Heartbroken Notes: Day 12

Day # 12 (April 22, 2011)

Flipping through the cable channels, I stopped on HBO. It was one of the few channels that didn't have annoying Spanish dubbing. So there was the glowing animated character of Jim Carey in Bruce Almighty. I felt the side of my mouth curl in delight upon the strong confrontation of his over-the-top, ridiculously cartoonish acting onscreen. It was already a little halfway into the film when I found myself finally placing the remote down.

Gnawing away on the now browning apple slices; I re-familiarized myself with the movie remembering that though I had seen it a while back, I had forgotten most of the scenes.

Then came this one scene that turned me into a pathetic sap. The "I Want Her To Be Happy" scene towards the end that made my heart writhe in pain and eventually bawl. I swear, tears ran down my cheeks like I was two years old again.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=68-AzAfLyvs&feature=share

God: Grace. You want her back?

Bruce: No. I want her to be happy, no matter what that means. I want her to find someone who will treat her with all the love she deserved from me. I want her to meet someone who will see her always as I do now, through Your eyes.

God: Now that's a prayer.

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I cried because (like any other hopeless romantic douche crying over a RomCom), I knew deep inside that I was this character...

I knew that I was Bruce.
And his prayer was my prayer.

I'll be gone for another good month, and I hope he realizes what truly makes him happy. Now if it means that I can no longer be part of the picture, I will die a thousand times -- but I will accept it... because I only want his happiness in exchange for my absence...

And that's how much I truly love this man.

Heartbroken Notes: Day 11

Day # 11 (April 21, 2011)

So today I had McDonalds for the first time in an entire month... and it reminded me of him and how much I truly missed him.

An immediate flashback of quick memories viscioulsy sliced through my chain of thoughts before I could even attempt to take my first bite. Trying to ignore it all, I slowly sunk my teeth into the soft bun. The lettuce slices spilled from the side of the burger, and it reminded me of the very slices that used to spill on my lap while I fed him his double-cheeseburger in the car as he drove down the Edsa highway like a lunatic.

My thoughts immediately transported me to a place and time tucked away in the corners of my memory.

I was back in the moment when my man and I did away with dining-in (like proper adults) because we were both in a hurry to get to our classes together.

There was a sequence to feeding him:

1. I would tear open the ketchup pack and dip the fries into them by twos before shoving them into his eager mouth. It made me happy to wipe the ketchup off his lips while he busily manueverd through the lanes, trying to avoid traffic.

2. I'd bring the burger up to his mouth, saying in a sing-song manner "Open wiiiiide!" only to be amazed at how fast he could actually chomp away on all those carbs.

3. Every now and then, I'd take his Coke and bring the straw up to his lips so he could take quick sips in between bites.

Yeeeeeeeeaaaaahhh... I totally babied him. And I loved it. I loved the feeling of taking care of him, spoiling him... and I'm pretty sure he loved it too... Because this became a very common EZ activity (albeit dangerous.) Infact, it became so common I learned to time myself feeding him, so I could get to my food in less than 30 minutes.

*Sigh*

Wow. I can't believe I got so emo with the cheeseburger just now, it's not even funny.

Heartbroken Notes: Day 10

Day # 10 (April 20, 2011)

So I went to a spiritual retreat three days ago (Um, yes I really did.) and freely shared my problems like I was a legit rehab patient during a big group session. "Hi. My name is Elly, and I'm a bitch." (Okay, so I didn't really say those exact words -- but the people know I'm in pain for my own act.)

Surprisingly, I bagged home a big pile of Godly enlightenment after much meditation, praying, and prancing around the lush flowery blanket of nature which was now slowly vanishing with the strong appetite of dry autumn leaves.

I also watched the first part of Eat, Pray and Love like a bonafide heartbroken chick in search for 'meaning' and realized that I am the permeable membrane being talked about in the film. Which means... I easily lose myself in the person I'm in love with. The passage goes like this:

"To have issues with boundaries, one must have boundaries in the first place, right? But I disappear into the person I love. I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. You can have my time, my devotion, my ass, my money, my family, my dog, my dog's money, my dog's time—everything. If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and I will buy Christmas presents for your entire family….I will give you all of this and more, until I get so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can recover my energy is by becoming infatuated with someone else."

 - Page 65, Eat Pray Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

I've been doing everything I can do learn to walk again on my own...

