A Girl You Should Date

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.
Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.
Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

– Rosemarie Urquico –

a day in the life.

He sits dangerously close to the edge, leering and peeking and wanting to know what's down there. He turns to his friend, sitting just a few meters away. "Should we do this?" He asks thoughtfully, kicking his feet back and forth.

The friend stares at him, unsure. "Are the guys ready?"

They both look back and see a line of other creatures, similar like them, all two dozens of them. Stretching, bunny hopping, buzzing with excitement, getting ready to make another free fall.

"We wait for the cue," the friend decides solemnly with a nod. He agrees silently and relaxes, slouching in his seat. As usual, he gets the regular feeling of guilt as he looks down again. But what could he do? It was his job; it has always been. I promise you'll feel much better when I'm done, he whispers. This may hurt, but you'll be relieved afterwards. He has long stopped finding out the cause; all he needs to do is make a thousand silent apologies each day.

Suddenly, a jerking movement lurches him forward and he grips the edges fearfully. His eyes widen and he looks at his friend, who grins back at him. "Ready?"

"Race you to the finish line," he says with a wicked smile. For a while his smile falters when he hears the familiar sound of something breaking in the distance- the infamous signal. He squeezes his eyes shut. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, he keeps repeating. I know it hurts. But you'll be fine. I promise you. Everything will be alright. With the mantra echoing in his lips, he counts to three and let himself go.

Further, further down. Down the smooth surface. He feels the whoosh of air, the feeling of complete freedom, as he freefalls to the ground. He glances beside him and sees his partner racing and passing him by. Behind him he can hear his friends jumping down,shouting joyfully. What an ironic contrast to the heart-breaking sound of wailing somewhere out there far, far away. He doesn't need to look, but he knows that some of his friends had disappeared mid-air to a land of nothingness, vanishing into thin air with just a swipe of hand. That's normal- out of twenty four, usually only two or four of them survive.

He lands safely down and feels the familiar feeling of scattering away. He quickly reassembles himself and makes a brave decision to glance up. The sight always squeezes his heart.

I'm sorry, he wants to scream. I'm sorry you have to go through this but I need you to trust me. My friends and I are here to make you feel better which you will. I promise you, you will.

Sometimes he cannot stand his job. Sometimes he doesn't want to fall; but it's the default system installed in him that forces him to. Unable to look up anymore, he tears his eyes away.

Sometimes he wants to know her. He wants to let her know how angry he is at the person who forces him jump down. But most of all, more than anything else, he wishes that the next time he jumps, it will be for a completely different reason for her.

The thought calms him down. He stands up straight and walks back to the end of the line, queuing behind his friends to climb up again. In the queue, an officer is passing out the assignment paper. "OK, what's next for me?" He asks, desperately hoping to hear some good news.

"A farewell." The officer shrugs and moves down the line.

 The words are like gunshots to his ears as the worst eight-letter words he ever encounters sinks him into despair. He can take fights. People yelling in anger, hurling hurtful comments at each other. Words so full of venom he shivers when he hears it. He can even handle breakups.

But not a farewell.

Not that infamous bittersweet feeling that squeezes the air out of your lungs the minute the other person walks away, the minute you hold them and realize you won't even feel their comforting presence anymore the next day. Not that feeling when the memories and images flash like film rolls in your mind knowing that things will never be the same. Not  the contraction in the chest.  The feeling of losing something and having that thing taken away that leaves you gasping for air frantically, because you just realize the thing that usually calms you down is the one whose engine just roared off your driveway. For good. 

Gloomily he clutches his assignment in hand and moves an inch forward in the queue. He has a sinking feeling in his stomach that he would require a hell more than just two dozens friends for this.

*** End ***

"I'll be alright, as long as it matters." - Gin Blossoms

"When your mind is a mess

So is mine, I cant sleep 

Cause it hurts when I think

My thoughts aren't at peace

With the plans that we make

Chances we take, they're

Not yours and not mine

There's waves that can break

All the words that we say

And the words that we mean

Words can fall short

Can't see the unseen

Cause the world is awake

For somebody's sake now, please close your eyes woman

Please get some sleep

And know that if I knew

All of the answers I would

Not hold them from you'd

Know all the things that i'd know

We told each other, there is no other way

Well too much silence can be misleading,

You're drifting I can hear it in the way that your breathing

We don't really need to find reason

Cause out the same door that it came well its leaving its leaving

Leaving like a day that's done and part of a season

Resolve is just a concept that's as dead as the leaves

But at least we can sleep, its all that we need

When we wake we will find,

Our minds will be free to go to sleep."

