Blissfully Unaware

So Let’s Talk About Sex

Pick up your jaw and take that brow a few notches down to where it’s supposed to be. Oh and take your hand out of there. This is not what you might think it will be. The Tim Gunn voice in my head is telling me to carry on and carry on I will.

I make it no secret that I haven’t had sex in quite awhile. Actually, ‘quite awhile’ is putting very nicely, like say, a couple of months give or take. But no, we are not talking about just months here. And no, this is not a pathetic attempt at a pity party because I am so beyond that. This is just me trying to convince myself that it is okay. You can laugh now.

Friends have often told me to just get off my high horse and have fun. I’ve heard the “life is too short” cliche way too many times it’s not even funny anymore. The thing is though, I am not a high horse. Or at least I’d like to think so. And it’s not as if I don’t give a fuck. I mean, hello! First of all, I am after still a dude. And dudes, forgive the stereotype, like, nay, love sex. So can you just imagine the amount of frustration inside of me?

Frankly speaking, I am kind of okay with not having sex. Sure, it is painfully frustrating. But would I want to regularly satiate my desire to have sex at the expense of foregoing certain principles I am holding on to? You see I equate sex as a physical manifestation of emotion. Fine, love. And I tried to do the whole casual sex thing. Clearly, I did not enjoy it one bit. I just don’t to have sex for the sake of having sex. So for me, if sex is done without an amalgamation of emotion then I might as well not do it at all. And since I haven’t been in a relationship in a long time, I have been on a forced sex break. That is, I will have to say, a good and bad thing.

There are days when I want to just throw all cares into the wind and end the sex break. But then I think to myself, will it be worth it? I want to end my sex break with a bang. I want it to be so fucking good that I will for once be at a loss for words (And many other physical side effects, if you know what I mean). And yes, I want it to be special. I want that moment to be worth it. That being said, if it isn’t with someone special then I wouldn’t mind not having it. I just hope I don’t go crazy. But I think I’ll live.

Besides, I will always have my wildly vivid sex dreams. In the absence of a sex life, that’ll do. For now. And fine, my fiercely loyal Mr. Left Hand too.

My Love Affair with Adele

I was first acquainted with the brilliance of Adele when a good friend of mine covered her song, Melt My Heart to Stone. The honest lyrics matched with her voice perfectly described my heart’s predicament at the time. I felt that someone really understood what I was feeling.

Adele’s booming, brassy voice was from then on my constant companion. We daydreamed about our perfect gentleman, wondered how long we could keep on chasing pavements, and with help from the great Bob Dylan, professed how much we would do to make a person feel our love. It was indeed a love affair that would get me through great moments in life and of course, really crappy ones.

The break between her album, 19, and her follow up offering was a point in my life where I was suffice to say, a little broken and lost. Nothing echoed through cockles of my heart than Adele’s songs. The void was filled when Adele gave us the haunting 21. A vulnerable but nonetheless confident sophomore album fueled mainly by her recent break-up.

It was like reconnecting with a friend you haven’t seen or heard from in a while. As if no time has passed and still, she got me. She knew which heart strings to tug. The painfully raw emotions that was the heart and soul of the album sent shivers down my spine and constantly gave me goosebumps. It was wallowing in pain at its finest. But don’t mistake the pain as a sign of weakness. It was a powerful and sincere acknowledgment that poised her eventual rise above the proverbial ashes.

She takes us on yet another emotional journey. Narrating the painful but brave realization in Turning Tables, the breaking point of Set Fire to the Rain, the poignant letting go with Someone Like You and then the moving on with the genius that is Rolling in the Deep. Pain and hurt has been this genuine and beautiful.

Now more than ever, people started to take notice of her. More people have been moved by the music of Adele. In the same way that she seemed to be singing what my heart felt, her music was now moving everyone else going through a seemingly insurmountable amount of pain.

Yes, there will be a lot of tears. It is after all, a catharsis. I cried a lot while listening to song after song. But only because, again, she understood. Here a girl with so much hurt is opening and sharing it with the world. She was baring her heart and soul not to gain self-pity but to simply, sing the blues away. Her music was her therapy. Listening to it will get you through those days when you think you cannot pull through. I would know. Her album, a narrative of her own romantic journey tells us to recognize our weakness and pain while slowly learning to fight against it. In the end, you will pull through.

Adele has unknowingly guided me through a lot of unbearable and dark times in my life. In as much as I would want to be selfish and keep our little affair a secret, I want her to reach a wider audience. I want her to touch more lives in the same way she has touched mine. A lot of broken hearts and wounded souls need to be at least acquainted with the wonder that is Adele. Besides, my love affair with her will always remain. Whatever we have will always be in my heart of hearts. I’m sure she’ll still speak to me with her music like no one ever will.

