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Inquirer.net's Love.Life. feature: "Ode to A Great Love's 17-year-old Self"

February 18, 2015    |    0 COMMENT(S)



"Could a grand romance blossom from a juvenile crush?"
So goes the Inquirer's byline for my article. And the answer: a resounding YES.


Tonight, I found out that a piece I wrote got published in Inquirer.net's "Love.Life." column. I came home from a long day of class (9:00 am to 8:00 pm on Wednesdays), tired, hungry, and all kinds of sleepy. Imagine my surprise and complete excitement when I opened my e-mail and saw a message from the Inquirer saying that my essay went online a few hours ago! I went completely nuts! I was jumping around and dancing like a crazed maniac! My mom, who dropped by to visit since it's a holiday tomorrow, couldn't hold back her laughter because I went from exhausted to ecstatic in less than five seconds :D

Back story: Last Sunday, I couldn't bring myself to sleep for some reason. Usually, what I'd do is try to finish off my remaining digests for the week, but since I've already submitted my assignments a few days before Valentine's, I had a bit of free time on my hands. (Which is a luxury nowadays!) I've always enjoyed reading long-form / non-fiction columns like New York Times' "Modern Love" and The Rumpus' "True Romantic," and after months (months!) of not having written anything, I decided to just give it a go.

I only had one thing in mind at the time — it's post-Valentine's and almost Ludwin's birthday, and I haven't thought of a gift for him at all. So, I wrote him a letter - the form of which has always been special to me since I wrote my thesis about it - and thought it would make for a wonderful surprise. A few hours later, as luck would have it, I came across an article in the Inquirer, calling for submissions for their new column.

And now, here we are. After the last few (very trying) weeks, it feels great to be affirmed like this, in a medium that has always made me feel welcome: writing. Call it serendipity, fate, kismet - whatever else - but I guess like in most things, timing plays its cue when you most need it, but least expect it.

What a feeling :)


"He has this habit of walking by the wrong side of the road. Gentleman as he is, he insists on placing me on the side of the pavement where plants grow and cars won’t hit me, or at least not right away. He unconsciously touches my elbows every time he moves towards the more dangerous edge of the sidewalk, as if to say, “You belong where the road can’t hurt you.”

This is how we met; this is how I first got to know him.

At 16, I didn’t think I was going to meet a great love. Not on the first week of class. Not in PE. Not at 4:30 in the afternoon, when I finally pulled my hair up in a messy ponytail because my bangs just would not cooperate.

The professor wanted us to pair up with someone from the opposite sex, and he paired us up alphabetically. For a convent school-raised girl, this seemed interesting. Our surnames happened to start with the same letter—B. As in, boy this is going to be fun. I looked at him and forced myself to hide a smile. B, as in, Backstreet Boy haircut, parted down the middle a la Nick Carter. B, as in, better find a way to fix my hair on Fridays because there’s going to be a cute boy walking beside me for an entire semester.

He said hi. Cue pleasantries."


— an excerpt from Ode to a Great Love's 17-year-old Self, Love.Life., Inquirer.net


(You can read the entire article here.)


*

Thank you, Inquirer! It's a great honor to be recognized by you again :) You have made one boy very, very happy with this pleasant little surprise!



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How to Date An Invertebrate

March 22, 2011    |    0 COMMENT(S)

First, get the definitions over with. An invertebrate is an animal without a backbone. Of all the animals in the world, about more than ninety percent of them are invertebrates. It is general knowledge that humans have spinal columns. Some don't, however.

It is easy to secure an invertebrate. She looks like other vertebrates at first glance. But you will easily see signs of the lack of backbone once she starts talking. She is silent. She looks like she has a problem. You feel compelled to ask her what's wrong. She shakes her head and forces a smile. You proceed with your life. You look at her again and it's the same expression. You get worried. She looks at you, then looks away. Your conscience bothers you. You buy her a drink. She smiles.

Let her tell you her name. Allow yourself to listen to her stories: about how she feels alone, how nobody understands her, how stressed she is, how her head's been aching for the last few days. You don't want her to cry, so you put your arm around her. She will say she's okay, she will thank you for being there. She will text you good night before you sleep. There will be a smiley face. You will feel better about making her feel better.

Buy her lunch. Ask her what she wants. She will tell you, Whatever you want. You will feel selfish for deciding for her, so you ask her again what she wants. She throws the question back at you. Finally, you decide on beef steak. She will shake her head and say, Can I have chicken? You will oblige. You will buy chicken for both of you. She will never bring out her wallet. You will never ask. It never becomes an issue. You will eat lunch together for the next few weeks.

She will tell you how irritated she is in this one class. Her professor did not explain the lesson well. Try to understand where she is coming from. Look at your watch. It's only twelve-thirty in the morning. And it's just a long exam. It can wait. She needs you. In between her sobs, she asks you how you are. You tell her you have an exam tomorrow. She remembers something she forgot to tell you. You cannot put down the phone. She will tell you you are the only one who understands. You wonder if she has any other friends.

