Saturday, October 16, 2010

Cambiamento

The cold gush of air brought about by the rusty air condition unit of her dormitory made its way through the thin bars above the wooden door of her room. She was wrapped in that big red comforter as the darkness almost eats her restless and longing soul. If it weren't for the sound that punching the keys of the keypad of her old phone made, one would've thought that the room is empty. The sound provided her more than the company she needed for the blank afternoon; it was comfort too, at the same time.

Later that night he fetched her from the wallows of despair that have held her captive since she got her heart broken. She smiled as he gave her a tight hug and a kiss on the forehead. It's all some part of a script, she thought. I'm about to bid farewell to my grandeur with this person I barely know.

Knowing this person is just there.
Knowing this person won't commit.
Knowing that love doesn't have to exist.
Knowing that she won't get hurt at all costs.

I'm ready.

Sunday, October 03, 2010

A Letter to John Mayer

So before I start this crap, let me remind you that I am in no way doing this just so I can get John Mayer's attention nor anybody's attention. I just kinda thought of making one to you know, let my fuck-life-i-wasn't-able-to-watch-the-concert sorrow drown beneath words, instead of juvenile tears and about five hours of nothing but John Mayer's arousing voice. Mentally arousing, I mean.

Here it goes.
----------------------

Dear Mr. Mayer,

I thought of doing this while I was walking my way down to 7-Eleven, with a black menthol cig locked between my fore and middle finger, and my iPhone on my left hand, tapping the next song area with my big thumb to find something that will empathize with me, at least for the lonesome night. And then the first few strums and beats of Half of My Heart came through my green earphones, and consequently made its way to my junkie head. Instead of using my thumb to tap my way out of this song, I used it to press the lockscreen button. I placed my phone to the left front pocket of my jeans that made me feel sexy, and concentrated on my thoughts as the song approaches its chorus and I push the doors of 7-Eleven open.

Oh, half of my heart's got a grip on the situation
Half of my heart takes time

Today's a Wednesday, and you're coming on Friday to sing in front of screaming girls (and most likely homosexuals, too) who paid so much because a. you're a pretty boy, and/or b. you're damn funny. Yes, I do tend to make very hasty generalizations a lot, but that's because I know a damn lot too. I grab the plastic wrapper and open the door of that glass case where they store the buns and the hotdogs.

Half of my heart's got a right mind to tell you that
I can't keep loving you

The lyrics right there and then nailed through my system, and as an effect I placed the bun sliced-side down, which I of course only noticed when I grabbed the hotdog that I wanted and kept on shoving it into the bun. The old man right beside me looked at me and had this weird and funny expression on his face, as if I just crapped all over the place. I mussitated a quick sorry and fixed my sandwich up. I don't really know what the hell happened; it's as if there was a sudden glitch. Like I suddenly downgraded from a gigahertz to a kilohertz, and all because of two stupid lines. I made my way to the cashier as the second verse closes on yet another two lethal lines.

Lonely was the song I sang, 'til the day you came
Showing me a better way and all that my love can bring

Seriously, I don't know how the hell you can write lyrics that can be so darn meaningful, it almost fucking hurts everytime one hears it. This time, I'm the one who's hurting. And it's not even because of my former boyfriend. God, I've moved on ages from that.

I made my way out of the convenience store, now with a Big Gulp on my left hand and the right gripping the sandwich firmly. Why I am acting so absurdly is beyond my knowledge, and it's bad enough that I can't skip the rest of the song because my two hands are busy. I can't put an object somewhere for ten seconds without fearing that someone will take it. They don't call Manila crazy for nothing, you know.

You will hate that I never gave more to you than half of my heart
But I can't stop loving you

I can feel the soft bun wrapping itself to the hotdog as my grip tightens. Why the hell am I reacting so violently? Is it because I won't be able to watch your concert? I've loved you ever since I was in grade school, and your album Room for Squares stayed constantly inside my then music companion, the discman. I went through my awkward adolescent years listening to your songs and though I cannot say that Neon specifically helped me to cope up with the pubic hair appearing all over the place, it greatly improved my taste in music and in men. I'm not gonna go through the details, but you can contact me personally if you're that interested to know.

Is it because I'm stuck in this sick denial phase? I wish I know. How the hell do you even know, Mr. Mayer? I bet you don't know. It's sad that this is just a sickass world that leaves us with questions nobody can't answer. Unless..

Unless you would grab that chance to let it all in and find the answer.

But would you, Mr. Mayer? Nah, I don't think so. In fact, I don't even think that you can relate to me at all. I just thought of writing this letter to you because lately, I've been spending way too much time thinking what the fuck happened to that other half of my heart. Is it waiting for this other boy I am very very very much into, or is it still reserved for this boy that I've been loathing for the past few weeks? The stupid questions just pile up like trash for Christ's sake.

But hey, while I wait for that moment when you finally google your name and go through the thousands of pages and see this shit, I will light another cig and smoke my way out of this misery. I though that being morbidly obese won't give me man problems because no one would ever commit the gruesome mistake of even touching me, but once again, life proved me wrong. I hope it still does for the coming years. Things are being way too predictable already, like a boring sketch in Saturday Night Live.

Oh, and by the way, I commend you for deleting your twitter account. Though I found your tweets quite amusing as they were very witty, it was nice to know that there are still celebrities that aren't hungry for all that internet attention. That was very cool of you, Mr. Mayer.

I bid you goodbye, and thank you for the time. I'm sorry if this letter just revolved on the only thing that's bothering me right now. I'm pretty sure I bored you to death. And just like your song, this will all make perfect sense someday.

Someday,
Lorainne