Eight years ko na rin crush si Ivan*. Well, hindi naman totally eight years as in eight years kasi (like any real love) may period na hindi ko siya naaalala, kahit yung feelings ko for him parang naging non-existent na. Pero recently, dahil mej madalas ko na uli siyang nakakasama at nabri-bring up sa mga usapan namin, parang bumabalik din yung dating lukso ng damdamin ko sa kanya na at some point during the past two months ay nasabi ko ata na: ay all these years hindi pala talaga ako naka-move on sa kanya?

And then the kiss happened. My high school self would’ve been so happy, don’t get me wrong ah? My post-college/new resident of the real world/eight years in love with him self is also very much happy with the kiss, pero kasi if the kiss happened eight years ago baka it would mean nothing more than a kiss. Ganun kasi kapag bata ka pa. E ngayon nangyari. After I kissed him, parang gusto kong umiyak at magkaroon ng sarili kong Carson Herrera (I’m Drunk, I Love You) moment: Mahal kita. Ivan, mahal kita. Mahal kita eight years na. Eight years na kitang mahal. Eight years.

Pero syempre hindi ako umiyak at umimik ng ganyan. Pero ngumiti ako at hinawakan ang labi ko, pumikit, at nagpasalamat sa bagong silang na Baby Jesus. Naisip ko rin nun na parang ayoko na palang maging direktor kasi na-achieve ko na yung rurok ng mga pangarap ko. Parang pwede na ako kunin ng Panginoon kasi na-fulfill ko na ang mission ko sa buhay na ‘to. 

Pagkatapos ng kiss na ‘yun at hanggang sa matapos ang inuman namin, parang naglalakad na lang ako sa ulap. Siguro dahil nga dun sa kiss pero mostly kagagawan ng dalawang bote ng Primera at tatlong bote ng Mojito. At kahit ayaw na ako pauwiin ni mama, umuwi pa rin ako kasi ayokong makitulog. Gusto kong maglilikot at komportableng mahiga sa sarili kong kama sa sarili kong kwarto habang kinikilig. Pagka-uwi ko nakinig ako kay Taylor Swift, feeling ko kasi maiintindihan niya ako. And ‘di ba? A moment like that deserves a Taylor Swift soundtrack. Pero hindi pa man natatapos ang unang kanta ni Taylor Swift (na hindi ko na rin matandaan kung ano) na nag-play ay nakatulog na ako. Sorry. May tama e. May tama in all aspects.

Pagkagising ko, yung kiss agad ang naalala ko. Napangiti ako. Naisip ko: nahalikan ko yung crush ko pakingsheyt! Achievement ‘yun di ba? Pwede ko ba ilagay yun sa resume ko? Tapos bigla ko ring naalala na: ay bwakinangsheyt eight years ko na nga pala siya mahal tapos ngayon nag-kiss pa kami? Paano na lang? Another eight years ulit? Or times two ba yung added eight years kasi kiss ‘yun di ba? Nakakaloka! 

Pero kahit ganun, hindi pa rin ako nainis nang tuluyan. Nangibabaw ang kilig. Hindi naman sa malandi ako ahh (Sige, deny mo pa) pero may ilan na rin naman akong nahalikan na mga boys pero itong kiss na ‘to? Iba. Parang first time kong mahalikan. Ika nga ni Ninang Madonna: like a virgin touched for the very first time. At share ko lang din na medyo sumasakit na rin yung pisngi ko ah kasi maghapon na ata akong nakangiti. Buti na lang wala si mama sa bahay today kundi nakurot na ako nun sa singit. 

Wala akong picture/video nung kiss na nangyari. Kaya kung hindi ko rin pala pwedeng ilagay sa resume ko na na-kiss ko yung crush ko kasi kapag hiningan ako ng proof, wala akong mapapakita. Baka ma-blacklist pa ako! Pero I have this tweet from Michael (ex-crush turned kumare) and this note I wrote on my phone, probably before I fell asleep:

Ako, sa chat namin ni Vec dahil kinakamusta niya ako after the kiss:

“Basta alam ko lang hindi siya mawawalan ng space sa life ko HAHAHAHA parang may designated seat na talaga siya sa life ko na pwedeng upuan ng iba pero kapag andyan siya papatayuin ko yung nakaupo dun para paupuin siya”

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“You know I’m such a fool for you. You got me wrapped around your finger. Do you have to let it linger? Do you have to, do you have to, do you have to let it linger?” - Linger, The Cranberries

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*Hindi tunay na pangalan. Pero may crush din naman akong Ivan, di ko pa nga lang nakakamomol.

