There are times when I seriously consider that I'm going to have a very terrible nervous breakdown soon.

Just this morning, I totally lost it with Zac and Tom when they took one bite from the mamon and the sausage they were eating and after scrunching their face from the taste, they just chucked the food in the garbage. I was furious at them and took them to one corner and told them that there are children out there who are dying of starvation. It doesn't give them any right to waste food. I wanted to let them know how heartbreaking it is to see the kids I see everyday who knock on David's door to have a sandwich and a glass of clean water. Every day, the number of these kids get bigger. We started with one and now there are at least a dozen coming in everyday to ask for a bite to eat.

We don't have the heart to turn them away. Where will they go? How will they eat? They've started talking to us and opened up about the true harshness they experience everyday - domestic violence on their mother and themselves, the sheer number of siblings they have with no money coming in, their childhood ripped from them as soon as they were born. So, everyday, we let them come. We let them sit at our daybed, watch some cartoons and we feed them.

I can't stand it. What the hell are we doing?! What is the government doing? What are these so called "caring" church leaders doing? This is getting too deep into my skin that it's affecting me way too much. I wanted my kids to be aware but I never wanted to bite their heads off. It isn't their fault after all. They are the lucky ones born into this kind of a lifestyle. True, we don't have millions nor do we have corporations or companies but we eat what we want when we want it, we take vacations and we have a comfortable cool room at night to sleep in. That is more than luxurious enough for those kids we see everyday.

I need your help. I need you to do something to change the world. If our leaders don't care, then we should. If they're going to wait for red tape and bureaucracy to make things happen, I say fuck that. YOU CAN DO SOMETHING. YOU CAN DO IT NOW.

It's all about more money for us so we can buy stuff we really don't need but would render us cool with our friends. Trust me, if you need cool and expensive gadgets to impress your friends, you've got fucked up friends. Get a new set of friends. It's all about more, more and more for us. For those kids who we feed everyday, it's about "making it through one more day". Surely, at age 5, you shouldn't be exposed to that.

MAKE THAT CHANGE. START NOW. It's easy. Just open your eyes to what you really see and what you can really do. Feed a child on the street. Give someone a hug. Smile. Sincerely ask about how someone is and genuinely listen. Love your children. Kiss your parents. Say I love you and mean it.

I admit, I haven't been a good friend lately and I haven't been in touch with certain people that I have considered to be very important to me. I have no excuse, I have no alibis and apparently, I have no more friends either. LOL!

Someone once said that friendships, especially those created online (where there's no tangibility) is fleeting and is never permanent. Inasmuch as I'd like to deny it, that's the truth. I guess I'm just a little hurt that even when I thought it to be something special, it really wasn't. Queen of denial, that's me. Cue the applause.

Recently, I found some hilarity in the fact that most people who never gave me the freaking time of day now wants to be my friend just because they saw me on TV or something. That's not how it works. Your recognition of me on the boob tube is not definitive of friendship. Friendship is about me holding your hand and talking to you when you need some talking to; friendship is about you coming over to my place and slapping some sense into me when I'm thinking of doing something stupid. Friendship is about sharing a piece of me that I never share with anyone else.

Recently too, I think I may have lost some friends. Or at least I thought they were my friends. It's quite sad because I really considered them very special to me. But one cannot force another to reciprocate the feelings - be it love or friendship.

I'll be here. I'll still be your friend if you want me.

Author JD Salinger dies at age 91.

I read Catcher in the Rye when I was in High School, courtesy of a boyfriend who connected with Holden's character.

Another loss for the literary world...

(Fred Gobin, Aaliyah Parcs, Jean Marc and me - Manila Trip 2001)

I met Jean Marc in the summer of 1996. He came up to me asking for the address of a good techno bar, this was after he asked me to play a song (I was spinning some records for the bar) that was sang by Whitney Houston. Naturally, I looked at him like he had an extra head on top of his shoulders. He asked me out on a date and I refused. He asked me everyday for a week until I figured, if I say yes, he'll probably leave me alone.

Our first date was a disaster. I got too drunk and he held my hair back as I puked in his bathroom. I thought that would be the last I would see him. I was wrong... We dated some more and then some more until it was a year into the "dating".

I remember he almost beat up this other French dude who thought I was a prostitute. I thought we were going to get banned in Giraffe (Yes children, that's how old I am. I used to go to a hot bar called Giraffe)

I remember we had dinner at Streetlife (Again, yes...that's how old I am, now shut it) and he looked at me and said "You don't talk much..." I laughed and responded that I actually do but I found no reason to blabber on about mundane things. He said he wanted to hear me talk, to hear my thoughts and opinions about life. Nobody asked me that before. He told me that he'd love to see Paris through my eyes. I think it was then that he captured me.

