My Internet Love Affair

Since I met M I've been diligently making countless searches for him on the Internet. I've Googled him. I've searched for him in Friendster, MySpace, and just about any website I can think of in an effort to catch a glimpse his life. I know its a bit stalker-ish but really, who hasn't done this at one time or another? Besides, I've stopped doing it after my searches proved futile, and he told me himself that he deleted his Friendster account.

Anyway, when I was still doing those searches, I found several people with the same name that he has, and I viewed these people's profiles. I haven't turned off my Friendster's Who's Viewed Me feature so, naturally, I see these people viewing me in turn (probably wondering who the crazy lady viewing their profiles was). Most of them viewed my profile almost right after I've viewed theirs so it doesn't surprise me to see them on my list. But since I've stopped this tedious exercise, the viewings have stopped considerably. So imagine my surprise when today, I saw a viewer with the exact same name, age, and location. My heart literally jumped to my throat. Damnit, even his stupid, common name has this crazy effect on me. Gaaaaaahhh!

From another one of my frequent jaunts to cyberspace, I found out his email address. Three of them, in fact. I even know his wife's. I am toying with the idea of sending him (or his wife) emails. I fantasize sending emails of my undying love, or nasty ones telling him (or his wife) what an asshole he is, or anonymous ones pretending I'm someone else. You get the picture. Yes, I am indeed a scary person. So far, I haven't done any of that, and I hope not to. I'm damaged enough as it is, and though there are so many things I want to say to him, I know I should just leave him alone. I intend to keep it that way.

From yet another one of my internet stalking activities, I found the blog site of one of the trainers he hung out with when he was here. She has hundreds of pictures posted of their night outs together with their team, and it was all nice and friendly so it was no biggie. That is, until I came across the picture from hell. It showed him singing in an acoustic bar (He told me he doesn't sing unless he's drunk.), with an arm around her while she blushes shyly. I totally gagged. The picture (I would post it here but I don't want my site tainted by her in any way.) was taken on his last night here, and I find myself wondering, did he sleep with her too? Seriously, anyone will say that she's not even pretty. She has this annoying voice that just gets on your nerves, and she's a bitch and a half. What could he possibly see in her? Does she, or anybody, even know about me? Obviously not, I'm supposed to be his big secret, and I'm starting to think that I will stay that way.

The Internet is a goldmine, its power overwhelming. I can't imagine living without it. Who would've thought it would break my heart?

The Mickey Mouse Love Stories Club

I horrify myself on a regular basis. Today was no exception.

We Are Party People…NOT!

I partied last weekend. If you know me, then you'll know that's about as strange as a vegetarian dog. I don't party. I go to the beach. I watch movies, and have senseless, "intellectual" conversations with friends over coffee. I stay home and read, or have DVD marathons. I hardly ever drink. I'm quite boring. And weirdly enough, most of my friends are the same.

But party we did last Saturday. My friends D, T, N, and A all play in a band called Cold Transfer (Why am I not surprised?). They played their big debut gig on the local music scene in Handuraw's Banded event. Of course, the whole gang turned up to support the band and to hobnob with the new "celebrities". Not a bad turn out, with only a couple of absentees. We were the biggest and rowdiest bunch, and Cold Transfer was easily the most applauded band of the night. While the performance was nothing new to the rest of the band, it was my best friend, D's first performance, and even if he was all timid and shy, he showed off his voice remarkably well. I beamed like a proud momma.

