11.30.06
Posted in Uncategorized at 3:49 am by cla-uplb
There’s a song in my head right now, something I came across in my computer at the office a few days ago. It’s N’ Sync’s I Drive Myself Crazy —and yes, I am probably the corniest teeny-bopper one has ever known. I dig the ballads of my generation’s boybands — from Boyzone to Backstreet Boys to N’ Sync. Go on, you are allowed to laugh and say “Darn! Hindi ka lang corny, Clarisse. Jologs ka din! The ultimate jologs of them all!” Heheh…
And here are the lines I’ve been humming to myself during my solitary moments…
I lie awake
I drive myself crazy…
Drive myself crazy…
Thinking of YOU.
And let’s repeat that please…
I lie awake
I drive myself crazy…
Drive myself crazy…
Thinking of YOU….
Okay, STOP! You probably think I’ve gone completely insane with the way I’m going in this entry. After a week of lying in bed, awake, tossing and turning, indulging in bouts of self-pity, I’m sleeping peacefully now. I have stopped driving myself crazy thinking of you, which is good. It’s probably the lamest excuse but it’s the truth and though I promised I will stop obsessing over the matter, well… let’s just leave that particular train of thought unsaid. J
Perhaps I love myself too much that after three nights of lying awake in bed, I realized I do not have the desire to go ga-ga over someone, so I’m just going to have to stop thinking. Afterall, I have been accused of thinking too much and feeling too much. Perhaps a little ‘detachment’ would work for me this time.
And because it’s time to ‘reinvent’ myself, I decided to go for a short, short hair cut. I’m now sporting a boy’s cut these days. My colleagues and students have remarked that my hairstyle seems to be getting shorter and shorter –from my long, shoulder-length hair to the sexy (hehe) curls last year, to the sophisticated, younger-looking, layered style and now, to my boy’s cut. I remember telling my sister that I’m going to start growing my hair long, and I will only have it cut when I finally snag a boyfriend. My smart-aleck of a sister has the perfect reply. “Yeah, right. By then, I’m already an established doctor and you’re probably still waiting for him, your hair as long as Rapunzel’s. You can start living in your own tower.”
She may be right. Who knows? Or she may be wrong… but a haircut seems like a good way to start this ‘new life, new look’ mission of mine. Besides, I’m thinking of being a ‘boy’ for the next few months and exploring the exciting world of men and locker rooms and conquest stories. Hehehe…
And to this dear friend of mine, this one’s for you, girl… 
Heartbreaks are always the beginning of something beautiful and new and liberating. After months of obsessing over that pathetic excuse of a guy, you see yourself in a new light, boosted by the ‘let-him-eat-his-heart-out’ mentality. Okay, you’re just being bitter.
But come on, crying your heart out every night wouldn’t do you any good. Challenged by his rejection, you suddenly want to change your image. You suddenly think about going back to the gym and shedding off those pounds. You suddenly want to be sexy and make him, yes, eat his heart out. You want him to regret playing with your emotions in the first place and then choosing someone else over you.
It makes you want to splurge your money on new clothes and new shoes because again, you want to feel beautiful and pretty and smart and sophisticated. It makes you want to learn a new language so that you can curse him without him understanding a word. Or if you’re really pathetic, you can go tell him “I still love you, jerk. What do I need to do to make you love me?” in a language he wouldn’t understand, saving you from a 90% chance of a second rejection. And believe me, a second rejection doesn’t speak well of your state of mind.
Heartbreaks make you focus on other things like your studies, your work, your desire to earn more bucks, your family, your well-meaning friends who were there for you from the start, dishing out well-meaning advice like ‘guard your heart’ and ‘keep your distance’ (of course, you didn’t listen, poor you). It makes you think about the things you had to temporarily put in the backseat when you met him because all you ever thought about was him. Now I’m sure your friends will have a respite from your stories of how great and good-looking he is. And they were just being good friends to you then, too kind to tell you to shut up.
And it reinforces that promise you made to yourself-before he came into your life—not to take any flirtations seriously, to be ‘detached’ and impersonal and rational, to think with your head and not with your heart, that all guys are just out for fun and you’re stupid if you let yourself get carried away.
At the end of the day, you tell yourself that you are this smart, beautiful, intelligent girl who wouldn’t settle for anything less than what you deserve. You appreciate yourself more, learn to love yourself more, even if you come off as a self-centered, bitter, pathetic girl who just got busted (which is technically true).
And you realize there are more pressing problems in this world — the nation’s state of affairs, the tuition fee adjustment in your university, your thesis and the prospect of graduation, the Rugby boys, the children selling sampaguita in the park, the chemical spill that you just read about in the newspaper, even Pacquiao’s distressing plan to run for public office — than your thoughts of the guy who told you that you’re just friends. Really, who are you kidding?
