The Jerassic Era

She got smitten… AGAIN. But then, I thought, what’s new? Maybe it was a bad idea all along. We never learn. Never EVER try to save someone who’s not asking for help. Instill that in the brain for morale’s sake. And yet we’re still trying to save her from the trap we ourselves laid down for her to fall into. Free falling, as she often is. Will she catch her? Will she call? She wouldn’t even return her text messages. Okay, fine, she doesn’t have her own cellular phone. But there are ways, if will is there.
She didn’t even ask a single dull question about her. She didn’t even mention her name, not when everyone around was sort of pushing the idea of her existence into her head. Was she too preoccupied with laughing at my stupidest punch lines? Or too absorbed by the cheap thrill she gets every time she slapped me on the arm or gave me a pinch on my side that she forgot all about her existence, her persistence? Did she mean to hold my hand? Or was the alley just too dark and abandoned that she felt the need to hold onto something thermal? But those were their streets we sauntered back and forth in search for ice and smokes and coffee, why the hell would she feel daunted meandering a familiar path. Was I the one who held her hand first? I don’t remember the consistency of events but the point is she didn’t let go.

I woke up with her next to me. Actually, “woke up” is technically false because I really wasn’t able to sleep even for a second. Her scent and the smell of stale beer kept me awake, aside from the unvarying movements she made. She didn’t have to stay in the same bed; there was another empty bed perpendicular to ours. Do us both a favor and move out, I thought. But she chose to stay. I chose to daydream.

I left the sheets first. No interaction happened after that. Along with the alcohol came the events. No hangover from either the alcohol or the events dwelled after 11 o’clock in the morning. And so this means we’re moving on.

Yet she’s in my head, almost all the time in my fucking head. So that’s how it feels. Good one, cosmos, I get your point, my lesson learned. I know I’ve done the same thing over and over for different people, leaving questions in exchange for the passion that was too confusing to handle.

Maybe she didn’t even think of it that way. Maybe I assumed too much. Maybe I…

I got smitten… AGAIN. But then, I laugh at myself, what’s new? It was a bad idea all along. For she’s another hard-to-pin-down-cloud that puts me on a chase. Another fair muse that encourages me to dream. To dream of wasted sunsets and of fallen stars. Of sugarcoated words that would never be defined – could never be defined as long as I can’t make her mine. And it’s pointless to dream of things you can’t deal with and make happen while you’re awake. So, with this I’m convincing myself, I’m more for planning not making dreams. I want to think of things I can actually achieve, not conjure up ideas for some alternate reality. And that’s probably all she’ll ever be, someone heartbreakingly outlying and far a field from everything that’s real to me.
Evolove. I was telling Straight Kabuki about this certain pattern of falling in love, being in love, and getting out of love last Monday night. I’m trying to pretend to be a relationship guru as though I’ve experienced everything there is to experience in the demented world of EVOLOVE. Well, who would she prefer, a free practicing fake guru or a totally expensive shrink? She didn’t have much choice and she knew that.
And so, there’s this word-illustration, I showed her:

BRIDGE OF HATE
MALIGNANT EVOLOVE ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ APATHY / INDIFFERENCE

I told her, you’re a hopeless case. Imagine, she’s still wishing or hoping or praying that after 25 years she would still end up with Boy Abnoy. Hopeless is she not? I felt like skewering her brains with banana cue stick and feeding ‘em to the dogs. But we weren’t ready for anything like something you see on Hannibal or the Saw series. So, I just used Pothead’s formularization, to get over the fucking feeling called love; you must hate the object of affection up to the extent where you can hate no more. And tested by the reigning Queen of Pathetiqueness (two years of basking, mon, you will forever wear the crown), it truly does work.

But how to do that really? Hate the one you love. Replace an uber strong feeling with its complete opposite. I used to say, Hate is a stronger feeling, it’s more precious than Love. And no one deserves my Hate; no one deserves anything that special. But it is the cure. It is the antidote. Love is poison. Drink Hate and cross the bridge. Cross the bridge and get to Apathy or Indifference. When you finally reach that point, even when someone tells you, “Hoy alam mo ba ung ex mo naputulan ng kamay?” You’ll go like, “Ows talaga?” Continue with what you’re doing before you’ve been interrupted and not even ask, “Which hand?”

It is okay to go, “Give me my money back! Give me my money back, you b*tch! I want my money back! And don’t forget to give me back my black T-shirt!” – (Song for the Dumped, Ben Folds Five) at first. It is initial reaction. No one’s that nice. Or if someone is, she shouldn’t be. Then breed the Hate, let it grow.

Let it grow as big as your Pride is. If it wouldn’t by itself, then make it. These are your two best weaponries. Hate is your spear, Pride is your shield. There’s this whole Spartan thing going over me because I just saw 300 and I really liked it haha. Anyway, the entire pampering of Hate process would really come in handy if you have an overly reliable tolerant friend like Pothead. Because she’ll tolerate anything from combing the hair of an ex until the ex feels goddess-like with her very long hair to pissing in a plastic bag inside a bus. Very supportive, Pothead is.

Going back to Straight Kabuki, well it’s only been what? 3 months? And they spent like 6 decades together. It’s normal to still feel that way. Be in denial. Hope for the best. Want what’s surreal. Try to convince yourself that there is such a thing called FATE and that what’s meant to happen will happen eventually. I do that last part every now and then still. Jeez.

A friend of mine, JDC, left me some precious lines less than a year ago, they go like, “No one knows how much they got until it’s gone. Eventually she’ll realize your worth and she’ll know what she’s lost. When that happens she’ll come back or try to. Anyway, they all do.”

So, Straight Kabuki, hear me now, “Boy Abnoy does not see yet how much he had. Eventually he’ll realize your worth and know what he’s lost. When that happens he’ll come scuffling back into your life or try to, because every sad-a** loser with sad-ass intentions will always do. It’s just up to you if you want to put up with b*llsh*t all over again.”
Culture shock. I thought I have an open mind for just about anything. I guess the openness does not include anything that concerns gore, violence, or death threats.

The very essence of being in a woman-to-woman relationship is to shun out the abhorring attributes of the male specie. Their arrogance, double standard views, machismo, and the putrid idea that they are the dominant gender. And yet, I often see or hear about women practically turning into them, acting like undomesticated creatures, hurting the ones they’re with physically.

But it’s not going to happen without the permission of the other person, the violence that is. So, when one realizes that her partner is capable of doing something so inhumane, why still stay in the relationship? Because of LOVE? F*ck Love. No one, in her right mind, who really loves a person, would ever hurt the one she claims to love in whatever way, at least, not intentionally.

I don’t get it. Can some people really be THAT insecure?

Pothead told me, “One thing we have in common: Our ex’s would rather be with orcs than bask in near perfection.”

Are we back to the Stone Age? When, although life was so simple, the manner of humans isn’t an inch away from that of a savage beast. Back then, when a male wants a partner, he’d just look for a female pleasurable to his eyes, hit her smack in the head with his club, drag her back to his cave, and rape her.

Then when they get hungry they just go out and eat a mammoth or a saber-toothed tiger for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Have we not evolved at all? Perhaps some of us never really did. Maybe there is more than just one missing link. And that link will never ever be found for it exists in the part that cannot be seen by the naked eye… under the sleeves of battered women or on the arteries of their tattered hearts.