Our romantic relationship was tumultuous and it ended...three times to be exact. (We tried to make it work but it seems we're better off as best friends) but our friendship was strong and it withstood a divorce (from him), a pending annulment (from me), a lot of work issues, dating other people drama, deaths and lives.

He took care of me - as that is how he was built. He took care of everyone even if he needed to be looked after as well. He would sacrifice his own needs and wants to take care of yours. To him, you are important and he will make sure you know it and feel it.

He was full of life! You can't help but love life when you were around him. It didn't matter that you had the shittiest day in the entire history of shitty days. He would make you laugh and see life from a better perspective. He always believed in silver linings.

He was a wonderful wonderful man. I miss him so much...

Jean Marc, wherever you are, I promise I won't forget all the things you've taught me and I promise to be all the things you wanted me to be: A strong woman; someone who will always know and demand her worth. I will never forget, ever...I promise.

There are a lot of things that I hate about goodbyes. For one, I really do have abandonment issues. Most people laugh when I say this, just like how they laugh when I tell them I'm not pretty or that I'm morbidly afraid of clowns and mascots. Funny, when I tell the truth, most people take it with laughter.

I've realized that the reason why I don't keep a lot of friends (and I mean TRUE friends that I can count using one hand) is because I'm too chicken to let them go.

This week, at the start of the naught, I had to say goodbye to a friend and I did not like it one bit.

Sure, it's a normal part of life, it's part of growing up and all that blah blah blah. It doesn't change the fact that I still don't like it. I especially don't like the way that he exited the world. It isn't right, it isn't fair and I'm pretty sure it wasn't how he wanted to go either.

***

Goodbye dear friend. Sabi mo pupunta tayo doon...nagmadali ka naman...

It's the intimacy that kills her. It's the tenderness that does her in. She'd rather be manhandled and mishandled than to be handled like she's something fragile - something delicate, something that's worth something. She's more used to degradation.

But when she's caressed, cared for and touched, she unravels herself and comes undone only to spring back more tightly wound than before.

He was leaning on the door jamb when Amelia came out of the bathroom. He smiled and looked at her appreciatively.

"What's the occasion?"

She turned around and smiled at him. "You like?"

He motioned for her to turn around with his finger. She obliged with a small giggle. "That is a very beautiful dress. I like it very much."

"Thanks. I bought it for you."

"Why?" He frowned a bit.

"Because I want to look good for you, silly. Is there any other reason?"

"Amelia..."

"Oh! I put dinner in the oven. I've got to check it out lest it burns." She walked past him, ignoring his attempt at a rebuke.

He chuckled as he followed her. "Nobody uses the word 'lest' anymore."

"Which is such a shame, really. It's a nice word." She called out from over her shoulder.

"Amelia..." He called her gently. It was the tone that set her warning bells off in her head. "Baby..." He used baby. She's in trouble now.

Amelia looked at him with pleading eyes. "Can we do this some other time? Please?"

"Amelia, we keep on ignoring this - we have been postponing it for months now. It has to stop."

"Why? Why should it stop?"

He sighed. "Because it's not good for you. Because it's wrong..."

Tears started falling. Angry tears. Bitter tears. Desperate tears. "Who gets to dictate what's good for me? Shouldn't I be the best judge of that? How is this wrong? I'm happy, Leone, HAPPY! Is my happiness wrong?"

"You know that's not what I mean." He stepped closer to her space.

She sat down and buried her face in her hands. "Don't I deserve to be happy?"

He knelt in front of her. "Of course you do. You deserve every bit of happiness in this world but not like this Baby. Not like this. Not with me."

She couldn't stop the tears now. "Why not you? You're the one that I want..."

"You have to let me go, Amelia."

She knelt to face him, touching his face, kissing him but it felt he had already slipped away.

"I know, Leone. I know." She took in a crushed breath. "I know you're not real but I don't want to let you go because you're the closest thing I've ever had to love and happiness and if I let you go and be normal, I'll go back to being unloved. I'd rather be called insane and happy than normal and miserable."

But he was already gone. She had already let him go.

She sank into herself and let go of the torrents inside her.

What happens to a lover when the love is over? When books loaned are lost or forgotten, the CDs are burned, scratched and broken, the gifts returned or thrown away with such disdain? What gets passed on to the next lover? What gets kept in a box under the bed? What gets filed away for future reference?

A relationship is a long line of gifts given in selves to feed the ego: Here's a secret about me, nobody knows this but me and you now, this is my favorite song/place/book. It's a self sacrificial offering to a god or goddess that may or may not reciprocate. Most people won't understand what a relationship actually is, that's why it fails in marvelous proportions. That's why relationships that meant so much hurt the most when it ends - because we lose a part of ourselves that we can never get back. If the break up wasn't painful, there was no sharing of self.

