“maggie, you outstand yourself. always.”

the
discoverer of this newly found theory came into the art of psychology
and psychiatry late in his atypical married life. before he pronounced
that, he was nothing but a womanizing forty-eight year old fool. now,
he is a womanizing forty-eight year old fool who found another one,
lousy secret about the whole essence of my being alive.

“not true, brix. sometimes, i outstand others more often.”

“still the egomaniac, clueless neophyte i know.”
he snorted and i confirm upon myself right then that he is still fond
of me now as he was then. perhaps, i was the daughter he never has and
the naive young girl he adored for a while. or maybe i should used or rather than and; the latter would paved way to incest.

i
adore this man; in fact there was a time eight years ago i hallucinated
i love this man. the memories are not clear anymore but i remember i
did. the reasons were not clear though, after all, eight years ago, he
was still two years older than my dad as he is now. and eight years
ago, i was seventeen. what does a seventeen year old know about love,
anyway?

“you should get laid. call that ex boyfriend of yours. or that…that… swedish…”

“swiss.” i corrected.

“swedish,
swiss, british, irish… they are all the same to me. call that swiss
guy at your workplace. here, use my mobile phone; its provided for.” he
said and grinned at me. “oh how you’ve grown..”

“but still…?”

“still as naive as you were back then.”

where
people saw me as something else, this man sees through the facade.
where i was branded as a competitive, ruthless, amoral bitch, this man
proclaims i am nothing but a naive young girl who doesn’t know what she
wants.

“i know what i want, brix.”

“not true.”

“i so fucking want to screw daniel.”

“now you’re talking.” he said and chuckled. “so why don’t you? “

we
were staring at each other there: his espresso getting cold, my mocha
frappe getting warm. it must be his age that gives him the patience, or
it must be the insufficiency of mental age on my part that i lacked of
it, and so i spoke up, “i still think—no, believe—- i still believe
that whenever i can help it, i want to have sex with somebody i love.
but i want to have sex with somebody i love within the sacrament of
marriage—”

at that point, he cut me, “susmaryosep. finish your coffee and shut up your mouth.”

Over the weekend, I found out some rather unnerving things about myself. First, contrary to my vehement denial, I do
have a drinking problem. So Nixie, if you’re reading this, I just want
you to know how sorry I am for frequently arguing with you about this
and even once beating you up within an inch of your life with my shoe.
In my defense, I have little to no recollection of my being drunk nor
its consequences. Check out this transcript of a chat I had with my
friend:

(21:10:34) Mike: Kim yung pipe ko naiwan ko sa auto mo!
(21:10:47) Kim: wla dun tol…
(21:11:00) Kim: san b banda?
(21:11:19) Mike: Sa sahig
(21:11:59) Kim: wla dun tol…
(21:12:02) Mike: nak ng
(21:12:06) Kim: cge tanong ko sa mom ko…
(21:12:19) Mike: okay hehehe
(21:12:20) Kim: wla rn nmn nabangit c paul sakin…
(21:12:35) Kim: cya umupo sa harap nun eh…
(21:12:42) Mike: di ko naalala nangyari
(21:12:46) Mike: alam ko nagbilyar tayo
(21:12:51) Mike: di ko alam kung gano katagal
(21:13:02) Mike: di ko alam kung san tayo nagpunta pagkatapos
(21:13:54) Kim: kumuha kmi ng bakla tpos pinatira k nmin sa pwet…
(21:14:03) Kim: d n b mskit pwet mo?
(21:14:22) Mike: di na
(21:14:34) Mike: san nga tayo nagpunta?
(21:14:39) Mike: sobra lasing ko nun
(21:28:05) Kim: sa timog diba?
(21:28:19) Mike: Ahhh okay
(21:28:20) Mike: pagkatapos nun
(21:31:23) Kim: nagtagaytay…
(21:33:30) Mike: Ano ginawa dun?
(21:33:43) Kim: wla lang…
(21:37:59) Mike: anong wala; tumingin lang?
(21:38:12) Kim: 2log k eh…
(21:38:19) Kim: uwian nah…
(21:38:23) Mike: tanginang yan
(21:41:30) Mike: nagbilyar ba ako?
(21:41:34) Mike: o natulog ako sa bilyaran?
(21:41:39) Kim: oo
(21:41:43) Kim: isang beses lang….
(21:41:47) Mike: nanalo ako?
(21:42:00) Kim: hindi

I
have this theory that these little blackouts I constantly have are my
brain’s insidious way of telling me to get a life, which is something
I’d take seriously if only drinking wasn’t so damn fun. So fuck you
brain.