LitWit Challenge 2.9: The end of the affair (Updated daily with Yucch-meter)
This week two winners will each receive a hardcover copy of Divisadero by Michael Ondaatje.
In the last LitWit Challenge, we asked you to write the scene in which you meet the beloved for the first time. You like that stuff, huh? Alright, let’s fast-forward to the breakup. One of my favorite partings takes place in another Ondaatje novel, The English Patient.
He untugs himself from her and walks away, then turns. She is still there. He comes back within a few yards of her, one finger raised to make a point.
“I just want you to know. I don’t miss you yet.”
His face awful to her, trying to smile. Her head sweeps away from him and hits the side of the gatepost. He sees it hurt her, notices the wince. But they have separated already into themselves now, the walls up at her insistence. Her jerk, her pain, is accidental, is intentional. Her hand is near her temple.
“You will,” she says.
This bit is rendered brilliantly in the film adaptation by Anthony Minghella: Kristin Scott-Thomas turns away from Ralph Fiennes and there’s a loud crack as her head hits the post. Oww.
Your assignment in the Weekly LitWit Challenge 2.9 is to write the scene in which two lovers decide to part. Unlike in the previous challenge, you do not have to be one of the characters. This way you can observe your subjects from a safe distance and spare us the schmaltz.
We don’t have to know why they’re breaking up, but we have to know what they’re thinking at that exact moment.
Post your entries in Comments; the deadline is at 11.59 pm on Saturday, 1 May 2010.
My copy of Divisadero, signed by the author. Bonnie went to Michael Ondaatje’s reading in Paris and lined up to have a copy signed for me.
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LitWit Challenge 2.9: The end of the affair is now closed. The last entry is #58, which we’re accepting even if it came in two minutes past deadline. Thanks to everyone who joined this challenge, stay tuned for the next one.
Answers to questions you might be asking, unless you wandered onto this site purely by accident >>>
April 26th, 2010 at 14:32
This is the right thing to do.
‘I still have your number,’ he says, ‘please don’t change your SIM.’
‘So now you order me to do things?’ She grabbed his hand and tried to take the phone from him. Repeatedly telling him ‘— just delete my number, delete my messages, delete everything please.’
But it only gave him the chance to seize her, an embrace that was somewhat needed but unusually pointless. She got a hold of his phone and went over the Contacts. And then the messages in the Inbox. The call logs. The pictures. The videos. Notes in the Calendar. And even the audio message he used to listen to for a period of 3 weeks, when she had to go to Bohol to meet her fiancé.
And he just stood there. Motionless. In his mind he was relieving the day they went to Greenhills to buy the phone together. She chose the phone for him, and with perfect balance, she chose something that would match his personality. He remembered the time she was maneuvering his phone to configure the settings, change themes, and even if they both didn’t bother, she was also checking his messages and call logs.
She handed the phone back to him, and even though she was crying, she felt a little lighter, more relieved, a bit empowered. He took it and touched her hand, held there for a few, before uttering ‘I’ve memorized your number, but for his sake, I’ll try to forget.’
April 26th, 2010 at 18:10
He woke up and checked if she was still asleep, like he always did. He stared at her for a few moments. She was snoring loudly as usual.
He asked himself how he felt: Yes. He still felt glad he made the decision last night just before going to sleep.
He got up. He went to the bathroom. He stared at the toilet bowl. He put down the toilet seat. Then he peed all over it. He aimed the last few drops on the floor.
He opened the toothpaste tube. He brushed his teeth. Then he dropped the cap of the tube on the floor.
He felt a fart coming on. He mustered all his strength to release its silent deadly scent at full force. He heard her shifting on the bed.
He blew his nose all over the sink and did not bother to open the tap. He looked at himself in the mirror and practiced an innocent smile.
He felt like skipping his way out of the bathroom but he stopped himself. Instead, he tiptoed like he always did and sat on the armchair. He picked up his book from the floor and read while waiting for her to wake up. It took him almost half an hour before he could finally understand what he was reading.
An hour later, she finally woke up. With eyes half open, she saw him reading. She was careful not to let him see her awake as she stared at him. She decided to pretend that she was still asleep. She closed her eyes. Then she snored as loud as she could and added a few pig-like grunts.
He cringed.
April 26th, 2010 at 21:01
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April 26th, 2010 at 21:37
Eyes wild and shining with unshed tears she stomped her foot on the floor and yelled in a shrill voice “yes I am the ugliest girl in this country, I am no Ferrari but one thing I am not is STUPID!!!!
He yelled back “What is this? Why are you acting like this? You are a mature woman and should take everything I say as it is. Yes you are no Ferrari and I am not Mr. Universe that’s why I am telling you, YOU ARE MY CHOICE!!! I cannot handle capricious women! If you wanna go GO! Tomorrow morning you go but not tonight, you can do whatever you want tomorrow”
As he sat on the couch he quietly said “I cannot be alone anymore, that country is so boring I need you there, ANYBODY to be there with me” and for a minute, his eyes looked dead. He pulled her next to him and hugged her. “You are my realistic choice; you are the perfect partner for me. I am an old guy and nobody looks at me anymore. I tried to get the Ferraris but I am an old guy. We will try to make life together bearable, be companions to each other” He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
“But you make it sound like it’s gonna be a miserable co-existence in that country, its like you are settling in for me like you have no other choice” Her voice was matter of fact, civil, firm.
“You are not my only choice but I have given up on that. It’s not a realistic choice… she is almost my son’s age. If you have feelings like this for someone but it is not realistic, what should I do? What should I really do?”
“If that bitch hoodwinked you and took your money, then you should take her for all your money’s worth. So what if you are 48? She took your money… there is no such thing as free lunch anymore” her voice calm but she was thinking… Yes you fuck my brains like no other man can but why should I settle for you? Why should I settle for a manic-depressive guy like you and live in misery because you are unhappy with your life? Who says you are my only choice?
She stood up, went to the bathroom and as she was brushing her teeth she can feel herself becoming calmer and steely like she always does when a decision becomes final. She looked at her reflection in the mirror… no tears, no hysterics, a hint of smile on her lips “I am not coming back tomorrow”.
April 26th, 2010 at 22:42
Orbiter: I like how you sum up their relationship with the phone settings, but the seizing and crying, yiiiiiiiii.
April 26th, 2010 at 22:44
Rayousha: Vilma Santos movie directed by Joel Lamangan.
April 26th, 2010 at 22:46
Asoroleon: The role of farts and boogers in relationships has long been undervalued. Gross. Bravo.
April 26th, 2010 at 23:39
But take something before you leave, said the farmer as an afterthought, you have to take something, he insisted, and he walked to the wooden chest by the closet adjacent to the bed, unlocked it, and pried a faded, musty piece of cloth underneath the pile of memorabilia — an old locket, plastic jade rosaries, letters, pictures, and a yellowing wedding dress.
He forced it to her hand. Take the blanket she made, he said, his eyes stoic, his leathery hands forcing the cotton blanket to her hands. She hesitated as blood rushed to her face, turning her ears and cheeks red, while the silence between them ached to be filled — but what was there to say? She grabbed it finally and stuffed the cloth inside her bag, and he said, Manang will be waiting for you at the station, I will be fine here, and you there, far away from here.
It was far away enough. Far away not to hear what the neighbors said, who talked about the girl and the farmer whose wife died two months ago. The poor woman had a heart attack out of shock and anger, the neighbors gossiped: a wife and mother gasping to her last breath muttering, my husband, my husband and my daughter.
April 27th, 2010 at 10:23
Ang tanging ingay lamang na naririnig ay ang tunog ng motor ng lumang bentilador.