Because most of us fancy ourselves as singers, regardless if we can carry a tune or not, we felt that we should all have our turn on the microphone too. So we headed to Pod5 and sang ourselves hoarse. I seriously need a new repertoire because people are starting to roll their eyes at my version of "You're So Vain". We each had a shot of tequila. Nobody really felt like drinking much that night. We got kicked out of Pod5 around 2AM. Nobody felt like going home (except D and J), and we needed to keep R company until 5AM for him to catch the first trip home (He lives in Carmen, imagine!), so we decided to check out Paseo. The place was alright, reminiscent of the old Courtyard, only so much bigger with more bars to choose from. There were even shops that sold clothes (Now I know where to go if the need arises for a new top at 3 in the morning, whoop-dee-doo!). E pointed out that the average age in that place had got to be 19-21. We all felt terribly old so we just sort of shuffled about, not really knowing where we were going. We eventually ended up in the middle of the dancefloor and have actually started dancing for about 2 minutes before all hell broke lose. An epic rambol was unfolding before our very eyes (screaming, pointing, and broken bottles, the whole nine yards). I, for some reason, had this nasty image in my head of stray bullets so I grabbed the first person I could (R) and headed for the exit. Finally out of harm's way, we re-grouped in the parking lot. T decided that he wanted coffee, but nobody wanted to go to IT Park (and for good reason!). We walked to the nearest coffee shop, which turned out to be closed so we backtracked and walked to a convenience store 5 blocks away, where T promptly fell asleep. At that point, we decided we had enough so we called it a night.

When I was on stalker mode looking for pictures of M, I looked into Friendster and Multiply pages of acquaintances who seemed to do nothing but party. I'd look in their photo albums and see the endless cam-whoring of party people in varying stages of drunkeness, grinding (Umm, do people still do that?) in the dancefloor, and eating sisig. I wonder about their lives, about why they put themselves out there night after night after night. To these people, we're probably old and boring, my friends and I. We can't even party right. But on a rare night like that when we're all together, in the beach, or a karaoke room, or a coffee shop, or even by the pond in front of our building, we can't be bothered to care. I mean, really, who wants to dance with strangers when you can laugh with friends?

I Fell In Love With A One Night Stand

Late last year, I was at the peak of my Latino/Caucasian men addiction that I didn't think I'd ever want to be with a Filipino ever again. Then I met M. He wasn't particularly remarkable. He was attractive and had an amazing body, but was not really remarkably handsome. With his moreno skin and average height, he could easily be overlooked. My friend, E, even nicknamed him "Kargador" because according to her, without the corporate get-up, he could easily pass for one. (But she's nasty that way and because she likes a guy we dubbed "Bulingit", her opinion doesn't count.) He was seemingly un-special. I don't even remember how or why he caught my eye. Maybe I was just bored. Maybe because he didn't look like he belonged here, despite his clearly being Filipino. Maybe my taste for clients was piqued. But catch my eye, he did. He had that brooding, mysterious air about him that never fails to catch my attention. Still, I wasn't seriously interested. It was just an itty-bitty crush.

At that time, I was dating a white guy online who was moving to Manila, and we were talking about the possibility of having a relationship. I eventually flew to Manila to be with N, who turned out to be the quintessential toxic bachelor, and was screwing more girls than I can count with one hand. So I came home with my ego a little bruised and my walk noticeably different (go figure!). Still, N and I continued dating from afar while I stewed on the fact that he was probably dating a dozen other girls. He eventually wanted to talk exclusivity but by then, it was too late.

I was seeing M more and more often. We got introduced, and what started as a harmless little crush, became a complete obsession. I wanted him. One night, one week, one month, it didn't matter. I was completely burning with desire that I even scared myself. I just wanted him. And I always have to get the guy that I want. I manipulate. I flirt. I bat my eyelashes. Whatever it takes, I always get the guy, one way or another. So I researched. I found out that he lives in New Jersey, is 32, going through a divorce, and has a 9-year-old lovechild. I knew where he was staying, what his schedule was, and what he likes to do. I had opportunities to say hello but I never did because he always looked like he was mad at something. Except for that time when we were introduced, we've never spoken a word to each other. Subtlety was never my strong point. I stalked him and made myself visible to him at every possible moment.

