Back to the present

where I just had a minor accident involving my right hand (of all places!). I was so stupid! I should have known better than to stack water glasses together! But I did, and because my hands were slippery from the soap I was using to clean the dirty dishes with, I accidentally broke a glass and a big shard found its way into my right pinky. Blood was everywhere and profusely flowed like a river until my mom and older sister came to my rescue. Now all bandaged, I still had to raise my right arm so the blood would stop flowing.

Well, I have to admit. I look like an injured baseball player.

So now I can move on

from it all. It’s been 5 years since, and I have never attempted to meet a new best friend. Honestly, I don’t think there will ever be another one like Bhe. And no, I’m not looking to replace her, either. There will never be another one like her. I’m content on just having a fistful of selected friends and an abundance of acquaintances. I am my own best friend, now.

What I have given her and given up for her can never be brought back, and I’m not planning on committing the same mistake again.

My older sister, who eloped with her boyfriend, came back home after a year or two, and this time, they were already married. So mama had no choice but to accept our newest brother in – law. But it was not the same for me. Sure, all our wounds are healed now, but like what I have decided with my break up with Bhe, my past relationship with my sister could never be brought back, too. And I don’t wanna even try to bring back what has been between us.

I am that kind of person. If I get hurt, I can forgive easily, but I could never forget. I don’t want to, anyway. Because for me, it serves as a turning point in my life where I can learn and eventually grow from each situation I have been, so that in perfect time, I emerge from it, better than ever.

So I try not to commit mistakes with other people as much as possible, because once a relationship is damaged, wounds may heal and sins may be forgiven, but you can never go back to what was. You can never buy a trust that used to be freely given, a hundred percent back. In this way, I can always move on without looking back in regret.

My high school sweatheart came to visit me at my second college to have lunch with me for the first in 2 years since I last saw him. He told me he was going back to Japan, where his maternal family are. He asked me to come with him. I was dumbfounded. I was sure he wasn’t joking or kidding around, because he rarely does, anyway, but… I was not expecting him to offer me to come live with him in Japan. The he hurriedly explained that he can get me a job at his family’s factory, there. We were still friends, after all. He was just helping me find a job. Those were his exact explanations.

But I was hoping for a different reason behind his invitation. I was silently urging him to admit that he loved me as much as I loved him, and that he couldn’t bear to leave the country without me. But he didn’t admit to anything. He was just blabbering about friends helping each other out.

I wanted to scream and run away, but I forced myself to be calm. My heart is beating wildly in my chest that I was afraid it might burst out, for then I could feel my blood thumping in my ears.

I continued to look at him in the eyes and told him point-blank that I will not go with him anywhere, under the circumstances he just relied on.

He started stammering that he couldn’t understand me, but I swiftly cut him short. No, I will never go with him, unless he admit to his feelings. And that brought about a headache of arguments. He accused me of putting him in hot water when I couldn’t even admit my feelings for him in the first place. That really hit me sorely. I was ready to punch him in the face, but instead, I walked out on him.

The last words I heard him shout at were another of his accusations that I got a pride the size of th universe and that I’m not adept into admitting my own faults. The nerve, I thought.

Since then, we had no communication whatsoever. And it’s been 5 years since everything happened. I’m now out of college and working, but I do admit that there were times when I catch myself thinking of him and Bhe.

So writing my experiences down on this blog, is my way of releasing those bad vibes of painful memories still left. Seeing the words printed is somehow an attest of what I have gone through with my relationships, and therefore, it gives me an assurance that they are indeed, history. They are a part of my past now, I should only look forward to the future and concentrate on my present.

The big dance has already started

when I found myself still outside of the event, waiting for Bhe to appear. She hadn’t contacted me for days then, since the horrible incident with her boyfriend. I kept on texting her and calling her house, but she never replied to any of it. I even messaged her at her email and over at her Friendster account. I was really getting worried. I once tried to go to her house, but her cousin told me that she was out, but then again, she was never at school. I rounded up every hang out place that we used to frequent, but she was nowhere to be found.

At the dance, I was supposed to do an opening number with a guy classmate, a duet of an Evanescence song, but I wasn’t too keen on performing that night, for my mind was still focused on Bhe. I begged to do the number at the end of the dance, and I got a little drunk by the time the event was wrapping up.

