Escape Route
If I’d have to describe last night it would have to be
magical.
But maybe a single adjective can’t completely explain what happened last night. It was
way too awesome it deserves its own space in my blog – maybe even a poem and/or a song (title suggestion: “Last Monday Night” – yeah, very original, yeah).
So there’s this guy (and no, for the first time in a very long time, he’s
not Great Love). So anyway, there’s this guy. He’s one of the few people I can really call a friend. Without hesitation, without batting an eyelash. We rarely see each other, but when we do, it’s like a big episode of
Big Bang Theory and maybe
Sherlock and probably
The Golden Girls, just with bad humor. And last night wasn’t an exception. It was one of the few moments that I’m grateful I got the chance to treasure and remember because it’ll definitely help me keep my sanity in the long run.
Last night was magical. Last night was one of a kind. Last night was fantastic. Last night was unexpected. Last night was a memory worth keeping.
If we go to all the technicalities, this overly-praised night wasn’t actually flawless: 1) we came in late for the movie (
Transcendence starring Johnny Depp, Morgan freaking Freeman and the lady who looks like Scarlett Johansson) and missed the trailers (sad); 2) said movie was so fucking unbelievable that 3) “fucks” and “holy shits” were given countless times, that 4) it left us feeling distraught after; and 5) the technical people inside the technical room at the back of the cinema had their television turned high that moviegoers actually heard the jingle to a TVC. But these are imperfections that make everything better and more special.
What I love most about last night was the conversation. I am really such a sucker for conversations. We talked for, like, three hours straight. We talked about the weirdest things: history, murals, man’s existence, prostitution, nationalism, how to describe the night in a poetic manner, the death of a flower, tongue piercings, dreams, fears, hesitations. With these conversations, I also learned a lot about myself. When I asked him to describe me, he freaked out (sorry for the verb), said he wasn’t prepared and that asking him of this was like taking a quiz you haven’t prepared for. But after a lot of pushing and death glares, he described me in the most amazing way possible: by being brutally honest.
I already knew that I really
suck at socializing, but he further rubbed it on me, adding that I don’t need to be too choosy with people I want to associate myself with, that I should befriend someone that has a personality totally opposite mine, that if I only try, I could be the Awesome Queen of Socializing because I have a dang awesome personality and the poor muggles need some awesomeness in their lives (okay, okay, I just made the last part up). I must say it kinda hurt hearing the truth, but I am kinda masochistic – and I just needed that confirmation. So does this mean my “I hate people in general” mantra should be thrown in the trash?
Ironically, the best compliment I have ever received in my lifetime also came from him: I am a good conversationalist. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I
am. He said that I’m “witty”, and he enjoys talking to me because I challenge his intelligence (I just made that up), because last night I just blurted out that putting flowers in a vase doesn’t always pertain to slowly killing something and witnessing to its slow and painful deterioration, that sometimes, watching the flowers wilt, loose petals everyday and bend down like in sad movies opens us to the beauty of life and death. (Umm, what did I just say?) Plus, he said that I can be a beauty queen someday – and that’s just utter bullshit.
Spending six hour with him is probably one of the best choices I have ever made in my life. The talking, the laughing, the weirdness, and the comforting thought that you have someone that’ll listen to you anytime are pretty awesome. I know this may sound bad but I also regard this friendship as an
escape route – a way to temporarily forget about problems and just soak in the beauty of everything around us, a way to learn by just observing and being open-minded, a way to find inspiration in the littlest things, a way to get lost and find ourselves again. This friend makes me realize that the world is really shitty, but we can always find a way to dodge the shits or maybe get use to the smell.
Sometimes I just want to hug him so tight until we both crumble to dust (and regenerate like we’re in the fucking
Transcendence). Sometimes I just want to give him a non-romantic, really friendly, no-malice kiss to show how much I appreciate his presence in my life. He is the friend I don’t take photos with because we’re cool like that, because photos don’t really tell the whole story and can’t document the sound of our voices or our laughter or the buzz of flies partying above our heads, because memories tucked in our brains are better than those filtered pixels we upload on Instagram. He is the friend I don’t feel awkward around, whom I can tell the weirdest things to and he’d judge me for it and it’s okay because he’s one of the most honest individuals I know, whom I know I can be safe with even if I’m exceedingly clumsy, who’d listen to me non-stop until midnight, who I hang out with and feel like we’re in one of The Summer Set’s music videos (shameless plug for my babes). He is someone I can really call a friend – without the quotation marks. Fuck, I may not have a lot of friends, but the little that I have is a collection of the most amazing people ever.
