What am I to you?

Today’s the day I’m going back to you.

I find myself feeling busier than fuck. Interesting how hugely little turns in events can affect a life. Sometimes, I feel like I’m not doing enough. At times, I feel like I’m doing too much. Which is the greater evil? It depends on my mood swing—as everything else pretty much does.

It always starts with a girl. I will go on and on and on again, it will always be because of a girl. I live in no man’s island, and sorry to the cock blockers out there, no amount of girth can make me bother. Or wait, I’d probably puke a little. Then again, puke is vagina. Fuck, everything is vagina!

My coin purse is a vagina.

When I fold my arm, there’s a vagina.

Chicken ala king, ala vagina.

I want to go to Vigan, or vagina.

So today’s the day I tell you a secret—as if everything I put on this anonymous blog isn’t secret enough. Or pretty much, how anonymous is this anyway? The answer is anonymous until someone finds out.

It’s 6:01PM and I don’t have business to do overtime work so I’ll be fucking up anytime now. I still have an eye infection to treat, oh yeah, today’s the first day I came to work without my blonde hair. No one noticed the change, as much as I thought they would, because I am wearing my super cool fuchsia Ray-bans the whole day, yes even as I type right now, because my left eye is swollen. Mind you, our office is very lenient when it comes to outfits—thank god—I feel like dieting til I lose half of what makes me me because I want to wear naked clothes because it’s so cold in our office. It’s so cold. It’s so vagina!

So the secret is, I don’t like hanging questions. If you’ve ever met a person who talks a lot, and asks a lot, and bothers to ask even the dumbest questions about the most atrocious details of social conduct, expect that that person is either of these two things: 1) not going to let a question rest without an answer, or is 2) me!

Few days ago, I went Amsterdam on E. Told her I missed her. Meant it.

Few days ago, I learned to sing a song for E, because I thought I wanted to ask. Didn’t need to, but felt the worse evil, the want, so I asked. She answered, pretty much. Ain’t it pretty. Vaginal answers!
What the fuck is this thing saying? What the fuck does this thing want? What the FACT, she’s delicious.

I like delicious. I like delicious feelings and moments of retro succulence that I can only go hyper with my feral fertile mind. And I guess, just in case she won’t rest until I answer. She’s vagina. Clearly, how wrong is it to see people as an orifice! But then again, were you even listening? What is a vagina to me?

YUM!

Reasons and Excuses

Between thought and action is reason. When we lose it, forget it, or worse completely neglect its value, we become animals imprisoned by our own self-serving missions rooted on an irrational culture set to stone by protruded impulse.

Few days ago I left my email open on Y's laptop. She accidentally opened it and saw an ex's name. This prompted her to read the exchange, or at least open what it started with. It was an email I sent with a poem in it. A poem I wrote in trance while my life is in transit, so to speak. The issue for Y was: why did I send the poem.

The answers to me were simple but the anger, frustration and distrust that clouded her mind were too thick, her grace was taken away. The little bit of it, if I may say.

I sent the poem because I wanted to send the message. Sometimes, when what you want to express is too personal, digging for words become tedious and even antiseptic. That's where resorting to pictures or symbols or prose or colors come in. I found my medium in poetry and decided to pounce on it. I wanted her to know, just know, or at least grant her a better chance of knowing what little I can deliver. I've been in the position of being left blind-sided and it was never fun and safe to sit with shadows. It shouldn't matter says Y. But I've no bad blood with A despite what happened so it mattered to me that I can do something like leave a trail to MY reason so she can someday, when she wants to, know the thought and understand the action. Y can't get that. She didn't have any reasons to be graceful.

So she did something, an uproar that I can't tolerate blindly, and that uprooted some of the things we nurtured the past few months. I felt/feel an anger and disgrace, shame and sheer disappointment over the person she decided to become. Denial, repulsion, hatred set in and I struggle to meet with acceptance and heart.

There is the monster that slept. There is her monster.

But the villain in me taps my shoulder, whispers understanding and empathy. And maybe there is reason why I'm willing to swallow. The action may not be thought through but the reason is shining over an airless box. For all its worth, Y exploded right before my eyes. Graceful or not, I'm at a point where I'd prefer that than someone who will speak of me heartlessly then pretend to be the soul to which my weakness can recline with.

