Tuesday, July 27, 2004

the 20-word magic line

"as much as you want to, you can never rely on someone else to make you feel alive. it's an inside job."
-Jen, Dawson's Creek

ever since the breakup, i've been trying to find myself and i've been trying to do the things i have been wanting to do but couldn't. i've been trying my best to study despite the numerous distractions. i'm doing quite well, actually, given all the shit i go through everyday.

i remember when i was still in my old law school having this conversation with God. of course, He didn't talk back or that would've totally freaked me out. i told Him that i didn't mind not being so successful in the love department for as long as my Dad was okay (yeah, yeah, even if i like so hate my Dad, the man is still my biological father without whose sperm i would not have materialized), my grades were okay and i was getting most everything that i wanted and needed. i rarely ask God for signs, but i kinda told Him that if the right person came along, whether that someone was a guy or a girl, God will give that person to me and i'd know it's Mr./Ms. Right if the 20-word magic line came up. it's that precise.

right now, i'm just thinking, whoever that person is, i know God is preparing him/her for me, the same way i'm preparing myself for that person and we'll find each other eventually. when the right time comes.

i rarely believe in signs and people won't exactly believe me when i tell them that i actually do revere our God. but i know in my mind and in my heart (you know, that fist-like pump inside your body that greeting cards advertise to look like an apple with a pointed bottom where emotions are supposed to be from. emotions come from the hypothalamus, you morons.) that i'll finally get that wonderful feeling of loving and being loved and it'll last. (i won't say FOREVER, because for some weird reason that fucking word has an expiration date)

"between being with someone for the wrong reasons and being with someone for the right reasons, i'd rather be right"
-Amanda Jones, Some Kind Of Wonderful

Simple Kind Of Life by No Doubt

For a long time I was in love
Not only in love, I was obsessed
With a friendship that no one else could touch
It didn't work out, I'm covered in shells
And all I wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life
And all I needed was a simple man
So I could be a wife

I'm so ashamed, I've been so mean
I don't know how it got to this point
I always was the one with all the love
You came along, I'm hunting you down

Like a sick domestic abuser looking for a fight
And all I wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life
If we met tomorrow for the very first time
Would it start all over again?
Would I try to make you mine?

I always thought I'd be a mom
Sometimes I wish for a mistake
The longer that I wait the more selfish that I get
You seem like you'd be a good dad
Now all those simple things are simply too complicated for my life
How'd I get so faithful to my freedom?
A selfish kind of life
When all I ever wanted was the simple things
A simple kind of life

40-something days and counting . . .

yes, people. it's 40-something days before the bar exams. can i feel the fucking pressure? of course, i do, are you kidding me?

i want to go out. i want to drink til i'm numb. i want to smoke til my lungs burst right out of my chest. i feel like i'm gonna die any moment now and i still don't fucking know everything i need to know. the feeling sucks, i tell you. i feel less and less coherent as the days go by and minus the fucking diversions, i would've been just fine.

i can do this. i can fucking do this. or my name isn't MAY ANNABEL M. DACUMOS

words (a poem)

words seem so elusive to me at the moment
the words i need to express
what i truly feel for you, my dream
time always seems to drift so fast whenever i'm   with you
all the time in the world with you is all i need to live
but life is so unfair 'cause i cannot be with you
fate would have it that you love someone else
leaving me alone and lonely and lost
for words

Friday, July 23, 2004

the tall ugly bastard with no mojo

being a bisexual doesn't pay.  well, i have no problems with me.  i have problems with other people.  they tend to give you really insensitive comments and judge you simply because they can't begin to fathom what your life is like.

last thursday, i got really pissed with my former classmate in remedial law review.  he always made fun of me and my break up during class breaks and i joke around with him too.  it gave him the impression that since i wasted time talking to him he was actually relevant.  he's nice and probably likeable.  except for the fact that he always made it point to make fun of me, like those conversations made my life a little less miserable. he rubs it in my face that i'm bitter that my ex got me replaced before i could say czechoslovakia.   i think he gets off that way (thank God, i can do it alone!).

anyway, they, meaning he and his frat brods do notice how cute i've become ever since the breakup so they always joke around about visiting me in the dorm.  i don't really mind, as long as they bring their own food and source of entertainment. 

