometown, his college days, even his highschool days before dinner and during the post-dinner drinking session. My ever-familiar friend-slash-foe, Emperador Brandy, was the choice drink of the night. Remembering how much I had gotten acquainted with our toilet bowl because of this traitorous friend-slash-foe, I knew I was going to have to pass up the alcohol shots if I wanted to continue making a good impression.
But not after downing at least one glass though.
I kind of have a love-hate relationship with Emperador Brandy. So, sue me.
10:00 PM
People always said that when you talk to a drunk guy, he will always tell you the truth. I honestly had no idea if he was telling me the truth. I couldn’t believe that he too believed that one’s youth should be spent experiencing the good as well as the bad, for the simple purpose of not having any regrets when one gets old and looks back on how he lived his youth. It seemed impossible to me that he too watched the same cheesy soap opera as I did and that his favorite movie was “If Only,” a major tear-jerking chick-flick, which also turns out to be one of my favorite movies. I couldn’t believe we had so much in common that I had to keep myself from asking him, “Are you for real?”
He loved talking to me, So much so that we spent the night talking animatedly to each other, away from the rest of our friends. Not that I’m bragging but I can usually carry great conversations. I knew I wasn’t exceptionally drop-dead gorgeous, and not that 36-24-36 kind of sexy either, so I always try to make up for what I lack physically by making a guy comfortable enough when talking to me. And when the guy knows how to carry a good conversation himself, it usually makes for a very interesting thing I like to call “chemistry.”
I think the plan backfired.
Somewhere along the road, he had gotten too sodden enough that we were conversing as if we haven’t just met a few hours ago but more like months or years. This newly found closeness that he had conjured up in his mind was evident with the way he maneuvered the conversation to rapid transitions of anecdotes about his Nursing hospital duties, his past girlfriends, his feelings towards me, his haircut, his highschool teachers and even to sleeping together. I was pleased, flattered, embarrassed, uncomfortable and freaked out at the same time. It amused me to no end that he seemed to be the male version of myself two years ago. Only intoxicated. It would have been a good thing since I can’t resist someone who lives by the same principles as I did, except for the fact that he was totally incapacitatingly inebriated. Inexplicably wading deep sh*t in the throes of alcohol drunkenness.
Beckham was so relaxed and comfortable around me that by the end of the night, he was talking to me with his face practically six inches within my own face. There was really some serious invasion of private bubble space. When we sat down side by side, my upper arm was practically in his chest and the side of my breast was close to brushing his upper arm. I never minded really but I wasn’t that comfortable either. Contrary to what most people will think, I am not THAT liberated. What made the situation more amusing was when he started holding my hands, swaying them while walking, as if we have been boyfriend-girlfriend for a long time.
Add that to the fact that we were doing so infront of my landlord’s teenage children who supposedly looked up to me as a role model, my conservative housemates and the class’ two worst jokesters of all time, who will never make me live this experience down for as long as they lived. I was incredibly embarrassed and just wanted to stand in the middle of the highway and wait for a passing bus to hit me, most especially when one of the jokesters started singing a song made popular by Yeng Constantino.
“Hawak-kamay… Di kita iiwan sa paglakbay… “ (Holding hands… I will never leave you on your journey…)
Arghhh…
And to think, I wasn’t even drunk.
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A cute good-looking friend of mine from college, DonutGuy, called me up unexpectedly today, after a quick misunderstanding through text. Back in college, when there was still such a thing as free calls if you don’t last more than 1 minute on the phone, we used to do that all the time. He’d miss call me and I would be calling him back, saying, “Hello, DonutGuy? You called?”
Yes, my classmates had a blast making fun of me back then for those cheapskate phone calls.
Okay, I admit. I used to have this huge crush on him. His unexpected phone call brought me to an instant flashback of those days, back when I was still my more naive and less cynical self.
Flashback music please…
We actually met during a Battle of the Bands thing in school. He was brought along by a childhood friend of one of my classmates. They were three guys, we were three girls. After the Battle of the Bands, we went to play billiards, hanged out at the boys’ apartment and went home in the morning. My classmate, YoungMama, entertained her childhood friend and my other classmate, Lee Lee*, started being chummy with the other guy. I never was the friendly type so I spent most of that night smoking and joking with my girlfriends, occasionally smiling at the boys. It wasn’t until I was going home that he, DonutGuy, decided to accompany me.
And thus, starts the incredibly confusing saga of our so-called relationship.
Back when I was young, I never knew how to handle a new interest (Hmmm… when I do think about it, I think I still don’t. LOL…). He would find opportunities for him and his friends to drop by our school and see us and I, who didn’t know how to flirt back then, could barely look him in the eye when our friends were around. When he would visit me alone, we would talk about his dreams, our friends and our families and eventually, I started looking forward to seeing him more. He was a working student at Mr. Donut at the mall near my school so I occasionally dragged my friends to the donut shop just to get a glimpse of him. Suffice it to say, I stuffed myself with a lot of donuts and coffee during that particular time.
