Connect the dots.
March 1, 2010
she knows all my favourite spots,
and tonight we will connect the dots …
It was so simple being with you. A gentle laugh in my ear, a casual touch on the skin of my wrist, a look that lingers long enough on my lips. It all begins with an inside joke with our last names. Tan-Ong. Tanong. In Tagalog, it means question. But there is never any question. There is never any awkwardness between us even after everything. Even after I allowed myself to be open and vulnerable in front of you, over you, beneath you… Do you know what you are doing to me? You make me trust like never before. You smile, and I know your body is mine, yet your eyes tell me your heart is not.
But it doesn’t matter. All I need is your lips and your hands, and everything is right in my world.
Oh yes, and your kinky tricks, too ; )
An Afternoon {part one}
February 28, 2010
An Afternoon
I only know one thing and it is how to want. It’s when a mass hysteria happens while you and I are far, far away.
- Armi Millare
. . .
She was reaching a hand up to one of the cabinets in a quick and graceful effort to get the small canister of—what else?—tea, and the hem of the loose shirt she wore lifted up as she slightly raised herself on the tips of her toes. She ambled about the kitchen, her movements almost perfunctory as she prepared her 2:30 p.m. cup, but the bright glow of the afternoon sun spilling on the parquet floor from the window seemed to suggest that an iced drink would be a better choice. A feather-light breeze came by and gently blew a few wayward strands of dark blonde hair falling from the loose knot on the back of her head. Her body had concurred that it was indeed a warm day, and it was evident in how she messily did her hair up to cool off her neck. Yet another part of her body craved the hot drink, told her that she must have tea now, that her taste buds wanted to be soothed, but in reality it was her nerves that needed the soothing.
There was a little jumpiness in her step as she walked around the kitchen, and only one person was savvy enough to notice this minor flaw in her armour. But that person, being the only other occupant of the flat, was still asleep in the bedroom, she considered, and so there was no need for her to hide behind her practised charade of indifference. Not yet.
She peered behind her at the entryway, and her mind was eased at its emptiness for the time being. She could just imagine the scenario that would occur later on: boot-clad footsteps echoing in the hall, leather slapping on skin, keys jangling against one another, like the sounds of a jailer surveying the prisoner. Or was it the mistress looking over her captive? Either way she felt trapped. She thought she had been freed long ago with her own departure from Fuka. Yet here she was, back at her cage, and oddly her heart had found it achingly familiar, as if it belonged here.
Not even a thousand miles could make her forget. Not even five years. Not even her current engagement. Not even the fact that everything she had hoped to happen was happening now. But she didn’t want it like this, with her body sated and her heart left hungry.
Maybe it was time for her to be the one to leave again, she pondered over for the millionth time. God knows how she was being so obviously desperate.
Really, it’s fine. I’m just making tea as usual. Is it okay if I borrow your shirt? At least the smell of you will accompany me while you go off to wherever the hell you’re going. You can leave me here if you want, in your apartment, and maybe I’ll wait for you to get back, hoping for another fuck. If you want, that is. This is what you want, right?
Shizuru wanted to scream it in her face.
She only sighed heavily instead.
She strained her bare legs as she reached up to return the tea canister back in its place and her shirt rode up again. There was a brief flash of red lace stark against the fair skin of her butt cheek. It was more of an afterthought when she suddenly tugged the hem of the shirt down in an unexpected show of modesty, as if someone was watching.
She only wished Natsuki was actually watching her right now.
She sipped from the steaming cup carelessly, the liquid scalding her tongue as anticipated, like a reprimand that made her eyes glisten. Natsuki would never watch you as you fuss around her kitchen half naked. She would never just take the cup from your hands, stand between your knees and press close to you as you sit on the counter, wearing her shirt, and just hold your face and kiss you. No, she would never kiss you like that, but she’d throw you on the bed and have her way with you in a heartbeat.
Isn’t that much better?