I splashed myself some raspberry perfume to cover up for my beer and wine smelling breath, so mama wouldn’t notice it when we got home. Luckily for me though, she was already asleep by the time my brother and I got home at way past 2 o’clock in the morning.

My head was spinning the morning after, and I was in no mood to communicate with just about anyone. I quickly scanned my cell phone inbox to see if Bhe had left me a message but only some other friends’ texts were left unread. They were apparently worried that I had consumed too much alcohol, and knowing about how strict my mom was, they were asking if I was alright or how was I doing. They were also inquiring if I had gotten ahold of Bhe, already. I didn’t respond to any of’em. I quickly took a cold shower, put random clothing and shoes and donned caffeine as fast as I could and exited our house quickly. I ran up the street and unseeingly rode the public jeep. When I got into the school, I was expecting some sort of sign that Bhe would show up that day. And she did. After waiting for about six to seven hours, actually.

She was with her cousin. Her cousin was the one who came up to me and told me that Bhe didn’t want to confront me, but that she’s obviously saying goodbye. Naturally, I was baffled. I didn’t know how to respond. I asked her cousin how Bhe was holding up and she responded that Bhe had gotten back together with her boyfriend, and that she has decided to follow her boyfriend’s request to quit hanging out with me. I ran up to Bhe, not letting her cousin finish whatever she was saying to me, and demanded some answers. But she was stubbornly silent. She got unshed tears in her eyes, but she wasn’t looking directly at me.

I kept on pestering her with the question: “Is this what you want? Do you really wanna go back to him? After everything that has happened?” I was close to crying, myself. But wouldn’t let them see me cry. So instead, I ran into the bathroom and locked myself in an empty cubicle. By the time I went out, Bhe and her cousin already left.

I went home feeling like a lost kid. I had been abandoned for the second time. By someone who I gave my complete trust in, again. Someone who knew all my secrets, again. Someone who I cared for to the point of putting myself second, again. And just like my older sister, my best friend left me for a guy.

I couldn’t sleep at night. I’ve developed insomnia since the day my best friend and I broke up. I didn’t tell anybody, not even mama. She was asking me about Bhe every morning, obviously picking up my gloomy mood, but I never told her what happened. She stopped asking, though. Apparently understanding that a rift has then torn us apart.

I had completely abandoned

everything from my past the moment I decided to focus on my studies at my new college and concentrate on my new friendship with my soul sister. Twin Heart sister. Haha. I used to call her Bhe. Short for baby.

We stayed happy in our relationship for a year, until Bhe met a guy. A newbie at our school. He was friendly. We quickly got along well, and we even formed some sort of groupie. It was blissful. We would all hang out, at the mall, at each others’ houses, sing at videoke bars, play pool, play arcade games, watch horror films at the theater, lunch at fast foods, breaks at cafe, anything we could do were spontaneous and would include the whole gang.

But things were spiraling out of control when Bhe’s boyfriend became obsessed with her. He got moody and jealous of all of our friends. He began to get strict with Bhe. On how she would dress, what she would eat, when she could hang out with us, and who she could hang out with. My patience is wearing thin with every passing month. There were times when Bhe would call me up in the middle of the night, not to match outfits, but to tell me things like she’s starting to get afraid of her boyfriend’s behavior. Naturally, even at school, I would advice her what to do, but she never carried out any of my advice. She would tell me that she loved her boyfriend too much to cut her ties with him, or she’s too afraid of him to confront him of his alarmingly increasing bad moods.

When we were in our junior year, a dance was coming up at school, and it was to be held at a restaurant. Bhe and made plans to go shopping, get pedicures and go to a salon together. But that afternoon of our supposed planned girl bonding trip, her boyfriend called me up to tell me to get Bhe in his house right that moment, or he would commit suicide. We were with my older brother, who’s also included in our circle, and a guy friend, too. The four of us panicked and quickly got to Bhe’s boyfriend’s place. Bhe was getting hysterical. We arrived at the house when we noticed that it was empty, save for Bhe’s boyfriend, who was toying with a hand gun. Bhe was screaming and crying uncontrollably by that time, and our guy friend rushed to our school to get help. My brother was with and he was the one who got inside the bedroom to call Bhe’s boyfriend, while we wait for the help to arrive.