The night was so magical and awesome and amazing that I didn’t want it to end. But like a novel full of blissful feels, all beautiful things have to come to conclusion. That’s reality – it’s shitty, but it’s also beautiful.
Conversations
22 April 2014, Tuesday
11:47 PM
What a
beautiful night.
I am already sleepy but I just need to write this down in my trusty, messy notebook. (Gosh, my handwriting looks so bad at this time of the year.) I will fight off sleep and try to write and remember the memories made this night before they escape my undependable mind. I am writing under my blankets and sweating lightly and I don’t care.
This little red flag from my sandwich and the photo I have of this little red flag (why yes, I take bad pictures and overkill my editing) are the only concrete evidence that this night ever happened. We forgot to take photos of ourselves because we were either too busy talking or too engaged with our food (and okay, maybe we were just waiting for one of us to announce “selfie!” or “photo op!” first because we act cool like that). But even though this shit flag is the only proof of this night, I believe that the memories I’ve accumulated from our three-hour affair were enough to be imprinted on my mind eternally.
It is enough to remember the persons I share this memory with. It is enough to remember how dang beautiful Bea looked and how awesome Aram’s shirt was (of course I never told Aram that; his head would’ve
bloated). It is enough to remember the ridiculous dilemma we had and the painful decision-making we had to undergo just to select where to satiate our growing-kids hunger (in which, yes, we ended up in the restaurant where I got this little red flag). This walking-talking-deciding-blaming each other episode we had on the sidewalks (where we looked like lost children) led us to our labels that night: The Guest (me), the Tag-along (Bea) and the Host (Aram, a label he’d also integrated with “the Fool”). Just thinking about these labels puts a smile on my face (I look like a crazy person here).
This little red flag is a witness to the conversations shared over plates of salad and pasta, with too many service crew people around us. The conversations. How
freaking awesome the conversations were! I guess you know it by now, but I’m the type of person who’d consider a hang-out over meager food and sucky venue but is full of sensible rapport already awesome. I remember the stories and the laughter, not the food served, not the place, not the ambiance. I remember words and how they make an impact in my life. The conversations are more important than anything else (and yes, this is me being a dork).
I will not forget the opinions we shared on today’s trend on entertainment: we all agree that people should be more creative and original; that a lot of mainstream movies are total shit; that independent films are the bomb; that these celebrities and rich people need to stop producing record albums on the account of their
just-okay talent with a confidence that blows the roof off; that musicians who can really sing and have the capacity to write exceptional songs should be given chance and priority.
I also will not forget our shared love for reading and the weird possessiveness we all have over our favorite novels. I thought I was the only one in our group who experiences this, but I learned that even my friends feel possessive over books and musicians that they have loved
way before the whole universe knew about them. Oh, the
wretchedness we feel when our babes are now everyone else’s babes, when for a long time nobody cared and they were only
ours! Bea, Aram and I also seem to share the same perks and disappointments when our favorite novels are made into films; the annoying feeling we get when we compare the original story to the adaptation; the opinion that everything could have been better; and that we believe reading comes first before the movies; that
Fifty Shades of Gray is lame; that we are all such suckers for beautiful metaphors and simple stories that were written beautifully; that we believe people should strive harder to develop and widen their intelligence. We are kind of awesome, aren’t we?
How I wish all of the people around me were as intelligent, opinionated and fun as Bea and Aram. It had been a long time since I’ve had a conversation as animated and deep as this night’s. I need more people like them in my life, people that you can talk to about the most stupid things and they’d still listen intently, people who can be a constant source of inspiration, people who push you to your limits in a very beneficial way. If only you’d seen us at that restaurant – we looked like three kids that were too young to be talking about and dissecting the entirely screwed philosophy present in today’s world. Maybe that’s why I never had a lot of friends: I am too picky and have high standards (I have maybe ten or so people I really consider friends in my lifetime). I don’t know the rules of friendship (e.g. My maybe-friend cheats on our exam, what should I do?). This shall be one of my biggest dilemmas.
It is true that real friendship can withstand time. We haven’t seen each other in almost two years but it’s nice that we can still connect this way. All that time apart must have hugely contributed to the development of our friendship. Bea and Aram, you guys are the two closest friends I have from grade school. I’m lucky I can still keep you after eight years. We are so awesome. (Look: ABC = Aram x Bea x Christine. Ha!) I love you, guys.
PS: This night also made me realize how awfully untalented I am. Bea sings and is part of a huge university choir; Aram produces sick works of art. Me? Hmm, more like
meh.
Sonnet XVII
Because it is too beautiful not to share.
