Nightdreamer Offering Dating Advices… Like, For Realz

For the record, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

philosopher: i’m starting to like an officemate whom i disagree with most of the times.
nightdreamer: so care telling me about this officemate you disagree with but have a crush on?
philosopher: nope. )
nightdreamer: does she constantly own your ass whenever you debate? )
philosopher: it’s premature.
nightdreamer: so then, spill.
nightdreamer: since it’s premature, you might want to let it out so that you can understand it more and see if it’s worth pursuing.
philosopher: ahaha
philosopher: i look for certain things.
philosopher: it’s weird because most girls i need to placate when we argue.
philosopher: but with her, she accepts my stand on things most of the time. and we agree to disagree.
nightdreamer: weaksauce!
nightdreamer: never agree to disagree!
nightdreamer: nah, just kidding
nightdreamer: so then, you like her because both of you agree on disagreeing?
philosopher: nope i like her personality.
nightdreamer: ok describe
philosopher: she’s stubborn, belligerent, weird and wickedly intelligent.
philosopher: but we’re into the same things such as volunteer work, music, martial arts and spontaneity.
philosopher: plus she’s sometimes twisted and mischievous.
nightdreamer: that sounds a lot like you. well except the intelligent part! )
nightdreamer: kidding
nightdreamer: okay, you’re intelligent too. )
nightdreamer: well what, go for it, lame face!
philosopher: ) i agree.
philosopher: not yet. family’s still my priority.
philosopher: need to support my sis and bro.
philosopher: maybe then.
nightdreamer: darn, man, at least make some move!
nightdreamer: not everything has to cost money! if you’re both into volunteer work you’d understand!
philosopher: i am doncha worry.
nightdreamer: if i learn that this didn’t push through merely because you were spending too much time sulking, i will never forgive you.
philosopher: yup. I making moves but covertly.
nightdreamer: like what, stealing her panties?

philosopher: nyahah nope asking her to go to volunteer work together.
philosopher: We both volunteer for Gawad Kalinga, Red Cross and Caritas.
nightdreamer: what is so covert about that?
philosopher: sharing movies and songs. )
nightdreamer: weaksauce!
nightdreamer: there aren’t anything so covert about those!
philosopher: they are.
nightdreamer: they’re more… platonic kinda thing!
philosopher: well I give her what she wants and needs.
nightdreamer: what are so covert about those? unless you insert porno subliminal music between the songs and then porno frames in movies like tyler durden did in fight club?
philosopher: ahaha nothing like that

philosopher: and sometimes i treat her out after volunteer work.
nightdreamer: well dear, ask her out to a dinner not out of the volunteer work thing!
philosopher: we just try to do things together.
philosopher: and I believe we’re exclusively seeing each other.
nightdreamer: believe? verify!
nightdreamer: you HAVE to let her know you’re going to get into a more intimate stage of relationships! it’s either she accepts that or doesn’t.
nightdreamer: and there’s no better time for that than now!
nightdreamer: or are you gonna wait for stock market to plunge even further before you make your darned move?
nightdreamer: that’s your assignment
nightdreamer: submit a reaction paper next week.

What Is Love?

Having a spectacularly boring day, I decided to be at the crazy ridiculous mode (as if I ever functioned in other modes, noh?) and flood my instant messenger contacts with this question:

What is love?

The answers can be quite revealing. See for yourselves.

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Cast My Fate to the Wind

Blue in Green (Miles Davis)

June 1, 2007

She was pretty cool to me before, and I was happy because I felt like we were beginning a beautiful friendship. But then post-vacation, after the time we were at each other’s presence, she refuses to talk to me. She didn’t answer when I sent her text messages and when I tried to call her. It was just very strange. While this may read as if I was being too persistent, I actually wasn’t. I’ve only tried to contact her thrice, and all I was trying to do was to thank her for her hospitality.

January 2, 2008

I came to the office today a tad earlier than usual. A new organizer sat atop my desk. It was left there by a girl I used to have a huge crush on (I was out of work the previous 2 weeks, so I didn’t see her when she came to visit). Why did she have to leave an organizer on my desk anyway? Such a painful reminder of her. If she wants me to remember her, couldn’t she just phone me and say, "I have something to give you let’s meet up somewhere"? Yeah, me and my silly fantasies.

So… thinking of this girl made me feel miserable. How could she be so friendly with me during the vacation days, and then treat me like I was a phantom after that? I was bothered by this for several months, because it’s not the first time I’ve met such kind of person, and I’m certainly not the only one who’s ever been "befriended" by those who do it only because I was a convenient way to shake off boredom. At modern times - or maybe just in an adult’s life - this happens a lot. Overnight friendships. One night stands. Something about how ephemeral all the warmth of such companionship never fails to depress me.

