Monday, January 17, 2011

Still Waiting

She always saw him labor upon little leddings and trackings. No, not on the computer, but the tangible, cold hard metal that you put between metal stamps of letters. It's an old man's game, what he is doing. The art of type setting was big in the 1960s when printing was an extremely time consuming, labor intensive, intricate hand work. Nowadays, you've got design softwares to get you going fast and easy with that. He told her those digital crap just made designers sloppy. Type setting is not just an art form. No, it's a workmanship.

"I'm just old school," his eyes smiled through his glasses, but not toward her. "At least, i'm on my last paragraph and as soon as i get this done.. you know, printed and all cleaned, we can head out."

She replied with a sigh, "Fine, three hours." He got the car, and the weather had not been so kind to let her take the bus home. It's not like there's much choice for her, is there?

The clock ticked away. With every passing hours it's telling her that each hours she spent in silence with her type-setter boyfriend is a waste of time. It's a waste of her four years of high school to college life. She could have been in more exciting relationships with hotter guys she met in all those parties she attended without Rob. Tick tock tick tock. She could have had her saturday nights freed up to talk with people who are not 'type-setting-zoned' monsters. Tick tock tick tock. She could be just as single as she is now, yet feel so much better. Tick tock tick tock. How could someone loves tiny pieces of type, none bigger than my pinky's nail, more than a breathing, talking human being? Tick tock tick tock. He's not even talking to her all these while. She bet he would not even move if she stormed out. Tick tock tick tock.

Jane took the bus for two hours to go back home. If she was on the car with Rob, she'll be home dry and warm in thirty minutes. However, waiting for another minute on a guy who would not even look up from his 'labor of love' to say good bye to the girl he said he 'loved', is plain pathetic. She didn't care if he had the sweetest smile, or if his hands were always the warmest thing she could think of, or the fact that he could do the darnest acts of love. She was not going anywhere near him, she would not pick up his phone calls or listen to the messages he would leave at her voicemail, she wouldn't even look straight into his eyes to tell him what he did wrong. She had it.

-- a week had past now since the day she walked out of the type-setting studio. she had zero phone calls, zero messages, zero spotting of the man she once claimed hers. utter failure. life sucks, and she knows it by the handful.

Monday, January 10, 2011

He Said (2/2)

Today is going to be my last day with the girl i've spent too much time with it's almost a sin to my future wife. She's moving away, not to another city, not to another country of the same continent, she's not even moving way up north she had to learn how to ride with the snow dogs, she's moving to Africa. The remotest village in Africa. No internet. No cell phone signal. Heck, there's not even enough water to bathe there. She had always been the pure hearted, sincere, good samaritan girl. She's not the prettiest girl i've met, nor is she the most charming, or the most cunning, she's just..her. Nothing so romantically written in one of your Austen books, or depicted in your korean dramas. She would have just blended with the rest of the world. Her face will not stand out among the hundreds and thousands faces of your facebook friends. But this girl had filled the niche in my heart for too long, it's idiotic not to grasp it.

I was too comfortable and too prideful to change anything between us. The friendship that we built must now come to a suspenseful halt until we saw each other again in one year time. It was the boy within me that kept me from seeing how important she was to the man part of me. It was the boy within me that playfully wrestled with her in front of public just to show the rest of the world that she is mine. My best friend. Now the man part of me suffers because he knows that she is not really mine. She belongs to the poor, thirsty kids of Sub-Saharan Africa.

"You're my best friend" was a lame excuse to run from a commitment that i knew i had to make one way or another. Now the man part of me hates the comfort we felt before. The knowing glances we passed was more than just grateful gaze to a friend, there was something more in that. I know we were never the serious type, but i'm not that daft not to feel the change in the air when we played the last round of staring-contest over sushi and hot matcha. At that moment, she was not my play-friend, or was she the gullible friend that i know. There was a piddling gentleness in her eyes that almost mocked me. She twitched her half smile, and moved closer till we were eye to eye. She stared down the boy inside of me and shunned him back to the dusty photo frame he belonged to. She won the game, knocked down my pride and got me very confused over feelings i've never even felt before.

Is this feeling the blank verb i have to put between the word 'i' and 'you'?

She Said (1/2)

Because we never really talk. No i mean, we talk, but it was a sad range from minor insults to pathetic conversations about things that doesn't even exists. We exchange abnormal ideas and stayed way outside of the man-known realm of communication. The conversations we had was surface deep pokes to each others' humorous sides, and never more. It wasn't a surprise that our relationship never took off.

I, for one, was to blame for my incapability to express my emotions other than those that requires a huge smile and a train of laughter from the opponent. On the other hand, in my exasperation to say things i wish i had, he never really see what i see. He thought we looked great together, i played piano and he was an alto saxophonist, i make the stupidest faces and he tell the funniest jokes, he's a great cook and i love to eat, i can clean and he appreciate order. But looking great together means nothing in comparison to what i want from him. I want security, i want man that could lead me and a man that shows me how he lives and gain my respect from it. I want someone who is not afraid to feel, someone who's smart enough to feel. Isn't there something more in him than just that stupid grin i like so much? Sometimes i just want to give up on this kid.

We danced a waltz together once, in his parent's silver wedding anniversary. I thought nothing felt better than his hands holding mine and my head on his shoulders. Physically he was tall and strong, but i don't think he was that way inside. Maybe i should just wait a year. Maybe.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011


"I tried not to think about it," i told him, "You know, about the scandal..."
"Of which you are not, in anyway, involved?" his raspy voice replied over the phone.
"Well, maybe more like a friend of the suspect. That makes me... a... um, witness?" i made do. I heard nothing but his breath. I know he was just lounging around on his sofa bed, listening to my rambles as he watch the night grew steadily cooler.

"Just watching a rudimentary problem grew into a messy tangled complication was.. funny, i guess.. in a thick-black oil-spill way," i continued while sipping on my morning coffee.
" Ha! A contrary to the former adjective!" the wise-ass hath spoken. "Doing nothing does no one good, don't you know that?"
" That was me being subtly sardonic, thank you very much," i playfully smiled at my reflection on the coffee maker. I imagined him rubbing his hair in irritation and changing his sitting position to a more comfortable one.
"So you were saying?"
" Im half-way around the world from it. Nothing can be so bad when you're this detached. Physically and emotionally" It's gonna be a long night talk - at least for him.

"Being of great distance from you doesn't make a scandal all the less menacing."
That's true, i thought, i gotta give that to him. But it's not like this scandal is any of my concern. Having a friend playing a part of a movie doesn't grant me a spot in the plot. "Distance isn't a factor that could change the way you perceive, the way you feel, the way you be," suddenly he got philosophical.

"Agree, distance can't unhook what's been hitched." I was referring to something else.
"Hmm..." that's all he said. The little rustle behind him got me curious.
"What was that?"
"I'm hugging this girl-imagined-pillow," i can hear his smile as i tried -unsuccessfully- to sip my coffee after pleasantly startled. A familiar warmth fills my chest, "You're enjoying this aren't you?" he asked, we laughed. That warmth wasn't from the caffeine.

"Hey, have you heard, there's this doll in the shape of two, long micky mouse hands that you can wrap around your body and think of me as it hugs you.. i think i should give that to you on our next chat date,"