Sunday, September 26, 2004

Out Of Nothing At All

I miss making love.

It has been months since that last real one. He had this very small farm in Tagaytay, somewhere after the palengke. It had rows and rows of Italian eggplant which they supply to restaurants in Makati. We met exactly a year before.

After turning off the main highway, you have to pass through several subdivisions. The road gets smaller then bumpier, until you reach their gate. Once inside, if it was around five o'clock, you are greeted by a great red sky. The view of the sunset is breathtaking.

And infinitely romantic.

After you settle down in this small shed, you notice the cool breeze. From there, you can watch the farm slope down the side of the hill. And beyond that, the great land of Cavite and Laguna. I have always loved the feeling of the wind in between my legs. (I almost always wear a skirt.)

A chilled bottle of champange pops out of nowhere, and there is chitchat. I take out my Marlboro Lights and he offers a me a light. How obvious, and I enjoy it. We kiss, drink, puff, talk, and rub each other. Foreplay until the mosquitos start biting.

Down the slope, he says, we have a small house.

In the dying light, we tumble down the rows of eggplants. He is holding my hand. He is such a nice date, for a man. I remain surprised. I also date women, more often now, but some guys still catch me off-guard and I let myself go with the flow.

The small house is a rest house, with basic everything. It reminds me of the condo I had before at Citiland. Bed, kitchenette, bathroom, aircon. The bed has a thin styrofoam cushion. While naked, he recites a sonnet which he memorized. Cute. It is his first time to have sex.

I still remember the musty, dirty smell of the room fighting with the laundry soap smell of the new sheets. The hum of the aircon, the kuliglig, the distant bark of dogs. The musk of his sweaty, 23-year old body.

When we came out later, heady, rested, intimate, with slightly crumpled shirts, we were greeted by the full moon. We went up safely, guided by the unusual brightness.

He drove me home, the moon following us.

Friday, September 24, 2004

Watching Trains Go By

I don't want to be like this. I don't to be angry, but there seems to be nothing else for me. Complacency and indifference is even worse. And giving up the the worst thing to do.

I'm in debt, and I've been in debt for a while. I've been living hand-to-mount, never being able to save anything, for anything. And all my sins are catching up with me.

Not sins, really, but plain ignorance. I never knew what to do with money except spend it. I never really had to worry about where it came from or whether there will be money tomorrow. I grew up thinking that I will never have to worry: my parents could always bail me out.

But now, they're gone. Dead since 1995.

All I have are two sisters in the US. They're married to Americans. I don't tell them anything about my life.

They used to write to me a lot. I had stacks of letters from them before, when I was still in high school. But I never wrote back. Then the letters stopped coming.

When I got my first email account years ago, maybe 1997, I tried to make them get email accounts too. They resisted for years. Now that they do, I feel like I have nothing to say to them.

Bahala na. Live your own lives.

This is the thing: my stress is making me doubly sad. It is so hard to smile nowadays. I don't want to see a psychiatrist again. This blog will have to do, for now.

Hot Summer Nights

Jesusmaryjoseph--I am so bitchy today. I feeling like biting someone's head off. I couldn't sleep last night. Rather, I didn't want to sleep because I didn't want to wake up in the morning feeling bad.

Everything seems to be falling apart.

First it was the remote control, now the TV is freaking out. I was watching Jay Leno last night and the image disappeared. It had sound, but no pictures. I felt like i was in the Land of the Lost, living in a cave, running away from the Tyronnausarus Rex, and having no TV.

It's like a giant radio. Or a noisy neighbor.

Then this morning, I woke up to the rumbling of my ancient air conditioner. The sound was so scary, I had to turn it off. I dread that it's dying too. That everything around me will simply stop.

I have no money to fix anything. I wish all these things would just heal themselves, like wilting plants. No aircon: I want to cry.

Anal Fixation

I have a light pinkish stain and not the "bright red stain" that all these medical articles speak of. It can be an anal fissure, instead of hemorrhoids. They're kind of similar, but not really.

Either way, the message is the same: I have to take care of my asshole.

Take fiber. No meat, oily food, and cheese. No caffeine. Avoid stress. Don't sit to much. Don't traumatize it; don't force the shit to come out. Wash it gently. And remember that you don't want it to get worse or to happen again: you don't want surgery.

Damn--I'm learning too much about my anus and rectum. I don't want to talk about it anymore. If you do, go visit the Anal Fissure Self Help Page.

Sigh. I don't a doctor spreading my butt cheeks and poking an anoscope inside me. God almighty.

