January afternoon two years ago, Shia Labeouf sat on the furnished dining chair across my mom's seat. It was 'Mom Unstoppable' sharing my degraded autobiography across the set of our usual lunch never knowing that I just wanted to hide my face behind the red satin table cloth. I still can hear the laughter striking back and forth within the walls of that room.
"The garden looks cool". His Chuck Bass voice invited me to enjoy the spring-like weather outside with him and only him.
We sat on a faded green bench and mumbled about how beautiful our lives will be in the future. We felt that all the mumbling were a bit tiring so we paused for a commercial break; the etymology of my life's young love. We played the usual game of 'impersonation'. I lifted my arms and he lifted his too. I squeezed my voice while trying to be funny and he did too. On his turn to be the leader, the butterflies in my stomach continued to do more hyper flying. He leaned towards me so I leaned towards him too. He held my right hand and I froze like Jack at the end of the Titanic movie. He kissed me and I had no idea what to do with myself. The flowers witnessed the warmth of his lips and the clouds photographed the romantic scene. I don't want to end the moment but I had to release my lips with a smile because of the total awkwardness included.
"You had my first kiss". I told him with an indescribable facial grin.
"It's my trophy for winning the game". He jokingly said with his eyes staring at the nervousness I was feeling.
"I love you". He said.
"I love you too". I replied as I held his left hand tighter.
"Was it good?". He asked teasingly. My mental capability collapsed and it resulted to an "Uhhhh..yeah". The intelligence of my tongue did not cope up with the situation. So it just said "How about mine?".
Shia stared at me, laughed and said "It has the talent but it needs improvement".
So there you have it folks! The cheesy story of my first kiss. The story where I felt the pangs of puppy love. It's your turn now. What is your 'first kiss story'? :)
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Ethan Melted My Icecream Season Finale
“Silver, I like you.”
The teeth bit the spoon’s round and blunted head so strong that it wouldn’t touch the mouth-watering brownie flavored ice cream anymore. Putting the cover of the 800ml calorie-supporter back, I decided to let its content melt beside my seat. My eyes played the do-not-blink game for approximately 10 seconds not because the kiss was torrid but because it was the lips of Erin Silver having its full friction on the lips of the official manwhore of Season 1, Ethan Ward.
Yes, you heard that one right. Ethan kissed her. Ethan kissed Dixon’s girl. Ethan kissed his best friend’s girl. In short, “Ethan, what is up with you?”
People should not be extremely carried away with the intangible situations or characters seen on a buffering T.V show box. But what can I do? I can’t help it. Why is this white guy, who used to have a nipa hair, tend to get a touch of every girl he would want to touch? Girls, girls, girls. Boys, boys, boys. This is a global affair disease, probably the swine flu of relationships.
It happens in real life, you know. Based from a true to life story, a female Ethan came by once actually. She did everything to steal the boy she knew I really liked. I, for once, respected her as a good friend but the good ol’ days are over. I guess, I’ve been a Dixon for once, huh? And you know what? I eventually faced the fact. I can’t do anything about it. I chose to love and they chose whatever they have chosen. I admit that the incident was heartbreaking but then again, it was not worth the disappointment. So if you see yourself in the situation Dixon is into then just get over it. It is probably painful right now but soon enough you’ll realize that it shouldn’t even be your problem. When all is said and done, it is you whom they lost.
90210 forced me to overreact. Anyway, I am looking forward to Season 2.
The teeth bit the spoon’s round and blunted head so strong that it wouldn’t touch the mouth-watering brownie flavored ice cream anymore. Putting the cover of the 800ml calorie-supporter back, I decided to let its content melt beside my seat. My eyes played the do-not-blink game for approximately 10 seconds not because the kiss was torrid but because it was the lips of Erin Silver having its full friction on the lips of the official manwhore of Season 1, Ethan Ward.
Yes, you heard that one right. Ethan kissed her. Ethan kissed Dixon’s girl. Ethan kissed his best friend’s girl. In short, “Ethan, what is up with you?”
People should not be extremely carried away with the intangible situations or characters seen on a buffering T.V show box. But what can I do? I can’t help it. Why is this white guy, who used to have a nipa hair, tend to get a touch of every girl he would want to touch? Girls, girls, girls. Boys, boys, boys. This is a global affair disease, probably the swine flu of relationships.
It happens in real life, you know. Based from a true to life story, a female Ethan came by once actually. She did everything to steal the boy she knew I really liked. I, for once, respected her as a good friend but the good ol’ days are over. I guess, I’ve been a Dixon for once, huh? And you know what? I eventually faced the fact. I can’t do anything about it. I chose to love and they chose whatever they have chosen. I admit that the incident was heartbreaking but then again, it was not worth the disappointment. So if you see yourself in the situation Dixon is into then just get over it. It is probably painful right now but soon enough you’ll realize that it shouldn’t even be your problem. When all is said and done, it is you whom they lost.