I was trying to pacify Bhe at the kitchen but she just wouldn’t stop crying. We heard screams and shouts over in the bedroom, and my heart was filled fear at the sight when Bhe’s boyfriend pointed the gun at my brother. That was the time when I screamed.

My brother kicked Bhe’s boyfriend and got a hold of the gun. Turned out it was empty of bullets, thank God. But Bhe’s boyfriend recovered and rushed into the kitchen to grab a butcher’s knife. At this point, I hurried Bhe out of the front door, while I kept on convincing my brother to just run out of the house. We all made it into a cab by the time we saw Bhe’s boyfriend running in the streets, with the knife still in his grasp, screaming at us.

It was horrible. I had never before been so terrified for my life and those around me. I never thought that something as crazy like that would have happened to us.

We got back at the school and we had a talk with our professors. Naturally, Bhe’s boyfriend was suspended, and they told us that they will fix it with his parents.

That night when we got back home, my brother and I made a pack to never tell mama or any of our siblings, of what happened that day. It was never revealed, even now.

Fast forward to a year later

after the last time that I saw my older sister who eloped with her boyfriend. My eldest sister took me to live with her at her condominium. She was arranging my transfer to another college, and I wasn’t really interested. I was just getting along with her and mama’s decisions to make plans for me. After all, I still wasn’t turning 18.

I was ordered to go grocery shopping at the convenience store under our condo, when I saw my high school sweet heart standing by his car at the parking lot. He told me to get inside his owner jeep so we talk. I told him that my sister was expecting me to go grocery shopping and that I should stay out late enough to get me in hot water. So he accompanied inside the store, while he accused me of not even letting on that I was switching schools. I was silent the whole time he was rambling on that couldn’t I have even mentioned my plans to him? Don’t I include him in my life anymore? Don’t I care about that he would be worrying had he not have found me suddenly residing with sister at a condo unit? I just let babble for at least 30 minutes. In my head, all I could think of was, who was he, but just an old friend who I kept on seeing after high school, to act all so important like a boyfriend, when he hadn’t even let on that he like me beyond friendship? So I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction to defend myself or explain myself to him, for we’re not beyond being friends. We were just friends. Period. I knew he was still angry when I left him to go up in our condo, but I couldn’t erase the fact that I was hoping that he would really court so we could officially be a couple, finally. But he never did. He treated me like a friend, and yet he acted like my boyfriend whenever the mood fits him. Well, I wasn’t about to let him make me into a doormat, no matter how deep my feeling have become for him.

Yes, I had fallen for him even before we graduated from high school. We kept seeing each other after, but we still remained friends. I never told him of my feelings, of course. I will never be the first to admit to a guy that I have fallen for him, no matter how I wanted us to be a couple, already. But he was proving to be difficult. At times, he would give me impressions that he’s attracted to me, too, but then he would never say anything to make me hold on to my guesses. So I always kept silent of my feelings. And up till now, I remained quiet about it.

The nightmare was the person

who raised me as a child, who stood as my second mother, who protected me from mosquito bites to bullying mean girls, who coached me in my talent of singing, and who groomed me to be a refined woman, but I never turned out to be one. She is my older sister, second to the eldest, the one whose name is the Spanish version of my own name, so I was actually named after her, or rather, my name was just derived from her name.

Anyway, as I have claimed, she stood as my second mother, even more protective and caring than my real one, to be honest. But as I grew older, she was slowly slipping away from me, from us. From our family. She became workaholic. And she met a guy. Yeah, she had a boyfriend. She had lots of’em before, but never were those have become as serious as her last one, apparently, for she married him, obviously.

I knew of her secret relationship with this certain guy, even before any of my siblings found out about it. I was still a sophomore high when she told me of her newest boyfriend. She didn’t want mama to know, because she was sure that mama would not approve of the guy. Though in my own opinion, she should have confessed to mama earlier to have avoided the painful confrontation that occurred a couple of years after, which led her to elope with her boyfriend.