thursday, july 15, 2004, he jokes about visiting me in the dorm again.  then he says, "Bels, your tummy's getting bigger, are you pregnant?  would you like me to get you pregnant?"  that does it.  i hit him in the right shoulder because 1) he was able to duck and hide his face; and 2) i'm gonna take the fucking bar exams.  if i slapped him in the face that would be slander by deed and he wins. 

i hate comments like that.  i don't associate myself with lower life forms and comments like that come mostly from heterosexual male chauvinist freaks who have no mojo.  he's tall, he plays good basketball, he's fairly attractive although nothing in this life is fair.  i have no respect for him.  he will probably pass the bar because he's smart but he has no respect for people who are different like me.  people always hate things and people they cannot understand.  and to mask that fear , that ignorance, they make fun of you.  that ain't so smart.

The Outsider

I first wrote to Erwin last year, I can’t remember the exact date. I just thought I’d email him about my life, particularly, my break up with my lesbian ex. It probably aroused his interest because we emailed each other a couple of times before we actually met. I just thought I’d write to him because he was my age and he kinda listened to the stuff I listened to and we both knew Mondo Castro (The Pin-up Girls vocalist, former Ang TV star, former NU107 DJ, currently the host of Between Planets). I had also been listening to their show religiously although, to be quite honest, I know zilch of the songs they play on the show. But the show grew on me. You learn something new every day and every Friday from then on, I was hooked. Not so much the songs, they were great, but I was actually after the conversations. It wasn’t until I read a feature on his two older siblings that I realized that I was writing to that Romulo. He’s related to the Romulo who was the first Filipino Secretary-General in the United Nations and the Romulo who was running the government when GMA was campaigning. That Romulo.

Once in his show, when Mondo became a guest, he mentioned that I’m a nice girl who should write his columns for him. Coming from someone who’s probably read ALL the books in his room, having learned how to read as early as age three, who studied in a school I couldn’t get in twice (UP, first for college, second for law) in my lifetime (I’m scarred for life!), writes a column for one for the most prestigious papers in the city, uses words I have never even heard of, and for him to say that on NATIONAL RADIO, that is such an honor for me. I feel very flattered. I don’t get too many compliments, especially not like that.

I visited him, along with his co-host, Mario, the Gweilo’s owner,  some time in the summer. April 30, 2004, to be exact. After the show I told him he owed me a beer. He said he’d treat me right after we: 1) go to his house to fix something; and 2) pick up his fiancée. I helped him finish edit his Palanca entry. He kept on telling me he didn’t know how he’d be able to edit it without my help (page insert, delete, bold. Being the daughter of a man who owns a computer shop can be very handy). I even met his dad. I felt like such an idiot shaking his old man’s hand. He was asking me where in Quezon City I was  residing and from what district and I kept saying sorry because I didn’t have the slightest clue. I mean, how can anyone be anymore retarded than that?! I can’t believe all these rich people let me into their house when I could’ve been a psychopath, for all they knew (“it’s okay, we have guards”). After we submitted his Palanca entry, where once again he thanked me for being there (I lent him my pen because apparently, one can’t exactly register for the Palanca awards if one didn’t have a pen. One should also bring extra copies, three for the judges and one original – we printed five but only brought four, including the one which was supposed to be mine but ended up being submitted to the Palanca authorities anyway. Erwin, I’m still waiting for my copy via email), we went to the Umma Gumma’s booth at The Fort. There I met Yvonne, his fiancée (and Umma Gumma designer), and saw some of the clothes they have been selling. Erwin is a lousy seller :) Anyway, it was also the Urban Fiesta at The Fort. I met some of Erwin’s batchmates from Southridge (David Sebastian is sooo hot), a really nice girl named Corinne and I saw Radioactive Sago Project and Bamboo, the band, perform. After we brought all the clothes back to their home, we went to Gweilo’s, the bar, where we met Mario again, and Mr. Jack Daniels (I forgot his name! They kept calling him “Mr. Jack Daniels”!). There I realized how the study of law can be very advantageous. They all thought I was pretty smart and they kept saying how weird it was for one to study law and listen to rock music at the same time. Not all law students are geeks, hello?! Most law students can drink and smoke more than all the kids at Gweilo’s could.