90210 forced me to overreact. Anyway, I am looking forward to Season 2.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Heidke Heorism
Last night, just before the midnight attempted to strike, I lay my head on my purple fluffy paw pillow while listening to one of my friends’ story about a girl who we should just call C. My friend was lying on the first deck below me and I was staring straight at the blank ceiling. While my ears were attentive to her story, I was imagining the scenes on the shadowed area in front of me.
“I don’t like her because she wants too much attention” She uttered with extreme annoyance. “Her words are exaggerated, her acts are too much of a lie, and I don’t know why people still believe her and her silly stories” She added up to the C description.
My thoughts stopped but I allowed my friend to know that I agreed with what she just said. I reacted with a negative nod and threw a “Yayks” but deep inside I was hurting silently. The thought that I was just like C killed my feelings awkwardly. Right after she released “her silly stories”, the memories of my unstoppable lies and compulsive attention-absorbing stories blew my mind away like Road Runner kicks Coyote; quiet yet very swift.
I knew my other roommate was on the other corner of the room, still awake and also listening. Her macbook light and the tap of her fingers over the safely covered keyboard were the senses I had with my peripherals. Everyone kept inaudible after the portrayal. The three of us felt the sleepy spirit and we knew that we were a centimeter away to being with it. My macbook friend lay down and waited for her boyfriend to reply on the sound-alerted chat box and my story-telling friend stretched her king-sized blanket up to her chin, covering her entire neck for comfort. And me, being the only one on the upper deck, was still replaying the soundtrack of her passage over and over again inside the head of repeated regrets. “What if one of my friends or (even worse) what if all of my friends were thinking the same way about me? What if they’ve been sharing their angst against me to other people? What if I am actually living the life of C; second-rate, worth the hate & illusioned?” My paranoid mind pumped out. I knew I was guilty. I knew the alibis and the lessons. I knew the problem and the problem was me.
The wintriness of the air condition drifted away but until now, 22 hours after the C story, I still can feel the aloofness. Trying to find the end of the remorseful once upon a time, I think I found a doubtful reason. I am not stupid for not having the answers but I am (very) weak to face the solutions. I know what I am and I am aware of what I have done wrong but the wheel of what I know had a small hole from a sharp nail of mouth slips. I can’t keep my tiny car moving with the same speed when I began the journey because the hole is getting bigger, the pain I’m giving to my friends is getting worse. In my sight I have seen the dead end sign but my heart is scared to press the brake.
It will never be enough to say sorry but everything will change if I start showing how sorry I really am. I need a longer time to find the strength to do so but I hope that it wouldn’t be too late for me to show.
“I don’t like her because she wants too much attention” She uttered with extreme annoyance. “Her words are exaggerated, her acts are too much of a lie, and I don’t know why people still believe her and her silly stories” She added up to the C description.
My thoughts stopped but I allowed my friend to know that I agreed with what she just said. I reacted with a negative nod and threw a “Yayks” but deep inside I was hurting silently. The thought that I was just like C killed my feelings awkwardly. Right after she released “her silly stories”, the memories of my unstoppable lies and compulsive attention-absorbing stories blew my mind away like Road Runner kicks Coyote; quiet yet very swift.
I knew my other roommate was on the other corner of the room, still awake and also listening. Her macbook light and the tap of her fingers over the safely covered keyboard were the senses I had with my peripherals. Everyone kept inaudible after the portrayal. The three of us felt the sleepy spirit and we knew that we were a centimeter away to being with it. My macbook friend lay down and waited for her boyfriend to reply on the sound-alerted chat box and my story-telling friend stretched her king-sized blanket up to her chin, covering her entire neck for comfort. And me, being the only one on the upper deck, was still replaying the soundtrack of her passage over and over again inside the head of repeated regrets. “What if one of my friends or (even worse) what if all of my friends were thinking the same way about me? What if they’ve been sharing their angst against me to other people? What if I am actually living the life of C; second-rate, worth the hate & illusioned?” My paranoid mind pumped out. I knew I was guilty. I knew the alibis and the lessons. I knew the problem and the problem was me.
The wintriness of the air condition drifted away but until now, 22 hours after the C story, I still can feel the aloofness. Trying to find the end of the remorseful once upon a time, I think I found a doubtful reason. I am not stupid for not having the answers but I am (very) weak to face the solutions. I know what I am and I am aware of what I have done wrong but the wheel of what I know had a small hole from a sharp nail of mouth slips. I can’t keep my tiny car moving with the same speed when I began the journey because the hole is getting bigger, the pain I’m giving to my friends is getting worse. In my sight I have seen the dead end sign but my heart is scared to press the brake.
It will never be enough to say sorry but everything will change if I start showing how sorry I really am. I need a longer time to find the strength to do so but I hope that it wouldn’t be too late for me to show.