Oh, boy!
August 25, 2002 | 12:00am
Princess Grace once said, "Happiness is a perpetual state of being. You can be happy while experiencing joy or sadness, it is a state of contentment."
It’s really hard to believe something like that when you’re having the time of your life and dancing on top a chair, and then your better half taps you on the knees to get down and to go home because he has work. As my eyeliner finds its way to my lower lids, I pout my way off the chair and all the way home.
In my other life, which was six months ago, commitment was something I sort of just dreamt of but didn’t really want to happen. It was like being really rich. It’s nice and fun on a superficial level, thinking about what to buy and which car to smash. However, when the complexities of the other deeper layers arise, as you can see with all these suicidal Richie Rich’s, you just don’t want to deal with such nuisances of such a romanticized idea. You can say that I wasn’t exactly a loose cannon -- just a misguided one. I mean I had my targets, but how I executed my mode for attack was anything but graceful. But hey, the war was merriment. Who could justify that a night out with your comrades in your chicest gear, having a sampling of the city’s best offerings of food, booze and men is a walk in a cemetery?
Then just like in a scene of a war movie...it happened. You know that scene wherein they are sharing a cup of joe talking about their wives, then suddenly a bomb blasts in their camp. In the middle of my mindless feat in search of joy, I found what I was looking for. A good boy. A boy who was never late. A boy who liked my friends. A boy who appreciated my interest in the deep and meaningful world of pop culture. A boy who let me be myself. It was like I struck gold. Butterflies in the tummy, a warm hand to hold, someone to depend on -- I found him and I had no idea what to do with him.
The first three months were nice. They weren’t earth shattering nor Miramax material. They were a gentle progression from being fond of each other to trusting each other with a platinum quality. He never made me cry, he never made me nervous, he always hid his real reactions when I decided to get ridiculous things such as a Chihuahua or a dress which we both knew I would never wear. No phone tags, no mystery women, no games. It was the real thing.
In the middle of my whole package trip to heaven, I suddenly woke up one night from an awful or maybe not-so-awful dream. I dreamt that I was kissing a mysterious someone who had a harem of mysterious women and did not give a rat’s ass about me. In other words he was a walking Cluedo. It scared me because I woke up unpleasantly excited by the dream. Suddenly, as my real Prince Charming came in the next day to bring me breakfast, I told him that I cheated on him in my dreams. He told me I just needed Starbucks and patted me on the head. But caffeine laced with chocolate was not going to solve my moral dilemma. Suddenly there were men everywhere. On the lazy afternoons especially right after watching movies like when Harry Met Sally or Jerry Maguire, I often find myself thinking, I need the thump. You know the thump you get from being in a dysfunctional relationship. I needed mean men with a penchant for driving crazy women crazier. In other words, difficult men and exciting moments were my fix.
I fantasized about having some non-existent illicit associations or perhaps just being my single self again. I fantasized about being free again with no responsibilities whatsoever. I dreamt of many things that would give me much excitement, but that could be only fleeting and ephemeral. When I saw Unfaithful, I understood what Diane Lane was thinking. It’s human nature to go against the grain and seek newer pastures. We’re nomads, if only emotionally. I was afraid to stay still and fossilize into those boring girlfriends who sit around all day and revolve around one person. I used to be that way you see and as far as I can remember the only poignant word in my vocabulary was "ya." I even dressed the part, when I look at my old pictures I cringe and vow never to go back to "ya" land. So here as I tried to renew my visa for "nay" land, I can’t help but feel lost.
Then it dawned on me that I was a meatless drama junkie. This is what happens when you grow up as a child with no friends except for the weekly visits of Regal Drama Presents. This wear-to-perfect near-to-perfect relationship with my boyfriend did not exist in my world. In my world, which was full of eccentricities, potholes and portals for scandal, this perfectly sensible element simply did not make sense. This was like an overextended vacation. It was surreal, and like seeing one too many Dalis, my mind went numb.
So I shut off and I distanced myself from relationship utopia and busied myself with more dysfunctional activities such as being a total bitch, not answering calls and being emotionally distant. Then just like the dream, it dawned on me one day, maybe sometime after a quick lunch at home, that I was just about to create the biggest scandale of my life. If you notice, guy movies are all about solving problems. Like saving the world or detonating some bomb. Chick flicks (I’m speaking mainstream to you celluloid intellectuals out there) are about creating problems. Like dating the wrong guy or stealing someone else’s man. I sort of did not want to end up like a chick flick. I had to get a hold of myself and accept that once in a while good things can happen. Even to weird and dysfunctional people like me.
With omnium-gatherum of scandales in one’s life, it’s really hard to see what really matters. I have a man who truly loves me, and as alien the concept is to me -- I love him back. Maybe that’s what’s scaring me. The thought that after a puppy love fest, I have in my hand and in my heart, someone whom I genuinely care for. Nope, there are no fireworks nor Oscar-winning dialogue involved. Just a solid partnership. I realize that love is not what you see on TV, in movies or hear on the radio. Being the media whore that I am, it took awhile for me to realize that love is the most silent thing in the whole world. Never mistake peace for boredom.
