the 7 kilometer radius rule

rey is my boss. rey is my favorite boss. and no, rey is not my only boss, so he's really the best boss in town.

and no, he's not paying me to say this.

rey, aside from being my boss, is also my friend. sometimes. and being a friend, he has had the occasion to pass on to me nuggets of wisdom over the past couple of years. the best, i believe, would be the 7 kilometer radius rule.

having a relationship these days is hard enough. for one, you have to find someone who's actually single, straight, and your age. second, in spite of cellphones, emails, chat, landlines, and what-not, you have got to spend real time together.

if you're from the south like we are, real time is a bit of a problem, especially if you're dating someone who's a south luzon expressway away.

there's toll gate. there's the 23.19 to a liter unleaded gasoline price. then there's major traffic.

it's enough to drive anyone away.

so he came up with the 7 kilometer radius rule. a relationship, for it to have a more than average chance of working, should start with the two parties living within a 7 kilometer radius from each other. we non-believers raised our eyebrows at the theory. we scoffed him for coming up with it even.

then he met this girl who has lived within walking distance from his house for the longest time, wooed her, proposed, and then got married.

then we started thinking.

and so i, obedient rosa, who has had countless of failed relationships, found my 7 kilometer radius guy.

it has its perks.

lots of perks.

but the best of all would have to be having someone to go to select with in the middle of the night to satisfy a major craving.

dress code violation

coming from a school where the entrance is flanked by a naked man whose privates are covered by a way too tiny leaf, dress codes weren't really my thing. i mean, come on, the fact that i wore pants to my classes was already a big deal in college -- i was one of the few dormers who actually dressed up to go to classes.

i had a seatmate who didn't even take a bath for 8:30 a.m. classes. promise.

so working for this university for the last five years of my life has been a bit of a problem.

but i've been coping.

or so i thought.

yesterday i got called for another violation. a dress code violation.

i made a mental review of what i've been wearing the last couple of weeks. none of them were even close to violations. i've been good.

apparently not. the dress i wore to a wedding a week and a half ago was the culprit. forget the fact that it was on a sunday, outside of office time, and that the dress was quite appropriate for the occasion.

my cleavage showed, and it was enough to send one angry mama to my boss with accusations about my lack of modesty.

and then some. i was told that it was not enough that i dress appropriately for work, i should follow the dress code wherever i go.

so forget a two-piece on the beach.
forget wearing frilly underwear even.
or that way too cute spaghetti-strap top i got last weekend.

we've got the mutawa right here in our midst.

-oOo-

on a lighter note, yesterday was the birthday of one my most favorite people in ortigas.

happy birthday nic!

can't wait ... or can i?

i've got a countdown.

now, it's down to 36 hours, 38 minutes, and 3 seconds. 2 seconds. 1 second...

he's coming home.

and after two weeks of text messages, emails, and short but budget-wrecking phone calls, i'd get to see him in the flesh again.

that scares me. a lot.

see, it turns out i've lived 100 meters away from him for the last 14 years of my life. he's played in the same street corner basketball hoop that i've shot hoops in while in high school. he's biked around the same streets that i have, and was friends with some of the people i've celebrated birthdays and other significant holidays with. but, i never met him.

i only met him on the martian's birthday lunch. how ironic.

and while i think we hit it off that day, all i got from him was a text message at the end of it all saying, it was nice meeting you, text you when i get back.

and he never did. honestly speaking (and i've always been really honest in this blog), it took a lot of maneuvering on my part before he came around. it involved sending an SMS to a party that never pushed through. it involved sending SMS while reading airline cases.

and then he called. so now the ball was in his court. let him think he wanted this. guys like that, i've realized (or more accurately, as every guy friend i've ever had told me). so we had dinner and watched a movie, chatted for hours on end on the phone, and there was the "surprise" and then he left.

for two weeks.

two long weeks.

two crazy long weeks.

and he'll be back, tomorrow, in exactly 36 hours, 18 minutes, and 50 seconds. 49 seconds. 48 seconds...

headfirst

i like jumping in headfirst.

i like the giddy sensation. i like the rush. i like the thrill of not knowing where i'll land, or how for that matter.

i've banged my head so many times sometimes, i'd like to blame it for my inability to memorize cases for admin law.

still.

here i am, rosa the romantic, trying to hold myself back from jumping in again. last night, i spent precious hours trying to figure out how not to jump, how to stand still, how to be patient.

i know i'm fighting a losing battle.

