Past Life

Plurk is was down, it’s raining, I’m home, and it’s Friday night. There you go. Four reasons why I’m here blogging *again*, breaking my record of sporadic posts, and on a Friday night no less. (Three blog posts in one week! Would you look at that!)

Confession: There are three things that give me manic depressive attacks on Friday nights: (1) Being stuck in the office; (2) Being stuck at home; (3) Being alone. Ergo, I usually make it a point to be out with friends on Friday nights, OR, if I must be by myself, I should be in some crowded place where I could burn moneysss (lol), i.e., shopping rediculously expensive stuff I don’t need, or splurging on overpriced dinner.

Like last Friday, when I spent two full hours at Shangrila after work, and had a grand live-now-pay-later time with my credit card. Or the Friday before that, when I walked about three blocks from the condo to Pearl drive just to get Starbucks coffee, and walked back taking all the wrong turns, exploring the village I live in, and experimenting where the unfamiliar streets would take me.

It’s weird how I often forget about the other days of the week and remember how I spend Friday nights. I’m starting to get worried about myself. Heh.

Tonight, for the record, I spent it blogging. And listening to Disney music, hoping that it would cure my Friday night sickness. And thinking of the many other things I want to blurt out on this space but can’t because I’m done being emo because I’m 25 years old and I have to blog my age, LOL.

Uhm-kay. 30 minutes left before Friday night ends. I think I should walk.

Here’s a superdelayed thank you post, for Karlo Pineda, who, not only encapsulated my Dad’s memories into a beautiful poem, but took also the opportunity to have it published for all to see. :)

Sometime March of this year, Karlo’s very first draft was posted on my multiply account, a mere comment on that photo from that multiply album I put up during Daddy’s first death anniversary. Without really knowing my Dad, and just by looking at the photos I uploaded in multiply, Karlo wrote a poem I wish I had the gift to write myself. It was beautiful. And needless to say, it made me cry buckets of tears.

Last week, Karlo (with Camz in tow) made me cry again with this lovely surprise.

The July 2008 issue of Philippine Graphic

..with my Dad’s memory, printed on page 44 :)

It’s one thing to have read the poem from the comments section of my multiply account, another thing to have seen it splashed across the poetry section of a magazine — preserved in print forever.

What can I say? I’m honored to have received something intricately crafted by a brilliant poet. But even more so, honored to have a father who lived a life worthy to inspire someone to write something so beautiful. I will forever treasure this masterpiece. Thank you, Karlo.

P.S. You and Camz are still, and will always be, my most favorite couple. I’m counting on you guys. I need my regular dose of inspiration. Stay in love. ;)

After the jump: Karlo’s poem, From the Sky to the Kite, in memory of my Dad.

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(Truth Thursday on a Friday: Here’s what I really want to say.. *ehem*)

Love has been defined countless of ways, and to add my own version is a fear I guess I’ll never overcome. I mean, take it from a girl who thinks that “love sucks” is probably the most profound thing she’s ever blogged about love. Get the picture?

So I’m simply quoting a classic, because I actually think it’s true: Love hurts. No matter how you look at it, it hurts, and if it doesn’t for you yet, it soon will.

I mean, look:

Must remain superhero.

Must choose social reputation.

Must choose loyalty.

Must remain friend.

Fine, the last part is just ME. There’s no romance between Harry and Hermione, I know right, but oh how I wish there is! :)

And fine, it’s no fair that I used fictional characters to prove my point. Then again, this needs no exhibits. Love does hurt. Love without pain, or sacrifice, is not love at all. Ultimately, when it starts to hurt, that’s when love is most real. Correct me if I’m wrong, I’m not an expert at this. But with love, IMHO, ending up together is (probably) not the most important thing.

So hey, it’s me, love blogging over coffee break, and loving the bittersweet taste of my coffee that has gone cold.

(In fairness, blogging about love is more enjoyable to me than bloggging about food. Then again, it must be the rain.)

Also, you think I should start working on my bitterness?