We’re too young to know what love is!
Little Manhattan made me think of who I am back then. The gooey, romanticized and much-forgotten puppy love was what the cute little movie narrates throughout its plot. It breathes everything that’s juvenile and precocious at the same time. Though I have to admit that its petty infatuated scenes somewhat made an impact of major irritation on me (like kids holding hands and kids kissing, what the fuck), I have nothing against the movie. It happens for a number of reasons, and we can’t blame those cute little kids for thinking about love: it’s part of growing up, anyway.
It made me remember myself way back fourth grade: I used to have a sleek, hair-gelled crowning glory with a seemingly stiff appearance - “even lizards can die once it jumps on your hair”, as my Dad puts it. I’m such a fat slob back then, though I’m pretty neat to look at but still a slob in my own little ways (I flunked Math back then, and that stigma fueled my hatred towards numbers).
I used to have this ultimate crush who happened to sit right next to me when I was in grade four, though I won’t make trouble by revealing her name here. She’s just this chinky-eyed girl who’s really slim, wears a sando-bra under her school uniform (I don’t know why that detail was very much vivid on my mind, lol) and smart and really sweet and all. Anyway, we were practically having this boyfriend-girlfriend thing way when we were in grade five: we used to hold hands on our way to the school cafeteria, and there we’ll eat together the way the Kristine-Jericho love team does it on Pangako Sa’Yo (which was rampant back then), though of course our sweetness still conforms with the school policies (we were in a Catholic school back then). Then I’ll play chess with some friends and she’ll cheer me up to do the right moves and pawn all those dimwits. Those kind of stuff, it makes you smile for a while even if it’s slightly distracting.
In short, we do what kids do when they assume that they’re in love or something like it.
There were a lot of contingencies and third parties with that puppy love relationship: I never thought that even my best friend would suddenly turn his back on me just because he wants to take that risky step of laying a finger on my ultimate crush. But it went out smoothly.
When I was in sixth grade, though, I suddenly felt like moving away from her. I can’t recall every scene or every bit of it, but I was suddenly moved by the saying that we kids “don’t really know what love means”. We might have assume that the holding-hands-while-walking thing is love, but it’s just puppy love. There’s a whole lot more out there, waiting for us on the big High School building.
So there. We’re definitely close to be engaged in a much more intimate relationship (but no sex, of course I am a well-bred blue-blooded boy back then) but I decided to stop courting her since well, there’s more to come. I don’t know - I’m just not ready to take the next step since I’m practically a newly-circumcised bastard (at fifth grade, that is) and she was on her way developing all the boobs and menstruation and all. I don’t give a damn about that: sex is at the least of my plans back then. It’s just that maybe we should just be friends with a past; friends who can flirt each other, friends who have this intense passion to hug or even kiss each other (I have no idea if she feels the same way towards me, but I don’t care). But we’re kids.
Like what Rosemary Telesco said on Little Manhattan, “I’m just twelve. I don’t even know what love is!”
Of course we graduated; she was even included on the Top 10 of the honors list.
After that, we virtually had no communication since she transferred to another school (due to financial problems, she told me). I was definitely miserable during those months but not to the point where I skip meals or cry day and night - just miserable. Lonely. It’s identical with how E.R Frank ended her teenage fiction “Friction” - the protagonist was lonely, just lonely, since her boyfriend-figure went away to an all-boys exclusive school and the next thing she felt, she wasn’t looking forward to school. There’s no point of returning to her school without him. Saaad.
I seldom text her since we don’t have things in common anyway and we don’t have anything to talk about. Though I saw her when I was in Third Year High on a nationwide school paper/journalism competition and she told me I looked older and better and slimmer than my almost-sumo wrestler figure back then. She was still beautiful, of course.