especially when the 25th comes around. cause the pilot will be coming home from his vacation.

that means we'll have to see each other face to face. i'd get to see how his cheeks dimple when he smiles. or how his eyes crinkle when he stares at you. i'll see how excited he gets over little things, like hello panda strawberry and flat tops in a care package. i'll hear his voice in long phone conversations, instead of hurried three-minute calls.

the distance over the last two weeks didn't kill what little we had to start with.

in fact, i learned a lot. i learned i could probably live with the constant flights away from home. i learned that my phone can store 90 messages in a special folder reserved for all of his messages. i learned that affection can be freely given without expectations of you being amazing. i learned that brothers can read guys like books and can tell you a lot about men. i learned that love can be slowly developed over time. i learned that two people can be happy with just planning for the future that may not be fully there yet, but is a goal you both share.

most of all, i learned that someone amazing -- and fits the checklist! -- can actually truly fall for me.

so don't blame me if i jump in headfirst again.

serendipity

we all want to believe we'd find love someday in the most unusual of circumstances. after all, who doesn't want a love story that begins with an accidental meeting, continues on with an attraction that spanned time and space, and ended with a wonderful ever after?

i know i do.

so maybe disobeying your then-boyfriend by attending the birthday lunch of your brother's barkada where you met the pilot was a sign.

so maybe your private international law teacher's penchant for airline cases was a sign.

so maybe your reading an obscure case where his lolo turned out to be chief justice at that time was a sign.

so maybe three airplanes actually appearing in the sky after your student said, "miss if we see three planes promise us you'll go meet him tonight" is a sign.

maybe.

but when your mom's best friend in college, someone you've been hearing of your entire life, turns out to be his aunt, that's not just a sign.

that's serendipity.

evidence

there's substantial evidence.
there's also preponderance of evidence.
and there's evidence beyond reasonable doubt.

text messages that have 33 "mwah"s in them (my favorite aunt REALLY counted them one by one) and a "mishu" at the end, or those that tells you how excited he is to take this "journey" with you. a card before he left. phone calls once in a while to hear your voice.

that's substantial evidence, or "such relevant evidence as a reasonable mind might accept as adequate to support a conclusion."

if he brings home pasalubong. if he calls a little bit more. if we have more amazing conversations deep into the night. if i find myself trusting him with my secrets.

that'll be preponderance of evidence, or "evidence of greater weight or more convincing than the opposing evidence; evidence more credible and convincing, more reasonable and probable, and can be circumstantial in nature."

one of these days i'll be sure. and that day, we'll hopefully be together. cause i'd have found evidence beyond reasonable doubt that the pilot's the one.

prince charming

fairy tales we grew up with told us that there's such the man.

he usually has a white horse, is charming, and gallant.

he always comes at the right moment, may be it be during your wake or after a hundred years.

he rescues you from evil stepsisters and evil stepmothers.

he makes everything alright.

you can't decide when you want him to come. you can dream and wish and pine that he'd come but he just doesn't. one day he's not there, the next day he is.

he can sweep you off your feet and make you believe that the world is alright after all.

he helps you realize that men like him fall for women like you not because you're a law student or because you're not pangit naman (the ex's words, not mine), but because he believes that a pilot and a lawyer can make beautiful music together (this time the pilot's words, not mine).

he sweeps you off your feet with talk of the future.

now, being the skeptical 27 year old that you are, you know half of this may be bullshit.

you know that yeah, it may be crap talking.

but who cares?

i'm living my fairy tale right now.

and for me, that's all that matters.

back in the game

moving on has its perks.

your tear ducts are relieved. you look better and less puffy in the morning. you start being able to live with yourself once more. you begin to enjoy the company of people you've neglected for a while.

the feeling itself is enough therapy.

except that if you've moved on barely a week after a break-up, people look at you funny. they call you and tell you "rules".

you should mourn for half as long as you were together.
you should go out and not stay at home alone.
drinking, in moderation, is good.
stay single. ditch the pilot, ditch any guy for that matter.
stay with your aunt instead of the dorm. it's better to have family around you.

what they don't realize is that all i have to do is to take one good look at the huge black and blue handprint on my arm, and i move on.

as swift as i can.

you don't gently run away from a monster. you don't even look back (they only do that in movies). you kick off your shoes and you run as fast as your feet would take you.

and if a knight in shining armor has a white horse that you can use to run away from the memories even faster, you board that horse and gallop away.

and you move on.

no regrets. no fear. no sense of loss.