Hindi nakakatulong kahit nasa number 3 na; mainit pa rin sa paligid.
Ang pawisan nilang katawan ang tanging saksi sa isa na namang pagkakamali.
Lalo pang uminit ang paligid ng magsindi ng yosi ang isa.
Ang isa nama’y hindi malaman kung nagpapalamig o naglilinis – nagbuhos ng alcohol sa katawan.
Walang kibo ang isa. Hithit lang ng hithit habang nakatitig sa kawalan, tila malalim ang iniisip.
“Kuya, isang libo po.”
April 27th, 2010 at 15:51
“Pwede ka ba bukas?” text ni Inah kay Erwin. “May gusto sana akong sabihin.” Walang smiley, di-tulad ng mga dati niyang text, na laging may kung hindi U na may umlaut ay ‘yung mas may effort na equal sign at closing parenthesis.
“Ano yun?” sabi ni Erwin. Walang short-cut sa mga salita, kunsabagay, ganu’n naman siya lagi.
“Bukas na lang, pwede ka ba?”
“Sabihin mo na ngayon para tapos na,” halatang napikon.
Huminga muna si Inah nang malalim, inhale nang mahaba, “Gusto ko na kasing makipaghiwalay,” saka pinindot ang Send.
Hindi pa siya nakakapag-exhale, tumunog agad ang cellphone niya. One message received. Si Erwin.
“K”.#
April 27th, 2010 at 18:02
“Hi, it’s Joey.”
“Of course. Who else calls me at this hour?”
“What’sup?What’sup?What’sup?”
“Uhhh. Nothing much. Just reading a book.”
“What you doing tomorrow night? You have to see my new stuff, new comic books. Collector’s edition Green Lanterns.”
“Where’d you get them?”
“A friend from PAL brought them home for me.”
“Friend?”
“There you go again.”
“Sorry, can’t help it. Everytime you refer to some anonymous guy. Why can’t you just give a name?”
“Because you don’t know him, jerk. Anyway, do you wanna meet tomorrow?”
“I can’t. I’m going out on a date.”
“Whoa. You? You’re going out on a date? Since when? Who with?”
“Some guy named Paolo.”
“Where’d you meet him? Chatroom?”
“NO. A friend asked me if I was free to date this guy. I said I was game. So, there. We’ve gone out twice since then.”
“Really.” He paused. “Is he cute?”
“Yes.”
“Is he smart?’
“Yes.”
“Is he young?”
“22.”
“Whoa. Quite young huh.”
“He seems pretty mature for his age. And the best thing is he’s out.”
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
“No.”
“So, he’s not stuck up like me. No fuckin’ hang-ups. That what you wanna say?”
“Well, uhhm, what…hmmm…but we don’t really have anything going on, right?”
“Right.”
Click.
April 27th, 2010 at 18:24
Bakit parang mainit ang ulo mo dear?
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Wala
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Anong wala, kanina ka pa walang imik
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Ikaw kasi eh
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Anong ginawa ko nga? Sabihin mo naman para hindi ao nanghuhula
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Bakit nakipag friends ka pa sa ex mong si Mariet? Bakit?
Nakita ko sa friend’s list mo ngayong umaganung nag log on ako.
Akala ko ba wala na kayong communication sa isa’t isa?
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Ay si Mariet. Siya kasi ang nakipag friends sa akin. Bastos naman kung hindi ko sya iconfirm di ba? At hindi naman kami nag-ususap noon.
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Pwede mo naman kasii ignore request or mark as unknown diba? Gusto mo ring makausap uli sya ano?
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Mayroon kasi kaming mga highschool classmates na nagbabalak ng reunion so hinahanap namin ang mga long lost classmates namin. Para lang sa reunion namin next month lang yon.
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Sabi ko na nga ba. Gusto mo talaga syang makita uli.
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Friends na lang kami ni mariet. Alam mo naman yon di ba dear?
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Friends na lang pala ha. Bakit naka post sa photos page nya yung picture ninyo dati? Bakit?
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Dear naman, hindi ko naman kayang tangalin yon sa page nya? Wala akong administrator rights doon.
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Ganon? So ibig sabihin ok lang sa yon? Ganon ha? Sige log-off na ako at ireremove na kita sa friends list ko. Invite mo na lang ako uli pag talagang wala na kayo ni mariet!
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Friends List [click]
Jr [click]
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scroll
scroll
scroll
Remove from Friends
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[click]
April 27th, 2010 at 22:06
First time to comment and first time to join…hope this is ok:
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Parang kulog lang mula sa langit. Parang ungol nang nagngangalit na gulong. Parang sumabog na bulkan. Parang tikatik ng tubig mula sa tumutulong gripo. Parang pitik ng orasan sa tahimik na gabi.
Nakakairita.
Hindi ko masabi ang sasabihin ko. Magulo sa isip, masakit sa sintido. Naglalaban ang tama sa totoo.
Naghahabulan na naman ang mga pusa sa bubong. Buti pa sila naglalampungan. Buti pa siya, hinahabol nung isa.
Ginagambala ng mga salita ang utak kong hindi na magawang iproseso ng tama ang gustong isipin. Nawalan ng kakayahan magdesisyon. Kahit ang puso hindi na rin yata tumitibok. Dugo na lang talaga ang dumadaloy, nawala na ang asukal ng romansa.
Kung papaanong nakarating tayo sa sitwasyong ito, parang hindi ko man lang namalayan.
Upos na pala ang sigarilyong kanina ko pa ninanamnam. Wala nang lasa. Wala na yung mapait na masarap. Wala na yung tadyak.
“Uwi na ‘ko…” sabi mo.
“Sige…” sagot ko.
Parang kanina lang narinig kong tinatawag mo ang pangalan ko. Ngayon para akong natalong panabong. Hindi man lang nakalaban. Ganun lang. Ganito lang, lagi.
Mabuti pa talaga yung pusa.
April 27th, 2010 at 23:30
Evan: Ayyy, intense. Makes one want to read more. The task will be to maintain this tone throughout the piece. Divisadero would be a useful read.
April 27th, 2010 at 23:33
Parisjetaime: Cute, but we’re looking for a relationship in which the investment is not just financial but emotional.
April 27th, 2010 at 23:33
Ilaya: Oy, contemporary romance. The one-letter breakup. Nice.
April 27th, 2010 at 23:37
Goofy: This is an emerging genre: the non-breakup of the non-romance. My friends and I are authorities in this field. “I think we should stop seeing each other.” “But we’re not seeing each other.” “Exactly.”
Suggestion: The closeted one should say “Pare”, “Dude”, and “Man” a lot. Overcompensation.
April 27th, 2010 at 23:41
Jr: Another tale of contemporary love. At least people my age fight over uncapped toothpaste, raised toilet seats, who makes more money, real things not virtual friends. Thanks for making me glad about being old.
April 27th, 2010 at 23:42
Ayie: Is this a screenplay? Sounds like a voice-over.
April 28th, 2010 at 00:26
Dumating na ang waiter at inihain na ang in-order nila. Ang isa umorder ng cheeseburger, fries at strawberry milkshake habang ang isa naman spaghetti lang at softdrinks. Tahimik na sila. Sa itsura nilang dalawa alam nilang milagro at makukuha pa nilang kumain. Pero nandyan na yan. Siguro gutom lang ang pinagbungahan ng lahat ng ito.
Alam nila na hahantong sila sa ganito kaya sa umpisa palang, mga comfort food nila ang pinili nilang orderin. Sa loob looban nila, kung di nila kayang ibigay yun sa isa’t-isa, at least sa pagkain nila maramdaman man lang yun.