The patches of light on the polished wood had moved outside the kitchen and stretched across the carpeted floor of the living room. The sun was starting to die now, its white rays turning yellow with time like the stains on the edges of a well-loved book. A cooler breeze swept into the window and carried with it the dust and smoke of progress, of change.
Dry bursts of laughter bubbled up in Shizuru’s chest, quickly turning into suppressed sobs, and the waning sky turned dark when she closed her eyes.
She’s finally here…
… yet she has brought me nothing from her long absence. My Muse used to dance around me in unsuppressed jubilation, but now she just sits there and stares expectantly at me.
Love (?) Confession #1: Hey [Brian], I’m ready to be heartbroken. Are you?
February 26, 2010When people ask me, ‘Guys or girls? Which do you prefer more?’, I give them a sore little frown for asking such a tedious question. Can’t I appreciate both sexes? I can admit to be more attracted to girls physically but relationship-wise, there are some aspects that girls can’t handle very well. That is applicable to guys as well, but it would be a long discussion if I had to elaborate.
I’m not a lesbian. I’m not straight. And I’m not confused, either. I’m bi, and that’s that. It somehow fits my capricious personality. That, or I just want the best of both worlds. I’m really not ashamed of it, I just like the idea of not limiting myself to guys, especially when I meet a girl whom I find attractive. I don’t have to think, whoa this is a girl, you can’t be attracted to her. But why the hell not? If she’s flirting back, it’s obviously a sign that she isn’t ashamed of it too.
Some think that bisexuality is gross. One of them would be my best friend Ashley who is a diehard lesbian. I should know, since I had a serious relationship with her once. But now, I find myself in a relationship with a guy who is as full of contradictions as Ashley. When I started dating my current boyfriend Brian, Baby A naturally disapproved that I re-switched teams. Though I do understand, since I was with her before I dated Brian. She asks me the usual questions like, ‘What do you see in him? All I see is a human canvas wasted on with doodles. Is his dick covered in tattoos too?‘ She wasn’t even trying to be funny, although her sarcasm can be misleading at times. Hell, everything about her is misleading. If I would relate her to a fictional character, it would have to be Nao Yuuki of Mai-Hime. She (my friend) enjoys leading guys on and killing their ego right after like a black widow, and it’s so easy since she is one of the hottest girls I’ve ever known. After she reels them in, she goes ‘I’m sorry, but I’m into girls.’ I keep asking her if she’s a man-hater, but she just rolls her eyes and laughs. Still, even if she is a cold-hearted bitch, she’s one of the few people who understands me. She may think my being bi is gross, but she loves my stinking guts all the same. Hate the person’s flaw, but not the person herself. This is the reason I was so into her, aside from the fact that she’s total eye-candy of course. And so in time, she learned to accept Brian after much prodding.
While I would prefer not to answer Ashley’s second question, her first one is something I can talk about. What do I see in Brian? I see a guy who cares enough for me to wake me up in the morning when I have volleyball practise, even when he’s not supposed to be up at 4AM. I see a guy who looks so tough on the outside with his tattoos, his piercings, and the pissed off expression peretually etched on his face, only to see him crying at my doorstep because his dad is a wanker. I see a guy who is misunderstood by everyone who claims to know him, thinking that he’s a jerk, but the only truth in that is how he’s a jerk when people he doesn’t even know claim to know him, knowing nothing at all. I’ve never let his appearance or his supposed “image” stop me from getting closer to him.
Admittedly, I’m only speaking as a friend. I care about him so much, but I can’t say that I’m in love with him, since I would be unecessarily romanticising if I did. I think we partly gave in to the attraction because people kept telling us that we look good together. And now I can’t help but feel that our relationship is contrived. It’s like we only made it exclusive just to avoid the term “friends with benefits” which I absolutely hate (it’s not cool, period). With that sentiment, I’m beginning to feel like I’m stuck in the middle of staying together without ever being in love, or breaking up and possibly ruining a beautiful friendship. My boy is so fragile about things like that. My heart is fucking breaking just thinking about it.
