10.12.2006; Sunday Somewhere; 16:21

Latest ear craving: Incubus‘s "Anna Molly". Latest obsession: Polka dots! Bought polka dotted shoes, considering to purchase the matching polka dotted belt in Bench, lusting over polka dotted wedge shoes in Divisoria, still looking for the best polka dotted black headband, took home polka dotted panties from Bench and Jockey and hopeful to find a high-cut polka dotted pair at the Converse Sale on Thursday. Manifestations of Christmas spirit: Self-gifting. And yeah, joining kris kringle at work.

Dear Niwee,

During this year’s wine festival, someone declared that I, along with Fris‘s gay friend Ces, will tie the knot before the year ends. This prediction rooted from the fact that the last drop of the wine he’s pouring went to our respective wine glasses. Knowing the probability of this to take place, both of us just laughed it off. Marry each other, perhaps? I was rolling on the floor.

Now that 2006 is about to end, I deem it timely to assess our current lovelives and relate it to what the funny guy had said. According to Fris, Ces has miraculously developed an attraction to her female room mate. Catch this, this feeling is reciprocated! Suggesting marriage would be getting ahead of them but we can say, based on the recent update, that he might just get there.

There’s nothing flabbergasting about mine. In fact, there is nothing to report. Everything has been same old, same old. I’m still the same love pariah Cupid never had the energy to take care of. Heck, I’m not even seeing anyone! The last time I checked, I have no girl friend blackmailing me to date her boyfriend’s half brother’s room mate’s coach. Or girl friend begging me to do a participatory research on speed dating. But it might qualify that almost everyone in my squared circle has suddenly started showing up with post-coital blushes or bed acrobatics tales to share. This hasn’t happened ever.

While watching Prime the previous night at Atong‘s place, I remembered the ‘4-year itch that takes 7 years to scratch’ concept introduced during the film viewing of Kim Catrall‘s "Sexual Intelligence" in Anthropology class. A romantic relationship, it says, has a lifespan of 4 years. Beyond that, the spark would have expired. Watching the movie reminded me of that mad rush we get when we’re in love. So alive. So beautiful. Hopefully, everlasting. [SPOILER/MINI-REVIEW: I am particularly drawn to that final scene in which Uma Thurman‘s Rafi declined to have the baby and would rather take Bryan Greenberg‘s Dave’s willingness to give it to her. How mature and selfless of her! How many people are capable of that?]

My professor kiddingly interpreted that couples should have kids every 4 years to sustain the spark. Bad news for someone who, as of writing, has no intent of using her cervix. Learning about this pretty made me more jaded about relationships. We all want pleasant things to last, don’t we? So how will I manage to to keep a relationship, assuming that I can get past the perpetual hurdle of finding/getting found? meeting the one/being the one?

But I am not entirely placing the blame on Cupid’s slow and seemingly nonexistent efforts for my low market value. After all, I never had the balls to go after my desired men. Much to my closest friends’ annoyance, I’m currently recycling an old dream guy back to my life. But what if I’d get another chance, you ask? I’d definitely waste it again. I’d rather fantasize of our potential as an item than find out the possibly disheartening truth. I doubt I have the strength to survive another heartache.

You may argue with me on this but it’s best to expect the worst. It’s best to prepare oneself for an eternity of solitary moment than yearn for the overrated The One to remain loyal and loving. It’s best to be this way and just be surprised when something promising and eventually fleeting comes along.