Of trains

You find yourself rushing to the platform of the train station praying to the commuting gods that you make it in time for the next trip, lest you miss it and wait for an excruciating few minutes until the next one comes. Then there is also the chance of standing on the platform for who knows how long because you are at the busiest station where everyone gets on and off. Ah, the pains of public transport and the lack of discipline from its commuters.

Unfortunately, you do not make it on the train on time. Just as you’re about to zip past through a pack of people, the familiar sound goes off signalling that the doors will now be shut. You are still trapped in that blob of weary travelers, all with furrowed brows and mumbled curses. The train leaves. You watch as it goes away and becomes nothing but a dot across your vision. The crowd thins out and you are left standing, feeling as if you’ve been beat up. The sweat that has been suspended on the folds of your forehead start to trickle down. Seeing the empty bench behind, you decide to sit and catch your breath while waiting for the next train to arrive.

You know this part. Annoyed and surprisingly exhausted, there this inexplicable urge to just turn around and drop the trip altogether. Screw the destination, you say. A throng of people are starting to gather at the platform. The trains on the other side of the tracks are coming in and out faster. But just as you get up and start to go down the platform, you see a flicker of light. A train is coming. You can actually hear a choir of angels singing in your head.

With a deep breath and your game face on, you pick up your backpack and make your way past the crowd that has assembled on the platform. Come hell or high water you are making this trip. You push and elbow your way into the front of the pack, wait for the passengers disembark and fight for your centimeter of space in the train. The alarm goes off. Ting, ting, ting! You watch as the door closes with a bunch of stubborn morons forcing their way in. The train starts to move and everyone is jerked forward. Hold on to dear life. And with that, the quick journey to your destination has begun.

You always just have to remind yourself that despite everything else that arises, there is always another one coming your way. Be it a train ride or whatever can take the place of this beautiful yet obvious metaphor.

Always.

Lunar Matters

He had a beef to settle with the moon. You see, head been praising the moon for being resplendent. More so when the moon’s approach was close to the Earth. That so-called ‘supermoon’ was the biggest full moon in 18 years. Okay, enough with the scientific specifics. Let’s get down to what really mattered to our hero. The close proximity of the heavenly body to Earth seemed to mess up his good juju. Not that his juju was spiking off the charts either. Whatever good that was left seemed to be taking a dip. Great.

He has partially given up on wishing on the night stars. He figured that everyone on the planet was wishing on not just one, but multiple twinkling stars. It was most probably a crowded space and obviously, a noisy one. His wishes could just get lost in the cosmos. So he took to a bigger celestial body - the moon. That night was extra magical, he thought, as this was when it becomes a supermoon. After whispering his heart’s wishes, he continued walking with a smile. He was positive things would look bright after that.

Well, he thought wrong.

Tonight he once again faced the moon. Though not as big and bright as its super self, it was still nonetheless enchanting. He laid down on the concrete driveway, took out a cigarette and lighter from his pocket, both of which he nicked from his mother. It has been ages since he had his last huff and puff of smoke. But what the heck, he thought. He was emotionally distressed. Always a good enough reason to smoke, he argued.

Struggling with lighter and battling the night wind, he finally got to light the cigarette. He drew in a deep breath, filling his mouth and lungs with smoke and slowly letting it linger out. He relished every glorious inhale and exhale. Anything. Anything that would distract himself from his musings.

Everything seemed to bother him lately. The stagnation of his career. The unforgiving lack of a love life. The fact that he has felt left out and let down by certain friends. Oh and of course, the curse of nothingness. He also recently realized he can be a horrible person, warranted or not. Needless to say, things were definitely not in his favor as of late. Thank you very much, moon.

The cigarette had reached its end. Any more and he would be inhaling the butt-end of it. Besides, he was actually disgusted with the taste that it left in his mouth. Realizing the stupidity of his impulse, he immediately began coughing; hoping that he could cough out every bit of nicotine that was now in his system.

When he finally caught his breath, he wiped the corners of his mouth and went back to lying down on the concrete floor. It could be pure coincidence that all this downward spiral was caused by the supermoon. Maybe all this was just a typhoon he created in his head. Hardly.

He stared at the moon head on, determined not to even blink.

Things come in cycles. Just as the moon follows an orbit, this too will pass. This closest proximity between the Earth and the moon has passed and it won’t take place for quite a while. thankfully. But if he was still alive when that happens, he will be prepared to face it and thwart its evil magnetic pull of bad juju. And of course, he will give it the obligatory yet imaginary clenched fist.