Tahimik pa rin ang dalawa habang pinagmamasdan nila ang isa’t-isang kumakain. Hinalo muna ng umorder ng spaghetti ang sauce. Nagtaktak ng ketsap ang umorder ng hamburger sa fries niya. Humimay ng ilang hibla ng spaghetti sabay ikot ang mga ito sa tinidor. Pa-isa-isa lang ang subo ng fries ng isa. Dahan-dahan lang silang kumakain. Ninanamnam ang pinaghalong alat, tamis at asim ng mga putaheng hinapag sa kanila. Pilit pinupuno ang mga sikmura nila dahil alam nilang yun lang ang mapupuno nila.
Mahigit sampung minuto na ang lumipas at batid sa mga mukha nila ang panghihinayang sa naubos nilang pagkain. Sinubukang ipahid ng isa ang natitirang garlic bread sa mantika ng spaghetti pero di na niya ito masubo pa. Hindi dahil sa busog na siya, pero naisip niya na kung kakainin pa niya ito, baka tumaba na siya ng tuluyan. At kapag tumaba siya, wala nang magkagusto sa kanya. Tinitignan na lang siya ng burger-lover na sinimot ang hinanda sa kanya.
“Gusto mong um-order ng dessert?” tanong ng isa.
Napangiti siya. Alam nilang pareho na kahit ano pang mangyari sa kanila, tumaba man sila, kumulubot ang mukha, makalbo man, alam nila na may market pa rin sila.
April 28th, 2010 at 07:15
The china that they used for dinner represented their whole relationship, or whatever it is that they had – translucent, greasy, brittle.
He just arrived from a 6 month business trip (or so he claimed), and looked more serious than when his mother died 2 years ago.
He had that look – that look on the face when somebody died.
That look scares her, so She, scrubbing very hard to take the grease stains away from the china, looked away and kept the faucet running. The sound of running water calms her.
“I said I’m leaving you.”
She isn’t usually quiet. He was expecting a big scene. Plates flying. A long hysterical discourse on how much she has sacrificed for him.
He was disappointed. There was no scene. There was no voice, only the sound of the water from the open faucet.
He explained further. How distance did them in. How he was lonely. How she’s not to be bothered. The time zone differences.
She just kept on washing the dishes.
“Are you done?” she finally asked.
He felt a tinge of relief that she finally decided to talk. “Why that look on your face? Did somebody die?” he asked.
“Yes. You.”
April 28th, 2010 at 07:48
Someone’s in a good mood..
April 28th, 2010 at 09:09
She sits breathing heavily amidst the clutter.
After several deliberate drags of stale air, she looks at the slab of basswood on her workbench. And by instinct, her hands began to turn it into something familiar.
Her fingers gripped the carving knife firmly, paring against the grain until she held an uneven sphere. Her body eases into her craft. Little by little, the stiffness flaked off her shoulders.
“I always liked the way you think, Charlie,” she mutters, a half smile etched on her face.
She inspected the sphere and blew on it sharply. “I’m a sucker for you intellectual types. Did I ever tell you that?” she said. “The way you liked discussing Tolstoy.”
When she was satisfied with the shape, she placed the carving knife on the table. She reaches for a small gouge and began outlining the forehead. Then the temples. And then a set of eyebrows.
“I saw…” her sentence trailed off. She was concentrating on making notches underneath one brow. She shifted and worked on the other, holding it inches away from her own.
She finds the carving knife once again. The sharp edge made brisk upward movements. She creates a proboscis. “That slut leaves her scent everywhere.”
She is working more intensely now, paying less and less attention to detail. A grotesque pair of lips is borne out of the wood. Hacked and uneven.
Finally she stops to examine her creation. “And I absolutely hate liars.” Her grip loosens and the carved head falls to its likeness and the pool of fluid still warm on the floor.
April 28th, 2010 at 11:24
Asoroleon’s entry is yucch in a good way. I love it!
Yung kay Ilaya naman, meron akong kilala na ganyan ang nangyari. Hehe
April 28th, 2010 at 11:36
Teena could have stripped the Living Saint title off of Mother Teresa if Mother Teresa were alive today. Teena agreed on her non-official ex-husband to pick up his wardrobe. She just texted “K” and it was a green light for him.
Tony found her by the porch. She was whistling to the wind and she still look like a beauty queen despite the saturated smoke coming from her cigarette. He took note of that moment, it would make a good subject for his next book. The screaming light by the post makes a perfect juxtaposition on someone who opts to be a human chimney, he mused.
She didn’t flinch when a different brand of perfume reached her nostrils. She had been smelling that perfume for months already but it didn’t matter anymore. It was their first “child” Draco, a Turkish Angoran feline who greeted him with enthusiasm by purring while rubbing his body against Tony’s legs.
“Hey buddy,” Tony said and he went inside the house. Draco followed him and a minute later Teena went inside.
She let Portishead deafened the room in lo-fi and watched him by the door as he carefully folded his branded suits. He hated her music but he knew Teena was up to something. It was always a psychological war for them. Their art of war consists of little things that would pique each other’s neurosis. But Tony mastered his best rebuttal by going OCD on arranging his stuff; clothes should always be arranged in a rainbow spectrum.
But that didn’t make Teena flinch. She still studied him on finding flaws to the almost perfect husband and father. Could it be sex? Then in an off-guard moment, she saw him swag.
No, he couldn’t be gay, she thought.
He noticed Teena’s body jerked. He won, he muttered to himself. He broke her deadpan moment by being at his best on arranging things. Perhaps it was a sign for a career change. He could open his flower shop and be a successful florist. He smiled, pure genius.
He turned around and he saw her still watching him this time in an eerie and disgusted look. He got scared – but he made sure he group texted all his buddies that he was going to pick up his clothes and in case he wouldn’t show up they know where to find him. He even updated his Facebook status: Will pick up my remaining stuff and my cat. In case I don’t show up, you know the culprit, LOL.
“I’m done here,” he said.
Teena broke her silence by telling him that their son is sleeping in his room. Tony hesitated for a moment. But Teena pressed, “At least say goodbye to him. Don’t break his heart. Tell him a lie. Be a good writer that you are.”
They found Anton in fetal position and thumb sucking. He had fallen asleep smelling the soiled shirt his father left behind.
Tony was unable to move. His wits failed him, he couldn’t even tell him a lie.
From a distance, Teena watched Tony have a moment with his son.
Had he known Anton wasn’t his? Teena asked herself.
Tony grabbed his stuff and Draco followed him.
He didn’t look back.
Teena grabbed her phone and updated her marriage status in Facebook to single.
April 28th, 2010 at 11:41
I enjoy observing people, knowing their stories and analyzing their behaviors. Since my work only allows me to interact and observe my boss and her five mignons, sometimes I sit in a cafe or walk around the park before I head home. Today, I chose the park. At past five in the afternoon, the park seemed abandoned. It’s Monday, people are swamped with work, I realized. I was about to turn back when I noticed a guy kneeling in front of a girl. A couple. This seems an interesting story, I thought, as I sit in a bench not so far away from them.
“Please. You’re all I want. Please forgive me.” the begging voice of the man echoed throughout the almost empty park. The woman who was sitting still was looking nowhere.
I can only guess. I’m beginning to believe that all men commit infidelity
“It was just one night. I swear. I was weak. I don’t care about her.”
Oh yes, the follies of lust.
“We vowed, until death do us part!” he said in between sobs.
The woman remained silent, her fists clenched. I can almost feel the rage in her eyes, trying not to let her tears pour.
“Please.”
