Laundromat or a Boutique?

Check out the pictures of this laundromat turned into a boutique! Like, seriously?

An Ode to Valentine's

Because Valentine's is drawing closer. Nearer.

Some love it, pretend to love it, hate it, and pretend to hate it.

Those who love it are most probably in a relationship, married or dating happily. Others who "love" it and are not attached, committed or in-love, are probably in-love with the idea of love. Sappy love-struck-with-love type of people.

Then, there are those who hate the idea of a day devoted to love–romantic love, in particular. These may be the bitter ones. Bitterness may not always be a result of loneliness. You can be bitter because you don't care (yes, that's possible). Bitter because you don't see the significance. Or, you may be just naturally apathetic.

As for those who pretend to hate it, may do so simply because of the fact that they'd want to seem "cool" by not wanting to care. They try to treat it like any other day–only this one's candy-coated, rose-filled, balloon-swarmed, red-painted, flowery, and lovey-dovey. They won't wear red or pink on Valentine's, instead, they'll wear black. They won't send a million cheerful messages to their phonebook just to greet a Happy Hearts Day. They will do the same old things, only with a twist–maybe party with their single and fun friends or chill at home and read a good book.

Let's say they go for the first option. They will toast to single-hood and will constantly remind themselves, with glorious cheer, how lucky they are to be free, flirty, and fabulous. They won't worry about sending gifts to anyone special. They will expect nothing... to feel nothing.

However, underneath that thick layer of carefree sophistication, these people still want that mush. They do. They want to feel special, by someone potentially special. They want to feel wanted, especially on a day like this.

I know these people all too well, because I am one of them.

So why the need to pretend? Why do you have to hate it?

You hate it because you don't want to expect. There's no room for useless expectations. Pessimism, although discouraged, may be good, sometimes.

It'll save you, kid, from getting hurt once in a while.

I dread the coming of that day. The day that would only remind me of one thing:

I don't/won't have you.

I don't mind being alone, don't get me wrong. It's more of the idea that I don't and won't have you to make me feel that it's fine to like something as cheesy as Valentine's–even if I try so hard to convince myself that this... this... day is nothing but a product of malls and retailers, marketing and advertising folks.

Unfortunately, this day, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, will only haunt me with the thought of not having you.

I don't and won't have you to see me through my pretensions–that I don't believe in that crappy, eeky, mushy stuff. You'd see through me. Deep inside (even on the outside), you'd see this little girl, who believes in love and romance. She believes in it so much that you'd see how it makes her giggle and blush. How her eyes would well up to a sappy line or a cliché gesture in almost any given romantic movie. You'd see her and would know exactly what to do. You may not like it the same way that she does, but you will pretend anyway. You'll reach out your hand, flash that shy smile and say "Psst. Huy."

But... You won't be there.

I won't have you to look forward to. To have a reason to say "I love you. Happy Valentine's Day."–what I'd look forward to doing as soon as I wake up on that day. To have that excuse to send a million text messages to just one person in my phonebook. To stare into your eyes, at the end of the day, with only tenderness and warmth, that only leads to you asking me "What are you thinking about?". Most importantly, to be able to not celebrate or plan things with you, but be with you, nonetheless, would be the best thing a pretentious person would want for Valentine's.

So yes, I will dread that day, as much as I will dread the seasons or holidays that will come after that. 'Til I have you, of course.

However, I do have you now, as an inspiration and a perfect enough reason to write about this pretentious hatred I have for Valentine's.

Whoever you are.

Short Stories

Just Friends Short Story # 1

Friend 1: (whispers) I love you.

Friend 2: (smiles) I love you, too. 

Pause. Silence. 

Friend 1: That's not what I meant. 

The End. 

The Dream Remains a Dream

Woke up this morning from a strange, yet, sweet dream.

I finally dreamt of you after weeks of silence. What made me subconsciously think of you... this way... again? I don't know.

No doubt about it, a day never ends without a moment where you suddenly cross my mind. Although, for the past few days, I've been pretty successful in thinking of you less often than I used to (which was almost 24/7).

Bewildered and dumbfounded in my bed, I lay awoken from a dream that felt so real. Yet, I realized that the very idea of being with you again, that way, is nothing short of a mere fantasy.

I slowly but surely recounted the scenes, the images, the words that were still fresh in my memory. These "moments" that left me yearning for you.