I was still studying at my first college, the morning when that fateful event happened. We just got back from a relative’s party the night before, and I was taking an early shower when I heard an argument going on. My sister was crying while mama was shouting. Apparently, mama found out of her secret relationship, and naturally, they were arguing about it, as expected. I came out of the shower to witness the drama, and even before I got dressed, my sister suddenly ran out of the bedroom and to the front gates, hysterically screaming and crying. I was filled with dread the moment she rushed out of the door, because I knew right that moment, that she would never come back home, again. I was still in my towel when I ran out to the garage and saw my sister running in the streets, growing smaller by the second, until she was no more than just a tiny dot in the blaring morning sun.

It was a nightmare that I had been having since I had known of her secret and carried it with me, for three more years, that finally came true. For days to come, I remained in shock, stoically attending my classes in the afternoons and going straight at home, for fear that my mama would suddenly turn her anger against me. It hadn’t sunk in me, still… so I wasn’t even praying for my sister to come barging into the house. I was curiously numb. But it had been weeks since the confrontation. My mama kept vigil with her anguish, we were all walking on eggshells for months later.

As I was finishing up the second semester of my freshman year as a BS Computer Science student, my eldest sister, who just got recently married that time, decided to transfer me to another college and sift my course to BS Information Technology. I was still a minor, 17, so I had no choice but to obey her decision. My last afternoon at my first college was memorable to me. That day, my older sister, the one who eloped, came to visit me at the parking lot of my school. I was shocked when dean told me that there was someone in her office who wants to see me. We talked at the parking lot, she was crying, she told me that she didn’t wanna leave me, but she had to. She came with her boyfriend, and maybe, because of it, I was not very receptive of her. I wasn’t even replying to her. I just let her cried for at least two more hours. It was my lunch break, anyway. I felt my heart harden at the sight of her. How could she have left me without even saying goodbye, properly? We were close. As in really close. She raised me, for God’s sake! How could she just run away to her boyfriend, not even acknowledging my presence that fateful morning? I was really mad. My anger was seething inside me, but I kept my face expressionless. I didn’t want the other students, who were obviously gawking at us, to see me affected by the spectacle that my sister was making. Her boyfriend was just standing a few feet away from us. After a few promises that she will keep on contacting me and visit me at my school, I let her believe that it would be okay with me. I didn’t tell her that I was already preparing to transfer into another college. They left in a taxi after what seemed like a whole afternoon of wasted visitation. I didn’t gave in to her whims. I just nodded when it seemed like she was waiting for an answer from me. I didn’t comfort her, either. How could I? When I was the one who got left behind? I watched them took a cab and I vowed to myself that I will never look for her for any support. Right that moment, I felt myself growing ten years older.

She was all I never was and will never be

and yet, I found myself slowly adapting her ways, her mannerisms, her expressions, and even her tastes in food, fashion, places and all sorts of kinds that I found fascinating in her.  She was not beautiful. Not even close to being pretty, but she became gorgeous enough in my eyes, the moment I fell for her. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t a case of lesbianism, but it was definitely something far deeper than a mere friendship could offer to define.

We were soul mates. I have heard that term a lot of times, and though I knew it worked to some people, I just never imagined to be really meeting mine. But met her, I did. And I have to admit that it was the actual first time that I truly believed in the word, in every sense of it. It represents exactly how were together. How we felt for each other. And at that point in my life, I have never been more sure of a relationship that I had shared with so many people when was much younger, than I had experienced with her, back then. And yeah, I don’t wanna mention her name. I don’t find it necessary.

During those days, I have never felt more good about studying, about actually looking forward to  every single morning that I went to school. To think that I was miserable with my first college, I felt like I had finally found the right place to belong to, somewhere to build my dreams into, a place to realize my goals, giving me courage to better myself because I her friendship was giving me confidence that at that time, I thought I was finally given a chance to make things right, and it sure seemed like everything was falling into its right place. Little did I know just as suddenly, it would all come crashing around me in the end.