You will wake up to your phone vibrating, she is calling. She is angry. You didn't say good night. She got worried. She was studying last night. You were supposed to stay up with her. You were her moral support. She will begin to question your sincerity. She will doubt the weight of your promises. If you cannot even stay true to your word of saying good night, how will she believe you really care? You blame your pillow. But you fall asleep again anyway.

She will demand for your time. Your breaks will be spent with her. She needs you to hold her hand and tell her things will be okay. In the hallway, you see a friend. You ask him how he and Anne are doing. He smiles. We're doing great, he says. Anne is in class. They'll see each other later that week after their exams. You wonder why Anne doesn't ask him to fetch her in class. He is not needed, you conclude. You smile. Then you realize you still have that exam. You look at your watch. She comes out of the restroom. You give her back her bag. She raises her eyebrow and asks you, Can't you be a gentleman for me? She walks ahead of you. She makes you feel needed.

Your friends text you about a party. You want to go. Before you even ask permission, you notice a new update from her on a social networking site. It's a lyric about feeling ignored and unappreciated. You ask her what's wrong. She feels alright. You tell her about the party. She does not reply. Your friends start calling. You decide to go. Five hours later, you check on the thread. She will be musing about how men never understand and that they never know when to put their girlfriend's feelings first. All her friends agree with her. You will feel inadequate.

Hold her hand. Carry her things. Buy her food. Give her medicine. Understand her mood swings. Let her take the lead. Tell her everything you're doing. Do not leave her out of the conversation. Do what she says. Follow her when she walks out. Don't point out her mistakes. See beyond her insecurities. Praise her. Let her know you are there. Forget her irrationality. She makes you feel needed. She makes you feel like a man. She needs taking care of. She is fragile. She is special.

You wouldn't even consider dating a vertebrate. Doing so would mean not being required to see each other when you two are loaded with academic works. A vertebrate will let you spend time with your friends without her feeling insecure. You wouldn't want your phone not ringing with "Where are you?" and "Who are you with?" texts. You would definitely hate the opportunity to choose your own lunch for yourself. Your back would miss the weight of her girly-colored bag. Vertebrates are independent; they do not allow their lives to revolve around you. Why would you want that?

An invertebrate will divide her days in two ways: Time with you, time not with you. The latter part will be spent in agony, despair and confusion. She will make you question your priorities. Why would you choose a measly homework when she is feeling down and alone? She will take it against you when she says I'm okay, and you believe her and don't read between her sighs indicating that she really isn't. She will demand you to call her again after she hangs up on you. Twice. She will let you bring her home everyday. She will be incapable of going home without you. In fact, she will be incapable of anything without you. There is no other world existing without the two of you in it. She will find it difficult to decide, to choose, to make a point without you in mind. She will need you. She will hurt you, but you will believe she didn't mean to. She only just wants to feel that you care.

You feel what you have is special; this is truly what you want, and consequently this is truly what you need. You will open your Biology book. You will see the different kingdoms of the animal world. You will study about symbiotic relationships. You will read about parasitism, and how usually they are done by worms, bacteria, and insects. They are all invertebrates.

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This is something I just randomly felt like doing in response to this article about dating illiterate girls. If a girl cares more about you not saying good night than your exhaustion over the amount of school work you had to do (that she never asked about), I think that's saying several things: (1) She clearly has time on her hands to wait for you, (2) She doesn't spend this time reading a book, or anything else equally productive, and (3) Your friends are already secretly judging her (HAHA KIDDING! Sort of. Maybe.)

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Tap on my window, knock on my door.

December 21, 2010    |    0 COMMENT(S)

On the car stereo. Outside my bedroom window. Alone at night downstairs. At two o'clock in the morning on MTV. On shuffle mode. In the backseat. On my ride to school. In the shower. In between the sheets. Inside my head. While tangled up in you.

It doesn't really go away, this song. How it lingers in my head long after the last note has been played, how it adores me despite no mention of my name. How it drives for miles and miles and winds up at my door. How you've made it ring true after endless playbacks. How you know where I hide, how you want to make me feel beautiful. How it's so much like you.

I've had you so many times but somehow I want more.


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An Ode to The Pillow Book*

August 6, 2010    |    0 COMMENT(S)

Things that are lovely to touch: Satin pillowcases. Silk pajamas. Blow-dried hair. The keys of a piano. The keys of a typewriter. Bread. Touch screen pads. Stress balls. The hair on a man's legs.

Things that are sexy but classy: Lace. A woman wearing glasses who does not reveal too much skin.

Breakfast is the most whimsical meal of the day. Bacon, eggs, blueberry pancakes, cereal. Just add milk and someone to share it with.