The scenes were vivid and clear.

I was leaving the place where artists gathered. It seemed like a bar to me or a restaurant where we normally hold meetings about future projects.

On my way out, after realizing that I could not take seeing and being around you anymore, I slowly headed out.

I froze to the sound of your voice. I turned to look and there you were. Your smile, your touch, painfully kept me still, mesmerized.

As I struggled to pretend not to mind the power you have over me, you handed me a hand-sized pouch. This pouch contained pictures of us together. Just you and me.

Apart from this, as if those pictures didn't do enough to my heart, you handed me a letter. a piece of paper that expressed your sentiments. This beacon of truth that said words unspoken.

These gestures brought me to euphoria. You stood over my head, looked down on me, playfully, as you would be. With guts that gave me the will to seize the moment, I reached for your lips and gave it a kiss. A smack. Something I never dared to do, in reality, at least.
You were shocked, but not disappointed. In fact, you smiled.

However, the sweet dream turned sour when you revealed news that left me shattered: you impregnated someone you only spent one intimate night with.

What made it worse for me (I guess) was the fact that you were starting to develop feelings for that... that... whore.

I was crushed and it was obvious. And like always, you were concerned about how I felt.

"Are you mad?"

I mean, seriously? What did you expect me to say?

With barely a heart to keep, I pulled myself together and mustered the confidence to tell you this calmly.

"Just in case you're interested to know, go to my blog. Read the post on Every Scar Has a Story. It's my letter to you."

An interruption.

A knock on the door. It's my brother.

Time to wake up, Sara.

Time to wake up.

Every Scratch Has a Story

I admit I may not be as articulate when expressing my feelings in front of you... 

Here's the letter I wrote some time ago... prepared and kept, for this moment that may be the last. 

I need to do this. For both you and me. 

I need to do this for me because seeing you and being in constant contact with you only does harm to my feelings...

My blinded happiness causes more confusion and distraught to my heart and mind – that sweet feeling of having you around, yet, with the knowledge that we can never be (which you unfalteringly remind me about). 

This, too, is for you, because I don't want you to feel pressured every time I bring up, express, or talk about my feelings. This "space and time" will lessen the burden of you evading statements and questions that make you feel uncomfortable... Especially when I ask that grueling question "why not?", "why can't it be...why can't it be the two of us?"

I just need this time to finally face facts and try to move on. Believe me, I've tried, yet failed. That's because I hoped. Hope and reality sometimes do not coincide in this part of the universe, it seems. 

Granted I will never have the same "good" mornings, days and nights... I will not get as much random calls in the office anymore, with topics about anything and everything under the sun. Most of all, I won't have you to look forward to every waking moment of every day.

To cut the drama short, I apologize for not being exactly what you wanted me to be – a "friend." Here's what you have to understand – I can't fully be just a friend to you, at least not while I still have feelings that hinder me from being such.

I will still be here when you need me... We can still hang out... but, sadly, for me, not as much as we used to. You can still talk to me and I will still listen.

I need to do this. It pains me so but I'd rather go through this than struggle each day with questions like "will you ever feel the same way?" or "why can't we be more than just friends?"

At the end of this "time apart", I hope the only question I'd ask you and laugh about while asking it is "what was I thinking??"

Till then, I hope you'll be great as always... I hope you'll find more happiness by being with someone who truly and fully treats you right.

I hope you find someone who will never get tired of talking to you, listening to everything about you that makes you special – your baby talks, random questions, calls of nature, thoughts, dreams, rants, etc. Someone who will love you and everything you love, just because it makes you happy. All in all, I hope you find someone ho is every thing you've ever wanted, who, in turn, wants you the same way and even more. 

You deserve much more, much better than all those who were foolish to lose you.

Lastly, thank you. Thank you for teaching me how to be patient, by telling me to "behave", by making me wait for something/someone I really want. Although, as I always say, patience is virtue... not always rewarded. I mean no bitterness with that. 

Thank you for your time, your presence, for keeping me company at any time of day (even if you're on the other side of the metro). 

You made me constantly better myself (partly to make you realize that I'm worthy of you and partly for myself). Thank you for making me see how capable I am to love this way. 

I hope you understand. It won't take long, I hope. See you soon.

And so it is. And so it goes.

And so it happened...

The moment I've been waiting for and, at the same time, dreading, finally happened. 