But one would argue that relationships should be based on affection, love even. It's not. All relationships start with lust. Lust introduces you to love, like a set up your best friend arranged. It's frightening and exciting. When lust is over, love comes in and the sacrifice starts. At the end, it's about reciprocal comfort.

But what if there's nothing left to give anymore? Would that be the certain demise of love for you? Would that mean that love has abandoned you and you're no longer fit to be called a lover, for anyone? Is it prudent to advise those who would like to fall into the orbit of love to never give anything but to just take? Should you let other people fill the gaps that you've created?

It's those spaces that kill me; the questions that give birth to even more questions. The answers will never come though, they never do...

No matter what we say or how we act, the truth is, every woman wants to feel beautiful. It doesn’t matter if she’s the reigning Miss Universe or the queen of the wallflowers – every single woman craves for it.

Beautiful - like the word means something. It’s such a useless and fictitious word that only means something when said in the right tone in an opportune moment to get particular results. Beautiful means nothing and it also means everything.

In sex, you’re beautiful. That’s why it doesn’t matter who you have it with; when you’re desperate enough, the only thing that matters is that you have it. When he’s got his hands on your face, his tongue down your throat, his breath on your skin, staring at you with eyes that can break hymens in two seconds flat, you feel a bit beautiful.

When he moans and gasps your name in time to the beat of his hips slamming into you, when his chest rubs against your breasts and his hands grip your thighs to go deeper, you feel like a goddess.

When you’ve got him in between your legs and he’s saying words he doesn’t mean, you take it all in because it makes you beautiful. You take it because you know he’s going to take it all back later. You give it all up for now. You give him a piece of you and you give in with closed eyes and an open mouth, knowing you'll just both regret it later.

You're a ghost
in the middle of
everything I do.
Lost in my field
of vision but found
in every movement I make.
And I find myself
falling for you
twice as fast
and twice as hard
and I know
you can
never see me
as anything
more than
how you do
right now.

A lot of things can be said about me - most of them unpleasant, some of them lies and the rest are just a partial semblance of truth. I've been judged, stereotyped and peppered with so many labels that I've grown tired of trying to peel them off. What's the point in trying to prove myself when we all know that you and I will still remain as strangers even after all the bloody revelations have happened?

I am what you think I am. All of the worst things you can think of and more. I am your evil nightmare - the stalker, the liar, the slut, the whore and the irresponsible individual out to ruin your life. I am your worst mistake, your biggest regret, the force that makes you cringe and cower out of shame every single time you think we've been associated in some way, shape or form. I am the humiliation you sweep under the covers of your unmade bed, the dirtiest secret you keep under your rug, the sharpest knife you'd only cling to when all else fails.

I am the most interesting person you've ever met. You listen to my experiences and wish that you had done the same things when you had a chance. I am your envy - the little green monster you'd love to quash because at the back of your consciousness, you know I don't deserve to have all these things that you think are so great. I am your own personal laugh track, your captive audience, your very own fan club.

I am your plausible deniability. I am your denial. I am your admittance, your savior, your salvation. I am the one person who would stand up to you and for you. I am your bad influence, the reason why you sin and do all the things that you do that would merit you a one way ticket to a special place in hell. I am the one that holds you back; the one that tells you you've had enough and you should stop. I am your designated driver. I am your responsibility. I am your exact contrast - seven for seven.

I am your soul mate; the one person you wish you've met before you've married. I am your fantasy; the one you fantasize to when you're jerking off. I am your poster girl, your cover girl, your centerfold. I am your mother, your child, your goddess, your slave, the devil incarnate.

I am a scared little girl seeking for any kind of parental approval. I am a victim, a perpetrator, a criminal, a suspect. I am promiscuous, reserved, wild and frigid. I am exotic, unusual, weird and hilarious.

I am everything you want me to be. I am everything you wish you were. I am everything you're not. I am not who you think I am. I'm confusing and that's actually a good thing.

Don't tell me you know exactly who I am because to tell you the honest to goodness truth - I don't even have a clue of who I am.

She knew this was coming; she's seen it from a thousand miles away.

He touched her face as he said the words, as if he's trying to make the blow a little bearable.

"It's not that I'm incapable of loving. It's just that I can't love you. You're not the one. I'm sorry..."

He leaves on a Tuesday afternoon in June, just as Summer was about to end. He left with a tattered Pablo Neruda book, a stolen kiss and a bag full of memories. He leaves her with a promise he'll never keep, a broken heart and tears of infinite bitterness.

She wonders if her body is all she can give him; that the only comfort she can offer is purely physical - the pillows of her breast, the brush of her hands and fingers, the heat of her kisses and the tightness of her cunt.

It seems like fucking was the only way to say hello and goodbye.