***
Sonnet XVII
Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Escape Route
If I’d have to describe last night it would have to be
magical.
But maybe a single adjective can’t completely explain what happened last night. It was
way too awesome it deserves its own space in my blog – maybe even a poem and/or a song (title suggestion: “Last Monday Night” – yeah, very original, yeah).
So there’s this guy (and no, for the first time in a very long time, he’s
not Great Love). So anyway, there’s this guy. He’s one of the few people I can really call a friend. Without hesitation, without batting an eyelash. We rarely see each other, but when we do, it’s like a big episode of
Big Bang Theory and maybe
Sherlock and probably
The Golden Girls, just with bad humor. And last night wasn’t an exception. It was one of the few moments that I’m grateful I got the chance to treasure and remember because it’ll definitely help me keep my sanity in the long run.
Last night was magical. Last night was one of a kind. Last night was fantastic. Last night was unexpected. Last night was a memory worth keeping.
If we go to all the technicalities, this overly-praised night wasn’t actually flawless: 1) we came in late for the movie (
Transcendence starring Johnny Depp, Morgan freaking Freeman and the lady who looks like Scarlett Johansson) and missed the trailers (sad); 2) said movie was so fucking unbelievable that 3) “fucks” and “holy shits” were given countless times, that 4) it left us feeling distraught after; and 5) the technical people inside the technical room at the back of the cinema had their television turned high that moviegoers actually heard the jingle to a TVC. But these are imperfections that make everything better and more special.
What I love most about last night was the conversation. I am really such a sucker for conversations. We talked for, like, three hours straight. We talked about the weirdest things: history, murals, man’s existence, prostitution, nationalism, how to describe the night in a poetic manner, the death of a flower, tongue piercings, dreams, fears, hesitations. With these conversations, I also learned a lot about myself. When I asked him to describe me, he freaked out (sorry for the verb), said he wasn’t prepared and that asking him of this was like taking a quiz you haven’t prepared for. But after a lot of pushing and death glares, he described me in the most amazing way possible: by being brutally honest.
I already knew that I really
suck at socializing, but he further rubbed it on me, adding that I don’t need to be too choosy with people I want to associate myself with, that I should befriend someone that has a personality totally opposite mine, that if I only try, I could be the Awesome Queen of Socializing because I have a dang awesome personality and the poor muggles need some awesomeness in their lives (okay, okay, I just made the last part up). I must say it kinda hurt hearing the truth, but I am kinda masochistic – and I just needed that confirmation. So does this mean my “I hate people in general” mantra should be thrown in the trash?
Ironically, the best compliment I have ever received in my lifetime also came from him: I am a good conversationalist. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I
am. He said that I’m “witty”, and he enjoys talking to me because I challenge his intelligence (I just made that up), because last night I just blurted out that putting flowers in a vase doesn’t always pertain to slowly killing something and witnessing to its slow and painful deterioration, that sometimes, watching the flowers wilt, loose petals everyday and bend down like in sad movies opens us to the beauty of life and death. (Umm, what did I just say?) Plus, he said that I can be a beauty queen someday – and that’s just utter bullshit.
Spending six hour with him is probably one of the best choices I have ever made in my life. The talking, the laughing, the weirdness, and the comforting thought that you have someone that’ll listen to you anytime are pretty awesome. I know this may sound bad but I also regard this friendship as an
escape route – a way to temporarily forget about problems and just soak in the beauty of everything around us, a way to learn by just observing and being open-minded, a way to find inspiration in the littlest things, a way to get lost and find ourselves again. This friend makes me realize that the world is really shitty, but we can always find a way to dodge the shits or maybe get use to the smell.
Sometimes I just want to hug him so tight until we both crumble to dust (and regenerate like we’re in the fucking
Transcendence). Sometimes I just want to give him a non-romantic, really friendly, no-malice kiss to show how much I appreciate his presence in my life. He is the friend I don’t take photos with because we’re cool like that, because photos don’t really tell the whole story and can’t document the sound of our voices or our laughter or the buzz of flies partying above our heads, because memories tucked in our brains are better than those filtered pixels we upload on Instagram. He is the friend I don’t feel awkward around, whom I can tell the weirdest things to and he’d judge me for it and it’s okay because he’s one of the most honest individuals I know, whom I know I can be safe with even if I’m exceedingly clumsy, who’d listen to me non-stop until midnight, who I hang out with and feel like we’re in one of The Summer Set’s music videos (shameless plug for my babes). He is someone I can really call a friend – without the quotation marks. Fuck, I may not have a lot of friends, but the little that I have is a collection of the most amazing people ever.