Pero bwakinangshet wala akong matapos (at wala rin akong nasisimulan pa na talagang gusto kong tapusin). Medyo mahina yung tulak e. Kabig lang. Pero for now, share ko muna ‘tong something na sinulat ko kahapon habang nasa backride ng tricycle pauwing Santa Maria after bumili ng Chocolate Mousse cake (and other stuff; yung cake lang kasi talaga nabili ko kasi mahaba pila sa Goldilocks) for Noche Buena with my mom:

*May dalawang lalaking nagyoyosi, 20 something. Hindi sila magkakilala, pero pareho silang nasa isang event, natyempohan lang nilang sabay silang nagyo-yosi. Prior to this convo, may pinag-uusapan na silang something. Basta magkapalagayan na sila*

-Actually, ayoko nga sa pangalan ko e. ‘Ivan’? Walang dating.

-E, if ever, ano bang gusto mong pangalan?

-Hindi ko alam e. Pero gusto ko yung malakas ang dating, yung tunog maimpluwensya, o kaya tunog kayang baguhin ang mundo.

-Parang Jose Rizal?

-Pwede. Pero parang mas okay kung ‘Emman Lacaba’ o kaya ‘Lean Alejandro’

-Hindi naman nila nabago ang mundo e.

-Hindi ka sure.

*patlang*

-Teka, ano ngang pangalan mo?

-Shaezer.

*titingnan niya si Shaezer, nakasulat ang malaking ‘WTF’ sa mukha niya*

-Shaezaer talaga pangalan mo?

-Oo

-Parang hindi totoo

-Paanong parang hindi totoo?

-Alam mo yung mga pangalang nababasa, naririnig, mo lang sa libro o sa pelikula? Parang ganun e.

-Huy, wag ka, madalas yung mga nasa pelikula nababago nila ang mundo.

Today, natuto akong magluto ng Tinola kahit hindi naman ako kumakain ng Tinola. Wala e. Sabi ni mama yun daw ang ulam namin for tonight. Edi okay, fine, whatever, sabi mo e.

Pero three things I realized while cooking Tinola:

1. My mom really doesn’t know me at all kasi never talaga ako kumain ng Tinola yet she insist na yun ang ulam namin for dinner.

2. Madali lang pala lutuin ang Tinola.

3. Meron na akong idadagdag sa mga pwede kong lutuin para sa magiging jowa ko.

So syempre kinain ko yung niluto ko kasi wow ang sarap ko mag-Tinola. Sali na ako sa Master Chef! ABS, paki-revive naman yung show para maka-join ako.

I think this guy, whose name sounds like something you drink after a shot of liquor, is asking me to go to Paskuhan with him. 

I wished I blogged more rather than just reblog random posts on Tumblr. These were the only posts I managed to retrieve from my first Tumblr account. I still have to go through my second Tumblr account and God forbid it’s 570+ pages lol I was THAT active on Tumblr before. If anything, I guess my reblogs also say a lot about who I am before and who I am now as I can see some of the things I am interested in now were discoveries that happened on Tumblr. After I broke up with Tumblr a few years back, I turned to Twitter lol now my Twitter has over 7K tweets and over 114K favorites hahaha

Ang lungkot ko lately, di naman sobrang lungkot pero malungkot. Parang ligaw na ligaw ako pero kahit naliligaw ako, wala akong ganang gumalaw at hanapin yung tamang daan pabalik. Hindi naman kasi ako nakakaramdam nang panganib kung nasaan ako ngayon, yung okay rin naman dito. Pero alam ko, hindi dapat ako nandito. Fresh grad ako pero yung energy ko parang nakapag-20 years anniversary na yung batch namin. Hindi dapat ganito e. Hay, how to find myself ba? Ugggh ang lungkot talaga.

