letting go

Last Monday night( to tuesday morning) I had one of the most wonderful dream. I think I told you about it, Cy.

Remember Lesson 1 and Lesson 2.

Well lesson 2, we were in a van of some sort. When the class was near to an end, you, Cy, told me that you had someone waiting for me.

I asked, of course, who?

You told me that it was Tortilos.

There he was, standing, on where our class-van would stop. Reaching out for my hand, with his smile.

A long dream filled with awful conversation of a romance that lasted a lifetime. We were talking about career, plans, why he quit. He was answering questions that I did not know. I woke up that day with an importnat questioned (for me lang naman) left unanswered.

I wanted to go back to sleep and lull away to dreamland. I wanted to know the answer to my last question. Unfortunately, work was calling via my two alarm clocks blaring loudly.

Even though there was still a question hanging i felt:
1. happy because well I dreamt of him, it was a dream that, hopefully propethic, told me of a wonderful future
2. renewed as to that I haven't been much thinking about him then this
3. and at the same time, perplexed for this was the first time I dreamt about him

Although, i have to face my mundane life, I was still half-asleep into that dream. Yup, I am guilty of wearing a silly smile last tuesday. On our everyday office siesta, I wanted nothing more but to go back to my-tortilos world.

Unfortuantely it would only be in night time, when Tortilos comes to visit again. This time (tuesday eve, wed morning) we were grocery shopping. We were comparing prices, arguing on what brand is better and buying things for our everyday need.

This dream got me even more hopeful. Somehow, I believed that he was dreaming of me too. Crazy, right?

I mean where would I get all those answers. So when I saw him online last wednesday, I braved up to him and said hello on YM.

He did not snob me at first, he replied with 'heya!'

So I asked him about his art show and why he wasn't eating lunch yet. Then it came to me, like a big thump.

I haven't slept at all in days

It's been so long since we've talked

And I have been here many times I

just don't know what I'm doing wrong

What can I do to make you love me

What can I do to make you care

What can I say to make you feel this

What can I do to get you there

There's only so much I can take

And I just got to let it go

And who knows I might feel better

If I don't try and I don't hope

What can I do to make you love me

What can I do to make you care

What can I say to make you feel this

What can I do to get you there

No more waiting,

No more aching

No more fighting,

No more trying

Maybe there's nothing more to say

And in a funny way I'm calm

Because the power is not mine

I'm just gonna let it fly

What can I do to make you love me

What can I do to make you care

What can I say to make you feel this

What can I do to get you there

Love me..

That heart wrenching empty space on YM made me realize that, infact, all of these was make believe. Those few shared conversations on YM, that meaningless yet making-my-day smile which he offers when I see him at a mall are all in my head. Most importanlty, My dream is MY dream and only mine. It is not shared. Life is not a scene from a fantasy chick-flick.

His subtle(hehe) rejection was enough wake up call from reality. (Come to think of it my crush grew when he first rejected me. ) I imposed upon myself a punishment. Whenever I click on his name on my YM list and opt to start a conversation, I will be my sister's (or even yours cy, if you read this) slave. She can order me around. She can order me to but things for her even (within budget)

My world, like my dream, is different from him. The Tortilos living in the real world is in fact different from the Tortilos living in my head and making me smile .

make me immortal

Gods and goddesses before where held to highest esteem because of thier power and immortality. Even hjfg rwanted to be immortal. But i define immortality in a different light. We all have to die.

Its all about being remembered. Even after i die, a little kid will be reading a poem about me, that’s how I wanted to be immortalized. Like Petrarch‘s Laura, who can write an entire poem just about her hand.

Where else can i find them but in their own little literature dkjfgbreg I don’t want to go to conspiracy just yet or where i hear a poetry reading might be. I had to break the ice. Join the club somehow.

So i insisted upon being a writer. After college, my first job was as a staff writer to this new condo magazine. It was good, because I was working alongside a poet, who was esteemed by his peers/ has never won a Palanca

Slap-bitched that i do not know how to write. Ouch! At my first job it made me cry. The publisher did not know of what he was saying . He didn’t mean to say it, and for me that hurts. What he said and that it came abruptly in a casual conversation.

Second it was said more nicely. Just that i needed some improvements

So after i took sometime out did a little soul searching on what i wanted to do with my life. I ended up applying for almost anytype of job, just to get a crack at it. I’m young! Just like some of my friends I can shift careers if I was not up for it.

In came my new work, I have lunch everyday with girls from my age group, so we usually talk about guys a lot. All of them have families already, I’m the only inexperienced one. They asked me what I look for, what turns me on.

Still,i was a bit puzzled, if i should continue on for my search for immortality. But i had no general requirements except for those people looking like tortured artists. So i hastily gave away guys with long hair and balbas sarado. They laughed and immeditely linked that image to the manong on the corner street.

If they only knew, Stupi d crushes, obsessions even, that almost lead to the point of stalking them. Calling them by junkfood names, cause that was what i together with a friend that i desperately snuck along saw thwm by.

So if want to be remembered, i don’t need a fikehrf to write me a poem or a painter to turn me into a monalisa. I don’yt want to be somebody’s wife or somebody’e muse. Iwant to be my own brand in my own work, i can be known. Only i can makemyself immortal.

If i wan to be immortalized, i have to do it myself, i want o be known as me for having done something great not just because of someone.

Besides by the next century, everybody would be looking throught the computer, probably reading somebody’s blog or downloading a movie.

How many of you know laura and petrarch?

one step at a time

At first he was just a sign that I wasn't gonna be late for work.

But then, I began to took notice. He is tall and babyface, which I have to admit is really my type, ewan ko ba kung bakit naligaw doon kay Tortilos.

I usually see him moving, in a plain yet radiant long sleeves polo shirt that matches his skin tone, listening to some mysterious music, through Paseo Avenue . As each day passes, as I hurry to get to work, grows the eager fascination of again seeing him.

I thought I wouldn't get to see him again.

Then, today, the fates smile upon me.

As if being reminded by Jordin Sparks, whose song I was hearing over my radio phone as I caught a glimpse of him, I need to take it

One step at a time
There's no need to rush
It's like learning to fly
Or falling in love
It's gonna happen when it's
Supposed to happen that we
Find the reasons why
One step at a time