It was around 3:30am when Erwin said that I should be going back to my dorm already (I call it dorm while my roommates call it “condo”. It is a condo unit but it feels like a dorm) so he and driver brought me back to Manly Mansion. He was (is still) very nice to me and I can’t imagine how a guy coming from a family as rich and influential as that could be so interested about my boring, mundane, pathetic bisexual life. He is very down-to-earth and friendly (I almost got introduced to Bamboo, the vocalist. SAYANG!!!) and geeky. I’m glad he’s my friend.

N. B. Erwin writes for the YStar section of the Philippine Star and is the host of the NU 107 show “the Gweilo’s Hour” every Friday. “The Outsider” is the title of his column.

Angry Girl Journal Entry 09.15.99

Surely you know how deeply I abhor this group of kids, particularly their only daughter. I hate her for the simple reason that she’s so darn nice and intelligent and pampered that my father keeps on comparing me to her. Kinda mean of me, I know, to blame her considering it isn’t her fault if she’s nice and intelligent and pampered. But I have a basis for all this because we never really know if they genuinely agree to make friends with me or they’re just as Tupperware as I am. I mean, I don’t resent them per se. It’s just that we have this thing called id (individual differences, silly) and what is generally normal for most people doesn’t have to be normal to others. And that is basically my point, since they’re sooo goody-two-shoes and they’re sooo brought up very well given their guidance, their access to the wonders of technology not to mention that they’re SHELTERED AND PAMPERED, there is absolutely no fucking reason why I should be compared to them, particularly to her. I mean, she’s so fuckingly perfect compared to me who’s not even close. I mean, does she do the chores, does she get out of the house, does she even get out of her own room, and was she introduced to life’s cruelty at a young age, TELL ME. She gets a general average of 98 because she hardly leaves her room (only to have her nails done), no contact with society, hello?! Why should I be compared to her? Moreso, after you so step on my feelings by embarrassing me, humiliating me and ultimately crushing my self-respect, you expect me to be chummy-chummy with her. Come on, you’ve gotta be kidding.

This girl, I pay for her fare when we see each other by chance. Never once did she mention that I’m invited to her debut (although it’s a given) and that I’m supposed to play this so-so part on it. This is the girl you’re comparing me to?

This girl, whose motives are supposed to be nice and intelligent, asks me to pre-empt my excitement by opening the gift THEY gave ME for Christmas in front of her. Why didn’t she just frigging wrap it herself? She’s intelligent, huh?

I obviously want to go to this party. I’m like, ohmigod, I’m sooo excited. Yeah right.


When I was in high school, I’ve had the privilege of being in the star section (you know, where the smart people are) for four straight years. But that never stopped me from mingling with the “little people”: these individuals who went to parties left and right, smoked as early as they knew how to french kiss and everything else. I mean, how else would I get the reputation of being “overly-friendly” now? These people who were supposed to have brains only they didn’t want to use them (because I believe that no one is born slow), looked at us as outcasts. They treated us like we had a world of our own. Well, what can I say, they were (okay, okay, WE were) a bunch of conceited brats, but we were self-reliant. We didn’t need them. We were multi-talented: we could sing, act, dance, play instruments, lead in the field of politics and military training (you name it, we had it), not to mention, some of my classmates were darn pretty, plus we excelled in our academics. There was competition, intrigues; everything of just about everything was there. It wasn’t really our fault we get placed in classrooms away from people. No wonder these narrow-minded bigots never liked us. They could, individually, but as a whole, they hated us. And I could understand that. They never thought of us as people who had fun. We were brains. I just didn’t expect that up to now, six years later, SIX WONDERFUL YEARS LATER, they’re still thinking that way.

Some of us got pregnant out of wedlock, tried jutes, got into bands but they still look at us as if we’re not human, as if we’re not capable of being cool, in their standards. Now that I look at it, since said standards are so fuckingly low and shallow, I never want to meet it.