I eventually got a hold of his number. The first time I texted him, he was so aloof that I gave up. Still, I wanted him so bad. We'd lock eyes and though my friends told me otherwise, I knew somehow that he wanted me too. But I was tired and embarrassed, so I stopped texting him. Then I heard that he was leaving and being the crazy person that I am, I texted him again. This time he was so much nicer. He explained that it was against his company's* policy to fraternize with vendor employees. (Later on he would tell me that, by this time, he already found out it was me he was texting with.) For some reason, I was encouraged so I took a risk that I've never ever taken before in my entire life: I asked a man out. I asked him out. I figured I was better off knowing instead of wondering.

To make a long story short, we had drinks in an obscure little bar near the casino in his hotel. It was our first, real conversation but I felt like I've known him my whole life. We talked for hours. We found out that we liked a lot of the same books and the same music. We told stories about our families. We shared secrets. I told him about my past. He told me about his ex of seven years, the whore who cheated on him all the time. His marriage never came up. He wasn't wearing a ring and I didn't see any visible ring lines, so I assumed my source was mistaken about the divorce. He told me that a lot of people have been texting him and asking him out but he always refused, to the point that he was downright rude. But he said he couldn't say no to me because he wanted to go out with me since we were first introduced. He seemed perfect for me in every way that a man could be perfect for a woman. I was falling fast and I was falling hard. I knew then that if I had sex with him that night, I could ruin everything.

And I did screw up. I don't know how it happened. I remember we got kicked out of the bar because it was past closing time. I remember he grabbed me and held me close to him for a long time. I remember thinking that I should leave, that I should walk to the hotel's giant doors, and that I should catch a cab home. I remember ignoring the voices of reason screaming in my head as I rode up the elevator with him and walked the long corridor to his room. I remember his arms around me, his lips finding mine, and the magic that I thought I've lost forever. I remember all coherent thoughts leaving me while I reveled in his touch and his kiss. I knew then that I had lost. At that moment, I surrendered to him not just my body, but my heart and my soul.

I asked him if it was a one night thing the morning after and all he could say was he was leaving in a couple of days. I didn't know what to think. That night I texted him that I wanted to talk, my last desperate attempt at making sense of things, and he said we shouldn't be texting because "its not good". So I texted back and told him that I get it, that I understood that I was just the "girl he screwed to get over being screwed". I promised the secret was safe with me, and I said goodbye. I was prepared to move on because I knew that I screwed up, and the sooner I got over it, the better. It was supposed to be over. But then he called me after I sent that final message. He said I misunderstood things. He wants to know more of me and see me without the secrecy but he loves his job, and as long as I work for the company, we can never be together. He promised to call me when he comes back in May, and he hopes I would've left the company by then.

So now I am faced with the idea of choosing between a possible relationship with him and the job that I loathe but can't afford to leave. I don't even know if he meant what he said, or if it was just some lame attempt at being the good guy. I haven't heard from him since. He didn't even bother to say goodbye on his last day. I have to know that he's worth it before I take the plunge. Yet, I'm also afraid of being too cautious because if I stay with the company, I might lose the chance to be with him if he does keep his promise. I am so confused.

And the plot thickens. After further research, I've found out that he really is married. Is he really getting divorced, like what my source first told me? If so, why didn't he tell me?

I fell in love with a one night stand. Its damned near impossible to move past that. One night stands that become real relationships are the stuff of urban legends. And if that isn't enough, he's still very much married, and that makes me the filthy whore of a mistress. What a mess. I know I should let go but I can't. I am hopelessly and completely in love with M. People keep telling me to move on, that its over. Is it really? Because it certainly feels like it has just begun.

 *The company in question is different and far more strict than J's. 

The One That Got Away

Its been over a year since my last real, functioning relationship. That was J, a handsome Mexican-American I met when his company (our client) sent him to help us out with operations. He stayed in the Philippines for a little over 2 months. We were together for 4 months and 23 days until the distance (he lives in Tucson, AZ) finally drove us apart.

