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| Wednesday, November 24, 2004 |
| by the hour of grayskull |
Disillusionment is a scorching state to be in. But it persists in an almost daily basis. One day I’m warding off some pathetic asshole’s advances while listening to my favorite band. The next day I discuss the differences between fending for oneself outside the comfort that parents bring. Another reality that permeates is that I have been a better confidant and provider of advice to most men as opposed to being their partner. At least that’s one image that coincides with the truth.
Had coffee last Tuesday with a friend. I’m trying to think of a good nickname for the blog but ever since I brought the bastard tags to a standstill it has become more difficult to simultaneously delineate and parallel. So anyway, we had a lengthy discussion on his own incongruous perception of me and the not-so-palpable veracity of my life. He started by asking me what I did that day and so I told him – I woke up around 10:30am and felt the need to clear my head so I went to Santuario and heard mass. With wide disbelief, he then uttered some suspicion as to whether I was a bible-slapper or something. That was worth a laugh. Nice term, dude. I guess it’s hilarious when you think of typecasting people as if they are not individual cases of psychosis. Think about it, we are.
Like for example, the girl you see getting drunk at the bar? She’s the wild child player who can bitch with the best of them. Or the girl sucking you up with her sweet voice is as innocent as the morning sun. If all assumptions were true then what’s the point of interaction? So even with adamant conviction that we are the great purveyors of human nature and instinct, there should always be a shred of doubt. We give friends the chance to rectify a wrong. We even give bars a chance to redeem a disappointing evening. So why not furnish the same reservation to an acquaintance before dismissing their intentions?
No matter how tirelessly disillusioned I am, I try to keep this reservation in mind. That friend I had coffee with? I guiltily assumed he was a certain type. But over a cuppa joe and a rum coke at Mati, a lot more was disclosed and divulged. He’s a good friend to have. Someone sweet enough to convoy me home through the Makati Avenue traffic to make sure I got home in one piece. Yes kids, I drove home at midnight. It was almost unbearable to drive through the laughter at being coursed through the streets I know by heart. Since I started driving Ben I can’t so much as stand even a slight sense of need or dependency.
In the course of that one evening, I received three phone calls of problematic dating disasters among other things. I evidently conferred my unfailing practical advice. To which I was told I should write a damn book on the matter. But different situations call for different measures. To reiterate the previous thought: there are no tried-and-true success formulas…especially on the subject of like, lust or love. |
posted by maldita @ 9:08 PM
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