I mean, think that way all you want, all your life. Get shocked when one of us falters, ignore us like a disease, ostracize us. It doesn’t change the fact that we’re humans, humans that ticked you off because we reminded you of how not-smart you were.

I thank you.

N.B.  i learned to french kiss at age 14, smoke and drink at age 15.  i learned to be really vocal about my angst long before i could write a whole paragraph.  it's been 10 years since i graduated from high school and until now, some of the people i referred to in this journal entry still think of us that way.  it pisses me off because they don't get it.  they just don't get it.

Thursday, July 22, 2004

Correction: It’s not, “are they together?” It’s “are they together AGAIN?”

I’m happy right now. I’ve finally made peace with one of my exs. Well, I’m slowly making peace with every living human being I’ve hurt in this lifetime (loading up on good karma before the bar exams) and tell you what, the feeling is actually exhilarating. It’s like a load has been lifted from my chest and I’ve been carrying it for so long. I actually thought she’s in connivance with my ex of three years to make my life miserable. It turns out she’s not and we’re really good friends right now and I love it. Our closeness makes the ex of three years crazy. Talk about paranoia.

Point of information: Before my ex of three years, I went out with this lesbian but we only went out for two months because I was such a slut then and I take full responsibility for everything. But I just have to say that I don’t seduce people who don’t want to be seduced. Let me just say that :)

Anyway, people are speculating that we’re together because we are always together and she kinda lives in my ex’s house because they’re best friends (told you I was/is a slut hehehe) so people aren’t speculating in a good way. And I just so want to say: it’s not,”are they together?” It’s, “ARE THEY TOGETHER AGAIN?”

N.B. Don’t tell my ex-girlfriend’s new girlfriend I said that :)

In the beginning . . .

When I first entered law school, I didn’t have illusions of grandeur, my father did. He was the one who wanted to go to law school, I didn’t. After graduating from college I thought I’d be slave to the corporate pigs for a while and then when I’m like high up the food chain, I’d do my own gig.

It obviously didn’t happen because there was this big recession in 1998 and I went straight to law school. I stayed in this particular school for two years before being pirated by my beloved law school (translation: I got kicked out because they didn’t want my money, I wasn’t cute enough for their standards and I didn’t make too many friends from the higher ups). Anyway, still, no delusions or illusions of magnificence, I just wanted to get it over with. You know, I just modified my dreams a bit. Instead of being slave to the corporate pigs, I thought I’d be slave to the lawyer-crocs for a few years and when I finally got the hang of what I was doing, I’d start my own practice. I’d only hire the gays and lesbians and the chubby short people, because I’d probably have the same difficulty finding a job myself, being the short, chubby person that I am.

I was always having these conversations with myself and with God, in the church and I’d tell Him that it didn’t really matter to me if I didn’t have a love life, for as long as my grades were good. It didn’t matter to me if nobody ever thought I was beautiful for as long as I could answer what the mean lawyer-professor would ask me in class correctly. I even had this sign, this 20-word line, which would only be uttered by, “The One”. That’s how I’d know it’s him/her. Till then, I’d be submerged in my studies.

Then I transferred. My old school was fag and dude heaven, this new law school was full of lesbian promise. There were hardly any cute single guys and the only yummy people worth paying any attention to were the lesbians, the butches. I think I’m gonna like it here, I thought. So I did.

I met this girl. She was really nice. She had a best friend who was also nice. They were both cute and hot and they were both attracted to me as I was to them. Little did I know that they have this history of fighting over the same women even before I got there.

I first went out with A. We were together for two months then she broke up with me because she had to fix her life and take care of other people and stuff. M entered the picture weeks later. They didn’t talk to each other for years because of me. Of course, the relationship with M lasted for like three years. It could probably be the longest rebound relationship on record, if you’d consider it a rebound relationship. It ended the same way the relationship ended with A. Tragic. (Funny, the music playing in my PC right now is The Smiths’ Please Let Me Get What I Want from the Pretty in Pink OST, which also happens to be a love triangle) The lying, the cheating, the crying, the backstabbing, the horror of it, it’s all so telenovela.

They’re back together now, I mean, they’re friends again. Kinda makes you think they were just trying to prove a point: they’re studs and I’m a slut.

