05.11.04; Birthday blues; 22:55
Top-of-the-head birthday wish list: Books (humor, anthologies, Pinoy lit, erotica), DVDs (comedy, classic, Film Noir, Asian, European porn), CDs (ska, reggae, rock), new push up bra, new pair of shoes, new PC. And oh, plane tickets! No. of times I read Direk Joey Reyes’s “Whose Fat Is It Anyway?” this week: Lost track. Last month’s vaginal event: The arrival of Ursula. Impact: Signal # 4 and, again, the discontinuation of my promising comeback to the world of fitness. Miss that all-over-the-body aches and the post-workout glow. Dialogue of the (Last) Week: Shiela: “Diba ikaw na rin ang nagsabi na magagaling sa kama ‘yung mga magagaling sumayaw? Career-in mo na!” Lornadahl: “Aanhin ko naman ang skill nya kung uungol sya ng “Lurnaaa!” instead of “Lornaaa!”?” Plus I saw this guy in the fag valley (peram Mami), fer gawd’s sake! Dialogue of the (Last) Week Runner Up: Male colleague: “Wow. Sexy.” Lornadahl: “Ngek. Ang taba-taba ko kaya!” Male colleague: ” Wala sa taba ‘yan, nasa tindig ‘yan.” OHA? WALANG KOKONTRA!!!
She says I need not to need
Or else a love with intuition
Someone who reaches out to my weakness and don’t let go
I need not to need
I’ve always been the tower
But now I feel like I’m the flower trying to bloom in snow
– The Tower, Vienna Teng
– – –
The parade of people from my past did not end in SM Bacoor. They turn up, to my 41-year-old heart’s horror, during my recent visits in Malate. To top it off, they are the cast members of the particular episode unanimously dismissed as the most depressing one. This, my dear friend, is very disturbing. Is the world running out of people to toss to my direction that Fate has to recycle the oldies? Puh-lease.
1998, 2002 and 2004. See? I’m just repeating patterns!
– – –
It sucks to be a November kid. The dreaded birthday blues plague me around the last quarter of the year so that leaves me what – less than 2 months! – to cram and redeem the year. Until now, I’m clueless how.
Of course, I have the option to shrug it off. I could convince myself, “Hey, I’ve been working hard all year round. Slowing down is not a bad idea,” At the back of my head I know I can’t cheat on my deathbed: 2004’s stench will find its way to resurface. I have to try harder. Now na.
Over the years of incurable insomnia and sobriety, I came up with a conclusion why my aspirations never materialize. I don’t take heed to that inner voice. I don’t comply with my personal deadlines. I don’t take myself seriously. And, ironically, I get upset when others do the same.
Watch me press the letter L on my forehead.
– – –
As promised to melancolia, I’d answer the Checkpoint of Life from Banana Yoshimoto’s “Amrita”.
1. How’s your food? Does it taste good? Are your tastebuds working properly?
Food is solace. I’m blessed to have gifted parents.
2. Do you look forward to waking up in the morning? Are you happy all day? Do you feel good when you go to bed at night?
When my body jerks back to consciousness all of a sudden? Hate it. Waking up to hear my nagging alarm clock? Loathe it. Collapsing to bed and spending the next 2 hours tossing and turning? Abhor it.
3. Now. You are standing on the street and you see a friend coming. Are you happy? Or is it a bother?
That’s an automatic highlight of the day.
4. Look around and notice the scenery. Does the beauty of nature strike your heart?
White walls ain’t really my thing. Wait. Is that cream?
5. What about music? How does it sound?
Angry, lonely and upbeat.
6. Think about a trip overseas. Is that something you’d be interested in? Do you get excited when you think about it? Or is it just another pain in your life?
Show me a plane ticket and I’d wet my pants.
7. Do you look forward to tomorrow? How about the day after the next? What comes to mind when you say ‘future’? Does it excite you? Depress you?
If you’re talking about payday, I’m psyched. Pardon my limited imagination but I associate future with being old and grey. I never liked most of the senior citizens who came my way. Good thing Curachas die young.
8. How do you feel right now? Are things going well? Do you look in the mirror and like what you see?
Unwell. Washed out. Lazy.
– – –
My unexpected mount to the Second Window was heartbreaking: I am actually a difficult person. I don’t welcome those who knock on my door. It was pretty hard to accept at the start. I know myself well. I make my problems everybody’s priority, don’t I? During the times of helplessness, I text and send to many. If I don’t get what I desire, I smother you with whines until you say yes. Then I remember my absentia and refusal to talk as of late, it must be so.
Three years ago, I told my then-boyfriend I need my solitary moment for my birthday. I wandered where my feet took me. I only stopped to experience the catharsis I have long deprived myself: writing. So I penned down all repressed thoughts on paper and on defenseless walls. Before the day ended, we met, shared wine and quarrelled. He thought I’m two-timing him. Why else would I want to be alone?
That would have to be the greatest misconception about me. I may always be surrounded by friends, gushing about my friends and making plans with friends but I’m actually a loner. And feel free to call me Lornadahldahl, but my mouth is always sealed. Stab me thrice then I’ll talk to you in your dreams.
Love is a gamble. Sometimes you pick a handful of friends or partners who can’t grasp the logic behind your needs. Or who wouldn’t even try. I know my withdrawals and mute moments (I refuse to call it superman complex) will soon kill the remaining forbearance and love my trusted friends have for me. We all get tired. I had my share of raising my hands and walking away, too. It happened once, it will happen again. And when that time comes, I won’t take it against you.
What I’m saying is, let the good times roll. But for now, let me deal with my crap all by myself. Life is an individual race, I’m not choosing the seductive illusion of relays. This difficult damsel will be back before you can say blueberry cheesecake.
I’m serious, folks.
– – –
My candle burns at both ends;
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends –
It gives a lovely sight!
– Edna St. Vincent Millay