“You’ve already broken your vows. Let me break mine.” She said composedly. Then she stood up and walk away, never turning back.
The man wailed and buried his face with his palms.
April 28th, 2010 at 12:05
Both of them were silent as the taxi halted in front of the Charles de Gaulle Airport. As soon as she stepped out, the wind felt like a slap and she shivered.
“Well I guess this is me,” she said at last. She waited for him to take out all her luggages. Two, plus her carry-on. “I’ll call when I get to Manila.”
They had already worked it out the night before: Chat online everyday, 8 pm Manila time (2 pm Paris), regular emails, and the occasional visits.
“Yeah, you do that.”
“I’ll miss you,” she said.
“I’ll miss you too,” he echoed.
They stood for a moment, neither of them saying a word.
“I guess I better go,” he said, pulling his jacket closer to himself. It’s getting too cold.”
She smiled thinly. “Okay. Bye Emile…See you soon.”
They embraced and he let her go a second shorter than she would have liked. “Definitely.” He gave her a kiss before hopping into the cab that had been waiting all the while.
“Definitely,” she murmured, looking at the cab as it disappeared into the curb. “Definitely.”
April 28th, 2010 at 15:11
“Ang kulit mo. Wala nga. Walang third party. I just can’t see you anymore,” Tom said to Mina. They were in his pad, in his living room.
“After two years ganun na lang yun?! I don’t believe you. You’re having an affair. You probably met someone from work or from your recent trip to Davao. Hah! God only knows if that was really a business trip!”
Tom reached for Mina’s hands trying to calm her. But he only managed to hold them like he’s touching a baby’s hands—so soft and delicate. In his softest voice he said, “Mina, I’m really sorry. I know this is very hard for you but trust me there’s no other woman involved here. I just can’t see myself spending the rest of my life with you.”
Mina took back her hands and wiped the tear coming from her left cheek. She chuckled and said, “You men. You think you can fool all women. Well not me!”
“What are you saying?” Tom asked.
Without answering his question, Mina rose from the couch and headed to Tom’s bedroom. She opened his closet and took a box from the top drawer. It was a medium-sized red box containing Christmas cards and other small memorabilia that Tom got from his parents and his trips.
Mina emptied the box and pulled out a hot red lingerie. She unfolded it end held it by its straps. “See this? Of course you’ve seen this!” She moved the lingerie closer to her body. “This kinky piece of clothing is three sizes bigger than my size. Which means that it’s not mine. Sa kabit mo ito, no?!”
Tom froze beside his bed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. Mina threw the lingerie on the ground and stepped on it while shouting “Ugh! I hate you! I hate you!”
Seeing the gorgeous lingerie being stepped on and torn by now his ex-girlfriend, Tom couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed Mina’s arm and pushed her on the bed. He picked up the lingerie and hugged it. He was crying like a child and said “This..this..,this is mine.”
April 28th, 2010 at 15:12
Buti dumating ka na. Tagal ko naghihintay. Nag-leave pa naman ako sa office para mas matagal tayong magkasama. Sampung araw din tayong ‘di nagkita.
Dami ko ngang pasalubong sa’yo. ‘yang chocoflakes, dalawang klase na binili ko kasi alam ko paborito mo pareho. ‘yang lengua, pakain mo na lang sa mga ka-churchmate mo sa praktis nyo mamaya. Me peanut brittle din dyan. Saka etong t-shirt, tinawaran ko pa nga dun sa ale. Ang mahal kasi ng bigay nya. Eh alam kong ganyang mga print ang trip mo kaya pinilit ko talaga sya.
Anung gusto mo sa mga chocolate dito? Hati daw tayo sabi ni ate. Pero kunin mo na kung anong gusto mo. Puro tsokolate nga pasalubong nya galing Australia. May t-shirt din pala! Pili ka na dyan. Favorite mo ‘tong Crunch ‘di ba?
Buti na lang malaki ang bag na dala mo. Ayusin natin lahat ‘to mamaya.
…
Sorry kung di ako nag-text ng ilang araw. Sabi ko naman sayo, ‘wag kang pumayag magpahatid dun sa officemate mo. ‘di ba sabi ko, susunduin ka na lang namin nila tatay? Pero nagpumilit ka pa rin sumama sa kanya. Sana ‘wag na maulit ‘yun.
…
“Gusto ko siya.”
…
…
…
Eto nga pala ‘yung mga sulat ko sa’yo na pinatago mo sa ‘kin.
PhilHealth at TIN card mo.
Sa’yo na rin ‘tong Wasted ko. Basahin mo ulit.
Teka ‘yung diploma mo pala andito rin.
‘yung design books na hiniram ko andyan sa ibabaw ng kama pakikuha na lang.
Rubber shoes mo napaayos ko na, andun sa plastic sa tabi ng pinto.
Kasya pa ba sa bag mo?
…
Etong singsing, pakitago na lang. ‘di ko na pala magagamit.
April 28th, 2010 at 17:51
@ Jessica re # 15: Actually, it’s an emotional relationship (or so the guy in my head thinks). And then, as that silly joke goes, “The relationship is over once s/he starts charging you, and / or calls you Kuya” .
April 28th, 2010 at 18:07
Mental note to self: Mamita knows best; Mamita knows my potential and she knows every body’s limits. Do not assume you are God’s gift to women because in the end, you are just like everybody else. Mamita’s verdict was a big no.
I swear, every time we break up, I always end up back in her arms. All my friends, at least the ones I am close to, tell me that she’s up to no good; I am just living in a world of fantasy and it is affecting the way I live on the real world. And on tonight’s date, I will try my best to kill this relationship.
A kiss I plant on her cheek as a greeting for this date might be the last she would ever get. We were ushered by the waiter to the darkest corner spot, as requested by me. The private person in me doesn’t want other people to hear what or how our conversation would be about. The couch where we were planted was like the ones used in gangster movies; it’s ratty and its foam was spilling out of its faux-leather cracks. She checks her wristwatch–9:26PM; then she whips up a cigarette from her purse, lights it up and didn’t even offer me one. She knows I hate it when women smoke, more so when they don’t blow the fumes opposite my direction, but she never gives a damn. I had a déjà vu, I also broke off with an ex on this very same spot; believe me, she was gorgeous but her breath smells like a smoking joint inside a toilet. The hate I was feeling right now would be perfect; I felt I can snatch her heart out and feed it to the dogs, breaking up would be a walk in the park. I was winning the battle.
She always does this to me; again, she scans and orders for the most expensive items on the menu without regard for its palatability or portion. Not even a piercing stare could stop her; she was like a kid on a toy buffet and I was the mother; her happiness is also my happiness. Two people ordered crispy pata, whole roast chicken, sizzling gambas and an overpriced steak she volunteered to order for me. She was getting me killed of cardiac arrest and financial bankruptcy even before I give signs of me wanting out of this relationship. I opted to order only my go-to beverage, scotch, to drown the hate and fill up the courage meter.
While the waiter relayed our order to the kitchen, I can’t help but notice the table directly across ours on the opposite corner, policemen in uniform. Either they came here to unwind and expect free chow or they came here to work and expect free chow. 90’s era ballads filled up the room while there was an awkward silence in this corner. Entertainment tonight was less than entertaining compared to the last time we were here. The dancers lacked spring in their moves, who can blame them; they were not properly choreographed to shake themselves this way.
My companion excused herself to go to the little girls’ room; the less time she spends with me, the more I feel I can’t do it. I admit, I missed her, I was addicted to her, our time spent together is never enough, never enough. For the whole night, I smelled her perfume even when she’s not wrapped under my arms. The way she walked away from me was the sexiest thing ever; her long hair swayed from side to side, exposing her bare back; her short skirt highlighted her legs and buttocks. I was losing the battle.
