“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.
“can i be of use? i feel so useless here.”
i told daniel as i sat on the kitchen table and watched him sliced the
spices. with an empty stomach and a glass of london’s gin and pineapple
juice in effect already, it wouldn’t be long till i dozed off.
“well, you can refrain from falling into sleep when i serve dinner.” he chuckled.
i could sleep right now. God, i so badly need a sleep. and makati is around fifteen kilometers away from here. more or less.
“why don’t you let me handle this alone and you go and take a nap? i will wake you up when dinner is ready.” he suggested and with a reassuring smile, urged me to go and lie on the hammock near the garden pool.
as
i layed myself there, watching a starless sky and the still waters in
the pool, i restrained myself from asking what i was exactly doing
there. or why i am wasting my party-inspired get up and chose to be in
the middle of ayala alabang village, in a house that looks so sad and
so big for the two of us. i closed my eyes, more on the hopes of
avoiding such questions rather than falling into sleep and dream
controversial dreams.
when he said
“dinner’s ready”, it was visually ready. two candlelights glittered its
orange light against the pool’s bluish water sparkle. everything was on
the table, except dessert. the dinner was simple, but for some reason
it was a product of effort. and i like the dishes he prepared,too,
perhaps, at that particular moment, more than i can admit i do him. it
has been a long time i let somebody cooked me dinner. to actually
surrender and let somebody satiate you a sumptuous and fulfilling
dinner is too dangerous. maybe i was too hungry to consider that fact.
or maybe i subconsciously yearns for anything, anything, we can do
together.
“chico…?!” i shouted as he was taking out the ice cream from the fridge after we finished the meal.
“yeah?”
“i could get used to this.” i told him and grinned. i heard him laugh and he came back with the ice cream can on his arm.
maybe
he likes me. maybe. sometimes, i fancy he does. he can really be sweet
when it suits him. but often times, it does not really matter whether
or not he likes me. i still have to wake up and face the demons in my
life or i still have to sleep with the devils sometimes. the demons i
summoned and the devils i created; or the other way around.
Notice: Commenting has been turned on.
I took a bath this afternoon to get ready for work, I noticed
something as I was shaving and looking at my reflection in the
mirror; something which, I believe, is a source of widespread
dreadful affliction for all adult males in the known world: I had
abnormally long nose hairs.
As
you’re reading this, you may be thinking to yourself “Nose hair?
This Mikey guy is crazier than I thought. That can’t possibly happen
to me! I mean, I’m Normal! Unlike him, I strive to maintain good
hygiene and don’t masturbate excessively!”
But unbeknown
to you, dear reader, your nose hairs have a life of their own. While
you sleep, they grow at an alarmingly fast rate entrenched deep in
your nostrils disturbed only by the rare probing pinky or index
finger. These hairs actually enjoy this sort of attention. The
trespassing fingers affords them repose and accelerate their growths
further. Once they have reached the end of their natural life cycle,
they fall off, sometimes even into the very meals that you eat
providing you with more than your recommended daily allowance of
fiber.
Aren’t they adorable? They say the cutest, most unexpected things, they
pick their noses and wipe it off on linen or under the table and they
masturbate in their rooms without locking the door.
I am a very
idealistic man and sometimes, I love to sit down and just pretend that
all the children in the world have access to primary education,
designer drugs and cheap whiskey for these are vital prerequisites for
combating poverty, empowering women, protecting children from hazardous
and exploitative labor, sexual abuse, and preventing them from becoming
intellectually deficient apes that most adults are today.
Sadly
however, the world is not a big can of peaches and children do not have
access to most, if not all, the vital prerequisites that I have
enumerated. It deeply saddens me to look outside the window and see
children playing with metal scraps, children eating worms and children
eating children. I have had enough of this and I decided to step up and
do something drastic. I will be the catalyst in the eradication of
child poverty and people will look up to me because of that, they will
praise me, and women would willingly have sex with me without me having
to pay them.
Last Christmas, me and my friend Mark had a little
outreach program which aimed to spread the Christmas cheers to street
children. We bunched up poor kids from around the neighborhood and
ushered them into an empty warehouse we rented for our program.
After
a hearty dinner, a motivational speech and an hour of cheek-pinching,
cuddling and a little karaoke session, We decided to proceed with the
fun activities we had in store for the little children.
Mike "Fucking" Villar
"a Manila-based blogger made famous by his Atrocities of Friendster series, a regular feature he publishes on his blog where he mercilessly criticizes and mocks pictures of ugly people he stumbles upon on popular social networking site, Friendster. Although a lot of people are offended by what he writes, long-time readers of his blog regard him as a brilliant satire writer."
-Taken from my WikiBios page
