Nobyo

Note: I wrote this sometime in April, forgot about it, and only just recently found it again, amidst all the rubbish I keep in the USB. I just copy-pasted it, did not bother with editing at all, nor re-reading to see if I wanna change anything. Carpe Diem and all that, ye know? On a totally unrelated note, this pic was taken on Lovelyn's wedding, sometime Feb or March, I think. She was glowing. Talk about misleading articles. Ha....Hmm. Long note eh? Whatever.

***
I haven’t written anything for quite some time. I know. I know.
It’s just that there’s all these emotions, but not enough energy to follow where they lead, and not much time either.
Aside from the usual hum-drum of what people call ‘the yuppie life’, I am drowning.

On Choosing Who You’re With
I’m not with anyone, let’s get that straight, right off the bat. In a sense, I chose to be single, because I chose being alone over being with someone whom I wasn’t entirely sure about. Or settling for someone that I didn’t really love (pardon the nonchalant handling of the L word).

These days though, people keep bringing up the age game. ‘Oh my gosh, ilang taon ka na ulet?’, ‘Pag hindi ka pa nagkaron ng nobyo soon, baka hindi ka na mag-asawa.’ (aside: apparently, people still use the term 'nobyo' these days...who knew?)

Feel me cringe.

I am only in control of who I choose to love insofar as I find men (unfortunately, I am no lesbian) whom I feel there is some ground to form the bases of a relationship with. I mean, there could be a million guys out there who ‘fit the bill’ rally, but if our paths do not cross, there’s really nothing I can do about that now, is there?

I am only in control of what I feel, and not what he feels, that man whom I could have given my heart to a few months ago. Today is a different story, though. I’m not certain what took place in the absence of a couple of months. I can’t really say. I can say with all certainty, though, that I chose not to swerve anywhere. What that means is something only the recesses of my mind understand.

In the meantime, people who have been together for double-digit years are breaking up like there was no tomorrow.

Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat.

On the one hand, the evil-slash-human-slash-selfish part of you makes you think you have a head start on finding the one, seeing as most break-ups require the people involved to go through the ‘getting over-closure-being friends-healing’ phase. Insert evil laugh here.

On the other hand, and more importantly, it blemishes your already skewed view on finding the one person who will make it all real for you.

And still, there are other aspects. Like there is only so much you can control. Like there is very little time, and (in these times) a terribly small pool of venues for you to ‘find’ him (‘find’ here to mean everything from actually meeting him, to getting to the final decision of whether to jump or not).

I’m starting to sound like I’m whining, but I’m actually not. This is all just spilling excess garbage from the mind of someone who’s actually more into theorizing than doing.

Theorizing gives you more room for options, explorations, and excuses. Doing, on the other hand, presents itself with so many embarrassing, complicated, and limiting options.

And you know exactly what I mean.

A House and a Home

On Living Alone

It’s not supposed to be an easy transition. No one said it was going to be easy. But I was expecting it to be much more fun that it actually started out to be. It involved a lot of grown-up stuff, to tell the truth. There was the thing about responsibilities, and money, and decorating, and mix-and-matching and setting some ground rules on what went on in my new humble pad.

Still, I like it. It’s different but I like it. It’ll take some getting use to, you know. The fact that when I wake up, I won’t hear my baby nephew crying, or I don’t hear my dad shuffling downstairs, or see my sister lying in the other bed, her face covered with her beloved pillow.

Yeah, it’ll definitely take some getting use to.



On Leaving The House I Grew Up In

We’d been hankering for it for around 8 years to my dad --- that we didn’t need that big a house, that we were better off just selling it and starting fresh with a new, smaller, more manageable house. Still, when you leave something you’re used to all your life, it’s difficult. I had lived there for as long as I could remember, and it was just right that there was some depression and frustration when we sold it and finally moved to a smaller rented apartment. I don’t think anyone noticed, apart from my close friends to whom I confided. It was tough, but I had to keep a brave face for my family, especially for my dad.

I passed the house around a month after we left it, and it was being lived in by caretakers (presumably of the lady that bought it). I wanted to run up and tell them to get their stinky asses away from our home, but I couldn’t, The urge was enormous but I fought it. And won. Still felt sucky after it, though.

Now, all I have are pictures and memories of that old house. Of my joys, fears, frustrations, anger, bitterness, realizations, and drama in there. I can only hope it’s enough.