From my seat, I saw her outside the ladies’ room talking in her mobile; she was all smiles and looked very happy. That phone conversation was long; it will cost the caller a lot unless he/she’s under an unlimited calling plan. The food arrived and she was still pacing outside the toilet door; I don’t dare touch the food, my doctor told me to stay away from greasy food and besides, I already had dinner at home. Her mood changed as she came back, her giggles were replaced with a pout and some hint of anger. I asked why, she said something about a losing an opportunity because a client backed out of an appointment. I held her sweaty hand and tried to console her by offering to pay her rent this month; she beamed me a smile and gave me a smack on the cheek. I am losing the battle.
Around this time according to my expensive timepiece—9:58PM, I should get going; happy hour’s over and the bill was racking up; and I signaled the waiter to go get my bill. The guest relations officer stood up and gave me a kiss on the lips that will keep me coming back for more and said, “Balik ka ulit at lakihan mo na rin ang tip ko, ha.”
April 29th, 2010 at 10:48
william_tan_see: This is the third or fourth entry I’ve read in which the romance was rented. I am starting to worry about you guys.
April 29th, 2010 at 10:57
Iceproof: Magaling. Parang totoong nangyari at tunay na tao ang nagsasalaysay. Iba talaga kapag ang wikang pinang-iisip at ang wikang pinang-susulat ay iisa.
April 29th, 2010 at 11:00
saintbarry: I like the way the relationship is compared to china, and then she spends the entire scene washing dishes. Small problem with geography: How can she see the look on her face if she’s washing the dishes? Also you start with his POV then switch to hers then back to his.
April 29th, 2010 at 11:02
Ziggy: You and Iceproof are from the same school of writing. Maybe you should meet.
April 29th, 2010 at 11:04
cough-syrup-junkie: Funny. Suggest you describe the lingerie in greater detail than “hot red”.
April 29th, 2010 at 11:18
caterpillar-girl: It’s too bare, we have no clue as to the depth of the attachment. Perhaps since the male character is European you could describe the kiss. Kiss on both cheeks: what they would give co-workers or aunts. Kiss on one cheek: perfunctory. Etc.
April 29th, 2010 at 11:20
Maundereratwork: There is an idea here that needs to be coaxed out. Read the short story by Graham Greene entitled Two Gentle People. Come to think of it, read as much Graham Greene as you can.
April 29th, 2010 at 13:37
The two lattes cost less than the one he bought for himself last night. He wasn’t late, an overcast sky, kids sprawling flat in the streets on the other side of the glass, two of whom sniffing jelly out of plastic bags and had a grin he thought you would only see in rabid dogs. He didn’t notice his coffee’s no longer warm.
When she came he stopped writing something on the back of xeroxed paper, whose dog ears are blackened with the name Enialal and translucent circle splats that he couldn’t admit were from tears. They were thirty-minutes early.
“Naa koy joke nimo. Unsay nag-start ug letter “M” nga prostitute, mu chop-chop ug bata ug mu-inom ug dugo?,” he said.
The kids outside arguing over the plastic bags, a mother with a baby ogling her breast interfered, there was practically no traffic to speak of because it was the day God’s dead and no wind moved the one tree mid-street where a bag of shit quaintly lain like an abandon token.
“Unsa?”
A siren was heard, the kids now running towards the street and giving chase to the one who held the two bags, the jelly dripping out of them, unnoticed, the mother now transferring the baby’s suckling to the other breast, her bib falling off.
“Starts with Letter M, nga prostitute, killer of kids, cannibal, nya di maligo kung Sunday.
“Unsa gud? Wait, I need to tell you something. We have to..I mean, I like to think that..Ok, this will..”
A scream, the variety of abrupt surprise from within the range of this, and the cadence of onomatopoeic shrieks.
He glanced to his side and the spectacle of the kid hit and the car speeding down the rotunda reminded him of the word miasma. He couldn’t grasp the meaning and he noticed the coffee’s cold. And as her friend went outside to answer a call and the unaccountable pauses drew to its fairly conceivable state, she muttered something inscrutable but surely hinted at something like, shouldn’t we go look for someone, or we’re wasting our time here, or just simply, shoudn’t you be getting some help.
“Eh di, My mother.”
April 29th, 2010 at 13:45
*abandoned token
April 29th, 2010 at 18:15
*where a bag of shit IS quaintly lain
*baby’s sucking
*FINALLY noticed the coffee’s cold
April 30th, 2010 at 06:23
A few moments after the first cockcrow, just as the first glint of the sun clawed its way out of the horizon, Clive shifted his gaze from the crossword puzzle that he was working on to Ralph, who entered the living room all sweaty from his ritual, early-morning run.
“Hey, kiddo,” Ralph said as he took off his shirt. “Good morning!”
This made Clive uncomfortable so he immediately went back to 23-across—a nine-letter word for ‘intransigent.’ “Good morning,” Clive managed to mumble through clenched teeth.
“Anything the matter?” Ralph, shirtless, walked over to the kitchen table, behind which Clive was sitting, and ruffled the young man’s hair. “You sound mad.”
“I’m not mad. I’m just hungry,” Clive lied. Even if he was hungry, Clive’s cooking was never something he looked forward to.
Clive remembered when he first met Ralph a few months back; they sparked an instant friendship despite Clive being fifteen and Ralph thirty-one. Clive needed to feature an entrepreneur for his school paper and Ralph happened to be the only person in the neighborhood who ran a business. Clive found himself knocking on Ralph’s front door, asking for thirty minutes of his time. Their conversation would have ended right after the interview, but Ralph bragged about how he made the best omelet in the world, and that Clive would have to join him for breakfast the next day. What was supposed to be a one-time thing turned into a daily visit. Clive would drop by Ralph’s for breakfast before school, chat about this and that, and force down this throat Ralph’s idea of the best omelet in the world, which was so bland he had to point it out the first time he tasted it. Ralph just laughed then, saying its blandness was what made it special. What Clive chose not to discuss was how it left an unsettling aftertaste that would last for hours.
As Ralph disappeared into his bedroom to put a new shirt on, Clive ran his fingers through his hair, the very hair that Ralph ruffled just a few minutes ago, and stopped himself from crying. This kind of feeling started two weeks ago, the night they got so drunk that Ralph fell asleep on Clive’s shoulder on their cab ride home. The proximity made Clive feel Ralph’s warmth, skin to skin, and Ralph’s hot and heavy breathing meeting his. Clive thought it was electrifying. Since then, Ralph’s omelet tasted like the best omelet that Clive ever had to put in his mouth. Clive looked up again as Ralph headed back to the kitchen to start breaking eggs.
“Hungry, huh?” Ralph said. “Don’t worry, kiddo. This should be done in a jiffy.”
Clive noted how true that was; Ralph cooked the quickest omelets. “Ralph…”
“Yeah?” At this point, milk and eggs were poured into the skillet.
“I love you.” Clive froze for a second. He couldn’t believe he just blurted it out, without so much as an iota of thought given to how that was going to affect the rest of their lives. “I think I’m in love with you,” he added, and immediately cringed.
Ralph himself felt that time stood still. It took him a while before he composed himself and pulled the chair across Clive. The hiss that came out of his mouth told the young man that he was not going to hear something pleasant. “Oh, man…” Ralph said, looking all worried. “That’s not a very good idea.”
Clive looked down, more uncomfortable now than when their morning started. He stared at his crossword puzzle. “Hey, what’s a nine-letter word for intransigent?”
