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| Another Sad Story...; mga guys tlga.. | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Aug 5 2006, 01:58 AM (240 Views) | |
*TyNn*
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Aug 5 2006, 01:58 AM Post #1 |
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Looking for something../gg
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MY PLACE TODAY, I will attend an execution: my own. I will watch it with both eyes open and i will not cry. I will not break down just because the man I have loved since forever will marry someone else. I will watch him promise himself to a woman who will never lovr him like i have. I will watch them bind themselves to a vow I should have taken. I have loved Oliver almost all my life. I have known him since I save his six-year-old hide from a bully named Ricardo who wanted to rid him of his two yellowed front teeth. I was five at the time, but having grown with a five older brother and a hellion of a sister, "Totoy Cardo" was a piece of cake. Oliver was so overcome with embarassment at having a girl to protect his scrawny neck taht from that time on he made it a point to be the rescuer, not the rescued. As time passed, muscles filled out this lanky frame and those teo front teeth began to sparkle. He combs his hair and he takes a bath daily now. In short, he has become a fine specimen of manhood. The best part is, he lived up to his promise: he became my self-appointed guardian (well, I don't know if tahts the best or worst part). He was just always there, sticking to me like glue. It used to drive me nuts taht he never let me out of his sight. When I was 12, I ran from the infirmary on my way home. I had found out i the most humiliating way that I had become a woman: there was a big red stain on the back portion of my skirt. The jeers and the taunts followed me through the school corridors. Oliver dashed after me and offered to accompany me home. I declined, of course. He seemed to understand my discomfiture and promised to drop later with the things i left in school. When i reached homes I was told taht I needed to jump three times on the stairs (which i did) and to wash my face with my blood( which i didnt do). Oliver dropped by in the afternoon, sporting a black eye and a bruise on his arm. When I asked him what happened, he said he had walked into a closed door.I believed him. But a few days later, minus the dysmenorrhea, I found out taht Oliver got into fisticuffs because some guy made a disgusting remark about me. Nobody had ever fought for me befire that. And whey you're 12 and discussing in class how King Arthur and fairest of them all, Lancelot, fought for Guinevere's love, tou tend to get ideas. I loved Oliver then. When we were in high school and i found out that the school's heartthrob and one of my mostardent suitors, Richard, was involved with a bustier girl, it was to Oliver that i ran. When i didnt graduate as valedictorian and i got so drunk, it was Oliver who took me home. He didnt even mind that i barfed all over his dad's car (w/c he borrowed w/out permission). When i decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When i lost my mom in a car accident, he took care of everything. Whem my dad followed my mom less tahn a year later after a heart attack, he was there again. By this time he was an appendage of my life. He used to check out the guys I came to know.Nobody dared to get serious with me--not when Oliver had a black belt. I didnt know how to define our relationship. I didnt know what we were. We definitely were more than friends, better even that best friends. It was like we were a couple, but formally not one. We did all the things that couples did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got too hot. Since we never defined what we menat for each other, we never said "I love you" or whatever serous couple told each other. As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my princecaroused and sowed wild oats, but still had the energy to monitor my movements. I didnt mind. After all, I was so sure we'd end up together. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince myself taht he loved me (what else could it be?). Little did I know taht love doesn't conquer all, it only conquers the weak. I didnt think that he'd be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant as the same night they met at a party. I didnt think he;d be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he had given me lecture on safe sex. And i didnt think he'd be so stupid as to marry the girl. But maybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears. What could i do?Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea then. Dont blame me; he was the one who enrolled me ina self-defense course. But i did not feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousy excuse of a man?I could not believe it! I wanted nothing more than to rum to him and beg him to wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take me some place where we didnt know anybody. No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happned but since i flunkes in the School for Martyrs. I couldnt, for the life of me pretend, it didnt happen. I couldnt pretend he didnt hurt me. I couldn't pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way was before. We didnt talk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I ducked into corners whenever i would see him. I woudnt take his calls. I wouldnt see him. And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living. Hate and I became good friends. "God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them," somebody once wrote. I didnt want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair. I know a thousand and one clinches taht say this can be a blessing and that i should be thankful.But thankful is the last thing I'm feeling rright now. I've always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break, those who mend and those who are broken thmeselves. Before this hit me , I assumed taht i belonged to the first or second category. Now I know I'm in the third-- so hurt and broken up inside. My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you can do about the pain when it gives you a silly grin except grin right back. All i could manage was a wry smile, a killer headache and worst hangover the day before his wedding. Evidence of taht is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on my hair. Frankly I dont want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying, retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated to the broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I have bathe and prepare and put on that peach ( it's not even my color) gown. I'm not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am i doing it for the bride, my younger sister, Sandra, who needs me. I'm doing it for my unborn niece who has the great fortune of having me as her aunt. Call me stupid, but I've always known my place. If it isn't beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isnt behind my sister, who will take his name, wear his ring and bear him child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so taht she will know both of our love....
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![]() I think about you all the time,But I don't need the same.It's lonely where you are Come back down,And I won't tell 'em..Your name | |
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*TyNn*