So the poem was set free, free enough to be whatever it wishes to be. I'm happy with the butter that was churned, there could be better but that better world is no longer for the same spirit that ignited the first lines of my poem. The changes are still happening, forming worlds cornered by numbered streets, and these changes are mine, mine alone. Mine to decide with whom I would share it. Mine to build, hide, protect and cover with sealed lips, cryptic words and beating pauses. That although A didn't understand what I was saying, the message was sent. I blame my failed style in depicting my feelings with words, sure, but I also blame "the reason" why she was unable to capture the song between the lines. The reason is change. 

Change has taken over everything.

The Disappearing Eve

On a sheet of passing palpability, the disappearing eve woke up an eternal uprising that moves across blurred out spaces and stains dog-eared corners of a double-crossing title, a slivered spine corroding on a mountaintop. It sashayed high and low along a current of hormonal exchanges bouncing from one wall to another igniting feral waves to detonate thoughts of hopeful swallows hung up with powder-blue skies of a pretend-summer's dream. An acquaintance forced by a lyrical goddess, and an expected wanting of dusk and movement, pointlessly judging delated tapes of broken promises, the disappearing eve vindicated a two year's worth of seclusion with a non-acidic page sealed with a crossroad letter shared over an unstable fast food table. And there was an applause, a reverberating "ahh..." secretly hovering with a mission, an unchanging image of peaceful poultry and elegantly stretched necks overlooking a falling river, almighty.

If you could keep a memory, real or imagined, what would you choose to remember?

LESBIAN BOOK#5 A Tale of Two Mommies by Vanita Oelschlager

Here's a children's book that touches the concept of homosexual parenting.

Of course I enjoyed it because I'm at a point where I'm willing to devour any semblance of lesbian stories/literature. On a lighter note, what I enjoyed about this book is its light and casual way of discussing a homosexual household's primary grounds on gender roles.

Gender roles, as it is at a fault, is predominantly sexist, so yes, the book touched the topic following that sexist point of view, but I think it is notable how from the child's point of view, there is no judgment.

Come to think of it, do you remember when sexual judgments began? I myself can't. Although I try my very best to remain neutral and unbiased when it comes to prejudices, I have to admit I have my lapses, but looking back, I can't really determine which point zero is.

So if you kinda miss that dotted line, perhaps A Tale of Two Mommies will help you remember... or at least realize that once upon a time, we all were clean slates.


Tell me about your ocean stories, please?

Conventions and confectioners

My world spun or spiraled, whichever available, yesterday. The day started with a confused bang, then there was coffee, large Fries and a tedious walk under the morning sun. These were then followed by a stolen rest, a stolen time, a stolen glance and a heart stolen by default. It was a conspiracy to deal with the turn of events, but it was also a magical spectacle to have seen it close with a reunion, a gathering if I may, of souls lost in misery and conjunctions, simultaneously.

I was with my tomboy friends last night. It was an impromptu tomboy convention, I can leisurely recall. It was a promise kept and a promise made. It was a promising acquaintance and a knot made to never ever falter against the changing names of gift cards in scrapbooks, well-hidden and structured by dreams.

People may find it hard to believe, but I join the renegade feeling of "feeling friendless". I'm a very out there person, and friendship is something I am open to granting upon first second of intertwining souls; but at the end of the day, I have only a few number of people I can truly, whole-heartedly, confidently and without hesitation, call as my friends. I like it that way.

So last night I was with my friends, two of which were friends since the beginning of time, one of which was a friend made when the beginning of the now spun close. Before that, however, I was with a dear friend who unknowingly achieves the personification of my unseen moonrise. Admittedly, she is unprecedented. I can't put my finger on how she acts towards me, neither can I put my finger on who she is; but I find myself in a comforting tunnel, a faltering abyss of mixed silence and whispers, I don't need to know.