Upsetting things: Cramps. Not being able to speak because of cramps. Not having enough loose change. Not having enough paper bills. Having no umbrella. Hearing a lie disguised as truth. No peanut butter. No shoe size. Forgetting a pen. Torn paper bags carrying heavy books. Being ignored. Being always noticed. Gutter balls. Realizing you have to part with someone you miss.

Things that excite the sense of smell: New shoes. Coffee. The scent of a newly-opened notebook. A newly-bought book. Adidas Ice Dive. An old book, with yellowing pages. Vanilla. New cars. Old wine. Baby powder. Pheromones.

Things that stop you: Stoplight. Fear. The voice inside your head.

An affirmation of togetherness is the shift in pronouns. "We like peppermint mocha," or "We'll be there in a few."

Things that are sexy but never classy: A woman in a relationship who still entertains other men. Just because she can.

Things that are better when planned: Birthdays. Lunch dates. Midterms. Baking a cake. Eight hours of sleep. Entrance exams. Finals. Movie dates. Assassination plots. Wars. Oral reports. Interventions. Outfit. What earrings to match your outfit.

My idea of attractive comes with an intellectual requirement.

Unpleasant surprises: Quizzes. Rain when you have no umbrella. Sneezing inside a crowded bus. Bright, sunny day when you brought a jacket. Blood on your underwear.

Beautiful surprises: Free cuts. A good score when you studied. A high score when you slept all night. Gifts. Strikes and spares. Togetherness in the silence. When someone takes care of you even when they don't have to.

An affirmation of constancy is the use of present tense. "You're beautiful." An affirmation of certainty is the use of future tense. "We'll be okay."

Things better unplanned: Talking with your best friend in the atrium. Sleepovers. Brainstorming. Wrestling. First draft of a short story. Putting potatoes in corned beef. Kisses. Road trips. Drinking sessions. Foot massages. Seeing someone in between classes. Good night calls. Hugs. An Ode to The Pillow Book. Sunsets and walks in the rain.


*My take on The Pillow Book by Sei Shonagon.

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There is a light that never goes out.

December 21, 2009    |    0 COMMENT(S)

Thank you very much, The Smiths.

It's during sleepless nights like this when I have the strongest desire to drive away to some place and just escape. I want to explore the night, turn up the speakers, take in the city lights, soak myself in the culture. I want to leave with no direction in mind, run away with no plans, go out with uncertainty. I want to be someplace else where I can lurk in the dark, with no one knowing who I am, where I can be someone else other than myself.

I want to read poetry in a dimly lit cafe; to make tangible the words I've written in my journal during my most vulnerable moments. Would they make more sense said out loud, when other ears finally take a hold of them? Or would they shatter into pieces and lose their very essence? I would throw my words to the universe and pray that they come back to me one day after everything else has fallen into their places.

I want to vandalize on walls along main avenues, painting out song lyrics that speak so much about the things we can't normally say. It'd exhilarating, writing them out for all the world to see, and it'd be thrilling, the possibility of getting caught. There would be a curious excitement in me, wondering if there is anyone out there who relates to the song the same way I do.

I want to sit in one corner of a bar with a lively underground band playing songs with mundane words about life and love. I would desperately try to figure them out as I ask the bartender for my third martini. I would then walk upstage voluntarily when they ask if anyone wants to sing along to their cover of The Cure's Pictures of You, only to position myself on the piano and completely upstaging the band.

I want to dance on stage and be a ballerina again. On my toes I'd be doing pirouettes in Swan Lake, swaying gracefully to the music of Tschaikovsky. With only my body as my instrument of interaction, I would weep as Odette with no tears, I would enrage as Odile with no screams. The curtains would rise and fall and in every scene I would be a different persona, traipsing from one end of the emotional spectrum to the other.

I want to feel sand in between my toes as I walk along the shores of the beach. The moon would shine its glow on me, calling me out onto the sea as if I was her daughter. I would dip my feet into the water, resisting the urge to jump in at first but only to find myself giving in to the call of the waves. It would be dark and mysterious but the allure of the unknown would entice me and I would find myself calmed in the ocean.

I want to be somewhere else other than here, to be someone else other than this Karla Bernardo. It's not exactly because my life sucks or anything. In fact, nothing's really wrong. It's just that sometimes it can be very exhausting being myself. I know it's weird but sometimes I can't help but feel that everything is just a front, that this whole sociable, friendly, excited girl is just a consequence of what is expected of me. Tucked deep inside me is a loner, a cynic, a rebel that cries out for her emancipation. I like being who I normally am, but I also want to be out of character at times, with no questions asked, just because.

I just want to escape the monotony for a while.


//


But no, I'm not emo. I'm just sleep-deprived, I guess. Thankfully, not that cash-deprived though. I will be claiming my GSIS check on Tuesday. Hello, financial assistance! Which is why I bought a Christmas gift for myself today. Nothing says Merry Christmas like a new pair of shoes :)


Btw, your questions have been answered. Finally, haha! :)


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