My reluctance to befriend her at first was overcome with this sudden warm feeling of security I found in her company, whenever she would come up to me and struck a simple conversation, that would lead to hangouts, lunching together, exchanging homework, until we got comfortable with each other enough, to share secrets. Suddenly, mall hangouts and fast food conversations turned into house bonding and leisure travels outside our school. By then, we had really come to know each other so well, in just a matter of months. Talking up a storm in the middle of the night made us felt like we’ve known each other for at least a decade. Or perhaps, several years. Little glances and small gestures were suddenly easily detected, as though we were twin sisters. In fact, our schoolmates have already begun to coin us with the term, Twin Hearts, because even if we’re not blood related, we act even closer than real sisters do.

Sleeping has been much peaceful for me, secured in the knowledge, that even though problems at home persisted, I was having a  blast at school. I thought college couldn’t get any better, that I have forgotten about my pain over my older sister’s abandonment the previous year. I convinced myself that I have moved on from that nightmare.

Studying was a bit of a hard experience on my part

though I do get high grades and I have never failed a subject, it was always a trying moment when I often tried to get myself interested in reviewing my notes, so I always end up doing my homework at the last-minute before classes starts. But I am talking about elementary and high school, here. Not college, okay.

I was a junior high when things really screwed up for me… or rather, I screwed things up. One of my older brothers was hospitalized because of an asthma illness, when I got messed up at that time. I did not attend more than half of my full term of classes that school year, and you can of course, imagine how my grades really got bummed on that score. I sorta rebelled for a while, not really sure what I was doing. There were some girl bullies in my class that I have been avoiding, and so I tricked my mama into thinking that I’d go to school every morning with my casual clothes hidden under my uniform, and stay out till late at noon, when I really only went to some friends’ houses or we’d go hang out at the mall. So how did it turned out? Well, I was cutting classes one day, when a classmate unfortunately saw me at a convenience store on the way to a friend’s home, and he went to my house and told my mom. Yeah, he ratted on me! He used to crush on me and I often tease him that he’s gay, so I’m pretty sure he did that just so he could get back at me! As it was, seemed like our teachers were wondering where I was, often absent from class and never even once had a guardian contacted my home room adviser if I was ill or not. So our teachers admonished my classmates to get on a sort of “look-out” for me, to make sure of my condition and whereabouts. I got punished, as expected. Never had my mama looked at me with such disappointed eyes, and I felt so ashamed that I never confessed the real reason to her, behind the fiasco I had made of my junior high experience. But I told our guidance counselor. And luckily for me, she asked my adviser to give me special assignments to make up for the lessons I had missed. And as though the heaven is taking pity on me, I was permitted to do the assignments at home and submit them only at the end of the remaining weeks of classes. I never had to face the bullies once again. God, was I ever so relieved. At the end, I got passing grades, so I didn’t need to sign up for summer classes, thank God.

After that complication, I had sworn to myself to redeem my image and got serious on my last year at high school. After all, I wanted to graduate not only with good grades, but I had hoped to buy more happy moments this time, to bring with me to college.

High school life was bittersweet, but college life turned sour. My world turned upside down after a whirlwind of the sweetest memories I could have ever hoped for at the beginning, and it was like a plane crash or a train wreck that hit me after it all ended so quickly. Yup, my experience at college was worst.

I befriended a girl back then, when I wasn’t even planning on befriending anyone at the time. I just switched colleges and courses, and I wasn’t quite ready to mingle. I was sort of having boy trouble, too, so imagine my crankiness when some girly girl hit me up with a line that goes: “Are you alone? Need company?” Yes, she was a girly girl. The kind that dresses real girly and acts all feminine and laughs softly. I hated her on site. There was a red sign flashing warning, written all over her face, and I should have listened to my instincts that first time. But I was moody, thinking of this high school sweetheart I left behind, whom I had never told that I was switching schools and courses, or that I had just gotten back at home from my eldest sister’s condominium. He was mad the last time we were at my first college’s parking lot, and instead of my telling him of my plans, I felt no need to include him on my decisions. My mama’s and sister’s decisions, that is.

So I responded with short, vague replies to the girl’s queries, and went on doodling on my notebook. She later invited me to lunch on our first break. It was the start of a relationship that went so deep, yet ended fast enough. It was fun while it lasted, though.

As I have done with my previous blogs

I always start out by introducing myself, with brief accounts on my history, childhood and family background, dabbling on some little trivial stuffs for a much-needed space of entertainment, no matter how peachy it might turn out to be.