I’m tired of this Dawson-Joey-Pacey hoopla. I love them both in different degrees. In two different occasions I saw myself spending the rest of my life with either of them, but it doesn’t mean I played with them. I want to think that they didn’t set this up to play me, either. I still have faith in people, no matter how little. I just hate it that friendships have to be ruined and that I’m the one doing most of the damage. It hurts to not know who in the end will be singing “Power of Two” with me. Maybe I’m just better off alone.

It makes me kinda wonder all of a sudden: Lord, am I only appealing to lesbians?

Wednesday, July 14, 2004

blood is thicker than water

thank God for sanitary napkins. i am just so grateful to the wise ass who put cottonlike material together, put adhesive on it so that women like me can have protection whenever it's that time of the month. it's one hell of a scientific breakthrough. not the telephone or the light bulb although i cannot imagine what it would be like to change your sanitary napkins in the dark. the blood, the gore. what a frigging mess that would be, i bet.

monthly period also gives a sort of lame excuse (although women do get away with it, sorry guys) for women to act in a not-so-acceptable manner. they can bitch (but i must say i can do that with or without the monthly period), they can be horny, they piss you off and shit and it can be easily attributed to PMS. i love it but i hate the fucking cramps and abdominal pains. it makes me wonder, how the hell can i be great mother if i don't want to experience the pain of giving birth which i hear is like ten times more painful than what women experience on a monthly basis? makes me wish the stork stories were actually true.


i love my friends. i've said it a zillion times. sometimes the people who aren't exactly related to you, they're the ones who understand you better. they're the ones who help you when you need something. well, most of the time. blood is thicker than water, no doubt about that. but water can turn into gas, or solid, blood can't.

Saturday, July 10, 2004

the Monster ADIA

Adia  by Sarah McLachlan
Adia I do believe I failed you
Adia I know I let you down
don't you know I tried so hard
to love you in my way
it's easy let it go...

Adia I'm empty since you left me
trying to find a way to carry on
I search myself and everyone
to see where we went wrong

'cause there's no one left to finger
there's no one here to blame
there's no one left to talk to honey
and there ain't no one to buy our innocence
'cause we are born innocent
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
it's easy, we all falter
does it matter?

Adia I thought we could make it
but I know I can't change the way you feel
I leave you with your misery
a friend who won't betray
I pull you from your tower
I take away your pain
and show you all the beauty you possess
if you'd only let yourself believe that
we are born innocent
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
it's easy, we all falter, does it matter?
believe me Adia, we are still innocent
'cause we are born innocent
Adia we are still
it's easy, we all falter ... but does it matter?

when i first the song Adia by Sarah McLachlan, i thought it was:
a) a lesbian break up song;
b) a song about sexual abuse; or
c) a song about broken friendships.
a song is always open to different interpretations but when i heard about the movie Monster , i said to myself, "wonderful! a movie that fits the song to a T".  i haven't really watched the film, i don't think it was ever shown here in the R.P. but  i have heard its story over and over from friends and you sorta wonder, did they use Adia for the soundtrack?

look at this:  Aileen Wournos was a prostitute  who never felt loved when she was growing up.  she meets Selby Wall, who became her girlfriend. later on, Selby, her only trusted friend and lover betrays her.  it's so sad yet so gripping (my frail attempt at film review and to think i didn't even get to see the film). i mean, i could relate to both the story and the song, not that i was ever a prostitute who killed her clients, but i did have to work to sustain my three-year lesbian relationship.

i may never ever get to see this film, but i will always get to listen to sarah mclachlan. and everytime i do get to  hear the song, i'd remember the film and the story of the woman who loved so much she'd kill for it.

Angry Girl Journal Entry 07.07.04

I have this friend who used to be involved with me. If you ask her if we were a thing before, she’d tell you no, because as far as she was concerned, we weren’t. We just happened to exchange epiglottises in her car just to piss my then girlfriend off. Anyway, we didn’t talk for a year but I did call her up after my ex broke up with me. To blame her, to vent, to talk. We were friends. Besides, when she was having problems with her girlfriend, she talked to me, to vent, to cry, to talk. I was under the impression that she understood me and had the capacity to clear my head. When I was trying to hide from my girlfriend (translation: “I want to be alone”), I was with her. She made me see things I couldn’t admit to myself because I was so madly in love with the ex.