Ang saya ng araw na ‘to. Other than attending my first ever Cinemalaya, I also got to pitch a story that I just randomly thought of a few days ago while in a barbershop. Sobrang nakakakaba yung pitch pero I learned a lot and it reminded me why I want to do films. Aaah my heart 

Lauder Dreams

I will be graduating from college a few days from now. I have attended our graduation practices to make sure I know where to make my entrances and exits, when to move the tassel of my graduation cap from the left side to the right, and when to go up on stage once they call my name to confer me with a latin honor. Or so I thought I would do all of these on my graduation day.

A day prior our last graduation practice, the school registrar released the official list of students who will receive latin honor and special awards. I wasn’t in school to personally check the list. I was sitting in a bus headed towards Quezon City because I needed to pick up an invitation for a prestigious awarding ceremony I was invited to attend.

Although the weather was gloomy, I was feeling great that day because I know I had achieved something that no one in the history of our school has ever achieved. It will be a luminous addition to all my other great achievements. But then my phone buzzed and I saw it. My name wasn’t included in the list who will be conferred with a latin honor, or will receive any special award.

I was shocked. I felt a lump gradually swell in my throat while my eyes slowly heat up. I know I was going to cry. But I kept myself from doing that because I have cried so many times in public places before and I didn’t want to add a bus to the list. I looked up and stared at the dark skies hovering on us so as to contain the tears that might rival the imminent shower of rain.

My phone continued to buzzed as my friends and schoolmates congratulate me but I didn’t feel the same level of joy they have felt as expressed by their excessive use of exclamation marks and emojis. Apparently, I am still going to receive an award for academic distinction.

“It’s still an award” a friend said. “It’s still a great feat you have achieved” said another. I stared at the word “still” because I know the difference these statements would make with the absence of the word. I felt disappointed at myself. I wanted to cry, and I blame my friend who sent the list on our batch group chat for making me want to cry at that moment.

The rest of the bus ride was spent sitting in heavy silence, my eyes still feeling hot and the lump on throat feels like it has doubled in size. And then it happened, as if on cue, tears fell from my eyes just as the sky let go of the rain it has been suspending the entire morning. I stared outside the window and can’t help but notice how the rain seemed to wash away the color of the city.

I tried so hard not to make a sound while I was crying but it was the kind of crying that needed to be accompanied with sound because the little, silent sounds we occasionally falter make up for the piercing screaming we do inside. But how can I not make any sound when I felt like everything that I have done for the past four years was invalidated, thrown into the void, and suddenly irrelevant.

I asked myself a lot of questions: where did I lack? What went wrong? What am I going to do with the speech I wrote when I was a freshman? I had hoped to deliver that speech someday, or that I was going to post it along with my graduation picture on Facebook wall. What did I do wrong? I asked myself these simple questions yet I can’t seem to fathom the answer. And that made me cry harder.

My phone continued to buzz in the background but I ignored the messages. I went to my notes to look for the speech I had written four years ago, when I was a freshman, to motivate myself to do well in college. I read the entire thing not realizing that I had stopped crying. Maybe because I was caught in awe with what I have written. The last part of the speech says:

“I encourage you to go out there and follow your heart’s desire. Dare to seek what fills you up. Dare to seek wherever your heart tells you to go. Dare to seek whatever makes you happy. And after that, you will find yourself in the same crossroad where you once stood but you are no longer confused or longing for answers because you will realize that whichever path you take, as long as it is where your heart wants you to go, you will never be lost. If the road less travelled is where your heart wants you to be, take it, go down that road and let yourself grow until it becomes the road more often travelled.”

From my situation there at that bus, it felt like a different person had written that text and I wanted to meet him, talk to him and ask him to tell me I did nothing wrong—that I had done my best, that it was okay that I followed my heart because my films are being screened in film festivals and I am being recognized for it. I wanted him to tell me that it was okay that I had taken the road less travelled. Apparently, my 16 years old self is much wiser than the 20 years old me. But he was right.