He doesn’t know about this blog, so he won’t be reading my Love(?) confession. Although part of me wish he did.
Angry Confession #1: The woes of my ignorant younger self.
February 23, 2010I’m reposting this from my old blog. This was written when I was 17. What an angry child I was.
I know I have completely outdone myself this time. A few years ago i would have thrown a fit and rebelled against my parents’ wishes. I would have yelled my head off with protest. Bene, sto molto lunatico. heh. Anyway, what I’m talking about is my frustration with the school and course my parents chose for me. And this time, I asked them nicely, gave them a formal letter (because I’m a coward). And they…well, let’s just say I didn’t have to wait for a response in letter form.
Heck what is the point of this country’s democracy, a vox populi, if I am living under a dictatorial, even dogmatic, roof? The course I have now is a far cry from the one that I would have chosen and despite that, I still have grades that are pretty okay (which is all I can ever manage given my course that I practically had to grit my teeth and got it over with). I may have a bit of freedom partying and drinking til I drop in God knows where, but I would really rather not do any of those things if only I was doing what I love, i.e. having the course that I wanted. Some people wouldn’t be doing as well as I am though. I mean, would you do something you didn’t like? Would you eat meat if your were vegan? Of course not. Most people don’t even have the decency to be ashamed if they didn’t at least pass a few subjects, just because they hated their course. But I do, since I’m too concerned of what people might think if I failed. And so I did at least pass all my subjects, just because. But after a while (a year to be exact), my jaw (and my pride) got numb with all that gritting and bearing and pretty soon I started to be apathetic towards people’s opinions. Hey, my parents were apathetic towards mine too, weren’t they? So i started going back to my old high school routine of coming home very early in the morning even on weekdays. A little tipsy, to say the least. But so what, [mum]? I go to that damned school for free, even without [your] help. Four years of praiseworthy marks and a “Student Council President” stamped on my high school record got me a scholarship. I just saved [you] a fortune on what supposedly would be my tuition for the school I so badly want to attend. But it’s okay, you can go and continue to trek the world and shop everyday at the most chic fashion houses, as is your job supposedly. It’s okay, really! Sarcasm aside, I have to admit that I’m acting very selfishly. But I can’t help it, especially when I see that my parents are more than capable to send me to virtually any school. They simply don’t want to. Okay, fair enough. But what about the Hayabusa in the garage that my dad rarely ever drives? Can’t we just sell that and give the proceeds to a good cause? Keep the SUVs, that sportbike is enough to fund four years of grad school. And couldn’t we just send Gianfranco and Miguela to normal co-ed schools? Save that enormous fortune of their collective tuitions, or better yet, save their developing personalities from imminent identity crisis! Look at what happened to me after going to an all-girls high school. I’m hopelessly bisexual, even my boyfriend knows it. Well, there’s nothing wrong with the possibility of my younger siblings turning gay, but really, what’s the point of secluding them to the limited environment of single-gender schools? Okay, i’m straying off the point.The nitty-gritty of it all is that my parents are so impractical. To think my dad is Chinese! What my parents told me was the most eloquent string of words I have ever heard in my life. When as politely as I could, approached and inquired them to look into other schools I could possibly attend to other than the one they picked for me, they stated (although they said this with a little more potty-mouth in their respective languages) that I was an emotionally stunted, intellectually repressed, self-absorbed youth that cares more about listening to hip music and wearing cool clothes than what is happening in the world. Hmm. I think I better not broach the subject with them again. I honestly fear the wrath of the Cursing Italian Mother. God, how I want to smack my younger self in the head. Excessive use of parenthesis. Unforgivable! Oh well. No matter. I’m just happy I have moved on from this angsty phase. I love my Mum and Dad. Seriously.