Deciding that it was best to go back to his cooking, Ralph stood up and turned his back on Clive. He stared at the contents inside the skillet. The mixture had turned brown and too solid now to add the fillings in. All the cheese, bell peppers, and ham were lying cold in a plate on the table. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t even know what that word means.” He turned around and realized that Clive had already left. Ralph remained frozen staring at the closed door across the room until finally the burnt smell of the best omelet in the world bit his nose, an added evidence of a ruined breakfast.
April 30th, 2010 at 08:25
Not an entry – and not to make yabang – but a suggestion to all entrants behalf of the readers (and Jessica too):
Napapansin ko kasi na may pagka-perfectionist tayong lahat na nagsusulat ng mga entry para sa contest na ito. Hindi naman iyan maiiwasan dahil gusto natin perfect lahat ng mga sina-submit natin.
Pero, favor lang – dahil contest nga ito at may kakumpetensya din kayo – paki-draft naman ninyo yung mga entries ninyo bago ninyo i-submit. If you’re writing in English, for example, and you have Microsoft Word, it would be in your best interest to write your draft on it first; tutal, may spell-check din iyon, at kung hindi bagay sa writing style ninyo yung grammar check eh at least makakatulong iyon sa subject-verb agreement. At kung Filipino naman ang sinusulat ninyo, maari din kayong gumamit ng word processing program na walang spell-check ng Ingles, para may feel kayo sa structure at may estimate kayo ng word count. Kaya nga may copy and paste functions din ang mga iyan eh.
The point is, maawa naman kayo sa aming mga nagbabasa. Hindi lang si Ma’m Jessica ang makakakita nito – kami ding mga usyusero’t usyusera sa blog na ito ang nakakabasa, at hindi lahat kami ay may pasensya na magbasa ng mga pahabol na fragments ninyo kung hindi ninyo inayos iyan bago kayo nagblog. Maawa na din kayo kay Ma’m Jessica, lalo na’t pa-Australia na ang lola ninyo.
Yun lang.
April 30th, 2010 at 10:29
Hi, it’s my first time to join.
—–
Looking up to see the bust colors that adorn the night sky is always one of the most wonderful moments of her life. “They’re the most beautiful, these fireworks,” she would tell him everytime they watch pyrotechnic displays. Her fascination reflects on her face as she looks up to see them. During times like this, he knows, nothing can make her sad for she really loves to see the fireworks.
One summer night, he took her out to watch a pyrotechnic display. She was so excited she didn’t notice the sadness in his eyes. She was busy talking about herself she didn’t notice his silence. When they reached the open field where the pyrotechnic display will happen, she was looking around to see how the participants prepare and to see the excited faces of the people around them but she failed to see his growing anxiety.
When the most awaited moment began, all of the people were adoring the fireworks. Some of them were capturing the moment with their digital or video cameras. All of the people are looking up other than him. He was looking at her smiling face, watching how the color of the fireworks played on her pretty face. He moved closer, held her hand, and whispered, “I’m leaving.” “What? Wait until it’s finished,” she answered without looking at him. “No baby, I’m leaving you.” When the meaning of his words made sense to her, she looked at him. She was surprised to see his sad face. As the last set of fireworks fade away, the people around them talking how great the fireworks were, he let go of her hand and walk away—leaving her with tears in her eyes under the dark sky.
April 30th, 2010 at 10:58
I’m reposting this with minor revision, including your comment. If that’s okay. :)
——–
“Ang kulit mo. Wala nga. Walang third party. I just can’t see you anymore,” Tom said to Mina. They were in his pad, in his living room.
“After two years ganun na lang yun?! I don’t believe you. You’re having an affair. You probably met someone from work or from your recent trip to Davao. Hah! God only knows if that was really a business trip!”
Tom reached for Mina’s hands trying to calm her. But he only managed to hold them like he’s touching a baby’s hands—so soft and delicate. In his softest voice he said, “Mina, I’m really sorry. I know this is very hard for you but trust me there’s no other woman involved here. I just can’t see myself spending the rest of my life with you.”
Mina took back her hands and wiped the tear coming from her left cheek. She chuckled and said, “You men. You think you can fool all women. Well not me!”
“What are you saying?” Tom asked.
Without answering his question, Mina rose from the couch and headed to Tom’s bedroom. She opened his closet and took a box from the top drawer. It was a medium-sized red box containing Christmas cards and other small memorabilia that Tom got from his parents and his trips.
Mina emptied the box and pulled out a sexy red negligee. She unfolded it end held it by its lace straps. “See this? Of course you’ve seen this!” She moved the lingerie closer to her body. And even if she’s fully dressed she could feel that it’s soft, silky, and expensive.
“This kinky piece of clothing is three sizes bigger than my size. Which means that it’s not mine. Sa kabit mo ito, no?!”
Tom froze beside his bed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. Mina threw the lingerie on the ground and stepped on it while shouting “Ugh! I hate you! I hate you!”
Seeing the gorgeous lingerie being stepped on and torn by now his ex-girlfriend, Tom couldn’t take it anymore and grabbed Mina’s arm and pushed her on the bed. He picked up the lingerie and hugged it. He was crying like a child and said “This…this is MINE.”
April 30th, 2010 at 14:16
Kapag nag-aaway, walang tama, walang mali, walang patatalo. Parang inaabogado ang kanya-kanyang mga sarili. Pagkatapos nang ikalawang oras nang sigawan, iwiwish mo na lang bigla na sana may judge na lang. Sana may arbiter na lang para matapos na.
Alam nang lahat na kapag nasa rurok na nang paghihiwalay wala nang lohika. Pagalingan mag-isip nang masasakit na insulto!
“Mag-babakla na lang ako kaysa makaasawa pa nang babaeng katulad mo.”
“IIwan mo ako dahil sa sabon? Sobrang galing mo mambaluktot!”
“Anong pambaluktot. Ganito lang kasimple ang sama nang ugali mo: pag hindi ka napagbibigyan, parang sayo pa may utang.”
“Anong utang? Anong utang ang sinisingil ko sa’yo?”
“Dahil lang sa sabon, magsisimula kang magtatalak. Yun yon!”
“Oo ganun nga kasimple. Bakit hindi mo ako binili ng Likas Papaya?”
“Maasyado mahal! Otsenta pesos ang gagastahin para sa isang sabon?
“Bakit, sineks mo naman ako kagabi ha?”
“At ano, nagpapabayad ka nang likas papaya kapalit ng sex? At para ka palang prosti na ang bayad ay sabon.”
“Oo. Isipin mo na bayad mo na lang sakin yon. Dahil hindi ako nag-eenjoy!”
“O sige. Sobra ka na talaga. Hindi ka lang maipasyal nang isang lingo, hindi na maipinta ang mukha mo. Parang mamamatay ka pag hindi nakatikim ng sustansya nang mall air. Sustansya ba ang mall air sa yo? Kailangan mo nang sustansya nang mall air?! Aalis na ako, masama ka na para sa kalusugan ko.
[At umalis ako para lumusog].
April 30th, 2010 at 17:11
The last things to apportion were dozens of CDs. Rodel inched his way into a few square inches of parquet, then put down a handful of empty Landmark plastic bags. Sophie had the rest of the sala with her huge boxes stamped with “Balikbayan”.
Rodel asks softly, “E, itong Monster?”
“I bought that but you can have it. Can’t take Stipe’s wailing there. Wasn’t he trying too hard there? He thought he could get away with anything after Everybody Hurts.”
“Achtung Baby? Akin ito?” Or, was he stating a fact as he mumbled?
“I love that album cover. First time U2 did sleeves and color. Clayton’s naked there, right? But those songs have made them a wedding band. It’s yours.