She told me that we’d talk or at least keep in touch, when she and her live-in girlfriend split up. Not so much so that I could get into the picture but so that we would be able to talk freely. Her girlfriend had the knack of being jealous of everybody (my, uh, “friend” was such a slut anyway. She could easily get away with cheating because the girlfriend would believe her and declare war against anyone who supposedly flirts with her hubby. Sweetie, wake up and smell the coffee! Sometimes, it’s YOUR GIRLFRIEND who does the flirting and you buy her puppy eyes whenever she lies to you!!!)Which is why I can’t exactly call her up or text her if the kumander is there.

However, they were supposedly going to be separated from bed and board. My friend never really texted me, called or emailed me if it pushed through or not, because I did want to console her. Besides, I got problems too and I was under the impression (false impressions. I stand by what I said: people have never failed to disappoint me.) that I was important enough to be informed if they got back together or if it was okay to text or not.

I’m obviously not as important as she said I was. It’s obviously one of those lines she uses on everybody. Hell, I fell for it. If not for anything, I thought she was my friend. I thought wrong.

So it’s my turn, HON, to say your 7 favorite words:


People are natural editors. They have this knack for adding or subtracting from statements so that something totally simple turns out to be complicated. People leave out important details to save themselves. Ever wonder how one story can have several different versions?

this is exactly what happened among my roommates and me. i wasn't exactly fighting with anyone, they were at each other's throats. as much as possible, i don't take sides because it's not fair and i wouldn't really want people to take my side if i was wrong. hell, i'm always wrong.

anyway, i only react based on information given to me. if i am given wrong information, i give the wrong reaction. it's just like how a computer works - GARBAGE IN, GARBAGE OUT. i explain myself to them and i try as much as i can to listen to both sides and try to defend the other when the other speaks about the other badly. but then, what i said was completely distorted and it ended up horribly. it looked like i made them fight over something as trivial as using maxipeel and who should wash the dishes, etc. i feel so betrayed and they felt i betrayed them. it's dirty, and i don't even like to wash my dirty linen in public. i feel so bad and angry. oh well, people have disappointed me once again.


I love my law school. If fortunate to pass the bar exams, or even top it, I will not only wear my gay colors proudly, but I will scream to the top of my lungs my roots. what pisses me off about my beloved law school is the fact that they don't exactly take care of its barristers (and they wonder why we have such a low passing percentage). i have seen this all the four years i've worked as a member of the bar operations committee. the system hasn't changed. all other law schools get the support they need, financial and otherwise from their school administrations, but not us. we have to be the one to fix our papers, we have to pay for everything and we have to take the frigging exam. not to mention, we're the ones they blame solely for the embarrassing performance when not all of us will pass. wonderful.

i've said this before, if the students don't take themselves seriously, the other schools won't respect us either. but how can we develop that respect if our own school administration doesn't think we're good enough?

The Thin Line

Tuesday morning. The ray of sunlight seeping through the blinds woke Celina up. She could barely figure out what made her body ache the way it did as she glanced at the time.

“Ohmigod! It’s already 8:00 am!!! Cynthia! Cynthia!” No reply. Nowhere to be found was the man she spent the night with. He left a note though, “thank you, whoever you are.” She couldn’t remember his name either: Roy, Eric, Randy, whatever. She reached for a pack of cigarettes – empty. She would only have scotch today. Her cat’s meow reminded her that she was alone, and that her younger sister was on a symposium. Chelsea wouldn’t be back until Saturday. She pours wine on her glass again and looks at the picture of Ronald, her greatest love. They were supposed to get married when he met an accident on the ever of their wedding day. When they recovered Ronald’s body, they found out that he had been drinking. What hurt Celina more was that her best friend Sophia died with Ronald. Only then did she know about their affair and that Ronald was breaking up with Sophia that night.

Their mother thought it best for Chelsea to stay with Celina to help her recover. Celina didn’t have any serious relationships afterwards, but she had lots of flings. Most of them she’d met at a bar or at a disco and they would proceed to her place, just like the guy who left. Celina made love to them even though they hardly knew each other.

