The day has ended
The moon up high
Thinking back
About you and I

The late night talks,
Till early dawn
The romantic star gazings
On your lawn

The boisterous laughters
The wiped- away tears
The sweet, soft kisses
As I comforted your fears

My happiest moments
Were spent with you
Gone in a second
When I betrayed you

The hurtful wrods
The unstoppable tears
The unbearable pain
The worst of my fears

My actions, I regret
Yet I cannot undo
Never will I ever have
A second chance with you

The day has ended
The moon up high
No longer is the future
With you and I.


-- Written on 04 August 1999, 7:04pm

I think the song "Nothing Like You and I" by The Perishers go well with this poem. :)

6 years and a few months ago, I walked into A's arms and it became my favorite place in the world. We were friends then and I just came back from work in Boracay. We missed each other so much that we hugged one another. My friend, who was watching from afar, said that he was so happy to see me that his eyes were closed. I remember what he wore that day. It was a blue shirt. The very same shirt he gave me for me to sleep in the next 6 years after that. The very same shirt that's already tucked inside my "A" box.

His arms were a place of comfort. A place of security. A place I went to when I needed to be held and cherished. A place that calmed my fears. A place that protected and made me feel safe. A place when I needed to rest and be warmed. But my most favorite thing to do is sleeping and waking up in them. That, and waking up in the middle of the night because I was being pulled back into them. For 6 years, it was home.

On the night A and I broke up, as we were saying our goodbyes, I remember telling him that I didn't want to go yet because the moment I leave, I would be leaving my most favorite place on Earth and that brought about a fresh bout of tears. The most difficult thing I ever had to do was walking away from him and entering my gate, knowing full well that my future, my life, my dreams were forever changed. To this day, that memory still brings tears in my eyes and forms a lump in my throat. If I pursued a career in drama, that would probably be my "trigger."

And because I no longer had a favorite place, I had to go and find a new one. In its place, I found two.

The pain of the break up and the events that followed after were so heartbreakingly, devastatingly painful that I turned to God for help. I learned that the sorrow and grief you experience during heartbreak is directly proportional to the love you experienced. I always told A that the love I felt for him was so intense that it felt grander than love. So you can imagine the heartache I felt. Only divine intervention could have saved me.

For days, I would run (fine, I drove) to the Blessed Sacrament in the village I used to live in. It was so quiet and peaceful there especially with its Zen like atmosphere. Imagine the Blessed Sacrament was against floor to ceiling windows and behind the glass was a rock and orchid garden. Inside the adoration chapel, it was cold and the sound of flowing water around the perimeter of the chapel made the place comforting. I would go to the Blessed Sacrament when I felt the need to cry, to seek solace and comfort, when I needed quiet so I can sort out my thoughts, when I needed to pray. And strangely, I feel so much better after. To me, the Blessed Sacrament isn't just a place. It's God's arms.

My other favorite place was only discovered a few weeks ago when we moved a bench by my bedroom window. I usually sit there, with all the lights off and meditation or senti music is playing in my ears, late at night (also known as the wee hours of the morning) for the same reasons I go to the Blessed Sacrament. I find the twinkling lights of Marikina Valley below and the starry sky above strangely comforting. For a few minutes, it gives me peace.



And in this other favorite place, as I look out into the endless horizon, I learned to smile and become excited because I know the one God made for me is waiting for me. I know God is preparing me for him. Despite the pain, heartache, grief, devastation and sorrow I recently went through, I know I will love again. And I cannot wait to be swept off my feet and feel overwhelmed and consumed with love and passion once more. I know it is possible. It has happened once and it will happen to me again.

I'm blogging this for posterity's sake.