“Sa ‘yo ‘to. True Blue.”
“Oh, I bought that for the Herb Ritts shot. But Olivia’s better in Physical. Did I ever play that? Give it to your sister.”
“Atin ba ‘to? Malcolm Mclarenz?”
“Yup, that’s mine. God rest his soul. Did Catherine Deneuve ever record a song after Paris, I wonder.”
“Ito, akin. Sgt. Peppers.”
If it’s the Bee Gees version, I’m sure that’s yours. Don’t take the Beatles one. Must be the single most important album in history. Even the cover is a classic. Yours has an ugly logo with horns and all. And Peter Frampton! Ha ha ha!
“Sige, alis na ‘ko. Balikan ko na lang.”
April 30th, 2010 at 18:28
“So how was your day?, I asked him as we sat down inside this dainty coffee shop. A trickle of water passed from his forehead to his chin and it lounged there, a single witness of the heavy rain outside. I gazed at the magazine on my hand and listened to the crisp flippings of the pages.
“It was long, but it’s okay.” His voice engulfed my subtle musings about the things around me. He always fascinated me with the brevity of his words, short but with emotional emphasis. He gazed at me and I felt my hands trembled as I reached for my cup of macchiato. It was filled to the brim.
I took a sip. “So you think you will push your plan?”
The coffee flowed inside me as my thoughts reckoned the last Christmas that we had. It was on this same coffee shop that we planned our trips for our holiday vacation. It was a warm December then. Perhaps it was because of the roasting of the coffee beans. I don’t exactly know.
“Yeah. I got the tickets already.”
His words brought me a familiar feeling. I don’t know how to react. This coffee shop had been the witness of my joy when our friendship asked for more.I sipped from my cup again and this time I had a generous filling. I don’t know if I would still put the cup down. From my point of view, I could still see him, stole a look from him while the cup was on my mouth. But I had to face this. I just had to.
“What about your things? What about that trip you planned to have with your sister? What about the picnic you’ll have next week? I have heard you’ll bring your old friends there. what about…?”
He held my hand, my head’s down as I tried to hide the incoherence building within me. I felt his hand. It was warm but not the warmth I’ve been hoping for. Perhaps it was because it’s December. I don’t know.
“Liz, I made this clear to you before. I have to go now. She’s here.” He stood and gave me the kiss I don’t know if I’d ever forget. He got his coat and his breath still lingered on my face as I sat there with eyes closed. When I opened them, I could see from my window a couple walking happily together.
I looked at my coffee and drank the last of it. I knew I would never drink this way again.
April 30th, 2010 at 19:55
Ang ganda ng entry ni turmukoy! Likas Papayaaa…
April 30th, 2010 at 23:50
To Stellalehua – Well said!!
May 1st, 2010 at 13:42
They were in a hospital lobby sitting in one of the bench; both are preoccupied with their own thoughts. After an hour of silence, she managed to speak although her voice was in pain.
“I will try to understand and I will respect your decision”
He holds her hands and squeezes it tightly and remains silent for a moment.
“Thank you and I hope you understand and remain my friend and you will not despise me after.
She only manages to smile.
After a while she walks away and wonder if is she wasn’t fooled by the man she loves.
He watch her go, his eyes moist but he knows that he will never regret his decision.
After a while he sees his doctor where he will discuss the schedule of his sex change operation.
May 1st, 2010 at 17:42
I really liked Evan’s work. Just saying.
—–
“You see, for the past few weeks, I’ve been-” he paused, fidgeting in his chair, “uhm, I’ve been kind of busy. At work. With all the-” he scratches the back of his head. “-uh, well it doesn’t matter…”
She eyed the waiter, then her watch, then back at him. She noticed he was still talking.
“… what I’m trying to, uh, say is…” he pinched his nose as if milking it, inhaling suddenly. “…you’re a wonderful person, and I like you a lot…” he was gesturing to her, like he was pushing her away.
She winced.
“I’m breaking up with you.” She blurted out.
He was stunned. He looked as if he was beaten to the punch line of some joke. His hands fell on the table with a thump.
“There.” She said with a straight face.
The waiter cut in with their order. She ordered steak, he ordered salad.
“…but, but I, I’m supp-” he stuttered. His jaw clenched, the muscles strained, his teeth began to numb.
“Let’s eat. I’m very hungry. I can pay for myself”
She began carving the steak while he was stuck in a stupor.
“…you sh-should’ve let m-”
“Finish?” she caught her self. “Oh.”
He glared at her. He stood up indignantly but she grabbed his hands.
“Sit down, please, let’s not do that. Plus your salad’s here.”
But he just stood there in defeat
“I’m sorry for-” she motioned her eyebrows at him “-for interrupting. Go ahead, continue.”
“Okay, well…” his eyes moistened with frustration “I’M breaking up with you.”
She pursed her lips trying to stifle not a laugh but something more threatening. She swallowed hard.
“Okay. Oookaay.” She cleared her throat. “YOU broke up with me.” she said with a guffaw.
He sat down slowly looking at her hand still holding his. She finally let go and grabbed a fork. She ate heartily, she was hungry after all. What an excellent steak she thought.
An audible exhale was heard.
She looked at him but he started with his salad already.
She shrugged and went back to her steak.
May 1st, 2010 at 18:12
Danah usually prepared dinner at this time of the day, but there she was at the kitchen table trying hard to find the right words. For the nth time, she pulled the sheet out of the pad, crumpled it and aimed at the bin. It did not even touch the lips on the bin and fell on the polished wooden floor. Her OCD kicked in and compelled her to pick up the paper lying on the floor, threw it at the bin. “If it were his mess, he wouldn’t even bother to pick that up. But then again, he would most likely shoot it at the bin and it would have perfectly fall into the bin at first try.” Thoughts of Jon’s glorious days in the basketball court rushed to her mind and she tried to fall in love with her college boyfriend once again. After remembering the events of all the years that passed, she picked up the pen and tried to write again. But something bright caught her eye.
He finished his report with the clients early. By this time, Jon would be at the nearest sports bar to catch the latest basketball game, but not today. He sat straight and positioned his hands on the keyboard, as the marriage counselor’s voice resonates in his ears. “You can still save this marriage. Just tell her what you really feel. She likes writing you notes and letters, right? Why don’t you return the favor this time?” He said to himself, “”She would have probably written me a full length letter since last week for this exercise. But then again, she might have just written me a simple note, like the first one she ever gave me.” Thoughts of the bright neon pink post-it note on his binder rushed to his mind and he tried to fall in love with the bright eyed girl from English class. He moved the mouse to remove Danah’s smile on his monitor and poured his heart out to the keys in front of him.
She had been staring at the phone for several minutes now. After several rings, a familiar voice spoke and advised her to leave a message after the beep. The beep came but she did not utter a word until another voice said that she had to repeat her message.
With the letter in his right hand, Jon opened the door and picks his brief case from the floor. He called his wife’s name.
She heard somebody call her name. She opened the door and saw the man she really loves; the man she would refer as her friend if anybody asked how they were related.
He called out Danah’s name again. He decided to go to the kitchen but he stopped at the sight of the neon pink post- it note at the fridge. He recognized his wife’s handwriting on it. He pulled the note and saw her set of keys on top of the fridge. He crumpled the note along with the letter and threw it at the bin. It touched the lips of the can but fell on the floor. He was about to bend down and pick it up when a sudden rush of bliss came upon him. He smiled, picked up the phone and ordered a meal for one.