The night was so magical and awesome and amazing that I didn’t want it to end. But like a novel full of blissful feels, all beautiful things have to come to conclusion. That’s reality – it’s shitty, but it’s also beautiful.
Conversations
22 April 2014, Tuesday
11:47 PM
What a
beautiful night.
I am already sleepy but I just need to write this down in my trusty, messy notebook. (Gosh, my handwriting looks so bad at this time of the year.) I will fight off sleep and try to write and remember the memories made this night before they escape my undependable mind. I am writing under my blankets and sweating lightly and I don’t care.
This little red flag from my sandwich and the photo I have of this little red flag (why yes, I take bad pictures and overkill my editing) are the only concrete evidence that this night ever happened. We forgot to take photos of ourselves because we were either too busy talking or too engaged with our food (and okay, maybe we were just waiting for one of us to announce “selfie!” or “photo op!” first because we act cool like that). But even though this shit flag is the only proof of this night, I believe that the memories I’ve accumulated from our three-hour affair were enough to be imprinted on my mind eternally.
It is enough to remember the persons I share this memory with. It is enough to remember how dang beautiful Bea looked and how awesome Aram’s shirt was (of course I never told Aram that; his head would’ve
bloated). It is enough to remember the ridiculous dilemma we had and the painful decision-making we had to undergo just to select where to satiate our growing-kids hunger (in which, yes, we ended up in the restaurant where I got this little red flag). This walking-talking-deciding-blaming each other episode we had on the sidewalks (where we looked like lost children) led us to our labels that night: The Guest (me), the Tag-along (Bea) and the Host (Aram, a label he’d also integrated with “the Fool”). Just thinking about these labels puts a smile on my face (I look like a crazy person here).
This little red flag is a witness to the conversations shared over plates of salad and pasta, with too many service crew people around us. The conversations. How
freaking awesome the conversations were! I guess you know it by now, but I’m the type of person who’d consider a hang-out over meager food and sucky venue but is full of sensible rapport already awesome. I remember the stories and the laughter, not the food served, not the place, not the ambiance. I remember words and how they make an impact in my life. The conversations are more important than anything else (and yes, this is me being a dork).
I will not forget the opinions we shared on today’s trend on entertainment: we all agree that people should be more creative and original; that a lot of mainstream movies are total shit; that independent films are the bomb; that these celebrities and rich people need to stop producing record albums on the account of their
just-okay talent with a confidence that blows the roof off; that musicians who can really sing and have the capacity to write exceptional songs should be given chance and priority.
I also will not forget our shared love for reading and the weird possessiveness we all have over our favorite novels. I thought I was the only one in our group who experiences this, but I learned that even my friends feel possessive over books and musicians that they have loved
way before the whole universe knew about them. Oh, the
wretchedness we feel when our babes are now everyone else’s babes, when for a long time nobody cared and they were only
ours! Bea, Aram and I also seem to share the same perks and disappointments when our favorite novels are made into films; the annoying feeling we get when we compare the original story to the adaptation; the opinion that everything could have been better; and that we believe reading comes first before the movies; that
Fifty Shades of Gray is lame; that we are all such suckers for beautiful metaphors and simple stories that were written beautifully; that we believe people should strive harder to develop and widen their intelligence. We are kind of awesome, aren’t we?
How I wish all of the people around me were as intelligent, opinionated and fun as Bea and Aram. It had been a long time since I’ve had a conversation as animated and deep as this night’s. I need more people like them in my life, people that you can talk to about the most stupid things and they’d still listen intently, people who can be a constant source of inspiration, people who push you to your limits in a very beneficial way. If only you’d seen us at that restaurant – we looked like three kids that were too young to be talking about and dissecting the entirely screwed philosophy present in today’s world. Maybe that’s why I never had a lot of friends: I am too picky and have high standards (I have maybe ten or so people I really consider friends in my lifetime). I don’t know the rules of friendship (e.g. My maybe-friend cheats on our exam, what should I do?). This shall be one of my biggest dilemmas.
It is true that real friendship can withstand time. We haven’t seen each other in almost two years but it’s nice that we can still connect this way. All that time apart must have hugely contributed to the development of our friendship. Bea and Aram, you guys are the two closest friends I have from grade school. I’m lucky I can still keep you after eight years. We are so awesome. (Look: ABC = Aram x Bea x Christine. Ha!) I love you, guys.
PS: This night also made me realize how awfully untalented I am. Bea sings and is part of a huge university choir; Aram produces sick works of art. Me? Hmm, more like
meh.
Sonnet XVII
Because it is too beautiful not to share.
***
Sonnet XVII
Pablo Neruda
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
