THE SONG I INITIALLY LOVE BUT WHEN OGIE ALCASID SANG IT ON SOP IM NOW STARTING TO HATE

Im not really a fan of Mariah Carey, in fact, I often ridicule her. But when David Cook of American Idol sang this, I was struck immediately. Maybe because it totally captured what Im feeling right now.


We were as one, babe
For a moment in time
And it seemed everlasting
That you would always be mine
Now you want to be free
So I'll let you fly
'Cause I know in my heart, babe
Our love will never die
No

You'll always be a part of me
I'm part of you indefinitely
Ooh, don't you know you can't escape me
Ooh darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby
And we'll linger on
Time can't erase a feeling this strong
No way you're never gonna shake me
Ooh darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby

I ain't gonna cry, no
And I won't beg you to stay
If you're determined to leave girl

But inevitably, you'll be back again

'Cause you know in your heart, babe

Our love will never end

No


You'll always be a part of me
I'm part of you indefinitely
Boy, don't you know you can't escape me
Ooh darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby
And we'll linger on
Time can't erase a feeling this strong
No way you're never gonna shake me
Ooh darling, 'cause you'll always be my baby


I know that you'll be back, boy
When your days and your nights get a little bit colder ooohhh
(I know that) you'll be right back, baby
Oh baby, believe me
It's only a matter of time
Time

CLEARING

And just like that, it's all over.

I always write, especially whenever Im upset. So please don't zero in on my blog.

FYI, those issues I raised before are just minor irritations and problems. The initial intention of the blog was just to CLEAR things up and hopefully solve them.

But you bailed on us. I asked you three simple questions, you didn't even respond. Oh Im sorry, you did, with silence.

When you told me what happened in Wensha was somewhat intentional, my heart turned immediately into a boulder. It was unfair, really, to think we both agree that if one of us falls out of love, he'd talk. For the last two weeks, you told me you've been feeling that way, and you let it all culminate with a lousy massage. Now that's pretty amazing.

When your long-overdue apology came, I accepted it. But don't expect things to be as normal, because, you're just unfair and mean. You waited for something like this to happen, so you could easily get your way out? You could have told me the moment it bothered you! I am not that difficult to talk with.

I am not mad. In fact, I just want to get this over with ASAP. Im a positive person, I look into the brighter side. I am not melodramatic. I hate soap operas. I forgive you.

But please, JUST GIVE ME THAT SPACE. Stop reaching out, we're already civil, leave it at that.

Now we're taking our own separate ways, I just hope we both get pretty nice apartments ASAP. The air inside is pretty exhausting and asphyxiating. The kitchen, in fact is too hot for me I can't stand it.

Goodbye.

Thanks for more than two years of happiness, I suppose. Well, for me, it was.

Good luck...

QUESTIONS, QUESTIONS, QUESTIONS...

I know we both agree to tell it when it has finally happened, but last night, the only thing that popped into my head was the question, Do you still love me?

We openly declare to be civil and diplomatic if one ever falls out of love, or if one suddenly sleeps with other people. It is easier or more human, we say, because it's within the boundaries of human decency. But last night was pretty odd. I can't even seem to know where to start.

Do I have to ask you that question?
Do we have to venture into that dangerous waters?
Do I have to start talking?
Do you feel a rift building up between us?
Do you notice that we are fighting and arguing more often now than before?

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Have you ever been tired of us making faulty decisions and thinking about the same old problems everytime?
Have you ever yearned for something better and less complicated?
Have you ever thought of getting some space to think?
Have you got that realization that there is something wrong at least?

?

Whenever I ask how your massage was, I only wanted to know if you enjoyed it. I do not want to know if you did it with the masseur.

That is too much to handle -- the fact that you'd rather do it with a stranger than with me, after days of being away in Boracay, and broadcasting to the world how you missed and felt sorry for me, and to think I am so-called your partner --who by the way waited for you, and did not stop thinking of you. The partner who you didn't even inform about how you lost your phones etc. The partner who cared to cook for you and tried consoling you the moment you arrived, despite all your whinings. The man who is simply your partner.

That is just too crap.

And it fucking hurts.

A PECULIAR AND ALARMING SENSE OF INDIFFERENCE AND AMBIGUITY OVER A COMPLETELY INDESCRIBEABLE WEEKEND

I've noticed it just now, that everytime I feel down, confused or blue, I blog. And it somehow alarms me, for blogging may be one sign of yet another doom.

When you told me what happened in the massage place, how you did it with the masseur, I wasn't bothered for a few seconds. When it all dawned on me, I felt a fraction of something is going completely wrong.

I just had a crappy birthday weekend. I'm not really big on birthdays, call me selfish or evil, but for me, birthdays are purely symbolic and mechanical. Yes, it commemorates the day of your existence, but to realize it annually and to throw a considerable amount of effort, money and talent to celebrate it with friends, is rubbish. I have nothing against celebrations, or attending birthday parties but isn't it ridiculous that we only celebrate our life during that particular day of the year? Why can't we appreciate it everyday, and celebrate each day with our loved ones and friends? Why just that symbolic and predictable extravaganza?

My weekend turned out to be boring and crappy. The occasional gym visits are not all satisfying. Working out with complete strangers who only think of their appearance is not what I envisioned my long weekend to be. To make matters worse, the boredom of solitary confinement inside a Makati condo exhausts all your energy. Thank goodness I have books.

I do understand that you must work. That your work necessitates you to revel in Boracay, I do appreciate and support that. But to forget to check on me, once in while, through SMS is unforgivable. Talk about unlimited texting or less than 1 peso messages, to see if I'm still breathing; not to mention the fact that we both have phone lines. It is not a big deal actually, for you have already trained me on that. In fact, I'm slowly beginning to adapt the same practice. For the first 2 days, I understood it, because it was when you were at the busiest. Come the next couple of days, when you've already finished your event, and had all the time to at least call me. Im not really asking for an hourly update, just a simple sentence of you being fine/having fun is enough for me.

Blame it on the boredom, or the birthday perhaps, but it has bothered me that you didn't even bother.

I know all these came to an abrupt end when you lost all your valuables during the last night of your stay. It may be a bit selfish, yet again on my part, but did it ever cross your mind to inform me of what happened? No. I had to bother Charms just to get through you. Of course, she told me of your loss. But you see, it didn't appear so nice to have me as the last person to know.

When you arrived, I didn't know how to react. Should I feel sorry for your loss? Should I feel happy that you're home at last? Should I feel indignant about your utter lack of empathy during the weekend? Should I be an investigator and have you retell everything that happened in Boracay? Should I feel cordial and cheer you up?Or should I just shut up and cook for you? Much as I wanted to do everything and to absolutely console you, I opted to do the last, for you have already complained and whined about your bodyaches, colds, cough and all those little things that drove me away.

I wanted to spend the whole night with you. I wanted to at least be of help, now that you're in misery. I wanted to talk to you, more than anything else, because that has been deprived from me for the last few days. I just want to be with you. But that easily became Middle Earth.

You wanted a massage.

Annoyed and not wanting to blow things up, I easily gave in.

And then you told me what happened.

When everything was absorbed by my neurons, words had difficulty jumping out of my tongue. Things have started to pile up, and even old issues that have slumbered eons ago began to growl.

And now Im writing this entry. Although Vatican has crossed out limbo in its dictionary, I feel the exact word has consumed me, and I'm all flying to Italy to beat up those cardinals for completely discarding the word, when in fact, limbo is where I am now.