Dear Lost & Confused Me,

“Thank u so much, elly! Ur the best talaga…swear!hehehe! :)”

I stared at the Arial letters glowing from my cellphone with this weird feeling. Well… mixed, to be more exact.

I was happy to have helped another damsel of a friend with her relationship concerns. For weeks I empathized with her (“Fuck yeah! Let’s get wasted!”), listened to the detailed accounts of her story (“Wait! I’m crossing the street! …Hello? Okay, go on.”), and encouraged her to do what she thought was right. (“Just so you know, I know someone who knows someone who's cousin knows a hit-man.”) I was also honest about giving advice from that unbiased, third-person point of view (“Seriously, he’s an asshole! And you know it!”) and constantly assured her I was just a few digits away if she needed anything. (“Yes, you woke me up! So start talking!”)

She found her way through eventually, and got around to taking the first step in the moving on from heartbreak process. Like a single mother ready with her camcorder at some piano recital, I was very proud of my friend.

And now here I was – lying in bed and staring up at the thankful text message she had just sent me.

(** Buzzkill! This is the part where I get weirdly serious...)

Paired with feeling happy for my friend was that little side of me that somewhat felt empty. And I knew it was because I, too, wanted so badly to benefit from my own words and advices.

It didn’t take much for me to realize how helpless I always seemed to be when I went through dating boo-boos and pangs of heartache. Here I was thinking: I was always ready to help people out, but why couldn’t I be that same person to myself? It was so easy when my friends needed me to play Oprah; but when it came to me facing my own predicaments, I shut down. Countless were the times I found myself not knowing what to do with the simplest of problems made answerable with the most “duh” of solutions.

Despite not knowing why I was disabled like this, I was certain about not being the only person who sucked at taking her own advice. I guess that’s why even the most independent "I-got-this-I-always-do!" people still need other people to hear them out. Because sometimes, hearing a voice other than the one coming from the back of your head is better. It’s that extra push to do or not to do something. It’s that validation of your thoughts. And sometimes, it’s that smack on the head you need to bring you back to reality. ("Sweetie, he's just not that into you. Now, slowly... step away from the phone.")

Shifting my position in bed, I replied to my friend’s message with a “No problem! :)”. Then after seeing it register under the Sent folder, I laughed.

Because my message was too damn ironic.

It Only Took Him a Day

We were already the last two people left drinking in the resto-bar when my male friend tells me about getting over his long-time girlfriend in a day.

I repeat: In a day.

Ignoring the “WTF”-look plastered on my face, he continues going on about how ready he is to enter into another relationship because he isn’t afraid of getting hurt again.

(Ladies and Gentlemen! I now officially change my answer to the common survey question, “What super power would you like to possess?” It’s always been the automatic “I want to fly!” response. But after speaking with this amazing freak of nature, and admiring his superhuman-like ability to get over heart-break that fast; I was all ears and ready to learn like an eager Padawan!)

“I think most people, instead of focusing on moving on, focus more on re-living the memories… and staying in the past,” he casually says before taking a drag off his cigarette. The confidence in his voice cloaking years worth of experience got me hooked in an instant.

“But wait, you have to go through that process!” I protested.

I have always thought that experiencing heart-break was the most painful thing in the world. (And that’s not just because I’m a hopeless romantic.) I also strongly believe that one cannot skip the grieving stage, the in-denial stage...and jump straight to parading around the hook-up market with floating hearts and promising cupids.

What my friend meant though, was not brooding too much on the past and acknowledging how everything will eventually be alright. In other words, shutting the heart up and accepting in his mind that whatever happened was for a reason. Simple as that. No But’s. No If’s. No rocket science. No Mandarin translations.

Metaphorically, you can’t keep looking at the rear-view mirror while driving. The focus should be on the windshield – wiper stains, splattered bugs and all.

But in a day?!
My skeptical mind still won’t shut up.
Is this a Men are from Mars thing?

Is moving on simply a matter of the mind’s strength?

I mean, I admit to brooding over my failed relationships -- the countless Kleenex boxes, the replays of “One More Chance”, the unpublished emo blogs, the hard partying… (and crying in the bathroom stall after getting seriously smashed), the torture of playing love songs over and over again, the re-reading of lovey-dovey text messages, the staring at old pictures, and last but not least, (the one 90% of girls I know have been guilty of) – the waiting for that one text message from that unknown number you know is his, which you’ve deleted from your phone-book to keep yourself from calling or texting him, only to realize you have it memorized anyway. (Haha!) So I’m a chick, and we estrogen-filled creatures thrive on all that futile, pathetic drama…

I kept this to myself of course, in fear that my friend from across the table would curl his upper lip at me in disgust.