Six years after, she’s a part-time cashier at Wendy’s, according to my well-paid sources. I actually intended to talk about her in front of the cashier while ordering Frostee and burgers and fries for my friend and the cashier suddenly threw this sinister look on us (saying hey, you’re talking about my co-worker) while shouting our orders on the crew. It confirmed the news. But hey, there’s no big deal about it: she’s really a decent girl who wants to help her family and study at the same time, and it’s good to know she wasn’t even pregnant (though my well-paid sources confirmed that she have had relationships with boy 1, boy 2, boy 3 and an endless list of boys).
And here I am, writing a post about her, somehow making her bite her tongue and hopefully let her know that I’ve missed her while watching Little Manhattan on HBO.
Oh, I totally forgot that my liking towards her started when we were in second grade. I was her partner on some dance presentation (that’s a Janet Jackson song entitled Together Again).
This entry was written by , posted on July 24, 2008 at 9:00 pm, filed under Baaaack then, Films, IRLs, Sentemotional and tagged E.R Frank, Friction, Frostee, Janet Jackson, Little Manhattan, Pangako Sa'Yo, Rosemary Telesco, Together Again, Wendy's. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
Is rappelling a single or a double L?
It felt nice, really. It’s like, hey, I owned the world for minutes on that cliff! I could see the green pastures and cows and the tiny blocks of carabao-smelling buildings which happened to be UPLB. I could see Freedom Park and the hidden cameras deployed by the you-know-who. And the beheaded carabaos at the Carabao Park. And the Heritage Tower. And the Fertility tree bearing condoms like fruits after those puny little men who hurl their condoms somewhere around that tree just because. All I wish is a single Marlboro stick and I’d make a yoga position while smoking. On top of the mountain. Beautiful, just beautiful.
Okay, that was an exaggeration.
I just rappelled myself all the way from the second floor of Baker Hall. What. A. Loser.
But hey, that’s just a friggin’ test to measure our fear of heights (and whether or not some of my classmates have heart problems or something like it). I was a bit tense when I was on the edge of the floor. It’s just scary at first sight but it wasn’t that scary at all once you conquered your fear (I actually don’t have a fear of heights - I can ride the Space Shuttle, the one at Enchanted Kingdom, with both eyes wide open). It almost burned my gloves, but it’s just ecstatic after the landfall.
I should visit Sagada.
Or Mount Apo.
Or the Appalachian mountains. Or Yosemite!
Isn’t that nice to brag that hey I once rappelled and it felt great. Great. Too cliche to use that word but it’s the first thing that came out of my mind after doing it. Well, it’s nice to brag about it without admitting that you rappelled all your way to the bottom from a two-storey hall like Baker. But yeah, I did it and I even smiled on the camera (haven’t uploaded it yet). And then I did it for the second time and it was just amazing. Addictive. Something ten times better than what a marijuana user feels after all the coughing.
I love my P.E class - outdoor recreation’s just the coolest physical education class my ass has ever got into.
Now I’m nervous. Next week, the scheduled activity would be traversing. Traversing the river. With hooks and harnesses and me - the ever-brave me - crossing the river floating and flying on wires. Floating, dude. I’d rather do it blindfolded. No fucking way.
Oh, by the way, I just got the worst puking feeling a while ago on my 7 am class. One of my classmates delivered this phony speech in front of the class, and to think that she’s a girl and every movement she does was scripted, ugh. I just hate it. I felt so embarrassed for her. I really forced myself not to whisper something like “please sit the fucking down on your seat - I can’t bear the embarrassment anymore” on her ears.
That feeling of intense embarrassment for someone else, pretty much identical with what you guys might have felt over Janina San Miguel and her Nobel Peace Prize-winning answer, totally got on my nerves.
Life’s a drunkard’s mess of vomit, alcohol, and fun.
This entry was written by , posted on July 22, 2008 at 8:58 pm, filed under Life at UPLB, Stress ball narratives and tagged Appalachian, Baker Hall, Janina San Miguel, Mount Apo, Sagada, UPLB, Yosemite. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
I am henceforth known as the Lights Guy.