It’s really hard to believe something like that when you’re having the time of your life and dancing on top a chair, and then your better half taps you on the knees to get down and to go home because he has work. As my eyeliner finds its way to my lower lids, I pout my way off the chair and all the way home.
In my other life, which was six months ago, commitment was something I sort of just dreamt of but didn’t really want to happen. It was like being really rich. It’s nice and fun on a superficial level, thinking about what to buy and which car to smash. However, when the complexities of the other deeper layers arise, as you can see with all these suicidal Richie Rich’s, you just don’t want to deal with such nuisances of such a romanticized idea. You can say that I wasn’t exactly a loose cannon -- just a misguided one. I mean I had my targets, but how I executed my mode for attack was anything but graceful. But hey, the war was merriment. Who could justify that a night out with your comrades in your chicest gear, having a sampling of the city’s best offerings of food, booze and men is a walk in a cemetery?
Then just like in a scene of a war movie...it happened. You know that scene wherein they are sharing a cup of joe talking about their wives, then suddenly a bomb blasts in their camp. In the middle of my mindless feat in search of joy, I found what I was looking for. A good boy. A boy who was never late. A boy who liked my friends. A boy who appreciated my interest in the deep and meaningful world of pop culture. A boy who let me be myself. It was like I struck gold. Butterflies in the tummy, a warm hand to hold, someone to depend on -- I found him and I had no idea what to do with him.
The first three months were nice. They weren’t earth shattering nor Miramax material. They were a gentle progression from being fond of each other to trusting each other with a platinum quality. He never made me cry, he never made me nervous, he always hid his real reactions when I decided to get ridiculous things such as a Chihuahua or a dress which we both knew I would never wear. No phone tags, no mystery women, no games. It was the real thing.
In the middle of my whole package trip to heaven, I suddenly woke up one night from an awful or maybe not-so-awful dream. I dreamt that I was kissing a mysterious someone who had a harem of mysterious women and did not give a rat’s ass about me. In other words he was a walking Cluedo. It scared me because I woke up unpleasantly excited by the dream. Suddenly, as my real Prince Charming came in the next day to bring me breakfast, I told him that I cheated on him in my dreams. He told me I just needed Starbucks and patted me on the head. But caffeine laced with chocolate was not going to solve my moral dilemma. Suddenly there were men everywhere. On the lazy afternoons especially right after watching movies like when Harry Met Sally or Jerry Maguire, I often find myself thinking, I need the thump. You know the thump you get from being in a dysfunctional relationship. I needed mean men with a penchant for driving crazy women crazier. In other words, difficult men and exciting moments were my fix.
I fantasized about having some non-existent illicit associations or perhaps just being my single self again. I fantasized about being free again with no responsibilities whatsoever. I dreamt of many things that would give me much excitement, but that could be only fleeting and ephemeral. When I saw Unfaithful, I understood what Diane Lane was thinking. It’s human nature to go against the grain and seek newer pastures. We’re nomads, if only emotionally. I was afraid to stay still and fossilize into those boring girlfriends who sit around all day and revolve around one person. I used to be that way you see and as far as I can remember the only poignant word in my vocabulary was "ya." I even dressed the part, when I look at my old pictures I cringe and vow never to go back to "ya" land. So here as I tried to renew my visa for "nay" land, I can’t help but feel lost.
Then it dawned on me that I was a meatless drama junkie. This is what happens when you grow up as a child with no friends except for the weekly visits of Regal Drama Presents. This wear-to-perfect near-to-perfect relationship with my boyfriend did not exist in my world. In my world, which was full of eccentricities, potholes and portals for scandal, this perfectly sensible element simply did not make sense. This was like an overextended vacation. It was surreal, and like seeing one too many Dalis, my mind went numb.
So I shut off and I distanced myself from relationship utopia and busied myself with more dysfunctional activities such as being a total bitch, not answering calls and being emotionally distant. Then just like the dream, it dawned on me one day, maybe sometime after a quick lunch at home, that I was just about to create the biggest scandale of my life. If you notice, guy movies are all about solving problems. Like saving the world or detonating some bomb. Chick flicks (I’m speaking mainstream to you celluloid intellectuals out there) are about creating problems. Like dating the wrong guy or stealing someone else’s man. I sort of did not want to end up like a chick flick. I had to get a hold of myself and accept that once in a while good things can happen. Even to weird and dysfunctional people like me.
With omnium-gatherum of scandales in one’s life, it’s really hard to see what really matters. I have a man who truly loves me, and as alien the concept is to me -- I love him back. Maybe that’s what’s scaring me. The thought that after a puppy love fest, I have in my hand and in my heart, someone whom I genuinely care for. Nope, there are no fireworks nor Oscar-winning dialogue involved. Just a solid partnership. I realize that love is not what you see on TV, in movies or hear on the radio. Being the media whore that I am, it took awhile for me to realize that love is the most silent thing in the whole world. Never mistake peace for boredom.
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