Late in the night, as my unforgiving wooziness got the best of me (thank you BioFlu for allowing me to wake up the next day a bit saner than expected), I concluded that break-ups aren't the reason why relationships end. Relationships end because they stop happening. Relationships stop happening because people cease trying. Sometimes, the causes would be circumstantial, sometimes emotional. Sometimes, the causes would be rational (if you're lucky), but often, the causes would be unspeakable (quite literally). So amidst my running (pun) nose, I decided not to believe in break-ups, as heavily as I decided not to believe in a Catholic God (until they recognize homosexuality as an equal act of love, they can keep their crosses to themselves).

I tried breaking up with her, again, and she won't let me. I don't understand how far she's willing to go every time I am willing to go--so illegal things happened, and once again we're back on square one.

I'd rather believe in fairies. I do.

When everything is about me.

Today I will make you shift your head to the right, direction.

I guess February is about winning and losing. About the handsome price we pay when we want something, and then some more. Of course life is about some things, some ones, and maybe a lot of some where's if we grant it some of our time. Perhaps February is about the ransom we're forced to relinquish, like a dowry or someone else's money.

For all its worth, February was cold and swiftly turned into a promise of hope, a walking muscle shirt, an idea hiding under moving paper cups, a confirmation of some sort, and then some other worlds too unreal to explain.

"My feelings are my reality"

"But that's not always correct".

"Doesn't change the fact that I feel them."

Last second randomness:
I like being in the middle to meddle and wiggle my silly ass off. What do YOU like?

LESBIAN BOOK#2 Fallen in Love by Lauren Kate

Do you think there's a wanting of lesbian literature in your country?

Cause from where I'm from, I feel like there is. I live in a country where it is painful to admit, our own literature is most likely in a shadowy corner, than the grander center aisles of a bookstore. And in that shadowy corner, is a more shadowy section of gay literature. I always feel a strong rush of excitement when I see a lesbian book when I search my favorite bookstores. It's that rare. Perhaps, the gay community were steps ahead putting their voices and stories in print than us lesbians, I don't know. All I know is, I want more. I want to hungrily devour whatever lesbian literature I can get my hands on--better if its from a local scene.

With that, let me share with you a pleasant surprise I was blessed with last night. Because something happened post-sex, and by sex I mean something else--I just wanted the drama, I couldn't sleep. I decided to start reading this young adult book that I pulled out for one of my book reviews, Fallen in Love by Lauren Kate.

This book cover inspires me to have black hair.

Fallen in Love is part of the Fallen series, a love story between angels. For Fallen in Love, what we have are back stories of the characters of the Fallen series. Think of it as fan fiction, or the unnecessary author response to the typical reader's question "what happened to characters A, B, C?"

Nonetheless, I have to say, I was pleased to find out that within this young adult "supplementary" book, is a lesbian love story. I am very pleased for various reasons, beginning with 1. Fallen in Love is a book with a young targeted demographic. I really think it's important to incorporate such forms of love, heterosexual and homosexual, in the literature we feed the youth nowadays because the issue between the sexes is more alive than ever in this period to which they're born--even blessed with.

But what truly delighted me was the part where in the lesbian chapters, the romantic conflict the author decided to focus on was in the issue between them being angels, not both girls. I have always dreamed of a community where our sexes and preferences would be taken as a matter of flatly. Where to be in love with the same sex is treated with as much normalcy as being in love with the opposite sex is. The lesbian story line in Fallen in Love fed that fantasy. It wasn't a grand story, Fallen in Love wasn't a grand book, but for that effort, I give it my fondness.

I wish to find more lesbian books/stories to share with you. If you know any, please do share with me too.

I worship--

My story usually goes like this, every single thing that she touches, physically or in essence, will be marked. So yes, I am owned upon first handshake. If she gets me a glass of water, and I drink from that glass, I am owned from the insides. Imagine if it's a 3-second embrace.

There's something completely overwhelming about the way I like a person.