May 1st, 2010 at 18:20
He almost smiled as he climbed the stairs. He took the handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face and neck. He felt that the collar of his shirt is wet. Ordinarily, the hot weather would tick him off. Not today though. He had a good feeling about something.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he saw her outline. She was gazing out a large window from which light of the noon day sun entered. His eyes adjusted before he could see more than the outline. She had her lab gown hanging from her right arm. She must have heard his footsteps because she turned.
He saw that her blank expression turned to a puzzled one. He approached her and they gave each other a kiss on the cheek. She smelled faintly of phenol. He handed her the flowers, a dozen of red roses, that he brought.
“You didn’t have to bring me flowers.”
I’m in such a good mood, he wanted to say but instead, “I just thought they’d cheer you up. You’ve been spending all your time in the lab.” He resisted mocking, Isn’t that why we couldn’t meet somewhere decent?
She looked at the roses and smiled a smile he knew was forced. She bit her lips then she said, “Listen, um, I can’t be your girlfriend anymore.”
He didn’t respond. He remembered how she cancelled their dates because she was “too tired”. His friends’ jokes about it. The fact that she put a password on her cellphone. How the people he knew in this building avert their eyes when they see him. The hurt he felt when he sat and thought about them and how he recovered quickly because he met someone.
His mood didn’t change. It’s about time, he thought.
May 1st, 2010 at 21:05
first time din.
-
The two of them lie on bed. With his usual socks and her usual nighties. With his broadsheet in the middle of the night. Her paperback. The pair of reading glasses that sits on her nose. The light: the bedside lamps, dim.
“You know that thing about relationships? They’re irrational, crazy and absurd … but we keep up, you know, we stay in them no matter what because … we need the eggs.” he says as he flips through the business section of a broadsheet that he pretends to be reading. He’s not that kind of guy.
“You do realize that that line doesn’t really make any sense without the joke right?”
No reply.
For a long time.
Twenty minutes.
And twenty seconds.
“How about this: Sharks are like relationships. They either move forward or they die. We have a dead shark.”
“You’re misquoting a line and you’re ruining Annie Hall for me,” she says not bothering to look at the other.
“You know if you want to break up you can always write a poem about it.”
May 1st, 2010 at 22:50
She opens her laptop as she mutters about the greatest despair of the day and how she gave in completely on the day’s loose trap. She has yet to do the un-thinkable for a seven goddamn year relationship and the so called, the-envy-of-the-many-relationships.
She opens her YM typing the “now-cursed” e-mail address because it ends with number “24″ that could have been the number permanently stuck on their bodies as they agreed on a commitment tattoo when time comes.
She keeps on waiting that maybe he’d still drop by on her pad because he definitely knows how a crappy day, or more so, how she wished she was dead by now, and she would just take back the thought of doing this big of a risk. To her surprise, he was indeed online having an ecstatic status message shit. He was again playing the most insensitive person in the world. She decided that this was the last of the thousand times of those taken-for-granted and the martyrdom of understanding the ill treatment.
“BUZZ!!!!!!!!”
“I have something to tell you…” she said.
“Ano yun?”
“Let’s break-up before I completely hate you.”
It took a while before he came up with a word.
“Sorry. Sorry sa… (enumerating those rubbish reasons why he wasn’t been the boyfriend he could have been for her)”
“No need to say sorry. It’s over.” As she is still trying to mend the feeling of a cutting throat while pushing back her cry and still maintain a regular breathing.
That’s all he could say. He never said, “I agree, we must totally break-up” but his apologetic responses made it clear that it was the end of them. She wished he might have changed his words into something that is contrary to what she was purporting, like he could have stopped her from doing this instead, he said otherwise.
She opens another window and went to Facebook, edited her info changing the status to single. She now feels the most elusive emotions– more of worrisome of what kind of hell awaits her now that the most dependent part of her, which is her heart, has been broken like she would be heartless for no defined span of time; perhaps, forever.
She logged off on YM and her un-thinkable and the un-thinkable for many, for a seven year relationship has become a reality.
May 1st, 2010 at 23:34
“You never really did get better at using those…” she told him. It was obvious to her that the young man was struggling to finish his rice bowl with the chopsticks.
He shook his head and blushed a bit. “I’m always going to end up looking like an uncultured brute in these places”
“Don’t be silly.” She reached out across the table towards his hand. “The trick to remember is to keep the ends always even and parallel”
It was their last dinner together before he went overseas for a lucrative contract job in Dubai. This was something made possible by the woman partially supporting his education for the last year. Below the red lights of the Chinese lanterns their faces contrasted: she was smiling and relaxed while he was tense and distracted.
He finally decides to let something off his chest. “I hope you don’t feel used”
“I don’t” she assured him. “I was the one who offered the help and it would’ve been stupid for you to refuse.”
“I’ll pay you back” he quickly retorted.
“Of course, but in due time. Take care of your family first, especially your mom.”
He gave out a big sigh. “Why do you have to be such a saint about this? It makes it so much harder. AT LEAST send me an angry text or something.”
“Right” She laughed. “That would reflect well on a woman my age”
He laughed too as he tried to pick up the last morsels of rice.
“I’m going to miss you.” He told her.
He finally gave in as his cramped hand let go of the chopsticks.
I know Raymond, same here” she said as she motioned for waiter to get a fork.
May 2nd, 2010 at 00:01
Friends see them as that perfect Facebook couple: profile pages proudly proclaiming “In a Relationship With _______” and photoalbums dedicated solely to the moments they spent together, with appropriate titles like “The One and Only Love of My Life” and the like. They call each other “Babe”and they celebrate their monthsary religiously. One night, he called her up and together, they walked towards the motel they frequent during the first few months of their relationship, bodies touching and holding hands- standard protocol for a couple of almost ten months.
They undressed with eyes not meeting the other’s. On the bed they groped around mechanically, knowing exactly where the other wants to be touched and when. He stuck his tongue inside her mouth and she responded with soft moans- more out of the need to ward of the feeling of ennui than genuine passion. Touch, kiss, moan- in this manner did they proceed with their love-making; it was after an hour and a half when they discovered that he could not get it up. They took that as a sign to sleep, with backs turned from each other and as far away on the bed as possible.
The next morning they left without saying a word.
May 2nd, 2010 at 00:53
He looked at her. He wanted to feel her skin on his lips. Her shoulders, the curve on her waist, her lips as she parts it for him.
He didn’t want to think. He knew if he dwells long on his thoughts, it would make him see. He knew no matter how he craves for her, all he could find are memories. It is she, suspended in his mind. An image. That would not look back at him with the same fervor when on the brink of making love.
He looked at her once more as she lay there. She opened her eyes and saw him standing beside the bed. They gazed into each other’s eyes. There was a slight surprise on her face. It was as if she knew this moment would come. But not as soon. Yet she never moved.
As he stood there, his eyes slowly moved from her brows to her eyes to her nose, to the soft angle of her jaw to her bottom lip. That would be all she would be. All broken images. Then their eyes met again. When there is nothing more, he turned and left.
May 3rd, 2010 at 12:13
I watch you,
Plow the depths of your sadness
And mine, Grieving for the love lost
Angered by tempestuous fate, bitterness
Written in boiling spirits
Ranting in wild abandon, incensed
Seeking solace only in soiled emotions
Strewn on the cold, hard ceramic tile
Waiting to be thrown a bone
Only to be disappointed and crushed
Not being spared even one tiny morsel!
You beg
But this time, “Sorry” doesn’t seem much
of a fare.
Not even consolation.
May 7th, 2010 at 09:18
silog: YUUCCCH!
May 7th, 2010 at 09:23
polbunyan: If you’re going to be a music snob get the names right. It’s Malcolm McLaren.