Prologue: There are currently two categories of friends defined earlier, "1 - 3" and friends "A - F". Both categories are on different levels and equally important, and this third one "(i) onwards" are no different. I currently am only in the same geographical proximity of 3, D and F :)
(i): you know who you are. i respect that. you don't have an ounce of bullshit in you. if i was to slice through your center and dissect you, there would be flesh like a peach. Not over gooey, undercooked tissue like some oversentimental mindless reflections of people, nor the black empty starless void you would find in others. You understand me, appreciate me, make me feel sexy as hell. And smart witty and super intelligent. I am a dry sarcastic wit when I am with you. I am a beautiful heart breaking goddess when i am with you. I love it. I love the way you seem to bring out such a diverse secure sexy side in me. you are completely "safe". I will never fall for you, and you will never fall for me. you are a fantastic friend. you would be the perfect Will to my Grace (but you're not gay-hot) :) you're cool. you're like the natural born killers guy (a little overdramatic maybe, but a good analogy). we've weirdly managed to stay friends, and i'm at that stage where anyone who can understand me when i talk is a rare and precious commodity. so my rare and precious friend, i really really hope our relationship stays this way, or progresses to closer and better things. catch you on msn ok?
Saturday, November 27, 2004
Friday, November 26, 2004
HOW NOW
Note from author: This post is s sequel to "How" published in this blog on July 2004
I stand outside the apartment with mixed feelings. I have a curious reaction to parties, and being co-host amplifies my ambivalence. I loved planning the party, the guest lists, the invitation designs, the food, the décor. I loved getting dressed for the occasion, the makeup and break from everyday sober colors and textures. I've loved dressing up since I've been very very little. I rediscovered the rituals of makeup and dress up in college, where sleepless nights and constant high grade chronic stress drove me to insane avenues of release. But the downside of the entire rain dance of getting dressed was that I get to the event itself and am suffocated by boredom within the first five minutes. I get out of my car, and people around me are already trickling into the apartment.
Shrieking pre-partying couples making me feel old, and remember the times when I too was once part of the same heady giggly carefree bunch. I am the host, I should run in and see if there is stuff to manage, things to fix, DJ's, waiters or bearers to organize.
I hesitate outside, don't feel like plunging in as usual, and decide to get a drink from the terrace first. I stumble into the dark patio, contact lensed eyes unadjusted from the starkly lit guarded porchway. The party planner in me double checks the fairy lights twinkling behind the bar (normal tape wasn’t strong enough to hold the up earlier in the evening). I had asked one of the other hosts to get duct tape and think about going to kick him for not doing the job. The lights seem to be holding up, even though some of the white tape is visible. I consign it to hell, no one but me would ever notice anyway. I can see the dance floor from where I'm standing. My immediate friends are all tearing it up in one big happy herd.
Some things never change.
I greet a couple of acquaintances around the garden, settle onto a sofa. I start people-watching from my vantage, enjoying the cranberry juice that never seems to be around on normal days. I notice a group of three a little to my left, a couple I know, and someone they’ve brought along. I’m slightly amused, because the stranger seems to be noticeably a third wheel. He bends down to the girl’s ear, and I get a flash of the side of his face, and my eyes narrow in weird recollection.
Could it be? I'm squinting and trying to focus, glass paused halfway to my lips.
I watch him give a friendly jab on the guys arm, and turn around.
Well well well. I think to myself. It is him. But how disappointing. No skipping heartbeat, no heart jamming in my throat. After all these years. The sonofabitch. I try to feel anger, I try to feel disappointment, excitement, anything. Can just come up with a dull sense of nothingness. How weird. For my first love, for my first kiss, for all the good memories and the bad, nothing.
I decide to not bother getting off the sofa. I'll probably bump into him and catch up at some point in the evening anyway. I'll enjoy my party watching for now. I continue happily with my cranberry juice, then decide to try to signal the waiter for some of the hors d’oeuvres.
“Hi”. I hear from somewhere to my right.
“Oh hi! Its so good to see you!” I exclaim. I hope that doesn’t sound too fake. I have a 32 smile plastered on in full force. Small chitchat with people who don't know you is so painful. “I’m here with work buddies.” He gestures to the couple behind, gives a little roll of his eyes. For the sake of appearance, I look and then give an “Oh” of polite comprehension.
Awkward silence.
Strange and disappointing again. We never ran out of conversation before. I stare at his chest. It looks good in the gray t-shirt. He's still wearing that taweez. He always did manage to look good in an other-side-of-the-bridge kind of way. And also always managed to look so much younger (immature) than the old bored has-beens guys the "appropriate" age used to be. I look into his eyes, and he's just looking down at me, a little dumbfounded, probably as awkward as me. I still can't tell what he's thinking though. I never could.
"Well I'll see you around then."
I guess I should go back to making sure the bartender is not stealing any of the alcohol and the DJ is keeping the dancers happy.
I turn around and get back on with my life.
I wonder if I'll ever be able to find someone who I won't be able to step away from so easily. It’s a question I've been pondering on for a very very long time.
And the answer still scares me.
I stand outside the apartment with mixed feelings. I have a curious reaction to parties, and being co-host amplifies my ambivalence. I loved planning the party, the guest lists, the invitation designs, the food, the décor. I loved getting dressed for the occasion, the makeup and break from everyday sober colors and textures. I've loved dressing up since I've been very very little. I rediscovered the rituals of makeup and dress up in college, where sleepless nights and constant high grade chronic stress drove me to insane avenues of release. But the downside of the entire rain dance of getting dressed was that I get to the event itself and am suffocated by boredom within the first five minutes. I get out of my car, and people around me are already trickling into the apartment.