Let me put it this way. If I come to a decision that I like you, you can pick your nose in front of me and I would still like you. You may annoy me down to my last patient gene and I will still like you. I try to pretend, or at least would like to believe that I pull it off, that when I decide that I like a person, I refer to a you-ness that perhaps only I can grasp. No, I don't turn people into a concept. I take the person I like first as a name, then as a concept, til I feel her as a beating muscle, and I reconcile word and flesh. I bridge with her resonating sound, wrap my thoughts with her warmth, fog my mind with her breath, put none to waste, til her last falling hair--I commit to everything. Come as you are, says that song. If I decide that I like you, I'd like you in everything that you are and are not.

It's fascinating how almost always, people who seek my acceptance are those who I'd accept (most likely, have already accepted) in every way possible. There's something completely overwhelming about the way I like a person. It's scary, and almost always, it's because I get too scared myself. So there are words, and there are songs, and there are torn pages, and endless cursors blinking through the midnight's plight. 

From Tumblr

All the cool songs and hard-to-spell words, they're yours. 

I like reading.

Only two things can truly keep me up all night long: a good book and a girl.

So today I decided to re-arrange my bookshelf in search of my seemingly lost copy of Written on the Body by Jeanette Winterson. It's such a valuable copy/edition and I feel my heart break a little more every time I fail to find it. Yes, it got a bit more broken today.

On a lighter note. I piled up magazines where I wrote for and ended up with this (sorry, had to remove photo... privacy shit). I think I started writing around 2009, but only on the sides, and I'm quite a happy bee to realize that they're not as few as I thought they were. I got to cover the entire table, yey!

Other than my articles, my Starbucks 2009 2008 planner also resurfaced. This is probably my busiest planner because it has so many add ons and stick ons and whatsoever. It's truly more a scrapbook than a planner. In the spirit of commemoration, let me share with you a lovely conversation, an exchange on paper to be precise, that I got to experience with this girl I "dated" in 2009 2008. She's someone I fondly call K, and it's so interesting how my entries of her feel a bit fresh in my memory. I guess it goes without saying that when something good and honest happens, no matter how badly or even how soon it ends, it's fond to remember the good times.

K: So??? I don't know. I can't judge something that comes from the heart because there is no right or wrong answer. Actually, your "letter" just brings up more questions. I guess I interpreted it differently because I don't know how you felt when you wrote that. Has the person you're writing about read it already???
Me: Yes I think. I gave her a copy. It's a closure letter. Like before I go, I just had to say things I didn't get to say. Do you think it's okay?
K: Hmm... A goodbye letter... S? (S-- WTH I don't know how to spell her name) Yes it's ok... but sounded like you were still hung up on her when you wrote it.
M: S-- yeah, I guess I was but it's okay. Like after I wrote it, I'm good.
K: Hahaha!!! I knew it!!! Sorry sorry sorry. But that was like very recent huh... May, right?
M: Yes. Let me read please (pertaining to a paper she had out)
K: It was for class. About my dog that died. That's it. We had to write it on the spot. It's nothing, and stop changing the subject. So did she reply to your "closure letter"?
M: No she didn't. I'm not changing the topic. I'm begging you to let me read.you. Can't I know you more?
K: Know me? Haha... you won't find out anything from that worthless paper. It was like seatwork. Why do you want to read it so bad?
M: Because I really want to know what's in (points to a drawing on the paper, pointing on the head)
K: Wouldn't you rather like to know what's in (points to a drawing of a heart)
M: I do.
K: So it's better you don't read the paper. I am ashamed of it because it does not show what's in (points to a drawing, two arrows pointing to different things: the head and the heart)
M: Let me read something that's from your heart.
K: Well you have to learn to read me because I don't put it on paper or words because my lame words doesn't do my heart justice.
M: I try, always try my best to read you. I don't know if I do it write :s
K: Haha! No you don't do it RIGHT sometimes (mocking). Am I really that hard to read? If I am, I guess I like it that way.
M: TANGA KO!!! I wish I just cut (class, we were in class at that time, she sat in my class that's why we were exchanging papers) and we just hanged out or something. And yes, I think you're hard to read.
K: Ok. (then she drew a big O and K, encircled the K and put an arrow to it, pointing to an M, that was inside a heart... my college nickname starts with a letter M)

--- June 24 2008

Seriously... 'til now, I have no idea what that wild moment was about!

