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.