Cinderella in Combat Boots: January 2009

Yaay! It's a good writing day today. Actually, I've just finished typing up our Sierra Madre blog entry but I still don't have enough photos for it to look..uh, okay for me. So I killed time writing this little story up. What should I say? I love dementedly depressing love stories (check out December 31 and December 32 here in my blog, too). Do enjoy it for now.

PS: it's inspired by MCR's song "Kill All your Friends". The main speaker is a BOY (people have this tendency to imagine the main speaker, especially if told in the first person POV, having the same gender as the author). And he's a modern Muslim. :D (Inconstant tenses usage galore! Wohahaah!)

"Weddings and Funerals"

by Airiz

_______

And they said I’m the wealthiest kid in the universe.

They were wrong, of course. First, I’m not really wealthy. I sure am the heir to the vast corporation my father left before he died, but I do not have that thing that I only need to continue to live.

Second, I’m not a kid. Because if I am I should have been delighting myself with toys and other child stuffs, not obsessing over her, wasting my life thinking about her and scheming how to see her again.

They were wrong, because now I’m here again to satisfy my selfishness…to quench my thirst of drinking in the sight of her.

I know that apologies were not enough to atone for my sins. And I can’t make amends if I continue in making mistakes after the same mistakes after the same mistakes. I am aware of that.

I’m a demon. I’m still alive but my soul was now being engulfed in the flames of hell.

But at the moment I didn’t care. She was just a couple of feet away from me, but I knew that I’d die first before I could even lay a finger on her. That was the punishment I set for myself. I wouldn’t let this dirty, bloody hands of mine touch her. I’ll just mar her purity.

If I said this back during my younger years, people would have thought it’s the other way around. She was known to be a good woman with a bad attitude, and it was said that she enjoyed watching how others get hurt.

But almost ten years later, the undeniable truth was reversed.

I watched her as she struggled to force her tears back. Her hair was still the lovely curtain of the finest dark silk I always loved, swaying to frame her delicate profile. She was this ivory sculpture I worshipped in my dreams, the goddess I am so addicted with. She was the perfect personification of all the abstract emotions welling in my system.

I swallowed the small lump that gathered at my throat, then shifted my eyes to the thing she was leaning over. I couldn’t see the body, but I knew who was resting there.

The casket shone under the faint sunlight of the gloomy afternoon. Everyone was quiet with held-in tears and sobs. I thought every member of her bloodline was trained to put on a strong face to the world. The other businessmen and politicians were just as silent and I saw some of them comforting my goddess by holding her hand and hugging her.

I do feel remorse, but what I am doing this for is a necessity. I need to see her.

She’s my life.

I never peeled my eyes off her until the funeral was over. She whirled around with slumped shoulders—sight that was atypical of her during the war—and lifted her eyes to study my face. Her mouth was pulled down in a frown and her whole countenance offered no warmth. She tried to give me a smile, but it turned out sour.

If only I could stop the time at that moment, I certainly would. It was one of the rarest times that she would acknowledge my presence. But before I even notice it, she, along with the swarm of black-clad people, was gone, and I was standing all alone in the graveyard. It took me an eternity-long minute before I convinced myself that I should retreat to my prison they called my office to work for the betterment of my company.

And to plan how I would see her again.

I do not have any choice. She was more important to me than the air I breathe, more valuable than all my money and heirlooms combined. And what am I for her? A former enemy whom she gradually accepted as someone who could be considered as a remote acquaintance. Just a human who when she would look at would bring her pain for reminding her of the years of war.

And I know she was happy. I am updating myself by reading the papers on how she and her husband managed their own businesses, how they enjoyed living together, how they took care of their lovely daughter.

I remembered how long it took me to convince myself that it was all real, not only a nightmare, when she announced her engagement to my best friend.

I thought I’d die then. I knew I couldn’t live to witness how they vowed their love to each other. I laughed bitterly at the scene, having encountered them in soap operas. Boy meets girl, boy falls in love with girl, girl falls in love with boy’s best friend, boy’s best friend and girl get married. The end.