We had a beautiful time together. I was happiest with him. Even until now, nobody has given me that much happiness. Letting go of him was an ordeal that I almost didn't live through. Here are some posts from my old blog in MySpace [http://blog.myspace.com/irisgodd3ss] that I wrote as I was going through that painful time…

I've done so much thinking these past few days, more than I care to admit. I stopped dwelling on the good memories. Instead, I started really seeing the bad. How it started to go wrong. How he became the stranger that he is now. How he stopped caring about me.

There have been so many conflicting emotions for the past 11 days. I started out being numb and in a way, it was a comfort. I didn't cry. I couldn't cry. I prayed so hard that it will stay that way. But the numbness melted away and there was anger. Countless times I lashed out at him, at myself, at anybody who even dared mention his name. That, in a way, felt good too but it didn't last.

Then there was pain. It was constantly asking myself "why?". It was constantly getting the urge to call him just to hear his voice. It was constantly having to hear from him that he still loves me and misses me. The tears were endless, the slideshow of memories even more so. It was just so…painful.

The pain is still there every waking moment, even on the moments when I hover between consciousness and slumber. But there is also acceptance and clarity. I have stopped viewing the whole thing through rose-colored glasses. The magic is gone. Memories are just memories and there's no turning back. Reality bites but to deny it is foolish.

I look back and I'm not sorry it's over. I am thankful it happened, thankful that I had that Perfect Time with my Perfect Man. I have no regrets, really. We were happy. But things change and people change and I am learning to live with that.

There is still that sense of loss when I think about him. Sometimes the sadness is so great that I just hit rock bottom again. But each time I break through the surface gasping for air and I am just a little bit stronger, just a little bit wiser. Its not much but its a start.

I won't deny that my heart still belongs to him. There will be others but it probably won't be the same. For now, I'm done with love. And I'm done with him. [Breaking The Silence, May 29, 2006 ] 

It's official. I hate airports, specifically the Departure Area. Somehow, it's synonymous to loss, pain and heartbreak. You stand there and look around and you see people saying goodbye to family, friends and lovers. There are tears, hugs, kisses, promises to keep in touch and well wishes. It's probably the saddest place in the world.

I remember as a child I used to spend summer breaks in Manila with family. I remember Mum taking me and my sister to the airport and we'd cry the whole time until we had to board. It was just for a few weeks but it was still so sad. When summer was over, we'd cry with our cousins because we won't be seeing them for another year.

I remember when my parent's separation was final and my dad flew to Manila to start over. Daddy was going away and we couldn't stop hugging him. I remember he cried and said he loved us and he was sorry. I remember when my favorite aunt left to work in London and the entire family flocked to the airport to see her off, the endless rounds of hugs and the promises to send pictures and keep everyone updated which hardly ever happens nowadays.

I remember seeing N off to the airport everytime his work here was done and it was time to go back home to Manila, home to where his real goddess is. I settled for a hug and a kiss and a promise to see him when he gets back, while I fought back the tears.

Most of all, I remember J leaving. I remember how we held each other tight in the car on the way to the airport. I remember that even with all the frenzy of making sure all his things were in order, he still managed to hold me close. I remember how freely the tears flowed and how I didn't care what people thought. I remember how he fought back the tears because he is a man after all but at the very last moment he couldn't hold them back. I remember how his arms felt around me and how we held each other close. I remember his scent and how he whispered over and over that he loves me and that he'll be back for me. I remember that one last magical kiss. I remember getting into the car and watching him while it drove away until I couldn't see him anymore. If I had known that I was never going to hold him or kiss him or see him again, I would've held him tighter and kissed him deeper. I never would've let go.

Is there a place sadder than an airport's departure area? I don't think so. It's a place for goodbyes. It's a place where dreams end and reality begins. It's a place where love gets left behind, never to be found again. [Airports, May 30, 2006]

 You don't know how I hoped and prayed that you'll come back but you chose to break my heart all over again. You don't know what you turned your back on but it seems that you have forgotten all that we once were and all that we've been through together. You don't know how much you've hurt me these past few months when you promised me that you never will. You don't know what its like to try to live again when the ghosts of dead promises linger on. You don't know what its like holding my head up high while people looked at me with pity and talked about how I was just your little Philippine fling behind my back.