She glanced at Ronald’s picture again. “This is all your fault.” She cries as she gulps the remaining contents of her glass.

“Good morning, Gina.” Celina greeted her secretary. She knew that a ton of papers was waiting for her to sign as she walked into her office. Lighting a cigarette, she began to work. She had been so engrossed that she did not notice a co-worker and college friend enter the room.

“I thought you were gonna kick the habit goodbye,” he said.

“Oh, it’s you. I didn’t know I was being watched. Well, it kinda gets me relaxed. How long have you been there?”

“Enough to know that it’s your fourth stick. Hey, listen, it you don’t have any plans, why don’t we do lunch?” his eyes beaming in anticipation.

“Oh, not today, Andrew. I came in late already so I might just stay here and skip lunch. Maybe some other time. Thanks anyway.”

“Well, okay then, don’t want to keep you from your job. I’ll see you.” And then he walked out of her office. She’s still tough, he thought.

He had liked her ever since college but it was only after Ronald’s death that he had mustered the courage to ask her out. It hurt him to see her self-destruct and he wanted to be the one to fill the void in her life. She was everything he had wanted in a woman: beautiful, intelligent, kind. But she could only see him as a friend. Great. She’d go out with almost every guy she meets. Why won’t she go out with me?
Chelsea didn’t want to leave her sister in such an imbalanced state, but her boss required her to represent their company in the week-long symposium in Laguna.

Ronald and Sophia’s death was a big blow to Celina. It transformed her into a loose woman. Chelsea had been telling Celina to quit smoking but she wouldn’t listen. Now she’s been drinking wine for breakfast. She wonders how her sister can still manage a firm with the kind of life she leads. Worst of all, it had been her sister’s habit to bring home a guy she met somewhere in the middle of the night doing God-knows-what. Her sister was slowly becoming a whore. The only difference was that it seemed like she was the one paying for their services. Chelsea tried to convince herself that her sister was just going through a phase, that it was just her way of coping with the loss of her boyfriend and her best friend.

I wonder how she’s holding up, she thought. She can’t just sleep with any guy she meets . . .

“The project will commence on the second day of March, 2001 . . .” the words of the speaker just went right through her, she was barely listening.

What if she gets STD? Or worse, AIDS? What if she comes across a maniac or something? What if –

“Is the discussion boring you, Miss Perez?” Miss Perez?”

“Oh, what? Oh, no, I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.” She blushed in embarrassment.

The woman could hardly move. At first, she was very enthusiastic with this particular session for her new client had drop-dead good looks enough to make her mouth water. More so, she was getting paid to enjoy herself. But now, she thanked God it was finally over. She couldn’t believe what hit her, literally. She slowly crawled out of bed and reached for the dresser. A thousand bucks. A thousand bucks wasn’t enough to repair her face and heal the excruciating pain she felt. She had been horrible sodomized by what looked like a perfectly normal human being searching for fun.

“I’ve been ripped off!!!”

Walking out of the motel room was a very satisfied man, smiling and smoking. His name is jay, real estate broker by day, madman by night. This was not the first time he had abused someone sexually, not would it be the last. He enjoyed the idea of women and gays swooning over him and the sound of their screams after he is through with them. He is motivated by anger that is never ending and he will not stop until he has had his fill.

Five-thirty pm. It’s a Friday. Everyone is rushing out of the office, except Celina. They must not know which bar I’m going to. I can’t risk my reputation.

Ever since Ronald died she has not found anyone who could fill the void he left. She couldn’t even tell the difference between love and lust now. Chelsea asked her to stop the pattern she developed with guys, but now, she just can’t. I’ll hurt them the same way they hurt me, she said to herself. But who could she hurt now, if Ronald and Sophia are both dead?


A lot of matrons will come her, women with no dates, gays looking for pleasure, that wouldn’t be so bad, Jay thought. He is on the lookout for his next victim. Suddenly, a beautiful woman walked inside the bar, alone. She stroked her hair so gracefully and slowly made her entrance. Divine, he thought. The woman sat right beside him and asked for a drink.