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11.20.06
Posted in Uncategorized at 2:42 am by cla-uplb
I’ve always wondered why they say that mothers know best. Now I know. This silly, innocent, naïve child should have listened to her mother.
My mom would always tell me to look for a man who knows how to say “I’m sorry.” Not the curt, brief, sometimes growling ‘sorry’ that guys mutter under their breath, but the sincere, penitent “I am sorry” which they aren’t afraid of being overheard by other people.
She used to tell me to look for a guy who wouldn’t trample on my dignity, wouldn’t make me feel less of myself, wouldn’t make me feel or treat me like a rag. She cautioned against loving a person too much that you allow that person to run your life, make you feel inferior, less of yourself, much more, a person without her own identity.
She tells me about being my own woman, not a shadow of my partner. That no matter how much you love that person, no matter how much you want to follow him to the ends of the earth, you will always be YOU. And even if you’re supposed to have joint dreams and aspirations as a couple, you also have your own dreams and aspirations. She points out the importance of compromise and leveling-off. At one time, you may have to give in. And sometimes, it’s him who has to give in. But it shouldn’t always be YOU.
And while she tells me never to easily give in, she tells me about swallowing my pride and making the first move to say sorry especially if I’m the one at fault. I shouldn’t wait for the guy to kneel down in front of me just so to test his dedication or the depth of his feelings. Manipulation may work at first. Threats of a cool-off or a break-up may work at first. But it eventually loses its appeal, and come on, guys do get tired going after their girlfriend’s whims and trying to please them.
She tells me never to go to sleep without resolving a problem. There are times when you need moments to cool down after an argument, sleep it off and talk about the problem the next day. But if you both can do it, try to solve the problem before going to bed. Wouldn’t it be better if you face each other in the morning smiling instead of exchanging angry, hurtful glances, or much more, ignoring each other?
Mom says never be blown away by the words. Don’t be dazzled by how smart or intelligent he is, by the number of words he knows in the dictionary, by how good he writes or speaks or talks, by how deft his hands are, by the beauty of his face, his height or even his sexy appeal. And because I have a stupid tendency of falling for smart, intelligent, not-exactly-geeky guys, she warned me against falling for the wrong reasons — mainly the intellectual stimulation the guy provides. Because, according to her, smart guys are usually stubborn, hard-headed men. They can be so darn rational and logical at times that it’s hard to get through to them. Everything has to have an explanation and it better be one that their rational, logical minds can comprehend. Of course, there are exceptions, but the fact still remains that the smarter one is, the more complicated things are for that person.
Of course, she didn’t tell me to go for a moron. Look for someone who’s a good conversationalist, understands what you’re saying and generally, provide you intellectual stimulation every now and then. But don’t go for someone who philosophize practically everything and all aspects of the relationship. The debates may be stimulating at first, but it gets tiring trying to argue the ‘whys’ and ‘hows’ of things. Love, in the first place, needs no philosophy, debates, or arguments of the metaphysics of life.
Smarting from a painful rejection from my first love, I complained to her about losing my Mr. Perfect. He’s someone my family would have been proud of –a decent guy from a good, reputable family, with a good career and all the good genes I would like to pass on to my kids. She wisely told me that I am not supposed to look for Mr. Perfect in the first place. Clarisse, an average guy would do as long as he’s kind, he loves you and understands you.
Well, of course, I forgot that advice again, because I blindly plunged into the river and now, I’m trying to save my heart and my pride. He’s someone my family would have approved of. Decent, kind, sensitive, more than nice-looking, and with a mind that blows me away sometimes –definitely all the good genes. But alas, perhaps I was wrong in my being honest and refusing to play his game.
And yes, talking about honesty, my mom tells me about being open, talking about problems and each one’s expectations and trying to compromise. She tells me about being upfront, about not playing games with your loved one’s emotions.
Because love, according to my dear mama, is supposed to make you grow more as a person, make you feel more confident, give you security and stability. Love is supposed to make you appreciate yourself more, not demean you. Love is supposed to empower you and highlight your good points, and not the bad. And love is supposed to be about listening and respecting the other person. It’s not dismissal or turning a deaf ear to your partner. It’s about understanding and forgiveness. It’s about acceptance. It’s easy to accept the good things. But the true test of love is one’s willingness to accept the other person’s faults, and the other’s willingness to change their faults for the sake of their loved one.
Now, I don’t know if these words were something she learned from her own mama, from the romance pocketbooks she reads, from experience, or even from her own idealistic musings of a relationship. But the fact that I’ve taken a couple of crashes from my own fantasies —falling for the sexy appeal, the intellectual stimulation, allowing myself to be charmed by the big words — because I didn’t heed her words only show that perhaps it’s time I try to see the wisdom of her words.
Afterall, mothers are supposed to know best.
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