You don't know how it is to love somebody so completely that it consumes you and that person won't love you back. You don't know the sadness that comes with clarity. You don't know the tears behind the words each time we talk while I work hard to pretend that everything's alright. You don't know how I push my body to the limit each day to keep myself busy just so I don't spend any time pining after you.

You don't know how I know that I will never love anyone as much as I love you. You don't know how I can't be with anyone else because I keep finding faults, simply because they're not you, my perfect man, my pseudo-god. You don't know how hard I am working to find my way to where you are, no matter how impossible it is, just to see you again.

You don't know what happened why I became that stupid, pathetic person you turned your back on in a snap. You don't know the secret that changed me that I keep to myself no matter how heavy it is because if you knew, it would break your heart. You don't know how I'm protecting you from that pain so I suffer in silence on my own.

You don't know that I've been taking all the blame for what happened to us just so no one will think badly of you. You don't know that, cliched as it may sound, that your happiness means more to me than my own.

You don't know how I love you. But maybe, just maybe, one day you will understand. [Usted No Sabe, August 01, 2006]

 The thing I've been dreading has come at last. He has met somebody that he wants to be with. It was inevitable and I have been expecting it to some degree but it still came as a shock.

Surprisingly, the world did not end. I did not spontaneously combust and a meteor didn't wipe out the entire human race. And I didn't cry, not a single tear. It was almost painless. There was just this gaping hole in my heart and I just felt so empty, so hollow. The sadness is exquisite but there's also the peace of knowing that I can now move on too without guilt and without holding anything back.

It makes me proud that he was man enough to tell me himself instead of waiting for me to hear it elsewhere. He kept his promise and I am thankful. J is a good man and that at least explains why I loved him so much. He deserves someone who can make him happy. From what he told me about her, I'm a little apprehensive (and not because I'm being the psycho ex-girlfriend!) but I think he's old enough to figure things out on his own. Instinctively, I wanted to go over there (like I can!) and beat her up. But I'm tired of being evil and so now I'm just being supportive. Besides, she's twice my size (ok, so I'm not ready to be completely nice, big deal!).

As for me, the guy I kinda liked who I thought disappeared just miraculously reappeared with a perfectly plausible excuse. I think there might be something good here. We'll just have to wait and see.

I've been given an extra day off, which I totally deserve considering the crap they've been putting us through at work. I'm spending a weekend in a beach to catch some ME time in the middle of the typhoon season and I'm so excited. I initially planned on heading to Boracay but I decided to go somewhere more affordable, maybe Bohol or Malapasqua, so I can save up to go to Thailand or Australia on my birthday. I figure its time for me to focus on my wanderlust instead of the other kind of lust. It never brings me any good. Not that I'm complaining.

I'm babbling. I know, I need to get a life. I'm working on it. [Wander Girl, October 04, 2006]

 So you wonder why it means a lot to me to be friends with you, after all that's been said and done. Its because at one time not so long ago, I loved you with all my heart and even when its over, even when I've moved on, even when you've moved on, you will always be a part of me.

So you wonder why I care if you do things out of character, if you make decisions worthy of a lesser man. I care because you are my friend and because you have done so much for me.

So you wonder why I'm disappointed. We hated this very thing back in the days then you suddenly tell me you've always wanted to do it and now I find myself wondering what else had been a lie. I am disappointed because I know you are a thousand times better than that. Most of all, because you are a good person and I would hate to see that goodness wasted.

So you wonder why I bother. I wonder too. Maybe its because I appreciate the short time we were together more than any other. Maybe its my way of repaying you for everything you've ever done for me. Maybe I'm just trying to make a difference. But what I do know is: you would've done the same for me. [Of Weed and Cigarettes, November 01, 2006]

He is still with the girl that he told me about, S. She's a beautiful person. I don't know if they've kicked the weed habit. That's their business. One time, a couple of months ago, she messaged me out of nowhere asking me for advice because she suspected him of cheating on her with one of his girl friends. I, being the model ex-girlfriend, pacified her as best as I could. I'm glad to say they're happy and still going strong. We're all friends, and we keep in touch. They know I'm the biggest supporter of their relationship.

