kung sa burger nga naman

There is really no difference at all. Awkward dates, drunken nights, lousy dinners, upset stomachs, disastrous break ups, petty quarrels, heartaches, bad hair days.

Like everyone else, you meet interesting people. You even make an effort to hook up with that person you find most interesting. In time, your effort pays off, you get to schedule a date.

Like a few, you get stood up sometimes. You end up aimlessly window-shopping in the mall. Someone eyes on you and you end up watching a movie with a cute guy with fake braces. You dismiss the idea of fake braces as you slowly make your way to hold his hands in the dimly-lighted cinema house. You thought the movie was full of crap so you decided to just make out while no one is looking (like you can be really sure about that.) When the movie ends, you pretend like nothing happened.

Like most of the insignificant people you’ve met, you will never see him again. And like most of the insignificant people you’ve met, you learn something from him: shave properly.

Contrary to being stood up, there are dates that would apparently materialize and would turn out just perfect. The food is gastronomically appetizing. The waitstaff is surprisingly accommodating. And you notice that your date is "in" to you. You tell him stories you’ve never told anyone. Even your friends didn’t know your first kiss with a man was when you were seven. You feel so comfortable with him. You think it’s a good start.

Dates eventually turn to sleepovers. Like a high school sophomore student, you introduce him to your mom as your bestfriend. Your mom wonders how many bestfriends a guy like his son could have. Your dad makes a passing comment about your you bestfriend and the bestfriends you’ve introduced before. Your dad finds it odd that apparently all your bestfriends are perfumed, well-dressed, drop-dead gorgeous.

You have told them over and over that the reason behind your bestfriends’ physical appeal is because they happen to be filthy rich. Your parents think it is a flimsy reason, dismissing altogether their doubts and suspicions about your sexual preference. They love their comfort zone: denial.

Your guy spends a day/night in your room. You show him your yearbook, your old photographs in time of memoriam. You show him photographs of your past lovers. You show him a big poster of that cute male Calvin Klein model. He enjoyed most when you showed him the torn but visually-delightful gay magazine you kept lock in your closet.

When he is asleep, you softy caress his cheek and you daydream about spending the rest of your life with him.

Weeks, days, and if you are lucky, years would pass. By that time, you have already enjoyed so many out of town trips together. You are now eager to ride half-filled buses. You love sleeping on his shoulder. He smiles at you as if saying, I will always be here, my love. A passenger takes a glance on you and thinks you were just tired and your "friend" was caring enough.

Like highschool life, like living with parents and shamelessly demanding for money, like trips on buses, eventually, it will end. Like anybody in a given relationship, you get hurt when it ends. You sleep all day just to forget about it. You over eat and listen to mushy love songs. You watch chick flick movies just to be entertained. You narrate to your friends the whole story and how your simple dream of being with someone was shattered right in front of you. You reread text messages as you relentlessly quote things your guy had told you. Your friends attentively listen, console you somehow, and even make fun of your swollen eyes cause by crying all day.

But there is one thing, one thing that you can’t do, or you may never have the guts to do. You can never approach your mom, and tell her, "I love him… But now he’s with another man."

http://www.fabuloush.com/pinklore_view.asp?contid=201&cat=Fab+Quotient

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 4th, 2006 at 8:16 pm and is filed under mag-drugs ka na anak, please?. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.