“Cosmo, please.” She must have sensed the pair of eyes staring at her so she smiled. Greg started to make his move.

“Why is it that beautiful women end up being alone on nights like these?” he asked.

“I don’t know, a curse, maybe. And you, what’s your excuse?”

“Well, I don’t consider it a curse. For one, it’s actually a good opportunity to meet lovely people like you. I’m Greg Panganiban, and you are?”

“Celina Perez. Are you always this cocky?”

“Not really. But if I weren’t some other guy would’ve been here giving you an even lamer line….” And they both laughed.

“Seriously now, why are you alone?” Greg was so fascinated with this woman. He swears never to hurt her if he had the chance.

“Some stupid guy dumped me for someone else.” She replied.

“Well, I couldn’t be caught committing that mistake. Why don’t we go somewhere so we could talk? It’s pretty noisy in here.” She easily gave in to the request.”

“Sure. We can go to my place.”


Celina had had been so astounded by the way this man carried himself around her. He had been so gentle with the way he held her hand as they walked out of the bar and escorted her to her car. A real gentleman. Little did she know she was in for the time of her life. Or what could possibly end it.


Greg promised himself that he would behave for he could not bear to lose this woman with whom he had been badly smitten. He kissed her gently and she followed his every motion. Everything was going fine when suddenly, a red film flashed before his eyes and he could hear a voice beckoning him to hurt her. Hit her, Greg. Hit her hard. After that, he could not tell what was happening anymore. He could only hear the screams of a woman fighting back.

“Oh, please, stop. You’re hurting me . . . you’re hurting me . . .” He was pounding on something over and over. That’s it, that’s good. Show them who’s the man. The feeling elated Greg.

The red film cleared and he saw a woman terribly bruised and blue. Blood was all over the room. Horrified, he walked out of the house.

Celina could not believe what was happening to her. He had hit her so many times, she could not fight back. She was too weak. She screamed for help but her cries fell on deaf ears.

“Help! Stop, please. Stop it! stop please! Stop . . ………stop…………” And then everything was black.


Saturday morning. Cynthia dropped by the grocery before heading home. I hope everything’s alright. She really missed her sister. She admitted how Celina could be a real pain in the ass but deep inside she was a very remarkable person. She hurriedly took the key out of her bag but was surprised to see that the door was open. Something was jamming the door. She pushed some more and she was finally able to go in.

“Ohmigod, Chloe!”

The cat was lying there, all bloodied.

“Celina! Celina!!”

She rushed to her sister’s room, her heart throbbing, her hands trembling.


N. B. This was originally written in 1997, to be submitted to the author’s editors then. It’s pretty obvious why the work was rejected. This was written at the time when the author had no idea what a bar looks like, how it feels like to be picked up, sodomized or beaten up to death. Now, the author has been to a number of bars, her favorites being Gweilo’s and Mayric’s (most bars that she’s been to have now closed: Phenomena, Kampo, and Hobbit Hideaway has a new owner). Thankfully, she has not yet been picked up to be sodomized or beaten up to death :)

Friday, July 02, 2004

and they thought it wasn't possible

finally, a rock love song duet. thanks to the movie, The Punisher, we now have a rock song that is a love song that is a duet. not so cheesy, not so hard, but it gives you chills when you hear it because the feelings are so heartfelt.

Seether featuring Amy Lee

I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away
I keep your photograph; I know it serves me well
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain

‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away
You've gone away, you don't feel me, anymore

The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away
There’s so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain

‘Cause I’m broken when I’m open
And I don’t feel like I am strong enough
‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away

‘Cause I’m broken when I’m open
And I don’t feel like I am strong enough
‘Cause I’m broken when I’m lonesome
And I don’t feel right when you’re gone away

'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
You've gone away
You don't feel me here anymore

Thursday, July 01, 2004

the mystery of the "i love you" business cards

someone has been sending me "i love you" business cards. i say someone because i have no fucking idea who it is. he/she has a Nokia phone and knows that i too have a Nokia phone, one that cannot detect who the culprit is. coward.

i think it could be any of my exs just playing with my head. or it could be someone new who is, say it with me, people, COWARD.
come out, come out, whoever you are.