To those wondering, I figured it'd be proper to begin this post with No Umbrella because to me it's a song that is hugely about seeing things through with a person.

Right now, there's this girl who's territorial. I sometimes wonder if she also wants to own my past--something impossible because the past is over! Sometimes, it comes to a point where I wonder if she'd rather I have an empty past than like this, where I have these stories (bigger than life, or alive more than ever in my mind) where she is not a part of. I don't know if it's wrong to remember, I always figured, it's very honorable to do so.

Today I finished reading one of the books E recommended. I really liked how it ended. There was such a beautiful coming together as the novel reached that inevitable close. It was like a gorgeous display of fireworks where the tiny explosives you planted on air would light up together with the booming sounds and blooming pyro display. I liked how it went down my throat, how it made sense of the different flavors that I had to understand from beginning to end. It was an exquisitely aged wine, washing down the confusion with a just explanation.

When I read the above "memory" off my journal, I remembered how on that first lunch date with E, I got to read a few of her raw words. It was a poem fresh off the furnace, made in class, probably as her mind floated away. She immediately and rudely pulled the paper off my hand and I never got to read that particular poem again. She said she would email me a better poem, that she's just a bit too shut about her words especially when they're not yet on their final and polished stages. She emailed me already, but I'm still unsatisfied. I'm truly insatiable, I will not argue with that; but reading above "memory" reminded me of how she said she would also send me that very poem, once it's finalized.

I wonder how much waiting would cost, this time.

LESBIAN BOOK#1 Fingersmith by Sarah Waters

Give me a book with the word "Fingersmith" as the title and trust that my brain will do the dirty. Fingersmith is a criminal love potion mixed to overcome even the tightest corset to unleash the wildest of chests.

Set in the quiet and in an uptight Victorian background, Fingersmith details a story of betrayal, deceit and a lesbian love story that shares layers of gray meant to cloud a sky of lace. This novel is a must-read, I say, for it is a provocative and twisted tale of push and pull. Just when you thought you've cracked the story open, more locks surface for the picking.

Plot after plot, Fingersmith is a revelation and a becoming of a woman, in the arms of another.

I love laughing.

Good morning!!!!!!!!

Yes, you can read that as outrageously perked up as it seems to be. I am painfully a morning, afternoon, evening, midnight person--although when it comes to the witching hours of 1 to 3PM, I have to admit to some fatal drowsiness.

The other day I posted "Sleep when you're dead" because I was sleepy as fuck, the clearest way of putting things down. Today, oh, on this beautiful Tuesday morning, I rise and proclaim that fuck yeah, I'm still sleepy!

But boy... was Monday beautiful.

Most people hate Mondays for the painful beginning it represents: to some, slavery, to some, a murderous commute.

But boy... was Monday exactly what I had hoped it to be

I didn't set myself up for any great expectation but pleasures aside, I was quite a satisfied woman. Don't you just love it when the Universe listens? The Universe is on my side, I tell you, on.my.side.

I still bark like a greyhound (do they bark? I imagine them as more of the howling-kind). I feel like I'm going to break my eardrums any minute now, but I can't help but feel okay despite not being okay. I wish my cough sets me down to peace soon, I would really love to cease being a walking human virus; but I will try not to wish for so many things right now--especially after having one superficial wish granted with the most eloquent execution that I laughed so hard, it wasn't funny anymore... it was bliss.

I love happy bubbles. Well... not as much as I realized I love invisible fire!

This is why we broke up 2

Today is supposedly the end of the world. If by any chance, it would count for anything, I would like to write on this page, perhaps one last time, should the said Mayan prediction come true.

our soiled sheets carry
the scent of your legs
and my mind,
oh, how it wandered aimlessly

other than silence
we held on a beating
that troubled us,
over the moon and arched backs.

ostensive fingers delight
my confused pharynx
to turn purple butterflies
onyx and dry

I made a list you might feverishly fail to nullify. I used your words to build this towering lie.

This is why we broke up 1

Wolves howled from under my shirt
a declaration of the phases of your moon
I found myself lost between my skirt
awaiting a reckless slow burning doom.