One time, he visited me at my dormitory and before he left, we hanged out for a while outside, infront of the building, oblivious to some of the other dormers standing too close together with their boyfriends at the other side.
“[Mistress], I ahmmm… I have something to tell you.”
I smiled at him. “Yes.”
“Let me find the courage to say it first,” he said, as he tried to take a deep breath.
“Come on, tell me.”
“I’m not sure how to say it.”
“What is it?”
It took him some time to come right out and say it. I had to painstakingly drag it out of him.
“Ahmmm… the thing is… I… I like you.”
I smiled. Yes! I said to myself. “I ahmmm… I like you too, DonutGuy.”
“So, let’s just let destiny take control, okay?”
“Okay,” I mumbled hesistantly.
I was left there, still standing, confused by what had just occurred. I had no idea what he meant but apparently it was supposed to mean that we have an understanding already. Ergo, kami na (we were officially a couple). But at that time, I have already been with two boyfriends and I knew that that was not how it was supposed to work. Isn’t the guy supposed to tell the girl he loves her or something to that effect? I mean, hello! “Let’s let destiny take control” certainly doesn’t equate to “Be my girlfriend”! So, the next day, along with his friends, he visits me and my friends in school. I didn’t know how to react so I ended up completely ignoring him. He gets mad at me and apparently goes drinking with his friends. I got pissed off with his overly possessive reaction so, I dragged Lee Lee to a bar, got pissing off drunk as well, and proceeded to bitch off about him while Lee Lee, who was texting one of his friends, reported stories to each other of how inebriated DonutGuy and I were getting because of the said incident.
We must have been extremely embarrassed about the incident, knowing full well that we both got drunk because of each other that we couldn’t find the courage to face each other again. Suffice it to say, our couple status lasted for only a day and we never saw each other ever again.
Although we remained friends – probably because Lee Lee ended up dating his friend for more than three years – we never really talked about that incident. And strangely, even after Lee Lee and his friend broke up, we still remained good friends, albeit, long distance. Sometimes, I do think about how I could have better handled the situation and how it would’ve been if things were different. We were both too idealistic back then, him, because he hasn’t experienced having a girlfriend yet that time and me, because I played it safe and never took any risks. If we had met today and he would still have done the same thing, I would have known better what to do and I would have been DonutGuy’s girlfriend in a heartbeat.
*Lee Lee – name assigned for a former college classmate as inspired by a friend of NML in Tired of Men
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I think I watch too much TV.
Recently, I have just finished watching the entire Season 1 of Chuck. This is basically about a computer geek who works in a low-paying appliance shop as a one of the Nerd Herd computer repair man. Due to a former college roommate-slash-nemesis sending him an e-mail of government secrets encoded in images which became engraved in his brain, a really hot CIA Agent Sarah and an NSA officer John are assigned to guard him at all costs as it is a matter of national security that Chuck be kept safe at all times. Considering that he is a geek after all, basically Chuck spends majority of his time fumbling through several life-threatening incidents, from which the two fully-armed agents would always manage to save him.
Chuck prefers to keep his double identity a secret from his family and friends and several episodes show of him doing his best to save his friends and his sister’s life without their knowledge. If the storyline does not get to you, the love story – but, of course! – that ensues between Chuck and Sarah will make you want to look forward to the next episode, just to see how much more Sarah can keep herself from falling for our dorky protagonist.
A huge lesson here, by the way, is that hot gorgeous women will always fall for the smart dorky geeks. It’s in our genes. We can’t help it. They’re sweet and sensitive. And the Alpha Male wonders why women loved watching Beauty and the Geek? Come on! Women dig geeks. Everybody knows brains will always conquer over brawn anytime. Everybody ages and eventually, a person will lose all that brawn. And what will you end up with?
Nothing.
I rest my case.
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There is a certain uninhibited feeling when riding in a motorcycle with the boy. The speed, the feel of the wind in your face, your hair a cascade of black waterfall dripping on your shoulder… it is simply poetry in motion.
I moved my body to his closer and his leg brushed with mine. Our denim was but a mere strip of cloth that did nothing to mask the heat radiating from our bodies.
I wanted Naruto.
I lusted for him.
I’ve been curious about him since our first of year of medical school when he was still courting me.
But he was still a child.
Albeit, a beautiful one.
And I could not find myself attracted by the conversations regarding Anime, his penchant for breaking his promises and his lack of good follow-through.
So I regale myself to contentment with our motorcycle rides, where with every brake of the clutch, I let my bountiful breasts brush against his back, as if somewhat accidentally.
As if I never knew that he deliberately presses the brake too soon and too hard.
And for a brief moment, I made him feel like a man.
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