Boy’s heartbroken, and there’s nothing that could be done. The show was meant to pinch the hearts of viewers.

The thought hurt so much to a point that I refused to believe anything. I couldn’t trust anyone, and no one understood the real cause of my behavior. My sisters even sent my best friend in question to check on me everyday since I started to act a bit strange. As if it would make me feel better, huh?

I realized I couldn’t just sulk in one corner. I realized that I was but a mass of flesh and bone to signify what my only love disliked the most: weakness. And I couldn’t stay like that.

But no, I do not plan to steal her away from my dear friend. I love them both, I shouldn’t hurt them.

If they were happy, I should be happy too, right?

Wrong.

I attended their wedding. Oh, and I was flattered to the hilt, could you guess why?

I was the best man.

Just like in the movies. I watched and learned to plaster fake smiles on my face, time and again stealing glimpses of my lovely princess, but quickly turning away when she and her significant other would exchange warm looks, sweet smiles, and the kisses I wish I could have…

By the end of the ceremony, she approached me, her face blissful. I was quite shocked when she gave me a hug to thank me for attending. She had heard of my condition lately. I just smiled at her and lied that I was happy for them. What else could I say?

I went home with the shards of my heart crushed to smaller bits.

Days passed. I still worked hard to put the company in the pedestal. I was successful in these kinds of things.

But I was terribly not me anymore.

I knew I could never have her. She loved him so much, and he returned her affections equally. But I just need to see her. Not in her business photographs in the internet, not in her few TV appearances.

I need to see her personally.

The image of their wedding day replayed on my head. And then the thought struck me. I knew there would be some things that I could use as an excuse for seeing her…

At first I’m a good guy, a matchmaker, if you will. I helped my friends who were obviously had a thing to each other for a long time now to realize their feelings and aided them to confess to each other without thinking whatever anybody would say about them. It was a hard task, but soon they decided to settle down.

So at the wedding, I saw her again. I was mentally erasing the picture of my friend as she hung on his arm, and for that I blushed and silently apologized to him.

I did the same plan to my other friends, and to some of her own. In these little ceremonies I would be rewarded by the sight of her. And I thought I was happy then.

Of course yes. Of course no.

When everyone had settled down, I was left with no one to use as a decoy for another chance of my desperate need. But I’m not one to give up that easily.

I set up my own wedding. It was mad, I was well aware, but what could I do? I allowed myself to agree on an arranged marriage set by my sister. It was a Muslim wedding that we had—the girl was a little crazy about me, and just for the sake of marrying me she converted into my religion. My fiancée was beautiful, an heiress to a large empire akin to mine, but she was no match to my first love’s beauty. She couldn’t replace something permanent in my life.

Of course my princess did attend. There wasn’t a second that passed that I didn’t imagine the woman in my arms as her.

For a time I convinced myself that it should end here. I’ve read somewhere that the heart could be taught how to love. I should try to teach my heart to love my wife then.

Hell, I couldn’t make a fool of myself this time. My heart’s different.

My wife loved me, and I pretended that I felt the same. But as always, I was transparent; she soon realized that I didn’t love her as much as she did. And we had never slept together.

I only plan to sleep with only one woman in my life.

I was beyond sorry to what I do to my dear partner. No one would believe me, but this was an honest statement. She got herself depressed, disregarding all the Muslim practices that she should be following, drowning herself in alcohol, overdosing herself with sleeping pills. To her dismay, I was always there to keep her alive no matter how much she wanted to die.

I knew what that feels like.

I cursed myself for being the guy that was me. There was no solution to my wife’s misery, and I couldn’t give her my love. It was up to Allah how He would punish me.

Dreadfully, I need to drink in my love’s image again. I’m going to give anything I’ve got just to see her.