all you've got is the knowledge that luckily, unlike bluebeard's wife, you didn't have to see the bodies in the closet only when it was too late already.

my hits have increased.

i am not pleased.

why?

because word of his death has spread. some people in the online community have started writing about his last post, and have pasted my link.

and in true filipino fashion, people have made a circus out of it.

and oh, stories, lots of stories filtering around.

that i am kat. no, i am not. read the blog. countless times it says rosa.
that i didn't show enough remorse. shock?
that i showed too much remorse. does the word best friend not mean anything?
that he was stupid. maybe, maybe not. do YOU know the entire story?
that it was one huge drama and we were pulling people's legs. like anyone has the time to do something like that?

fuck. why am i even explaining?

because you dumbwits have turned this into a circus.

someone, a real person, passed away.

yes, he may have been weak, and yes, he may have been stupid for taking the easy way out. but in the end, we have to learn from the mistake he made. we don't turn it into a circus, post links all over the place, and jump to conclusions.

have you read the rest of his blog?
have you read the rest of mine?

go fuck yourselves.

maybe, just maybe, you'd be better off.

logic

it's crazy how logic will get you everywhere.

men, by nature, are logical, for example, in deciding which pants will go with which shirt, or how to fix the piles in one's desk.

if ever, only love really escapes logic.

but please, even when in love, don't forget that no amount of logic, or lack thereof, can ever explain a man hitting a woman in anger.

never.

on any given day, march 9 is important enough.

there's my dad's birthday. really, all my boys and boylets pale in comparison next to him.

there's unica hija's birthday. really, if i were half the woman that she is at her age, i'd have nothing to worry about.

but really, march 9 is just that, yet another day in the calendar. a week after my birthday, 51 more until the next.

except that today i finally have to say goodbye to him (he's been promoted from best guy bud to guardian angel).

and i have to say goodbye to the boy.

-oOo-

relationships ending are either of two things. it could be your huge big blow-out, a lot of screaming and shouting and cursing. or, it could be your peaceful (but oh-so-full-of-crap) "let's just be friends."

i had neither.

i got the cold shoulder.

he dropped ten million of my calls.
he didn't reply to my five million messages.
he ignored my attempts to contact him through other unconventional means.

funny thing though was that it doesn't even have anything to do with me being a lying, cheating fink.

was i not good enough? i don't really know.
was i not cute enough? your guess is an good as mine.
was i not acceptable to his friends/family/business partners? maybe.

it feels like the lae interview all over again.

the feeling of not knowing. the feeling of despair. the feeling that its the rest of your life hanging by a thread.

-oOo-

happy birthday, papa.

happy birthday, unica hija.

goodbye, chio.

goodbye jay.

lying, cheating fink

relationship gods have a way of playing tricks on you.

the months that you're single and looking and quite desperate, if i may say so myself, to find someone to settle down with, you're given nothing. it's a virtual man-drought. no crv guys, no pilots, no phone calls from friends asking you whether or not you're "still in a relationship". nothing. nada. zilch. kaput.

months later, someone comes along. you date, you hem and haw about commitment. you think and rethink your options. you wait a while, thinking, maybe someone might come along, like someone you dated for a while but turned cold on you or like your biggest crush. at the right time you say the crucial three words and keep your fingers crossed that he's the one. you spend an unreasonable amount of money sending sweet nothings and making marathon phone calls so that you'd keep in touch. you walk around with that dreamy look in your eyes. once in a while, when the going gets touch, you call a good friend and vent. you pray and hope and wish that in spite of all the obstacles and the difficulties that you've realized comes with being this particular person's girlfriend, you can work it out.

but then you're human. and immature. and stupid.

and you find yourself hanging out with the pilot.

on a saturday night.

in your favorite jeans. and favorite top. and sexy stilettos.

and you realized you've primped in front of the mirror more than usual.

you deny it's a date, well, just cause neither one of you said it was that. it just so happened that both of you had free time on your hands.

forget the fact that he crosses your mind every single time you read an airline case. forget the fact that you spent an hour of your friday night chatting with him on the phone. forget the fact that although you were starting to develop a fever saturday lunch you chose overmedication with biogesic than to cancel dinner plans. forget the fact that after you spent time together the both of you still spent five hours chatting on the phone.

he's just a friend, you tell yourself.