But more importantly, he had to get up from the floor, brush himself off and get on with his life. Lunar matters or not, he will stand his ground and continue fighting. Fist pump and all.

Courage

 

Unbeknownst to many, I was actually a ballsy kid back then. Yes, there was always a trepidation going about things but for the most part, I’d man up and well, take the bull by its horns and just ride with it.

 

And then you know, typically, life happened (one too many times, if you ask me) and my courage was forever compromised. The fear surrounding a certain situation multiplies exponentially and I am inevitably paralyzed. It is painful and depressing, especially for me.

 

This past week I have been heavily analyzing myself. No surprises there, I do that a lot. Anyway, I asked myself, “what happened to the old Angelo?” When did I get so clammed up? Or more importantly, when did I lose my backbone?

 

Being the masochistic bitch that I am, I dug even further. I explored old wounds that have been left to heal. And then I realized, because wow, it takes a genius to figure this out, that my “experiences” I went through broke me. I will call them “experiences” because I like being vague and being vague is cool. But if you’re smart, you’ll get the underlying meaning behind it in a snap. I digress. The past has affected me in such a way that it’s as if I don’t even have a voice to begin with. Perhaps that’s the reason for my recurring nightmare of losing the ability to talk (or scream since it is a nightmare). I over-analyze things. I get ahead of the situation without giving it a chance to play itself out, naturally.

 

These are the times I wish I had a Blaine (see: Glee) to tell me to have courage. Or that potion Madam Pomfrey gives Harry to grow his bones back. Or well, I can just slap myself silly and tell myself to get a grip. If I allow my fear/s to hold me back then how the hell can I expect to grow and move forward. I wouldn’t want to be forever gilded by the fears that I seemingly stop living. Simply put, I don’t want to be scared anymore. Being scared is scary. Besides, I don’t think it could potentially kill me. In fact it will make me stronger. Right, Britney?

 

Courage. The goal is to get in touch with my old self without forgetting who I’ve become.Old and new Angelo will be a force to be reckon with. Fo’ damn sho’.

 

Post script. I took the ‘I Write Like’ test online and I chose this entry for analysis. And boy can you imagine my surprise when the test said that I write like, drum roll please, William Shakespeare. I mean, I am floored. I can barely understand the Bard’s texts and now the internet test says I write like him? Wowza. I am flattered, internet. Although I don’t think Shakespeare would have said, fo’ damn sho’. It’s a tad bit too modern don’t you think?

Thinking out loud

I have, on more than one occasion said, well, more like ranted about how annoyed I am whenever someone would ask me if I am in a relationship or not. And when I’d answer the painfully obvious no, a curious face matched with the obligatory “how come” follows. I’ve been figuring into this scenario so much that I have my answer mastered. I’d come up with a smile, sometimes forced but a smile nonetheless. Then I’d shrug and say, that’s just how it is.

 

Truth be told, more than getting obviously ticked off by the constant prying into my non-existent love life, I frankly get sad. Yes, behind the smile is a heart that is aching. It never changes. It just doesn’t hurt so much like it did before. I guess I just got used to the feeling, the inquiries, the sincere as well as the insincere “it’s okay, it’ll come in time”. It’s just that whenever I am asked, it is as if I am transported to the moment when it all sank in - I am unattached. No longer am I half of a whole. I am no longer someone’s jelly to their peanut butter.

 

And it gets to me. Every single fucking time. I am lonely. I would’ve said alone but my friends would vehemently say otherwise. Sure, I have them by my side but as I’ve come to realize, they’ve got their own lives too. No matter how much I want to be there all the time, they just cannot wait on me. And obligating them to do so is just selfish. Being single is not bad. Don’t get me wrong. Neither is it like walking around with a spring in my step. Needless to say, I just don’t enjoy it all the time. Especially when the day comes to a close and all you’ve got is the two pillows on your bed.

 

It isn’t a conscious decision on my part to be one singular sensation. Let’s just put it out there. A.) No one has been asking me out. B.) I am petrified of asking anyone because of the nagging feeling of rejection. C.) No one has at the very least set me up with someone or simply introduced me to an interesting humanoid. I know, I am being completely and unapologetically pathetic but the whole thing is getting to me. It’s like a bad rash that you just want to scratch the hell out.

 

Sometimes I think I am still scared. Yeah. Maybe I am afraid of putting myself out there. Of allowing my fortified walls to come down. That’s the thing when you get hurt really bad, you tend to take two steps back. But I can’t let the fear get the best of me either. It isn’t attractive. Besides, if I want to see myself out of this current situation then I’ll have to man up. I’ve been dipping my toes in the water for quite some time now. I’ll have to take a long and deep breath and then dive in. Fuck it. I just don’t want to have to answer to the whole situation and feel bad about myself.

