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.

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.

J-j-j-jaded!

"I am jaded."

Or so I thought.

Till the guy I was dating one Saturday afternoon asked me if I ever had an abortion.

I swear the beer almost shot out of my nose when he asked me that.
*mental scream: Dude! What the fuck?! What type of women have YOU been dating?!*
He was surprised with my bold statement, as I was surprised with his bolder question.

So there I sat, flabbergasted. My face was synonymous to that of a fish caught on a hook. “Okay mister, I’m not that hardcore. Nor will I ever be.”

Mr. Yes-There-Is-Such-Thing-As-A-Stupid-Question laughed at my reaction, placed a hand on my knee and started asking why I thought of myself that way.

I answered with a shrug, and he just gave me the look a father would give his 7-year old daughter for wearing red lipstick and fishnet stockings.

My ears started tuning out his words subconsciously as my thought process shifted from “My drink needs more ice” to the question: “Am I really emotionally worn-out?”

Nothing surprises me anymore. There are too many ironies in life, especially when it comes to love and relationships. Alanis Morissette shiz like “You meet the man of your dreams and he introduces you to his wife” or some ka-ek-ekan like that…

Having come from a series of different relationships, all different in color and all leaving me somewhat scarred in their own ways; I’ve come to realize certain things: Men cheat left and right. Men are after only one thing. Philandering men are macho, while "curious" women are perceived as whores. Be fragile with the male ego or the Playboy subscription number replaces yours. Marriage is “relatively” over by the second year. The cynical list goes on and on; and having tons of male friends while living in an Asian country didn't really help much.

God knows how much I wish I didn’t think this way. Those who have known me for years will understand the shit I’ve been through. Many people will easily point out that I’ve just been dating the wrong men. Pfft! Whatever. All I know is, I can’t help but think the way I do. That light coming from the end of a tunnel's actually a train, people.

So as a defense mechanism, *insert muscle flexing action* I’ve developed the habit of blocking out optimistic thoughts with anticipation for the worst. “He’s cute!” (…and has a psycho-ex’s number on his caller I.D.), “He’s smart! (…and will be an ass when you try to give him directions when you two get lost), “He’s sweet! (...and we both know it’s only going to last till the third month.)

I always made room for doubt, even when the moment spent with another person seemed almost perfect. (Yes, there are some awesome guys who manage to slip under the radar!) Generally, I could be in the middle of getting swept off my feet – (a.k.a. witty repartee with a funny guy sitting across from me) – and I would be thinking of every single stupid reason why it wouldn’t work out between us. (*gasp* He doesn’t own a pink shirt?!)

Yes. It sucks.
I suck.
I will be modest enough to admit that.

But until I find a compelling reason to make me believe otherwise, I’ll keep my shades on and laugh along with life’s ironies...

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.