“So what was the shortest time it took for you to get over an ex?” he quickly interrupted my thoughts.

I paused for a while. “Shortest? Um… three—no, wait! Two months.”

He looked at me steadily and cracked a small grin. “Wow. That is long…”

I guess I will never arrive at an absolute answer to my question. It must be qualified to tailor-fit the experiences of different people and must be applied on a case-to-case basis. I, personally, found it helpful to go through the “slow but sure” process of drowning myself in my tears, denying how single I’ve become overnight; only to later find peace in accepting how I shouldn’t put all the blame on myself or how I can get comfortable with calling him an ass.

Not all people have the same emotional strengths. Some may find it better to let all the baggage and pain beat them up in a day, only to promise themselves they’ll be back up on the horse by the next day.

That being said, I clinked glasses with my friend; secretly wishing a day was all it could take for me too.

In Singing my First Year Blues

“I am such a failure!”

It was as if those words were put on repeat at the back of my mind yesterday. Not only was yesterday the last day of my first year as a law student, but yesterday was also the day the secretary of the Dean told me I failed in my Obligations and Contracts class with a seemingly apathetic shake of the head, “I’m sorry…”

I will not say her statement surprised me, for my almost-innate defense mechanism had me expecting the worst in all situations. Though I must admit, I did expect a little. I was in feeble hopes my efforts would be recognized after all those attempts to recite (revalida style) better and bounce back from the preliminary examination. After all, Dean Aligada couldn’t be that bad, right? I mean, though he was only known for arbitrarily passing 3 students at a time in all his classes, the demigod seriously couldn’t be that bad.

Wow.

How wrong was I?

The possibility of getting debarred is probably the biggest fear of any law student, next to not passing the bar examination after graduation. To me, it was that and failing to meet the expectations everyone had on me – my parents, my relatives and my friends.

And hearing “Aww… Sayang naman…” (“Aww… Such a waste…”) from my mother did not help. To me, that struck harder than the secretary telling me I failed my 5-unit subject. Mom had other words of encouragement but for some reason, her previous statement filtered them. I love her to death and still think I have the best mom in the entire world; but could she not have told me she was proud of me for at least trying my best? Then again, she was a frustrated lawyer.

Every single day is a fight and a struggle with the constant and desperate attempt to stretch my worth 256 KB mental capacity of a brain in memorizing statutes, understanding doctrines, looking up (to-sound-smarter)-Latin terminologies, and reading bulks and bulks of cases; topped off with hard-core commuting to fill my already weak lungs with more Manila pollution everyday. Looming over me was an ominously heavy feeling I wasn’t going to meet the expectations people had on me, despite my best efforts to pass that particular class.

So I went out with my law school friends last night, poker-faced and ready to drown out my sorrow with some hard partying. I was in desperate need of diversion from the oppressive loneliness that was beginning to eat me up.

A little more than 10 shots of tequila and 2 bottles of Red Horse later, I was already looming over the washroom garbage can, puking my guts out in all my Catholic school-uniformed-glory. This continued 10 minutes later at the parking lot with my guy friends telling me to “let it out” while rubbing my back. I had never gotten to the point of bad drunk-puking (let alone in front of 5 other people and for academic problems at that! WTF, right?) until last night. And the best thing about puking, I realized, is how you have every excuse to let your tears freely fall.

Funny how it was with those tears and waking up ten hours later to read text messages from concerned friends that I realized the things that mattered more than excelling and breezily passing in life…

(And it’s that damn cliché I keep forgetting.)

It’s in knowing that you are not alone in what you go through, because you still have the people you need to tell you to it’s okay to “let it out” while rubbing you back, albeit seeing (and smelling) you at your worst. It is in knowing that it’s okay to stumble because you have certain people to catch you when others won’t, and it is in knowing that winning can be but a mere shallow fruit of a feat when you don’t have people witnessing and embracing you at your failures first.

So here's an open thank you to those who still believe in me and in themselves...

10 Commandments of Dating - Elly Style

ad**Just because I did my "research" and had my "slice." LOL.