I have ten other reasons written on my journal, but today, that shall do. I can't let you burn me out. You wanted, too much.

"Life is happening."

We all have our shares of once in a lifetime experiences. Yesterday, was one. It was 12.12.12 (December 12, 2012)--I refer to it as destiny day. I made a huge deal out of it. Awesome things happened.

The funny thing about life is, it has its way of taking things back at our most inconvenient time.

1. Stability - you know that feeling when you just got yourself back to your feet and you can finally walk a straight line without wobbling? Have yourself suddenly shoved out of control in between steps. That happened yesterday when A's Christmas gifts arrived. I knew she sent me gifts, and she told me what she sent, but I was floored over how my whole being reacted to receiving the items. The gesture felt more real than ever. I felt her through the bubble wrap. I imagined her carefully securing everything. I imagined her happy to send me hope. I imagined her hurting she couldn't send herself instead. Stability... it's not a very constant thing. We're all built to be tipped off balance even with the slightest breeze so I'm not surprised it was taken away from me. I should have seen it coming. I could go on all day taking the blame.

2. Trust - people we can trust, or at least feel that we can trust, are blessings to me. I value them more than anything because I know how rare it is to feel a certain level of connection with someone--the type that can knock on my closed hatchet of self. Today, trust was taken away from me in the absence of acceptance. I feel judged and hurt. Y laid down a few things she didn't like about our relationship as if it were an enumeration exam. There were even a few more that she refuses to tell me because she hopes I will figure those few things on my own--by being a little bit more sensitive --pt being, I'm insensitive apparently. I've never felt more unwanted in my life. I'm thinking... if you don't want me, why not go? And no, it doesn't feel good to hear an answer that goes "Exactly, I'm staying. Does that not count for anything?" Staying because it's what you want to do and staying because you can tolerate are two sides of the same coin.

3. Respect - it's sad to admit that I feel like I have lost the respect I have for some of the most important people in my life.. likewise, I fear and feel that I had lost their respect for me as well. Respect is something earned and it will always be tragic to lose it. Sad because it's not even due to broken bones and wounded hearts. I've lost the respect for and of the most important people in my life because life is happening and there are mistakes that are too huge of a deal to overlook--and overcome.

Life has its way of reclaiming what it has generously provided. The best thing we can do, as always, is to live in each moment.

One very smart person (S, you) once told me that life is happening. As much as it is simply stating the obvious, I must say, I have never concurred as hard.

Is my Anti-Virus Homophobic?

As I begin this humble lesbian blog, I am dumbfounded by how my search engine would always bring me to a pornography site--or at least one that my authentic Kaspersky anti-virus would flag as a threat. Is it me or is my anti-virus homophobic?

At one point of your life, when you're struck by the confusion brought about your unique sexual preference, you would consult Google for answers. Well, at the time I needed some soul searching (via web), I consulted Yahoo! Those were the days, man.

Even when I search the hashtag #lesbian on twitter, I end up seeing girlongirl sex accounts that just feels so wrong for me, not as a woman, but as a lesbian specifically. Yes people, like you, I get horny too. But I'm not horny all day--okay, unless it's a particular day of the month--but you get what I mean. Is it sheer ignorance of epic naivete that people outside the LGBT community resigns themselves to the most absurd definition of being gay: that is being sexual.

Heck, even when I search about the Greek region called Lesbos, I am prohibited. Maybe my parents put up military strict firewalls on this computer because they know I use it and my little sister also uses it. Even inside my house, I experience a sort of quarantine, subtle ways of quarantine that is.

If I ask you what a lesbian is, what would you say? Cause personally, a lesbian is simply a woman who prefers to be emotionally and of course, inevitably sexually involved, with a woman as well. Consider me biased, but I really don't see anything wrong with that.

Do you?

Why we love women

Words are always limiting; but there's pleasure in knowing where to begin. I have loved women all my life and though my life is yet to be that long, I am young, I have already gained a list of reasons why it is women which I love. To begin with... I love a woman's body. Perversion aside, I love caressing a woman's body. There's always strength between her sighs and her softness is but the beginning of pleasure. That's why I love women. How about you? -TP

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