I didn't know where to start, how to start it... I just let it. My last and desperate attempt to save the little pieces of what's left of my heart. I asked you the question that has been tormenting me for quite some time now. The question that requires an answer that can only make or break my heart. The question that will bring silence to my wandering soul.

"Remember what you said before?"

"What did I say? I don't remember."

"First, you said the big, fat no... Then you said 'one day at a time'... And a big fat no again..."

"Okay, yeah. What about it?"

"Well... well... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trap you into answering this question right now, like this. I just don't know how else I'm going to ask it..."

You listened attentively, knowing what was about to come. As I inched my way to telling or asking you what I've been meaning to ask for so long, the feeling of anxiety was slowly fading away. The anxiety of what you might say -- yes or no? Through your vibe, I greatly felt what you've probably been itching to sa. It definitely wasn't the news I was hoping for.

You wanted to talk to me about this tonight, as well. Only, I beat you to it. After my long litany, which you were kind enough to let me finish, I listened to what you were bound to say. 

After stuttering, breaking my voice, losing the will to think straight, I was able to manage to let my feelings be known and be clear to you. It was hard. It was like breaking up with someone, only there was never a fight, no one cheated on anyone, and no one fell out of love. It was more of losing the battle that was only one sided. I raised my white flag. I let you know my concerns, and the pain of being with or without you was evident through my actions. 

Rejection is never easy... 

"I hope you know I'm enjoying spending time with you and getting to know you more. Because I am. I didn't know that you were struggling and it was hard for you...

But... thank you. 

I would totally understand if you wouldn't want to talk to me for now. It would be unfortunate, but I understand."

But I had to. And I'm sure you felt the same way, at least in this part of the equation. Apparently, the only mutual thing we've felt. It might hurt you to somehow lose the consistency of our friendship, or lose me as "that" person, for now. But you felt it was only proper to suffer that bit, so that I wouldn't suffer the prolonged agony of being the "friend" who is deeply infatuated by you. 

I want to make you happy, for sure. That's why I'd want to give you what you want. But giving you what you want entails that I lose a major part of me... the part that wants you.

We said both our pieces, met halfway and came to a close... I bade farewell and made sure that you believed me when I said "I'm okay". 

"I'll let you know when I'm good, already." 

"Please do..."

It wasn't anything unexpected. It was. You gave me a peck on the cheek as you left for your car. My mind went blank and just thought of one thing –– rock music. Turned on my iPod, chose the rock playlist and pumped up the volume. It was over. It is over. The screeching instruments, heavy bass, angry lyrics just soothed my soul. I had this delusional theory that only rock music can slowly drain my rage into this deep well of emotions. 

I drove off, alone and in the dark. Staring blankly at the streets, the cars, the lights, was when I realized I needed to get some money. I thought of going back to where we said our goodbyes. Going back only made me think the unthinkable – that you'd still be there, sitting in the darkness of your car, staring blankly out your windshield the same way I did. 

No, you weren't there. Of course. It ain't wishful thinking if it isn't far from possible to happen. 

I did everything in silence, with only the unique noises of the environment playing in the background – the original soundtrack of this so-called night. 

I was thinking of what you said, "Text me when you get home, at least," when I stalled some more before reaching the bank. I arrived home, greeted my mother, who was more than glad to see me home that early. Only I was neither in the mood to chat nor to watch American Idol with her, so I walked on to my room, placed everything away in silence. I could only hear my countless brushstrokes as I was thinking of you and what just happened.  

Finally, I picked up my phone, typed in what I'd usually text you, topped with an usual cherry. 

"Am home already. Good night, (your name here). :) Thanks for everything."

You replied. 

"Good night, (my name here). Thank you, too. :) " 

 

The Text I'm Glad I Didn't Send You...

No use in telling you this now...

Wrote some time ago... Can't remember exactly when.

Each day without you is pain.

Slowly losing your touch, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body, the tenderness of your words... the beat of my heart, make every day unbearable.

I try to reach for your hands as you slowly, but surely, slip away.

The fear of losing you completely and the fear of showing you too much of my feelings counter each other.

I wait. Patiently, yet, painfully, I wait for you here. Come back. Stay with me. Make me feel the only kind of bliss I've known since I met you...

'Tis only you who have made me truly believe that complete contentment does exist.


.....

Hello?

Are you still there?