January 15, 2008

Sometimes the funniest things happen in my life. I was just complaining about how unexciting my life was when this happened: I saw that girl again.

We recognized each other, and she greeted me with the same hospitality that I recall was her characteristic. So we spoke to each other a bit. You know, the typical "comment allez vous" stuff. I really should write "how are you" instead but since I just ate French bread, I was still feeling a tad French-y. She recalled coming to my office two weeks ago and leaving a gift on my table, and she wondered if I had received it. I said I did. I never told her that I did not throw it away, nor did I tell her that I had been mad about at her. I do hope that she hadn’t read my blog. But I’m going off-tangent so, back to us. It was a conversation of two people treating each other professionally, meaning we’re pretending to like each other more than we really do. Or, at least I don’t like her as much as I appeared. I hope she likes me though.

She also said she’s being transferred to another department. She will now accommodate Makati clients instead of the Ortigas ones, although I could still contact her if I wanted to. Why, guess what, girl, pfft! I’M GLAD TO HEAR THAT YOU’RE BEING TRANSFERRED! Guess I won’t be seeing you again now that I won’t even try to contact you so out of my life you go mwuahahaha can I ask you out some time?!

May 19, 2008

Woman, you ought to know how annoyed I was when I heard that you’re coming here at an unspecified time tomorrow. I was neck deep into finishing the job assigned to me, you see, when that announcement was made and it disrupted all my train of thoughts. I spent the rest of the day fumbling about, not convinced that I wasn’t having a nervous breakdown, although somehow I made it home without being carried by stretchers.

May 20, 2008

Despite saying too often about how much I don’t like being reminded of you, the rest of me are more fond of you than my words would admit. They like you so much, that I need not see you to know you’re already here. I can sense you from the way you speak, that unmistakable Ilonggo-accented Filipino words being muttered like the way a saxophone could play any notes beautifully. My brain suspends thinking about all mundane things they pass off as logic when you’re present. Every time you giggle the sound of it reverberates inside my ears for hours as if I need to let marinate every nuances of it. You look like a splotch of colors in the middle of an unused canvas that begs to be painted. 

Did you notice, the moment you held my elbow, that I was incapable of talking, incapable of thinking straight besides wishing that this moment lasted longer? Did you count how many times I said something very random and how I would get embarrassed after that? Did you realize how frustrated I was that I only have to remember 5 minutes of the span of time we talked because that was how long it lasted, because the world had set to expedite this meeting? Why did you have to leave so soon? 

I wrote too often about my reluctance of seeing you again. Today I realized that these words were flatulence, and that I was a fool all along for not being honest with my feelings. Truth is, I was indescribably glad I saw you last Monday, even if I didn’t know if the smile you gave me meant anything, because that smile could’ve been just a fake bankteller one. But that didn’t matter. It also didn’t matter that I knew nil about you. The time you got on that cab, and as I watch it drove farther until you were merely a dot, I felt a sense of loss, a loss of vibrancy in my already dreary life. It only proved one thing that I was all along too hesitant to admit: I felt strongly about you.

I have taken everything in. And that’s why I’m letting everything go.

If you’ve been reading my blog and have been aware of this love-and-hate dilemma I trouble myself with whenever I think of you, know that I have let go of the hating and I will no longer hold you accountable for whatever anger and sadness I have felt in the past. That is all you need to know, and I can accept whatever that happens, even if it means never seeing you again. Sure, I still want to know you better, and if I can meet with you again I would feel terrific. But if that never happens, I’ll be fine, and will still be cheering on you from afar. Because, like how Toni Morrison said it, sometimes, seeing your kind of beauty is enough. I don’t need to photograph, paint or even remember it. I don’t need to write about it or even have someone to share it with. I just let go, because I can.

You Gave Me the Mood Indigo

There’s this bit about Truman Capote that never ceases to amaze me. According to him, he can remember 94% of his conversations with anyone. And while I can only wish to share his genius, his superb writing skills, and his ability to document about killers in non-judgmental way (see: In Cold Blood), today I can gloat about being able to remember more than 94 percent of the conversations I had. 

Because it was you who I was talking to. 