THIS.

"The idea that any two people together could spend an entire lifetime of being “happily ever after,” never once asking themselves serious, uncomfortable questions or taking some time in their respective corners to breathe, seems more terrifying to me than the idea of a stormy relationship that doesn’t work out."


"..Who knows how many people we’ve thrown away for relatively minor offenses, the lists we’ve crafted which could fill libraries of all the qualities we won’t compromise on, all in that promise we’ve been told all our lives that “we shouldn’t settle.” Perhaps “settling” in some way is an essential part of falling in love — as that person equally “settles” for you, knowing that no one is perfect but that this particular person is someone for whom you want to try to be better."



Somewhere, 90% of female population feel like they've been slapped in the face. 

this one goes out to you.

This one goes out to the countless times people are shaking their head in disbelief when it comes to our thirteen years of friendship. For the countless laughter we shared in your house, the mindless conversations that run from lunchtime to the middle of the night, from the serious talks to the ones we could never remember five minutes after, thanks to the hyena-like laughter that follows once we realize how random and ridiculous it all was. For understanding each other's jokes, which are sometimes out of this world. For our countless share of Soho sandwiches and milk teas. For our family vacations and afternoon strolls eating Wafflestops and dipping our feet into the hotel swimming pool at night talking about college like a couple of smartasses, as if we'd had any clue.

This one goes out to the many times I sneaked to your house to grab my  favorite drink--which is always in stock in your fridge--even when you were not around. To the countless times you bullied me to no end, to the many pranks and surprises you pulled tirelessly (the one on my 17th birthday party being the best; but let's not go there now.) to the fact that my 'explosive', expressive personality clashes terribly with your reserved, insensitive one.

This post is for you. For being the only person in the whole freaking universe who said: ''Oh. Terus?" when I, dramatically (as you may say), stressed the importance of my lung illness to you the other day. For continuing to shop casually at the flea market as if nothing happened when I practically yelled at the top of my lungs in pain because I just ate something ridiculously spicy with my hand then scratched my eyes with it. For practically rolling your eyes every time I came to you with the same dilemma, the same confusion, for dismissing my dramatic flair in life with your sarcastic wit. For staring back at me with that dead, expression-less face when I giddily told you about my latest crush and every detail about our date I could possibly blurt out and then cutting me off mid-sentence saying, "Yeah....he's a jerk, you just don't know it yet." For that unforgettable moment when I screamed, scared shitless because you just managed to bully me into getting into a full-loop roller coaster that you know terrifies me to death and there was nothing I could do about it asIwasalreadytrappedunderthebelt.

This  is for our fights. For yelling at you for your stupidity for not listening to me and for being such a protective friend that I went over the line. For the year we drifted apart. For our misunderstandings, our selfishness, our ego (thank God you broke up with that one, so technically I WIN.) ( Not that anyone's counting. Anyways). This post goes out to you and your astounding ability to mentally slap me in the face whenever I wasn't thinking clear. To deliver harsh advises, uncensored, as an effort to knock some sense into my head when I lived in denial. For never thinking twice to say what's on your mind, with no sugarcoating whatsoever, which makes you stand out from any other person I know. For just sitting there  offering your shoulders and arms when I exploded in tears during my breakups, my battles, my lowest points....and  for never, not even once, saying 'I told you so' despite the many times the term perfectly fits.

You're living a million miles away from where I am right now, working your ass off to reach your ultimate dream, which I'm insanely proud of and I will never be tired in reminding you of. Here's to more uncontrollable laughter, public embarrassment, pleasant surprises, heart-to-heart talks in your room, the infamous iPod shuffle game that you came up with to lift my ugly moods. Here's to that day, thirteen years ago, when I approached you like a clueless, happy-go-lucky elementary school kid tapping your shoulder, ready to make a new friend, and with a huge friendly grin on my face, said, "Hi! My name is xxx. I think your brother is best friends with my sister! What's your name??" And all you did was stare back at me with that trademark expressionless face, turned, and walked away.