Shrieking pre-partying couples making me feel old, and remember the times when I too was once part of the same heady giggly carefree bunch. I am the host, I should run in and see if there is stuff to manage, things to fix, DJ's, waiters or bearers to organize.
I hesitate outside, don't feel like plunging in as usual, and decide to get a drink from the terrace first. I stumble into the dark patio, contact lensed eyes unadjusted from the starkly lit guarded porchway. The party planner in me double checks the fairy lights twinkling behind the bar (normal tape wasn’t strong enough to hold the up earlier in the evening). I had asked one of the other hosts to get duct tape and think about going to kick him for not doing the job. The lights seem to be holding up, even though some of the white tape is visible. I consign it to hell, no one but me would ever notice anyway. I can see the dance floor from where I'm standing. My immediate friends are all tearing it up in one big happy herd.
Some things never change.
I greet a couple of acquaintances around the garden, settle onto a sofa. I start people-watching from my vantage, enjoying the cranberry juice that never seems to be around on normal days. I notice a group of three a little to my left, a couple I know, and someone they’ve brought along. I’m slightly amused, because the stranger seems to be noticeably a third wheel. He bends down to the girl’s ear, and I get a flash of the side of his face, and my eyes narrow in weird recollection.
Could it be? I'm squinting and trying to focus, glass paused halfway to my lips.
I watch him give a friendly jab on the guys arm, and turn around.
Well well well. I think to myself. It is him. But how disappointing. No skipping heartbeat, no heart jamming in my throat. After all these years. The sonofabitch. I try to feel anger, I try to feel disappointment, excitement, anything. Can just come up with a dull sense of nothingness. How weird. For my first love, for my first kiss, for all the good memories and the bad, nothing.
I decide to not bother getting off the sofa. I'll probably bump into him and catch up at some point in the evening anyway. I'll enjoy my party watching for now. I continue happily with my cranberry juice, then decide to try to signal the waiter for some of the hors d’oeuvres.
“Hi”. I hear from somewhere to my right.
“Oh hi! Its so good to see you!” I exclaim. I hope that doesn’t sound too fake. I have a 32 smile plastered on in full force. Small chitchat with people who don't know you is so painful. “I’m here with work buddies.” He gestures to the couple behind, gives a little roll of his eyes. For the sake of appearance, I look and then give an “Oh” of polite comprehension.
Awkward silence.
Strange and disappointing again. We never ran out of conversation before. I stare at his chest. It looks good in the gray t-shirt. He's still wearing that taweez. He always did manage to look good in an other-side-of-the-bridge kind of way. And also always managed to look so much younger (immature) than the old bored has-beens guys the "appropriate" age used to be. I look into his eyes, and he's just looking down at me, a little dumbfounded, probably as awkward as me. I still can't tell what he's thinking though. I never could.
"Well I'll see you around then."
I guess I should go back to making sure the bartender is not stealing any of the alcohol and the DJ is keeping the dancers happy.
I turn around and get back on with my life.
I wonder if I'll ever be able to find someone who I won't be able to step away from so easily. It’s a question I've been pondering on for a very very long time.
And the answer still scares me.
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
chronicles of the super, sexy and single:
Tuesday/Day 3:
well its tuesday and i guess i'll stop counting the days Past Disaster Party (PDP) now
have a good job offer from yet another boring company
when i was in a school i didn't like.. i would cry and come home three days out of five (the days when friday and saturday were holidays and sunday was the beginning of a working week... how weird that that is now weird)
i feel like doing the same now (crying and going back home.. not starting my week on sunday)
when i eventually got enrolled in the school i wanted to (the one my sisters said was 'cool') i actually became the extremely well adjusted brain that i am today
I'm scared that i'll never get a job like that
a job i really like
a job i really want to do
what if it enforces poverty and hardship and i'll have to do it because i love it but i'll be miserable
can i love something that'll make me miserable?
i'll stop loving it
i'll lose it
i think i'll lose everything when that happens
thats all i've defined myself by all these years
so i continue to keep myself hidden away from the world
so the world can't destroy it
its pretty much destroyed everything else
haha
i guess i *used* to be well adjusted
dysfunctionality creeps up on us all
Tuesday/Day 3:
well its tuesday and i guess i'll stop counting the days Past Disaster Party (PDP) now
have a good job offer from yet another boring company
when i was in a school i didn't like.. i would cry and come home three days out of five (the days when friday and saturday were holidays and sunday was the beginning of a working week... how weird that that is now weird)
i feel like doing the same now (crying and going back home.. not starting my week on sunday)
when i eventually got enrolled in the school i wanted to (the one my sisters said was 'cool') i actually became the extremely well adjusted brain that i am today
I'm scared that i'll never get a job like that
a job i really like
a job i really want to do
what if it enforces poverty and hardship and i'll have to do it because i love it but i'll be miserable
can i love something that'll make me miserable?
i'll stop loving it
i'll lose it
i think i'll lose everything when that happens
thats all i've defined myself by all these years
so i continue to keep myself hidden away from the world
so the world can't destroy it
its pretty much destroyed everything else
haha
i guess i *used* to be well adjusted
dysfunctionality creeps up on us all
Saturday, November 13, 2004
I try
Games, changes and fears
When will they go from here
When will they stop
I believe that fate has brought us here
And we should be together
But we're not
I play it off but I'm dreamin of you
I'll keep it cool but I'm fiendin.
I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near
I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near
When will they go from here
When will they stop
I believe that fate has brought us here
And we should be together
But we're not
I play it off but I'm dreamin of you
I'll keep it cool but I'm fiendin.
I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near
I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it's clear
My world crumbles when you are not near
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