I had stopped crying but the rain was still pouring hard. I stared outside the window and looked at the sky, there weren’t any sign that the rain will stop but I knew it will. It always does.

I didn’t get the ending I wanted but I realized, I will be graduating from college a few days from now. I attended our graduation practices because I wanted to make sure I know where to make my entrances and exits, when to move the tassel of my graduation cap from the left side to the right, and when to go up on stage once they call my name to confer me with my hard-earned degree.

The Gilmore Girl I Could’ve Become

There are shows or films or songs that if only we’ve seen or heard earlier in our lives maybe we could have become a different person. A single episode in a series, a single scene in a film, a single lyric or chord in a song will be the water that would baptise us to become a different person.

I’ve been watching a lot of Gilmore Girls lately and I can’t help but realise that if only I had seen this show, or that of someone had mentioned this show to me when I was much younger maybe I would have been a different person. I would have made different choices. I would have taken a different path. I would have looked at things differently. And I would definitely have a better outlook of the world around me. Maybe if I had seen this show when I was in high school, I would have taken my math and science subjects seriously. Maybe then I would pass the UPCAT and be in UP. Or I could have dreamed a bit more wilder and dared take an entrance exam for an overseas college. 

I wished I had seen this show at an earlier part of my life, like when I was a college freshie. If I had seen Gilmore Girls when I was a freshie, I would have religiously go to the library to read my handouts–highlight every important detail and encircle the words I don’t know or understand, and write what I understood and didn’t on the margins of these handouts. I would have read more books, the classics, poetry, speeches, essays, researches. I would have pushed myself to stay in the college paper and write more. I should have pushed myself to write more even if I left the college paper.

I could’ve done more while I still had the time and when it still mattered. I could’ve join more organizations and actually be involve in these organizations. I could’ve volunteered for causes that are bigger than me. I could’ve done better. I should’ve done better. Maybe then, now that I am only two weeks away from graduation, I won’t have to doubt myself if I’m good enough for grad school. Or if my GPA is good enough to earn me a latin honor.

But most importantly, I could’ve talked to my mother more often. That’s what Gilmore Girls is really about, the mother-daughter relationship. I wish I could’ve shared with my mother the first time I smoked a cigarette, or the first time I drunk liquor. Or maybe the first time I got an uno and how it made feel so happy I treated myself to pizza. I could’ve told her the first time I slept over at a friend’s house but we didn’t actually do any sleeping because we crammed our requirements that is due the next day. Or the first time I cuddled with a boy to sleep and how it reminded me of when she would rub my back for me to fall asleep when I was a child. I could’ve told her about that one big fight among my friends that caused one of us to transfer to another school. I could’ve told her that gave three of my shirts to the same guy because this guy always sleeps at my place and every time he didn’t have clean clothes to change into. I could’ve told her the first time this guy went at my place and how awkwardly we slept next to each other. I could’ve told her about the first guy I kissed in college or the first guy I hooked up with in college. Or the firsts of these cases, regardless of its occurrence because that’s what Rory did in the series, she told everything to her mother. And Lorelai listened, and I mean LISTENED, to everything Rory told her. 

They were best friends first then mother-daughter second. And it makes sense because you tell your best friend everything. You tell your best friend about the boys you’ve kissed, the sex you’ve had and who you had it with, you tell them that you hate your teachers, you tell them that you like drinking hard drinks but vomits at the taste of alcohol mixes, or that you prefer smoking blue than red. 

If only I had seen this show when I was much younger, I would’ve have understood my mother. I would’ve let myself cried to her. I would’ve embrace her tight every time I had to go back to my dorm. I would’ve told her I miss her so much and I am so tired of eating canned goods every night, that I’ll take her tasteless sinigang over another can of San Marino chilli corned tuna. I could’ve said ‘I love you’ more affectionately every time she call. 

There are so many times that I needed her to be a mother to me but she didn’t. She wasn’t there. She didn’t know and she didn’t do anything, she didn’t make any effort to know or ask me how was I. And I guess we were both to be blamed because I know, like how it was in the series, this goes both ways. And I could have known better if I had only seen this stupid show when I was fucking 10.