The craziest drinking session in my life occured on April 2 and 3, 2009 at Il Ponticello. I organized a reunion for a friend from Australia who's vacationing for a week in the country. She wanted to see our highschool batchmates so I invited the usual suspects and then some. We played "I Have Never (or as she puts it, "I've nevaaaahh") and that made us drink shot after shot of their Bend Me Over cocktail. There were probably 10 of us seriously ingesting the cocktails that we consumed an estimated 30 shakers. It seems that management enjoyed having us over that they invited us back for Part 2 of our reunion the very next night but this time, drinks are on them until 11pm. Never one to turn down free drinks, I said yes! (Something from A that rubbed off on me ;) )

But people had plans and only 7 of us ended up going and apparently, we still managed to max out the budget for our open bar! All 5 digits worth! I know it was the most I've drunk my entire life cuz not only did we take shot after shot, but my friend, yes, the cutie mentioned in the previous post, and I split a pitcher between us when everyone else left!

In total, we consumed 15 pitchers, equivalent to 50 shakers or 350 shots. Split between the 7 of us, that's 50 shots each. Glady, Nik and I definitely consumed more than that because a) 2 people in our group were guys and preferred beer though they still took shots with us and b) Elaine was under medication and probably just drank a shaker herself.

We did a good job getting Nik drunk though and she awarded us as the group that got her most drunk.

As for my casualties? None at all (except for my two left feet!) Seriously! Even the manager told me I left sober! (Why am I being defensive? :p) I guess as my tolerance for alcohol increases, my experiences in "responsible" drinking increases too. THAT, or I'm actually part Russian, part fish.

PS. I can't believe I can drink this much! I used to not drink at all. My alcohol tolerance surely increased after the break up! :p

Anyone knows that I am a picture of poise and grace.

But it seems bad luck and jinxes came too much this year as if it's making up for lost time.

I have this superstition that whatever you end up doing at 12mn on New Year's Day, you'll end up doing it for the rest of the year.

When barely a few minutes before the clock stroke midnight on January 1, 2009, I accidentally pricked my finger on a sharp metal protruding from my mobile phone as I was grabbing my phone from my back pocket. Needless to say, I led a trail of blood from our roof deck to my parent's bathroom. I greeted my parents and siblings holding a cottonball to my finger.

Two months later, at the beginning of March, I was at Fiamma meeting some friends. It was soooo crowded that someone had to do the whole "She's with me!" drama so I could get past the velvet rope. Finally, I started up the stairs wearing my hottest black dress and sexy gold pumps. With my gold clutch in one hand and a Hpnotiq 7 in the other, I somehow missed a step and fall forward. I managed to brace myself on the step but my left knee took most of the brunt... and of course, my left shoe went flying. I got up, trying not to look at how many people were looking at me (and if there were anyone holding up placards depicting my scores for my Olympic dive), went down two steps to retrieve my shoe and the bouncer was kind enough (or pitied me) to help me put it back on (meaning, I held on to him for balance while I put on my shoe). I walked away as if falling on my own two feet in public was a daily occurence. Of course, it was only later on that I realized I was bleeding! Hahahaha! I also discovered that despite falling, I didn't spill my drink! My glass was still half full! I guess the alcoholic in me subconsciously saved the drink by, I assume, holding my drink up!

It took me a month to nurse my poor knee. It scabbed like a rowdy second grader's wounds and I had to generously rub Sebo De Macho to avoid scarring. When, a month later, as I was leaving Il Ponticello, I tripped while crossing Valero! And the sad part is, I may have had a lot to drink that night but I left sober. The worse part was, I was with one of my highschool's heart throbs! The casualty was my poor knee again. The same old one that took the brunt in Fiamma. The exact same spot. So now my old wound has a wound. Poor knee. I just realized that same knee, that same spot took the hit too when I fell off my bike years ago. Poor, poor knee.

An acquaintance told me not to worry about the fall because I can carry it. That made me laugh. Whuuuuuttt? Falling flat on my face suits me?! He clarified that I can still manage to fall with grace. So I'm a Miriam Quiambao in the making, huh? :)

So now, I'm turning into a natural klutz. I'm becoming a threat unto myself. :(

But a good friend said it best that maybe this is fate's way of telling me it's okay to fall because one day, someone will be there to catch me... :)