C for Complicated


Hi R. I just really want to say hi to you. Because we don’t talk that much in person, I guess, and other than the times we’ve been in our tambayan, we don’t really see much of each other.

I like you. You’re very pretty. You’ve got that cute eyes that are just like a puppy’s. You’re real sweet as well. You’ve got this tiny, high-pitched voice of a ten-year-old girl that reminds me of a younger sister I never had. It just makes me wanna cuddle you sometimes.

But of course I can’t very well do that. First, you’re already with H. Oh don’t deny it! Everybody knows—I know, H and I are buddies and he’s told me all about it. He’s very taken with you. But you know how there is an unwritten rule between two friends not to go for each other’s girl? Yeah, that’s how it is. Too bad, I guess. But heyy you can still pinch me and punch me playfully whenever you want!

Also, I’m still with M, whom I don’t really see much of either. She’s gone away, moved on, and I dunno really how’s it going to work for us. Though we see each other often enough, I miss her badly and I’m just afraid she’ll find someone better, someone cooler, someone she’ll really like enough to just forget about us. I dunno. You know what, one day I just woke up and forgot to text her—and only remembered it in the afternoon when someone mentioned her name in the tambayan. Sometimes I’m afraid it’s me who’s drifting apart.

Plus I don’t like the people who’re coming on to me at the moment. Well at least that’s what they seem to be doing—always getting my attention, always badgering me, I dunno. I don’t want to assume but hey there are loads of other people to talk to here and not just me! And I’ve already caught several of them staring at me. I want them to stop but I don’t think they can help it that they like looking at me. I’m not even being vain here. I just want them to give me a break. I’m still not that much comfortable around too many people. It’s hard.

In a simpler world it would have been the most normal thing for me to take you home, even if we live in different parts of the city. We can be friends, I’d hold your hand, and we’d talk about the most normal things, and we’d laugh, and forget all of them for a while.


Dear H,

It’s December! It’s your favorite month, I know. You talk about it all the time, about all the good memories you’ve had at this time of the year. It’s the holiday season, and December, I’ll admit, just puts a smile in your face.

Just like what you do to me. You’re really, really funny! Your jokes really fail sometimes, but they still make me laugh because you try so hard and it’s so cute! I would never have known you’re this funny if we hadn’t been classmates all this time. I really like it when you’d ask me what classes I’d take so you’d enlist in them too! I like it that you’d text me at random times of the day, sometimes you would just be blabbering, but most of the time you would be asking how I am. That makes me happy. And oh, all those time we’ve spent riding the jeepney together! I like sitting next to you, listening to your crazy ideas while smiling your even crazier—but cute—smile. I don’t read the same books or listen to the same music as you do, and I sometimes think that maybe you’ll even like me more if I do. But still, you never mention it, and you’re always around when I need you. You’re such a great friend.

But H, are you ever going to be more than that? Oh H, I want to yell at you, to shake you to your senses—that I’m just waiting for you to say it to me! What’s taking you so long? Ever since you walked me to that bus bay many months ago, when we were cracking up all the time because you were on again with your funny stories, when the last thing I really wanted was to board the bus, when I didn’t want it to end and realized for the first time how beautiful your eyes really are—I’ve known that you’ve caught me and not once have I ever thought of escaping.

But now, I don’t know. You’re too busy. You’ve got so many plans. Am I even one of them? I want to know! I want to know if I have a place in your world. I want to be secure. And I can’t tell you how much I want that because I don’t know how and of course you just might give me that smile of yours and then I would just stammer, mesmerized, and forget what I want to ask, because the moment is so perfect I don’t want to ruin it by asking the wrong question, or worse, for getting the answer I do not quite hope for.


Hey you! I hate you, you know that? I hate you like I hate the freaking men in suits up in Wall Street who think they own the world! I hate you like I hate being penniless on a nice Friday afternoon! I hate you because we don’t talk, you don’t talk, and I know there’s really very little we can talk about if we ever decide to sit down and talk! I hate you because you’re so confident of yourself, and so unassuming and easy and quiet and cool without even trying. I hate you because you’re not even doing anything and I already like you. And I’m supposed to be with someone else! I don’t how I got here! Every time you’d pretend  there’s dirt in my shirt so you could brush it, every time you’d tousle my hair, every time you’d give me that sideway glance—my world just turns upside down and I’d  freak out and freeze! One time we were on the train and you told me you had overheard me telling a bunch of other friends that I find you attractive and you had that beautiful, innocent smile—or was it a leer, I don’t care!—in your face that I couldn’t just help but be, I dunno, turned on I guess?! AAAAARGH. And we’re supposed to be friends! And I’m not supposed to be liking all of this! I know those who are always circling you like vultures, ready to prey on you because they think you’re vulnerable. They’ve got it wrong! They’ve got no chance. You turn them down real subtly and that makes you sexier even more. But I don’t know, sometimes I hope you’re really as vulnerable as they think you are so it wouldn’t be too hard, that maybe alcohol would be able do the rest for us—for me. And I read the poem you recently wrote, and how badly I wished it was me you were writing about! I nauseates me how shameless I’ve been with myself to think about you, and only you, when I’m supposed to be thinking about her and I’m not even gonna tell her name because it breaks my heart that I’ve kept her waiting for so long and have become so suddenly undecided about what to with what we have. And now I feel guilty for catching myself thinking, wishing (heavens. HEAVENS!), that you and M would break up soon so you’d be forlorn and sad and emo once again and maybe, just maybe, I could come into the picture and help you put things right and maybe, I dunno, maybe we can forget about the world and maybe we can be happy and sad in our little way and maybe you’d write poems for me and I’d never need to do anything else, just listen to your poems while the world goes to war and stars fall and cancer is cured and the president finally admits he’s gay or whatever it is that’s keeping him from getting the job done.

Man, I don’t know this Christmas can ever be merry for me.


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