1. Don’t be late.

Unfortunately, this thing we call “Filipino Time” has become a norm; but that should not give us an excuse to arrive an hour late and say traffic was heavy. (Besides, things like that need not be said anymore.) It is respectful to show up on time, and if you will be late—give your date a heads up by either calling or texting.

2. Be presentable.

It doesn’t stop with cologne, people. You may smell like some eau de toilette factory, but if you have morning glory dangling from your corner-most eyelash, we still notice.

Wear something appropriate also. Miss -- if you want him to fall in love with your deep, meaningful eyes; cover your twins with this wonderful thing called fabric. And you, mister -- if you want to eventually meet her twins, master the art of flossing.

First impressions last. Don’t be the date that made the other look for the nearest fire escape.

3. Do not talk about your exes.

Leave that to the third date. It doesn’t matter if your ex just broke up with you just the other day, or if he has a striking resemblance with your date, or if you're so damn proud she keeps winning the annual Mardi Gras wet T-shirt contest.

Talking about people in the past will only make your date think you still have issues, or that you haven’t completely moved on. The focus should be on your date alone. Talk about your interests, likes, dislikes, and…well, if you must, the weather.

4. Be yourself.

Do not pretend to know what “World of Warcraft” is if you don’t. Do not pretend to like Taylor Swift just because your date thinks (with all passion and conviction) that Kanye is an ass.

There is nothing better than being accepted for who you are, your thoughts and your beliefs. Know however, that there is a fine line between being yourself and being sensitive to your date at the same time. Being yourself doesn’t mean you should burp in your date’s face five times after dinner; nor does it mean you should start reaching for that toothpick to start picking away on that rubbery piece of beef caught between your two front teeth, while he spouts poetry about your eyes.

(You can limit yourself to burping/tooth-picking only once though. A keeper will laugh along or let it slip.)

5. Don’t be the TMI date.

Your date does not need to know that your dog has digestion problems, that cancer is hereditary in your family or that you have this ritual of staring at your clogged pores in the magnifying mirror every night. You can’t be too sure bits of information like that won’t make your date comfortable. (You think?)

Plus, it’s always nice to leave a little room for mystery. Keep your date guessing about you. (And it doesn’t mean answering all his questions with a big, fat, Tagalog-accented “SECRET!”) Just don’t say everything about yourself from A-Z.

6. (For the men) It actually pays to be a gentleman.

Cut the 21st century bullshit, and open the car door for her. After taking her home, wait a good 90 seconds till she safely makes it inside her house. These are the simple gestures that make women want to keep you in their phone-books. Though there can be quite a few feminists who prefer to go all indie (i.e. opening the door herself, offering to pay for everything, and driving herself to and from the date venue), still you must never underestimate the power of being a gentleman.

7. (For the women) Offer to pay.

General Rule: He invited me so he pays.

WRONG!

It is already enough that men have most of the “burden” when it comes to dating. (i.e. picking you up, choosing the place, buying the tickets, paying for the meal, letting Adam Lambert play on his stereo for you, etc.) Well, at least… typically.

So don’t just sit pretty there, or zoom for the restroom like you need it when the waiter brings the tab over. Make use of that tinyass purse of yours and offer to foot the bill. So what if you know he’ll still insist on paying for it anyway. (Yep. Male Pride—a whole ‘nother topic.) But it’s a kind gesture that tells him “You’ve been great. Now sit back, ‘cause I got this.” Mmm… Sexy, yes?

8. Compliment.

Never assume your date knows how good he/she looks. Take time to compliment—and do it genuinely. If you think his spiked do is awesome, tell him. If you think her dress looks great, say so. (Just don’t specify on brands, unless you want her to run.)

John: Wow. You look great!
Jane: Thanks. *bats eyelashes*
John: OMG. Don’t tell me you’re wearing Mac’s summer 2009 Bronze Sunset eyeshadow!
That’s sooo fierce!

*cricket cricket*


9. Say you had a great time only if you really did; and say you’ll call only if you really will.

This is mainly for the purpose of not leading your date on.

Scenarios: He wants to ask you out again, but you’re done dating “losers”. She’s desperately waiting by the phone, but you don’t like calling “clingy” women.

It happens.

So spare a hopeful date the disappointment if you didn’t really have a blast. So again, be honest and say you had a great time only if you really did, and say you’ll call only if you will.

10. For the love of God, at least get past the first date without taking your clothes off.

‘Nuff said.