Thursday, September 23, 2004

Toilet Humor

A couple of days ago, as I was wiping my myself after using the toilet, I looked at the toilet paper and saw a red stain. It wasn't my menstruation.

There was blood in my rectum.

It's hard enough to spell, it's even harder to admit that I might have hemorrhoids (don't foget the letter H). My rectum has been painful on and off for a month or so. I thought it would go away. I thought I just cut myself with the razor or something.

A quick google and there it is. I'm dreadfully right. I have it and the best treatment for now is fiber supplements and lots of water, for month, until symptoms disappear. And sit on the toilet for less than five minutes: don't strain it.

Why did it happen in the first place? I have two suspects, both leading to a strained asshole. First, I've had a lot of forced, weird, long bowel movements. I try to get everything out, and all these little bits come down. I try hard each time. Second, I read in the john. Newspapers, books, magazines, junkmail. I even write in my journal. If there was a TV around--I can't imagine.

"Taking a dump" should only take five minutes max. I average 15 minutes. When rushing, ten minutes. When playing with myself, a bit longer.

But the best part of now is this: I have a minor, low-quality, no-alarm hemorrhoids (one M, two Rs). I don't need to see a doctor yet or get an operation to cut up my butthole.

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

Cherry On Top

I went to the Greenbelt chapel and sat in the back row for half an hour. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. I told God to absorb all the fucking stress in my body. I imagined it lifting up into the sunlit air, like vapor, like the Holy Spirit. I imagined Joan of Arc.

Behind my eyes, in my small mind, I entertained the sounds of distant cars varooming, the chatter of mallrats, the hum of the evil CBD. I thanked God for letting me go on this far. I thanked God for whatever kindnesses I have received. I thanked God for helping me survive an abortion and an abusive relationship. God, a chance, a break.

Pretty please.

When I opened my eyes, the world looked the same. The stress was still there. Perhaps I'm praying for the wrong things.

Monday, September 20, 2004

Night Falls in Makati

Years and years ago, during my worst and harrowing relationship, I actually split into two separate selves. The pathetic, self-pitying one, and the angry, frustrated one. I had long arguments with myself, playing both personalities. And then one day, I realized there was a third self, listening and watching the other two selves go at each other. I was mediating between me and myself.

I got out of that relationship and let my festering sores heal under the midday sun.

But now, this blog, I am splitting again, like a cat caught under the thick, evil tires of a speeding dump truck. I don't want to have to write here, secretly, separately, hoping for a different witness. People whom I do not know and who do not know me. Like too much blood in the brain, this is trephination.

I wish a could go to a beach, be naked, and let the salt water wash over me. What am I looking for? A saviour? A hidden door? Night falls in Makati.

Save Our Souls

My third post for the day. This is a bad sign.

Here's what you could do. Sit beside me and let's be quiet for a couple of hours. Let the afternoon join us and siya na ang magsalita.

Back in college, during Sundays, I would walk around the grassy fields of the Ateneo. My long, white skirt would fly up. No one would see me, in the middle of that field. I would feel the wind between my legs, the sharp grass and dry soil under my bare feet. My flats in my hands. When clouds would pass, I would lie down and disappear. Bugs would find me and think I am part of the landscape. I would write poetry in the sky.

I would be the luckiest girl in the world if rains fell.

Sometime this week, after work, I'll be taking the MRT to QC, carrying lots of cash. Pray that I don't get robbed. I hate this damned metropolis. Sana makasabay ko si Clark Kent.

You Are Watching HBO

I'm at work and I'm surfing for apartments in Canada. I wish I can move there. Maybe I can apply as a skilled immigrant. Will I be able to leave everything behind?

It would be a good escape to just cut off all ties to the Philippines, start over, and disappear, only to reappear as someone else. Right now, I am at work, but my mind is somewhere else.

I am still stressed about money. I borrowed some money from a friend and I'm paying her back today. I have to withdraw 13,000 pesos from my measly savings and give it to her. When will I give it? Sana next month na lang. After payday. When I can breathe.

I'm trying to do my work, but money bugs me, and I try to ignore it. I end up flying in the clouds. Often, when I am at home, alone in my room, I touched myself under the glow of HBO. An orgasm is like free, instant massage.

Last Night, San Pedro

I worked well into the night, last night, fixing our messy apartment. My shoulders have been stiff these past few weeks, and my lower back aches from the burden of tight budgets. So many bills to pay. I feel like I'm the Philippines, suffering from heavy debt payments.

Therefore, this blog.

As I steer my course and balance my budget, I feel I have little time for expressing doubt or anger. If you happen to find this blog and read it from time to time, then welcome to the world that I will rarely admit to, even to my closest friends, even to my lover.