And I did it! I reconnected with friends, got all the rest I needed, watched all the good movies, sung like a superstar in the shower, and danced in my PJs while ironing my dad's polo shirt. I walked around the city, took pictures of everything beautiful to marvel at, and smelled the flowers.

But you know what?

I'm still praying for a miracle.

I want to stop hurting deep inside. I want to let him go. It's the most difficult thing in the world. Because I still love him very much. Every minute of every day.

And I know somehow deep inside that the miracle I'm truly praying for (besides being happy in myself)... is being with him again...

And being completely happy...

Heartbroken Notes: Day 6

No one reads this crap of a blog anyway, and I badly need an outlet.

Today I shall begin the series of "Heartbroken Notes" (Sorry, my grieving neurons couldn't come up with a better title) -- a collection of entries putting down on "paper" my thoughts and feelings as I journey through another road of being a Heartbroken Miss.

It should be helpful for me. We'll see.

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DAY # 6  (April 16, 2011)

I sit here alone with very mixed feelings and a very crumpled face. It doesn't help that his face is smiling up at me from the picture frame positioned right next to this laptop.

God his smile's fucking amazing.



So here's the dilly:

Six days ago, I tried to beome a "bigger person" by telling my boyfriend we should probably stop having a relationship. For the past couple of months, we have been treading very unhealthy waters. And it came with such a suddeness that we both did not know how to deal with it. Though crippled, we still tried. God knows we tried, but we just keep misunderstanding each other and fighting like our lives depended on it.

Anyway, I did it for him. I felt he'd be happier without me in the picture. It sounds all so simple now, but God knows it was the hardest thing to have the courage to even just consider. He loves his job, and I am just in. The. Fucking. Way. Of. It. All.

So why do we fight?

My side: I want him to prioritize me over work. It's as simple as that. Especially since school vacation has kicked in, and since we've been dealing with a particular haunting issue together since time immemorial.

His side: He's giving his time to me but I just don't see it. He's been doing everything he can to help me deal with my long-term issue, but he's got to work too. A lot of work! Round the clock. 'Cause he's a pastor.

Hold it.

Yes! He's a pastor.

And no!

Not those Bible-pounding, overly-energetic, constantly-in-a-trance types you see when the cable channels go up in the line of six (6). I hate those. I'd never date any of those. My baby's the very cool, laid-back type. He's ridiculously calm and collected; and he blends in with the rest of the world like a chameleon. He's the last person you'd imagine to be a hardcore servant of the Lord.

Anyway, I love this guy to death. Even the fact that he's a pastor. He's my everything. Truly the first man who made me realize there are so many more beautiful things to life, and that includes being with him. Forever, if given the chance.

The relationship isn't the easiest because being with him sort of calls for a 'conversion' of some sort. Now I made it very clear since the beginning that I was never going to convert from Catholicism to Christianity. But somehow, functionally -- just by trying to be a wonderful girlfriend (meaning going to Sunday services, trying to serve in church [OMG. My friends sometimes swear they no longer know who I am anymore.], and adjusting to a new circle of friends) -- I am somewhat slowly converting to Christianity... without knowing it. As a girlfriend, I became a chameleon.

Now am I happy about that set-up?

I have to be honest: Not always. I mean, what the hell? It's so different from who I am!

So why not let-go of the relationship?

Because he never forced me to do anything, and I want to make him happy. With a little compromising, I am happy to see him happy. And when you truly love someone, you just want to keep the other person as happy as they could possibly be.

So it's been Day 6 since the big break-up. I've moved all the way here to Santiago, Chile to do the grand, dramatic "soul-searching". (Which is mostly true... I also missed the cold weather and the hot baths.)

Anyway, my mind told me to initiate it. I feel like I've always been holding him back from being the best pastor he could possibly be -- picking fights with him or what not; and so we parted ways on Skype... I felt like dying. I seriously did. You know, like there's an invisible hand punching through my chest and unmercilessly crushing my already-beaten heart. Yeah, that's how I felt.

And you know what my mistake was?

I e-mailed him!

Not once. But thrice!

Fuck! What happened to the independent person in me who could handle anything, who flung herself out to the world in the hopes of rescuing heartbroken damsels in distress everywhere?

Perhaps my heart finally caught up to my mind. The pain was just to intense that days and days of thinking about it made me realize... Fuck. I still want to be with this man forever. And I shouldn't care if it's hard because I love him!

Sigh.

Well that's the truth anyway. Up to today. Day 6.

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SELF-ASSIGNMENT:

Picture life without him. And try to like it.

Wish me luck.

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...