The only wish from me would be for you to stay exactly the way you are. As my best guy friend in the whole world with freakishly absurd, creative brain and unpredictable word vomit who always supports me in whatever I do and whom I admire for never giving a fck about what other people say. I wish you an unlimited, uncomplicated happiness, and may you finally meet that one person who deserves to see the real you and your awesomeness. Here's to more insane stories I'll hear from Paris, to more twisted tales of our love lives, to whatever's next, to being on our way to reach our dream goals. Here's to more unexpected roller coaster rides I look forward to share with you.

This one goes out to you, for knowing myself better than I do.

Happy 25th Birthday, Kae.

Love,
me

p.s: I'll get you back one day, for all those pranks and surprises. I swear.  

"we've got tonight."

I am no good with happiness.


It's something you fumble with, like a slick ball you're trying to juggle in your hand but keeps trying to slide. Like something you try to hold on to with both hands instead of one; like a thin rope you try to walk on with your arms outstretched as to not to fall down the cliff. Over the years you've learned over and over again how to keep this balance so you'll know what to expect at the end of the road.You learned about it so much that you're getting exceptionally good at mastering to disguise the word in your head.


This word, this nine-letter word that everyone has different definitions of, is becoming somewhat dangerous to your well-being. It lurks in the corner, hides under the bed, waits outside your room in the dark. Out of nowhere it would sneak up on you, out in full force and knocking all senses out of your system, lowering and eventually demolishing anything that used to stand between perfect happiness and common sense--including pride.  And I'm not talking about simple happiness e.g. seeing your best friend or getting your hands on that Ben & Jerry's pint or buying Neil Gaiman's latest book or watching a teen flick on a lazy Sunday.  I'm talking about a hurricane, a monster storm of explosive rush of feelings so pleasant and shocking it's ridiculous. The force is so powerful and magnetic that it leaves you breathless yearning for more. It peels off the most inner layers of you one by one, undressing it very slowly and subtly to the point where you didn't even know existed. Happiness can make you do things you never thought you'd do or deliver words you thought you'd never say.  Because deep down, deep down you know just how quick it is for you to just let yourself go; to go from the phase of exchanging glances and conversations, to insisting ignorance, and how you start curling up a smile which turns to a grin and eventually a laughter; the flutter in your chest and the tingles in your spine; the crazy anticipation and the scary, nerve-wrecking realization that you need to admit how unsuccessful you've been in kicking that person out of your mind.


That's how cruel happiness can be.


It's not that you don't believe in this word; in all of your 25 years of living, you're lucky enough to have experienced a few full-blown happiness from time to time. You do believe it with all your heart and you have faith that it will happen to you again one day; you just realize you need to start to choose it wisely. Permitting yourself for happiness to a certain limit. After the heart realizes what it's done, then the head follows suit, making you panic and torn between taking a million steps backward or finally lifting your chin up and walking forward. 


As a result, you're back to phase one; to try to curl up that smile; to cut off your laughter short; to calm the flutter of expectation in your chest; to avert your gaze from the person when you realize just how content you feel just by being in their presence. Literally biting your lip so whatever rush of words that's coming up next won't ruin anything. And you just keep on thinking; word vomit rolling around in your brain, thinking just how much you dislike happiness for making you hold on to a certain thought; how it digs the deepest layer in you and stir something inside you awake; how smiling and laughing freely makes you scared shitless; how you wish there aren't so many factors affecting your mood; how relieved you feel when you've crossed that thin rope with both arms outstretched in perfect balance despite the many voices, the many opinions shouting to your ear left and right that can easily change your perception. 


But most of all, most of all, you can't help wondering how all of this, however bothering and toxic and cruel and dangerous it may be, has actually made you sit down for the past half an hour to dedicate an entire blog post just to rant on and on and on about how you've been trying to avoid the nine-letter word....and failing miserably.