She counts her days with little accidents she experiences before they meet again: a cut from the paper she was handling, a trip down the steps, a bump under the table. It was as if her clumsiness was a sign of his impending arrival in her life; as if all these small bruises, cuts and scars were her early warning devices. Maybe, she thinks, maybe if she bleeds, he'll stay

I've always hated talking about money. For me, it's so classless to talk about it. I don't see the fascination in discussing how much you're getting in a year, what benefits, what you're doing with it and all that. For me, money is just a theory - a concept and it's pure evil.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not shunning money. I recognize the need for it. If I didn't have any then my children would not survive. However, I don't make it the center of my world.

I don't need your money. I have my own - I make my own and I have enough of it, thank you very much. So, for you to insinuate that I'm just after your money is an insult. However, you crossed the threshold when you implied that I might even steal your wallet while you're asleep. Wow...that's awesome, really. That's pure talent right there. You've managed to imply that I'm a gold digging kleptomanic whore in one conversation. Awesome.

You're so consumed with money that you're going to miss what's really being offered - what treasure is being given to you.

That...is what angers me; it frustrates me. It breaks my heart.

My lips
have lost
all feelings
and when you
kiss me hard
I can't tell
if you're
doing it
because you so
desperately
want me to feel it
or you're trying
to convince
yourself
that you
still love me.

I know you
have grown tired
of me
and that finally
you have forgotten
me.

Forgotten how
I used to make you
smile in the middle
of a conversation
because my face
crossed your mind.
I used to make
you believe
in the greatest
possibilities.

But that is
no more
and what's left
is an empty void
and a withered
heart
along with
a picture
of when
I was young.

I'm a firm believer that in life there are always two lists: The first would be a list of all the dumb things you've ever done in your entire existence - each item being dumber than the other, of course; and as you go down (or up) the list, your body tenses more and your face gets more and more distorted. That's normal. I've got that list - it's so long that I can probably use it for carpeting.

The second list would be the dumb things that you will do or aka accidents waiting to happen. I like this list simply because I can use it as an early warning device.

But sometimes, we lose that second list - as we have a tendency to. And we're left in a panic about what we're supposed to do. When that happens, I suggest that you don't make any rash decisions lest you want to be screwed.

***

I think I might need to go back to therapy...

There are no expectations here
so you don't have to try
too hard to pretend you're sincere.

I'm not holding you
responsible for whatever
damage is inflicted
the last thing I want
is that you'd be conflicted
and afflicted by the emotions
you think you own
when this whole situation's blown
out of proportion.

Trust me,
All I want right now
is a little attention
and nothing more
so please, don't keep score
baby, don't keep score.

It's a lost cause, obviously
as you hold me tentatively
in public
Of course, you would be
a little paranoid
then why do you keep on
rejecting what you can't avoid?

Darling, don't get me wrong
I'm not trying to hang you out to dry
there's nothing I'm trying to imply

Trust me,
all I want right now
is just a little attention
maybe a sliver of affection
and nothing more

You and I are apparently gluttons for punishment, never needing a reason but aching for it, feeling like you're missing a limb when we're not feeling pain.

It's a freaking cycle, a perpetual circle of inflicting and taking; trading blows and punches. I call you in the middle of the night and ask if I can come over even though I know I'm going to hate myself after everything is over; even though I know it's going to be such the stupidest thing I ever do.

You always say yes though. You let me come and open the door with a displeased face and a tired sigh. But you always - always let me in. Maybe because you are used to the constant and anything new, anything that deviates for the norm terrifies you. You'd rather do resentment than work with change.

It's the same set of questions left unanswered and I never tire of asking them: "Why can't you love me? What else can I do? What else can I be for you? What does it take to make you change your mind?" You always answer with silence and a kiss. Like the kiss is my consolation prize. Fuck that. No one fights to win the consolation prize.

Tonight though, when I called you and you said I should come over, I knew something has changed. Your bravery has shown its face. Your spine is straight and strong - like the sword you are about to push into my chest. I ask you the same questions and tonight...tonight you said "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Baby. I'm so very sorry."

Then you kissed my hair and brushed my tears away.

-inspired by Maria Mena's song "Sorry"

On nights like these
I want to lie
on the unmade bed
right next to you
not moving
not sleeping
but just breathing you
seeing you
touching you
knowing you.

On nights like these
I wish I could
drown in the
bright fluid sound
of your laughter
A million
tiny deaths
are always sweetest
by your hand.

On nights like these
I curse the sun
for it will come
and take you away
and you both leave me
with a cruel uncertainty
of your return

On nights like these
we dance the tango
between "when"
and "if"
and I laugh
as you step on my toes.

On nights like these
you say my name
like it's important
like it's enough
like it means something
like it means everything
But I need you
to tell me more.

On nights like these
when you say "hello"
it actually means
"goodbye"