Despite having said too often how much I don’t like being reminded of you, the rest of me are more fond of you than my words would admit. They like you so much, that I need not see you to know you’re already here. I can sense you from the way you speak, that unmistakable Ilonggo-accented Filipino words being muttered like the way a saxophone could play any notes beautifully. My brain suspends thinking about all mundane things they pass off as logic when you’re present. Every time you giggle the sound of it reverberates inside my ears for hours as if I need to let marinate every nuances of it. You look like a splotch of colors in the middle of an unused canvas that begs to be painted. 

So you did not come wearing that white clothes after all. So it was red. So you made it apparent that the color of my cheeks was trying to compete with that red polo shirt you’re wearing every time you say something too cute. Did you notice, the moment you held my elbow, that I was incapable of talking, incapable of thinking straight besides wishing that this moment lasted longer? Did you count how many times I said something very random and how I would get embarrassed after that? Did you realize how frustrated I was that I only have to remember 5 minutes of the span of time we talked because that was how long it lasted, because the world had set to expedite this meeting? Why did you have to leave so soon? 

But you said you might come back tomorrow. I can tell you this much: I was at the edge of my seat this entire day, probably anxious, probably too fearful, probably could not feel the ground no matter how hard I stepped. Yet if pressed to say whether or not I want you to come back tomorrow, I’m sure you know how I feel. I’m sure you know that remembering the things we talked about in five minutes is less than satisfying to me. I’m sure you know how much I cursed the taxi for arriving too soon. I’m sure you know I’d like to spend more time with you, if only to test how long I can sustain remembering 94% of what you say. Maybe if our conversation went for hours, I’d still prove to be better than Capote in that regard, but I’d still not be satisfied. 

Isn’t that right, woman?

Heart of Mine, Be Still

Remember (Hank Mobley)

Woman, you ought to know how annoyed I was when I heard that you’re coming here at an unspecified time tomorrow. I was neck deep into finishing the job assigned to me, you see, when that announcement was made and it disrupted all my train of thoughts. I spent the rest of the day fumbling about, not convinced that I wasn’t having a nervous breakdown, although somehow I made it home without being carried by stretchers.

But let’s talk about you. I resent that despite my insistence to not think much of you anymore so I can let go of bitter memories, you are some of the things that have clung to my recent musings like barnacles to barge. What irritate me more about you are why I become so invigorated whenever I wonder about you, why I keep thinking with certain fondness of all the possibilities of the day when you’ll come comes, and why I keep recalling the way you promenade gracefully and the way your smile makes me delirious like I wouldn’t believe. We’re not close. We haven’t spoken for months, and days of your absence haven’t exactly been reassuring to me that you think much of me as I do you. So what’s going on, then? Why the uncertainty, mixed with resentment, then hopefulness and anticipation?

I have a request for you, woman. Don’t try to act cute by wearing that diaphanous white clothing that I saw you wearing a year ago. I try to avoid talking to people about what my muse looks like, after all.

A Swarmer Dissedly

(This post is full of Tagalogs. Apologies to those who don’t speak that language. )

My good friend Jen started the idea of blogswarming. Well, I joined, but even though I did a photoshop and a pseudo-editorial artwork to express my disdain for GMA, I wasn’t too crazed about the idea of blogswarming. In fact I can say I’m skeptic.

I didn’t expect the idea would take off either, but now in just two weeks, Jen’s a superstar. Political bloggers from Pinoy’s blogging scene (lalalala J, did you raise eyebrows?) started to show support to Jen. An Inquirer article was published for Jen. MBW was spellbounded to Jen. My photoshopped work had been taken without my permission and without the mention of my moniker.

And along came the ill consequences. You know how it is with blogging, right? As long as someone posts something polemic, dissidents will come. Some dissidents have well-presented counter-arguments, but most others give you this feeling that they’re paid trolls/propagandists writing as commentators under anonymous guises. These trolls bully other’s blog by posting ad hominem repartees. Sometimes you really have to wonder about these zombies, about how they think. Their dumbness seriously rattle my brain so much that in my exposure to them, my outlook for human civilization dims further.

There’s one that’s been making decent blog-swarmers head bang tables. You might want to read how OUR "debate" went.

Click on more. I hate doing these "more" come-hithers, but this is too unstructured it looks ugly on my blog’s main page. And, uh, the tag is purely meant for parody.
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The Love Post

A mushy post, from this angst-y guy?! Before you find yourself unable to comprehend why I’m writing this, and before you go hit the back button, hear me:

This is another past-story post.

Yeah, I know, I’ve been overdoing the retrospection. My Feb’s not fab unlike the past few days in New Orleans, but more fab than GMA’s devoid-of-funk speeches. I’m so bored to the point of reading my old blog, rewriting them, and posting them on this blog for the first time. I know, I know, get off me; I wouldn’t be doing this have I a social life. Anyway, this will be bittersweet - that means some bitterness will counteract with the supposed sweetness you get when you hear "love", and that means you’re going to get through this without needing to visit the dentist. I hope.

