24 April 2006
runaway fashionista
okay, i am not claiming to be fashionable--such things should come from the beholder, right? (now's your turn to say that i actually am fashionable. kidding!) i am simply fumafashion.anyways, so i wrote and loaded the casa clemente entry, which i did in such a hurry because the sheer perfection of everyone inside the casa was overwhelming me and driving me away from it out of sheer shame. i proceeded to have coffee with missy and louis and eventually with ler. in seattle's best katipunan branch, i spilled the story behind this latest lash out. and then, right there, it was conceived that i was not going to sleep at casa clemente.
darkness fell. worlds crumbled and hearts broke. i was extremely hesitant to pursue said course of action. this tantativeness only lasted until i got back home, ate scandalous amount of kare-kare and talked to ler on the phone.
the gravity of the situation: i wanted to take out my stash of wine and whack them on the wall--the image of greenish shards of glass flying all over my room, all over me, excited me. the red wine splattering on my oversized shirt and my sheets and on the wall, dribbling down like blood offered relief. but wine is wine is wine and it was not something to be wasted.
so i settled on a very sturdy shoebox and started whacking it against the white wall by my bed while screaming and bawling like a kid.
ler was still trying to inject both humor and logic to our conversation. i was just losing my mind there, on the other end of the line. until i've realized that the box was leaving black marks on my wall. there a moment of silence.
black marks. on my wall. black marks on my wall.
i heard honking--louis had arrived to pick me up (we were supposed to play tennis). instead of scouring to get my racket, i began to pull out clothes from my closet--shirts, two pairs of pants, accessories and a pair of black shoes. i grabbed the bag i bring to work and stuffed random things into it--including my car keys. (if i am leaving, they should have a hard time moving my car.)
***
we were at the ayala heights park. since i was not in the right shape (or mind) to play tennis--which at the onset they were packaging to me as "stress reliever"--missy and louis settled on jogging around. i was left lying on the slide, totally indulging myself with drama, listening to my playlist--bring me down by rivermaya, interstate love song by stp, that theme of "one tree hill," tori amos's verion of landslide, googoo dolls's i'm still here.
the sobfest happened on the road and therefore i was already midly sedated. i was cradled on the slight incline, my arms limping on the side.
through the foliage, i saw a shooting star that disappeared before it even touched the horizon. the chilly wind blew against my face like a ghost trying to make physical contact. around, the playground rides squeaked in slow, forced motion.
***
after stuffing my face with delicious food at louis's, we drank bailey's in their balcony--the only place in his house where i was permited to smoke. perhaps because of the supposed meteor shower a couple of days prior, another shooting star appeared and it disappeared before i could come up with a wish. i stumbled for words--for things to ask for.
my mom asked me through text message if i was okay and if i was sure i wasn't coming home. "i forgot my razor," i replied. and then i realized that i did not really feel like wearing the clothes i had brought and that i did not want to go to work the following day in any of it.
so i didn't.
***
just now, ler, called me to tell about a harrowing experience he will probably write about in his own online journal. to me, to the person listening, it was actually a funny story. but then i remembered about yesterday and on hindsight, i realized that things are only funny after they've past. it's a real shame because i can only imagine how different the world could be if only humor assters itself sooner.
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