Sometimes, when I think about him and look back to how we were, I feel a sadness that's bitter-sweet. Its not pleasant, but its not unpleasant either. But that's very rare nowadays. I did love him, in the purest sense, without a reason or an agenda, and I know a little part of me will always love him. He could've been that one great love that old folks refer to, the one that always gets away. I don't know for sure. I like to think there's no limit in the number of times we can fall in love. I know I'm falling again. But that, my friends, is another story.

Wannabe

I want to be a writer. It just hit me one night. I could literally hear the "ting" of the light bulb turning on in my head, like one of those Looney Tune cartoons.

Its about time, too. I was beginning to think I was a lazy, no-good, directionless swine. I've been wondering about my lack of enthusiasm for work, any work. I don't hate my job, but I don't like it either. I'm grateful for my job, I really am. Its a pretty good job, especially since I will never have to take calls again for the rest of my life, and can go petiks for hours. It pays well, too. I get to pay bills, go on trips, go on binges, buy silly overpriced bikinis and coffee, and get myself pampered from head to toe in spas, so I can't complain.

But its not a vocation. I can't honestly say that its my calling to work in Quality Assurance in a call center. (Come to think of it, I don't know if working for a call center is a calling for anybody, but that's beside the point.) I literally have to drag my ass off to work everyday (or night), and I totally refuse to spend one minute more in the office than I absolutely have to (except when I'm on chika mode, but again, that's beside the point). If it weren't for my friends, and for my fat paycheck, I would've quit a long time ago (I actually tried. Twice.). But, the biggest reason why I'm still here is the fact that I don't really know or want anything else. I'm not particularly good at anything. I graduated with a degree in IT and promptly forgot everything I learned within a week. In fact, the only things I know I'm good at are speaking fluent English without an accent, and seducing inappropriate men. Somebody told me I should do something that I was passionate about, but I didn't have a passion for anything, except for travel (too short to be a flight attendant), the beach (I can't fish!), men, and ugh, sex. So, short of becoming a commercial sex worker, I didn't really have much of a choice, hence, the high-powered (gag!) call center career. And I am so unhappy!

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I wrote poetry as a child. As a teenager, I kept diaries so controversial that my mother read bits and pieces of my writing while flogging me with a broom handle. In college, I wrote in my journals, and for the past couple of years, I've been blogging. I've written passionate pieces about love, pain, tears, and heartbreak. I've written about broken dreams and broken promises. I've written about faith, hope, and my search for happy endings. I bare my soul shamelessly each time. I have been subjected to people's judgment, some of them downright hateful, but I'm not deterred. I have people telling me that I write beautifully, and that, really, is enough to spur me on. I write because I feel, because I cry, because I love. Writing has become second nature to me, and because of that, I have forgotten how passionate I was about it.

I want to be a writer. If I can be a writer, a real writer, I know I'll be perfectly happy for the rest of my life. How I can achieve that, I don't know. I've had no formal training in creative writing or journalism. I don't think it counts that I spent one semester as a Mass Communications major because I only took minor subjects (I was young and confused!). Most of the time I write about relationships and sex (yes, I do feel very Carrie Bradshaw-ish!) so, writing about current events and anything even remotely serious is out of the question. I want to be a writer, a professional, but I don't know how to be one. At least, not yet.

So for now, I write my blogs here in my little corner of cyberspace. This is actually just one of the many blogs that I'm keeping but I'm considering this my brainchild. I will be posting some old pieces that I've written, pieces that are close to my heart. Once again, I am baring my soul, and giving people a glimpse of my dysfunctional, if not screwed up, existence. Maybe here you'll be kinder.  After all, I'm just another girl blogging my way through the world.