Okay, so here I go. I grew up in a huge family. My paternal family is half Chinese and half Filipino, while my maternal side is half Spanish and half Filipino. My father came from the rich and wealthy and my mother was from the hard-working kinds. They were poles apart, and yet, as if out of a Romeo-and-Juliet love story, their divine romance saw them married with nine children for many years. I was one of the kids. Youngest of the daughters and second to the youngest. My father was a graduate of Law at the University of Harvard, and has worked as a legal counsel before he was diagnosed with aneurysm. My mother graduated as a nutritionist before she got married to my father, and later worked at the local Immigration offices after my father passed away. Before that happened though, my parents amazingly surpassed many of the trials they so willingly accepted when they damned all the odds and consequences, and decided to get married and raise a family together. My paternal relatives were of course, against their union at the beginning, but later changed their perceptions as soon as the first child was born. My mother endured my paternal relatives’ not-so-well-hidden antagonisms for as long as it took, while my father was still alive. But just like the legendary fairytale, my parents’ glorious romance tragically ended when my father has fallen ill with aneurysm, due to mental and physical strains and stresses over his workload as a lawyer. It was the summer of 1988, in the middle of July, when he passed away. I was four years old. I never really had many memories to carry with me, though. I can only remember his face and the sound of his voice when he used to hush me when I used to be frightened with the lizards that crawl up the bedroom ceiling at night. I also remember how he “potty-trained” me. The way he loved to watch Michael Jackson’s thriller music video and the film, Star Wars. The way he used to coach my youngest brother out from under the bed, when my brother used to get upset with the song, Ang Bayan Kong Pilipinas. The times when he bought my three brothers and I the Care Bear stuffed toys and Bioman action figures, when he got back from a trip to San Francisco. Those memories were not even a handful, to begin with. But those were all I can remember, honestly. Now, looking back, I feel bereft, knowing I would never get even a single glimpse of a another memory or two, of my father, no matter how hard I try. But I’m sure it must be equally hard, or maybe even harder for my mother and older siblings, with plenty of memories to haunt them for the rest of their lives. As you might have guessed, my paternal relatives shunned us away, as soon as my father died. They even tried to deprive us of our rightful inheritance, and a complicated event of court trials followed for at least a few more years, following my father’s unfortunate death.

We used to move from one house to another afterward, and my three brothers and I started studying a bit late for our ages, until we took examinations for an acceleration of academic levels. Finally, we got settled in this little urban town, where gossip is unavoidable, and the rest is history. We’re still living in this little town, though most of us have relocated, we still come together at mama’s house, all grown ups, some with their own family to add now, and life is proving harder every year that I get old, as usual.

Starting Over

I am a devoted blogger. I share everything and don’t care who’s interested or not in my posts, as long as publishing them somehow make me feel better of my situation and lightens up my burdens considerably. Reading the words printed on the screen is always refreshing to my eyes that are constantly looking for a way to ease whatever ails me at the moment. Or it brightens up whatever excites me, more.

I have been faithful to Multiply for over three and a half years now, but since the evolution of the online shops, I kinda feel less protected of my privacy, though I absolutely have nothing against online shops, for my older sister and I hold one of the largest online shops over there, the Towel Cakes by Montecielo. But lately, it’s been feeling more of a business or market place to me, and I’m finding myself restless, for I cannot pour my thoughts and emotions on my personal site like I used to, before. I don’t feel comfortable anymore.

I have been looking for a suitable replacement blog site for the past six to eight months, now, and alas, my fingers stumbled upon in here.

My first impression was that, it looks kinda boring compared to Multiply, where layouts and themes are bursting of colors and unique designs, but then, after trying out my hand at the limited layouts, I actually felt relieved that it’s not as crowded over here, and that the designs are minimal, which brings the contents of one’s entries, more pronounced and noticeable, than the design of the site.

Pretty soon, I got the hang of it, and after several weeks, I have now decided to start blogging here.

I am not totally leaving my Multiply residence, after all, my older sister and I are living well because our official online shop website is over there, but it feels good to finally be able to find a home here, at WordPress.