So I shifted to the ‘bad guy’ plan. I hired assassins, and paid them as much as I could. I knew this process would hurt her, but for the moment I didn’t really care. I was hurt too and there was no one to comfort me—you couldn’t count on a depressed woman, though I never really expected for her to soothe me after what I’d done to her. And if ever she did, I would just inflict more pain on her because it would be obvious that I was thinking of another while she holds me.

My goddess has my best friend so I could be assured that she would be alright.

So I witnessed how one by one, her bloodline shed one member after another.

In every funeral I was there, offering condolences and staring at the dead men that I indirectly killed, muttering prayers that I know Allah wouldn’t bother heed. I was the worst man to live.

And of course in every funeral she was also there. I could see how my selfishness crushed her. There wasn’t really a large number of members left in her clan, and I was the secret culprit behind all of this killings.

I indirectly killed my wife, too. Her suicide attempts had finally paid off one night I wasn’t around the house. She was found lifeless on the floor of our bedroom, knife in hand, wrists slit.

I was a monster.

I love a certain woman, and I let my love for her destroy who I am supposed to be.

In the burial of my wife she was also present. She enveloped me in an embrace to comfort me. It was a heartfelt gesture.

I have nothing left now. I couldn’t bring myself to kill my friends, and when the thought crossed my mind I wanted to cease existing. I am here now, gasping for air as I slumped against my couch, wondering how in the hell I would see her again.

Oh, well.

Perhaps my own funeral would do. At least on that day, she would cry for me the way I cried for her all my life.

The end. XD

*guffaws*

I just stumbled upon this funny little piece across the internet. XD Cutely funny. Wohaha.

THE!!

We' ve been friends for a long time ago. We come from the same alma mother. Actually, our paths crossed one time on another. But it's only now that I gave him a second look. I realized that beauty is in the eyes. The pulpbits of my heart went fast, really fast. Cute pala siya. And then, he came over with me. He said, "I hope you don't mine. Can I get your number?" Nag-worry ako. What if he doesn't give it back? He explained naman na it's so we could keep intact daw. Sabi ko, connect me if i'm wrong but are you asking me ouch? Nabigla siya. Sagot niya, The! Aba! Parang siya pa ang galit! Persona ingrata!!! Ang kapal niya! I cried buckles of tears.

Na-guilty yata siya. Sabi niya, isipin mo na lang na this is a blessing in the sky. Irregardless daw of his feelings, we'll go ouch na rin. Now, we're so in love. Mute and epidemic na ang past. Thanks God we swallowed our fried. Kasi, I'm 33 na and I'm running our time. After 2 weeks, he plopped the question. "Will you marriage me?" I'm in a state of shocked. Kasi mantakin mo, when it rains, it's four! This is true good to be true. So siyempre, I said yes. Love is a many splendor.

Pero nung inaayos ko na ang aming kasal, everything swell to pieces. Nag-di-dinner kami noon nang biglang sa harap ng aming table, may babaeng humirit ng, "Well, well, well. Look do we have here." What the fuss! The nerd ng babaeng yon! She said they were still on. So I told her, whatever is that, cut me some slacks! I didn't want this to get our hand kaya I had to sip it in the bud. She accused me of steeling her boyfriend. Ats if! I don't want to portrait the role of the other woman. Gosh, tell me to the marines! I told her, "please, mine you own business!" Who would believe her anyway?

Dahil it's not my problem anymore but her problem anymore, tumigil na rin siya ng panggugulo. Everything is coming up daisies. I'm so happy. Even my boyfriend said liketwice. He's so supportive. Sabi niya, "Look at is this way. She's our of our lives."

Kaya advise ko sa inyo - take the risk. You can never can tell. Just burn the bridge when you get there. Life is shorts. If you make a mistake, we'll just pray for the internal and external repose of your soul. I second emotion.

Pages

Saturday, January 24, 2009

[short story] Weddings and Funerals

Thursday, January 15, 2009

"THE!"

Thursday, January 8, 2009

Meme Time! :D

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