July 6, 2002

LET ME do a Vanessa Carlton.

I would…


… gladly get a dozen shots every single day for the rest of my life even if needles terrify me…

… stop blogging for…err..a while…

… touch a snake, even wrap it around my neck…

… throw all my earrings down a pipe drain, pair after pair…

… swim in the disgusting waist-deep flood outside my house…

… give away all my precious shoes and spend the rest of my life in hole-y Spartans…

… avoid my manicurist…

... listen to Aqua, Vengaboys, Barry Manilow, Air Supply and Salbakuta nonstop...

… walk around Glorietta naked…

… play Frisbee with my Friends VCDs…

… sing in one of those videoke booths in the middle of a crowded mall…

… join any contest in any horrible noontime show…

… shave my head…

… start eating meat again…




... if it meant spending tonight in your arms.




July 5, 2002

FRIENDS don’t know what to make of my previous days’ entries.

Manuel: “You just need a drink.”
Gabby: “See, I told you this would happen. Karma.”
Ruth: “Frankly, I’m scared. I’m not used to seeing (or reading) you like this.”
JM: “Aww. Everything will be all right.”
J: “Hoy!! Ano ba!!”

I can almost see my friends tiptoeing around me, not knowing how to react. Because this is not the Pam they know. Because they’ve been used to me making idiots grovel and cry. Because while men get clingy, I remain indifferent. Because they don’t usually see me crying over some guy.

But he isn’t just some guy.

***

I USED to check the wedding announcements in newspapers for his picture. Or even just his name. Because knowing that he was about to be married would finally kill any hope I had left. I would finally be able to tell myself that he will never be more than the guy I let go. The one I lost.

But my inbox tells me otherwise.

***

ANOTHER e-mail.

I started bawling my eyes out at the café. Could have been embarrassing but I didn’t really care.

“You will always be my angel…soiled wings, broken halo and all…I’ll be here if you need me…to caress you and to heal your wounds…so that you can fly again…”

“Do you remember these words? ‘You have my heart…that’s all I can offer you right now…you can do whatever you want with it…’ Three years ago, I gave you my heart…I have no intention of asking for it… you still have it… and you can still do whatever you want with it…”

His words made me weep.

I’ve turned into a sap and a half.

He’s melted what the idiots have hardened.

***

MORE and more people I know are blogging. Ruthie predicts that this phenomenon will leave us with nothing to talk about.

Foreseen conversations:

Kathy: “Uy, alam niyo ba..” (Hey, guess what..)
Ruth: “Oo, nabasa ko na kagabi…” (Yeah, I read that last night.”)

Gabby: “O Ruth, ano nangyari sa party?” (Ruth, what happened at the party?)
Ruth: “Basahin mo na lang blog ko.” (Just read my blog.)

Just this afternoon, we took a joy ride (joy probably isn’t the best word because eight of us were crammed into Ruth’s sleek new baby and Kathy and Patricia ended up getting cramps) and were enthusiastically discussing a strange topic – wearing a bra at home.

I said, “I usually just wear a tanktop and undies at home.”

Then came a chorus of, “We know, we read it in your blog.”

At the same time, I’ve been talking to more bloggers lately. Just last night, I ICQd with Kid and Macy.

My two worlds are coming together.

***

I HATE how people think SMS has replaced all forms of proper communication.

Don’t text me looking for a job.

Don’t text marketing proposals to me.

Don’t expect me to drop everything and jump to attend your press con just because you texted me.

I don’t care about us being the text generation and all that bull – HAVE SOME RESPECT.

***

RECEIVED a touching e-mail.

“Even the ugliest of emotions become beautiful when you write them.”

Wow.

Thank you. I hope you find the courage to let other people into your soul.

***

IF I HAD known blogging would catch on as much as it already has, I would have chosen it as my thesis topic.

I can already imagine my defense. I’d be blabbing away about the wonders of blogging while the sure-to-be-stiff-and-ancient members of the panel stare with mouths open.

“Miss Pastor, explain the concept of blogging again.”

“Yes, and what is blogger?”

“And how does one blog?”

Again and again and again ‘til they get so sick and exasperated that they’ll give me a passing grade before pushing me out the door.