I’m starting to believe that my disdain for Murakami may be because his protagonists remind me of me. In a fitting homage to his books, why don’t we put a beautiful jazz song before we go?

My Little Brown Book (Duke Ellington and John Coltrane)

Note that I combined my past post with something recent, so this isn’t verbatim of what I wrote 3 years ago.

There’s this girl, who I’ll call Lanie. She ran for student council, and the first image I saw of her was from a campaign tarpaulin. She instantly reminded me of another girl I had been very attracted to. Doesn’t help (hurt?) that they share the same uncommon surname.

I was like “Wow, cute! I wonder how she looks in real life” but that was it. I wasn’t expecting anything else because pictures tend to depict real appearances inaccurately. I even added her in Friendster, for whatever reason. This was 2004 after all when everyone went around adding people they haven’t met, to realize later that they’ve been adding douches. That last word is my bitter touch, yo! It gives this post edge!

I’ll be a little anachronistic here: she’s been appearing on my dreams since I have first seen the tarp, at the most haphazard times. I haven’t seen her for years now but she doesn’t miss the casting call when people audition for my dreams, and I just reckon that I said the gayest phrase. Audition for my dreams? What weed did I smoke when I wrote that? The only thing more peculiar than the dreams with her appearances is my remembering their details. The first one had me on a fictional school, practicing piano while she wasn’t noticing. One month after, this dream had a sequel where I was on a recital on the same fictional school, and she came close and smiled at me. Both of them were strange because I never was a piano virtuoso. Almost a year passed, I dreamed of her jogging at Central Park; with her back turned on me I was trying to chase her all the time while countering the heavy force on my feet. I woke up with blisters on my feet the next morning, at my sister’s apartment in Manhattan which, I imagine, was half a world away from Lanie. And then just a few months ago, I dreamed of being back to school doing campaigns with Lanie, even if I’ve never been a member of any political orgs in my college days. I think I also dreamed of spending a day with Lanie at the Metropolitan Museum of Arts, but that’s hard to remember, which you’ll understand if you’ve ever been to the Met.

Oddly, we only almost knew each other.

It happened in the young hours of the night. I finished my exam and was about to leave on our school’s North gate - which is called that because I heard that it aligns with the north star and I’m not sure if I should take that on face value or if there’s a clue in there somewhere leading to the treasures of Triforce. I saw her standing there in all her resplendence. Forget the tarp: if she looked anything like that, Nightdreamer could’ve been a normal guy instead. Her beauty had such an effect on me that basking in insanity was my most novel idea of the day. But wait, she smiled and waved. My sweet lord, it’s the 1000-watts smile plus a waving, there is not a supermodel posing as a Wii gamer that could compare to that! I looked behind because I thought she was greeting someone behind me, but nobody was behind me, so my conclusion was that she was greeting me. I also took it for granted that she didn’t see apparitions, and at least based on her reactions I think that’s true.

So put yourself in such position then, what would you do? This girl you like is in her lonesome, smiling and waving silly at you. There’s a bench nearby where you can sit and have small chats. People say you’re a deipnosophist. What would you do?

You wouldn’t give her the cold shoulder, would you? Well, that’s what I did, out of being too stunned to do anything logical. I went home cursing myself over and over again for what I did there, folks, because that’s quality incompetence I showed there! College student, and still torpe (closest translation: clueless about how to meet women) what the hell, and this coming from the same guy who effortlessly introduced himself to Sam Oh  few years before and to Shaira Luna few years after this fiasco! Seriously, slitting my wrist wasn’t such a bad idea for me then because I couldn’t live with that shame. I bet you’re laughing at me; I deserve it, for once.

It also didn’t take long for her to be in a relationship after that. I think it’s still them, now.

About the only time I ever talked to Lanie was when she re-elected and I wished her good luck. Her “thanks” resounded so much I still hear it now. That’s what happens when you hear a sincere gratitude from the person you’re infatuated with.

The last time I saw her was year 2005, so why am I still dreaming of her now when every trace of her in my memory is so bittersweet?

Right now I want to eat halo-halo.

Connection? Confectioneries. I’m craving sugar, which explains why this post is so cloying. I’m so fired up to play Apollo Justice (it’s a lawyer game) that I’m now cross examining my own words. Durrr. 

(Image courtesy of ourawesomeplanet, which is just the place to go if you want more info about halo-halo)