 

Ah well, I always have a bucket full of hope and positivity by my side. I’ll still be annoyed at having to bare the sad state of my love life but hey, I’ll still bust out a smile. I can manage. Don’t worry. I am one tough cookie.

Scars

A few months ago I induced a small burn on my left wrist by ironing the cuff of my long-sleeved polo, while I was still wearing it. Stupid, I know. As with any burn, it soon healed and of course, left a mark. Unlike my other scars (I have one on my head and somewhere in my bum. Long story) this one was within immediate sight. Everytime I’d move my hand I’ll see that mark; a small but nonetheless noticeable reminder of my sheer stupidity.

 

Just like their physical counterparts, scars are reminders of whatever caused it. Unlike it, however, it can take a considerably long time to heal. Also, unlike the physical scars, they can’t be seen with our own eyes. It can only be seen the moment we close our eyes and tune into our emotions. The only time we can be reminded is if we acknowledge that we are wounded.

 

Sometimes the reminder is triggered by a memory, a painful memory that comes along with that scar. No matter how much we suppress the memory in the deepest pits of our brains that memory will still come back; whether to haunt you or just remind you of how far you’ve come since being, yes, wounded. But for no matter what, it will always be a reminder of how far you’ve come. Scars after all are a result of the natural healing process. It is a good thing then, if not for the obvious discoloration or deformity it is.

 

We don’t have to wear it on our sleeves. We simply have to recognize that reminder for what it is. And make sure that we do not repeat that mistake again; like never ironing clothes while you are wearing them. Unless like me, you get a scar on your wrist.

saygoodmorning:

Maybe when you’re bored.

 

Allow me to very honest before the year ends. Here’s the thing, I will admit that there are indeed times when I’d catch myself falling into that familiar pit of missing that certain person. I’d like to believe that it is normal. After all, at least on my end of the playing field, what we had was real. We did share something. I know, it’s been more than a year since but that doesn’t make the fact that I sometimes miss you any less legit. And neither is it pathetic. It’s better being honest rather than denying it. My goodness, that is not how I roll.

 

What I am annoyed with, however, is the fact that you have or had this much of an impact on me. Yes, it still stings. And I reckon it won’t sting any less in the future. It will always be there. The thing I can do is just get used to it. It can be like that chronic back pain that you wish will be gone but it just keeps coming back. I’ve come to terms with the whole situation now. In the past year I’ve had more than enough opportunities for introspection. It’s okay. I am okay. Scratch that. It will be okay. I won’t know how things are on the other end. And that doesn’t mean I’d like to know either. Heck, I don’t expect you do. It’s how it is…

 

That being said, things will look up for me. You hear that, world?

(via wewenttodisneyland)

Troubled

He decided to go out in the dead of the night and let the cold weather consume him. He walked around in circles to make sense of whatever he was feeling inside. He stopped and extended his arms hoping that maybe all he needed was a stretch. It was inexplicable and a tad bit unbearable but nonetheless real. But the stretch wasn’t what he needed. Who has he trying to fool? He needed some fresh air. Or to run as fast as he could, screaming his lungs out. He maybe needed to cry while clenching his fists in the air. Okay, maybe a tad bit too melodramatic but you get the picture.

 

Things just felt very, very real at this singular moment. What he feared the most since well, everything crumbled right before him has happened. The thing he has denied will ever happened well it was right there staring him in the face. Sure, he has heard many stories since then but this time he was reading it with his own eyes. Dagger through the heart. Giddy professions of a fledgling love. Scoff. He was treading what was once familiar. Although as it obviously stands, he is not part of that equation. He was now a distant memory at best.

 

It was precisely being a memory that scared him. He has always been scared that he will be pushed further and further back until he is ultimately forgotten. It sure wasn’t a problem before. But this time around it was real. Fuck. He didn’t really care that the person in particular was in a relationship anew. Heck, he wasn’t even hoping they’d find their way in each other’s arms. The hurt was just too much to bear. Besides, it has been well over a year since the promise was broken. He did, however, care that he was being replaced. But that is how these things go right? A thought he was afraid to confront just him - hard. And all this was a bit too overwhelming.

 

You’ve come a long way, he reminded himself. All this, he thought, was just a reminder that you are human with a heart too big for that person. He took a long and deep breath as he buried his face in his hands. The exhale warmed his cold hands and face. He looked up at the sky. Not much stars, it would be useless to make a wish. He drew in another breath. Trust and faith right? Trust and faith.

 

Taking a step towards his house, he drew out his hands and extended them as far as he could. Maybe he need the stretch after all. You know, to come into with certain things. And with that he walked on back home. All will be well. Definitely.