The lights guy?
It’s probably a lame reason that I named this site as “Menthol Guy” simply because I smoke Marlboro Menthol. Truth be told, it’s the worst name I’ve ever given to a blog (aside from nincompooped, but I liked it back then anyway). It lacks the impact (I don’t really include arrogance in that package - well it won’t make any difference), the wit-slash-humor and the wordplay as well (my friend liked that name seriouslie but it sounded phony to me).
The blog name was becoming more obsolete and pointless since last week, I started to smoke Marlboro Lights. Even the sari-sari store lady was bewildered when I bought a half-pack of Lights since it’s an age-old tradition for me to buy the greens instead of the golds. I have no idea why but it’s probably because of the scratchy feeling on my throat (which my wounded friend has told me based from his experience) after smoking Menthol like sandpapers chewed and trapped somewhere on my Adam’s Apple, hence the hoarse voice. I couldn’t care less if Menthol sticks can decrease sperm count or deflate the testicles or something even more catastrophic (shorter penis, no way). I just switched to Lights. That’s that.
I wasn’t blogging for a while (like, two days LOL) since I’ve been doing a lot of things these days. Aside from sweating my ass on the sofa watching some 80’s teenage movie (the title I have to find out) and National Geographic channel, I’ve been sleeping all day long. My body needed to recuperate from that five-hour review I did for a hundred-item long exam (half of it happened to be Enumeration, ftw) last Friday. But let’s just skip the details of the exam: it makes me sad and blue recounting all my surest answers since that’s virtually zero; it’s even pointless predicting your grade and I don’t care about that anyway.
Twelve hours pregnant
For the past twelve hours I took swigs of brandy, iced tea and drags of Lights, and I ate spicy Pancit Canton, siomai from the ever-famous Papu’s here in UPLB, the pork steak (with mushrooms and McCormick gravy) I cooked back home, a regular-sized can of corned beef, fried eggs, fried chickens and probably five to six cups of rice. All those shits rolling and churning on my stomach right now; it should have been a bolus right now.
Now I’m pregnant. Twelve-hours pregnant.
David meets David
It sounded like it’s the biggest deal on earth but I watched David Letterman’s Late Show yesterday night and he was interviewing David Sedaris. David meets David. It was all about his new book, ‘When you are Engulfed in Flames” which I bet would contain a lot of handsome dickery and out-and-out comedy clips of his life around Japan (correct me if I’m wrong, I haven’t read the book yet). I’ve only read his “Me Talk Pretty One Day“, which could verbally tickle you with all the funny and downright absurd stories of his life. It’s the kind of book where you don’t really care if you laugh at public or all by yourself at the farthest corner of your bed, since seriously speaking, it’s worth the laugh. And even if your housemate would see you smiling and laughing your lungs out for five minutes and barely breathing, you wouldn’t care.
I hate it when good books start to pile up on my MUST-BUY list to the point that I’m thinking of some legal way to get money. Like, loans? Loan for books. Meh, nevermind. E-books are there.
His way of writing’s nothing but amusing. Though I’ve read an article in the New York Times about Sedaris who allegedly was inventing/fabricating most of his experiences on the books he had published - but for me, it’s just bluff. Or even if it isn’t bluff, who cares? I don’t care if it’s true or not: I’m entertained, and for a self-satisfying and self-gratifying bookworm that I am, I wouldn’t give a damn researching about every nook and cranny of his book searching for flaws. No way.
You should visit my Flickr. Let’s be friends. I need contacts. :)
This entry was written by , posted on July 21, 2008 at 3:16 pm, filed under 2in1, Books, books, books, Gastrorgasmic, Life at UPLB and tagged David Letterman, David Sedaris, Lights, Me Talk Pretty One Day, Menthol, When You Are Engulfed in Flames. Leave a comment or view the discussion at the permalink.
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