now you know that his favorite dessert is sans rival. his favorite color is blue and he wears eternity. he brings yakisoba on trips to the middle east and he can cook spam ten million different ways. he wants to transfer airlines, preferably singapore airlines. he unwraps chocnut and keeps them in a tupperware beside his bed. he'd want nothing more than hello panda strawberry and flat tops sent to him on a regular basis if and when he relocates. he loves crispy pata.

and he likes you.

and you like him back.

and he'll miss you, so much so that he dropped by last night.

and he called again when he got home.

once more you fell for the singsong tone he uses when chatting with you. you found it cute when he remembered about the bag you wanted from bangkok and asked you if you wanted him to find it for you. you fell for the fact that he asked what your favorite color was and that you both have a thing for school supplies.

thank god for the three weeks that he'll be gone. he promised he'd write letters, send them to his house and have the maid deliver them to your house, but then you doubt he'd do that. he promised to send SMS while he's away, but then you doubt that too.

either that or you're trying to convince yourself that it was just a crazy weekend. you were lonely. you hated the fact that your boyfriend couldn't understand why you were depressed over the untimely death of your best friend and didn't make time to go with you to see him one last time. you felt frustrated over his repeated comments on the way you dressed, walked, drove, and every single thing about your life.

still, for 48 or so hours, you were a lying, cheating fink.

and that stinks.

things remembered

gin blossoms and "as long as it matters". ketchup fries. road trip to tagaytay. the blue-green corolla. you letting me drive your car even if i was hardly able to drive. long conversations on tuesday nights. my exes hating you. your exes hating me back. a really bad pirated copy of dos ekis. beeper 150. flat tops. summer at taal when the dog barked in the middle of the night. chess games. basketball and 21. a single pink rose for every single time i got depressed. tuesday nights. that webby flesh between my fingers. deciding not to. sharing the same last name. when we tried and when we let go. promising to be best friends. 160 kph at skyway. algeciras st. one burgundy place. long distance calls. everyone believing you were mayabang.

i don't have pictures of us together. i don't have your cards and letters anymore. i don't have anything to remind me of the 14 years of friendship, except for your rotc medal which you made me keep.

it's still there in my bedside drawer. when i go home this weekend i'll see it again. i'd get to feel its cold metal against my fingertips. the gold has turned a bit rusty now, but i remember how you were so proud of it. you told me to keep it until the day comes that you ask for it.

we'll see each other again this saturday, my best bud. i'll bring it with me and i'll show it to you, how i never forgot our promises. i hope i can show it to your mom and dad, to cheche, cedric, chaycee, and chico, and tell them that they had all the reasons in the world to be proud of you. i hope i can pin it on your shirt and tell you that the time has come for me to give it back to you.

goodbye

people aren't supposed to die young. they're supposed to fall in love, get married, have kids, fulfill their dreams, and then pass away.

friends aren't supposed to die. not now, not at this age.

i'm mad. i'm mad cause you left without saying goodbye. you just told me you were on your way home. how could i have known that home meant somewhere where i couldn't even call you, or send you SMS?

i'm mad cause you gave up. you gave up when things got rough. you gave up when things stopped going your way.

i'm mad cause you chose the easy way out.

i'm going to miss you. i just wish you didn't go away so soon.

i don't want world peace on my birthday.

i want chocolate cake with boiled white icing.

i want to sit in quick pick and have rocky road ice cream with vanessa.

i want to stand outside mini stop with leuts and contemplate on setting up a franchise while he smokes and i eat my favorite ice cream.

i want to drive off somewhere with my brother while having one of our amazing conversations.

i want to hie off to the washroom with rosan and listen to piped in music while contemplating on rebonding our hair.

i want to get on-line and chat with my mom and tell her all about the guy who rocks my world these days.

i want a call from my dad.

i want to call all of my students -- especially those who've made a difference in my life -- and tell them they've made the last five years worth it.

i want ten minutes each with my favorite bloggers and tell them how they've made each day a bit brighter just because they've shared part of their lives on-line.

i want to wake up late, take a bath with warm water, drive to work with zero traffic, and have a non-eventful workday.

i want to be called on to recite in admin and shock the professor with my insights on judicial review.

i want lapid's chicharon and bee cheng hiang and pepsi blue and grasshopper mint pie.

i want spike washed, waxed, and vacuumed. please wash the white seatcovers while you're at it.

i want bacon for breakfast.

i want sisig for lunch.

unfortunately, none of those things are going to happen tomorrow. i've got a school visit that starts at seven, a class from 1:30 to 4:30 p.m., and admin till 7:30. it's going to be a long day.

so i guess world peace will have to do, this year.