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.