No guts no glory

That is one good thing that I got from my biological father. And since San Juan used to be MY San biscuits country [ Skyflakes ] when I was 4 years old, I remember this television advertisement where there was a bunch of young girls in really cute soccer digs, trying to score a goal, in the rain, whilst all falling on the muddy ground, from time to time in that dramatic advert. Point? The campaign was extolling this profit generating virtue: Fita in the Fighter.
Must have guts AND fight, in life.
Well, except for not fighting for my first love when the right time was sent to me: I mean, what could I have done, really? I was already in-love with someone else.
My nine to ten class>U.E. Sam_Cal ( Samson Road. "province" (haha) of Caloocan ) was all for, hope pretty, pretty Ma’am wins her frst love back. There was this one day, and it was the IEP batch yearly reunion – I summoned up the guts to call grossly autistic Atty. Stephen Quiambao and got him on my speaker phone mobile. So he could hear my class say in their very good English> "Good morning Atty. Quiambao" > He was like… just a brand new lawyer,last year. Twas only July. Two months since oath taking.
I’m just a girl, you know. I still like my first dream. Nothing beats the first dream. I still like the dream of being allowed to be Steph’s lazy wife.He does love this pianist, violinist, teacher, writer, cellist, publisher, and cook. He really just doesn’t want to swallow his pride, and eat all his "nevers". He’s the type. Not man enough to be honest.No guts. He wasn’t that much of a coward before. Now, he is…and so, I predict he isn’t going to be much of a lawyer. If he were a trial lawyer, he’d do much better. But he doesn’t have the guts anymore. And his English, sucks. He doesn’t speak it that well. Just attempts to intimidate with his Amboy slang.
Disclaimer: This man, and look at my family. All women. He treated like trash. Doesn’t say much about his character.Knowing so well, that there aren’t any men
                  in our house, to put him in his place.
                  Liking the dream, is not the same as WANTING the dream.
He told everyone about my family life. This I kept a secret from even my best girlfriend in college. We remained best friends for 10 years, and I had to leave her, because she lied to me. I was such a glamorous Amah type best gal pal to her, [ Woodrose chick, Opus Dei since birth ]. Our friends now tell me that they really miss our tandem, her and frannie r.> but i couldn’t care less.
I’d go to UP, and UP scares me. It’s such a big campus, and it gets so dark at night> but yes, I’d go..i was still part of Ateneo, she was taking up SPED as her masters and keep her company. She’s afraid of boys. I used to complain, "but (blank), we studied COED in UA&P, no one is going to molest you in UP!!! C’mon. give me a break.
I’d fetch her from Pasig after a SPED meeting, Frannie…coming from Katipunan, bring her to our house in San Juan, because her brothers could only fetch her late at night> keep her company again, and then..bring her back to Pasig.
And then she lies to me, without a very good reason.
So now, I just write my gal pals, or send them SMS once in awhile, but that’s it. My current best gal pal, is based in Chicago. We’ve been friends for 13 years, going on 14 this June.
I paid for her flight, that year in Singapore, the very first time I saw Mr. Paradise. She took a photo of me in front of Tiffanys. I have it somewhere, but i don’t want to share it, because, believe me, I was such an ugly Betty> 2004. Totally ruined by love, and totally letting go of my good looks.
Marj told me> fran, don’t stay here. It’s a jungle. Why should you pay 170USD for a night here? not to mention it’s Jan 14-17. Stay with me on Oxford Street. She was seeing a Brit ex-pat based in Singapore.
She was also the one, who said> fran, stay longer, if that other writer wants you to stay longer.
I laughed. No…we are going home on the 19th. I have classes to teach, remember? And you know, I don’t attach myself to "white" people.
I don’t see myself with one of them "whities".
Give me skin, brown as brown sugar, on any given day. It’s one of those erotic things for me. I have very white skin. Not yellowish Chinese white, but white like my Canadian relatives. ( Ma’s siblings, ‘cept for one, reside in Canada. Last year, they told me to move to Canada and teach piano. I said, no thanks. Too cold. Too far from Asia.)
Meztiza white, except that I didn’t get my Ma’s and my Papa’s prominent bridges [ nose ].
I blush whenever a guy can’t help but pinch my nose..only semi-pointy and only cute. Sayang…meaning a shame.
Papa’s dad was a Portuguese pianist. Grandma’s dad was a Czech violinist, who ran to the Phils ( of all places ) way before WW1. Grandma’s Ma was half Chinese.
Hence my sister’s Chinita eyes. And my moonface. But it’s not. It’s a heart shape. but Grandma always used to call me her "moonface"
Why am I writing this? I don’t know. I can’t sleep again. My back hurts so much. I’m allergic to morphine.
Oh and yes…the something erotic part about my fair skin contrasting with my lover’s brown as brown sugar skin.
And the part where he goes, " My god..F.Your skin is starting to get so red now…." whatever…no addition to this> If I get paid to blog, that’s the only time I will write things like….Harlequin romance or what was it that my Ma used to read? Emily Loring or my sister’s favorite no brainer for swoons stuff..Judith Mcnaught.
You must have some fantasies in that area, frannie…a friend asked me last month.
Uhhh…yeah. 3 years worth…all kinds of scenarios w/ just the one guy….if it ever happens, it’s probably the one i never thought about.
There’s this 10 hour away from the M’sian capital city place he loves going to, which resembles Batangas, here.Actually, it was 16 hours for me. 11 hour train and 3 hours by bus…not to mention the waiting time. Two of my best buds in M’sia I met by accident 2005. Kath Lawrence and her boyfriend Leo. They work for GTMC, where I always go to for any package trips in KL. They arrange everything. And Kath grew up in that place and asked me: "why you want to go there? I grew up there. it is boring."
I want to go there, because he has been bringing this pianist along with him there, for work purposes. I am jealous. The way the pianist talks about it, she says, "he was with her" and when I asked him " She was brought in by others". But the the pianists says…" by him". So, because I am jelaous of the pianist who was educated in piano, abroad, and I’m just a Philippines trained pianist….Kath, don’t ask me questions anymore. Even if you charge me a higher rate, just don’t ask me questions. You know what happened 2005, right? We met because he wouldn’t help me with my Malaysian airlines return flight date fiasco.( I went before November last year. Didn’t tell him, he wasn’t in the country. as if I’d ever try anything "improper" in front of him )


And I was there, one afternoon before going back to Sepang for my flight back to Clark. Lazy and on the wooden papag bed, eating a bunch of pink and purple fried
rice dough sweets with coconut, red bean and taro filling, coated with sugar, and wrapped in leaves, and i was just wearing a favorite white sarong wrap. Something I had made here. White and designed ( by me, of course ) to look like a closed lotus flower, held together by one button.
It was so hot, and i was eating the sweets…like i always tell me friends…when i go for my R&R abroad, I honeymoon with myself, meaning…i try to make my R&R trips as sweet as possible, for myself….and i thought: unbutton the button and the sarong opens up like a bud blooming…flash forward speed! I giggled and blushed.
Then I went to the cute Coleman cooler, nope, no fridge, where I stayed, and got a 100 Plus. We have this here now, but doesn’t taste the same.
It was so hot there.
Then I started dreaming on the wooden papag—]—- imagine if he knocks, enters as he pleases and sees you bathing? The place I stayed in? When one enters your cottage, and you’re bathing? The person gets to see your entire upper torso!
What would he do?
Nothing. He’d close the door ever so quietly, I wouldn’t know that he saw.
but…what if can’t stop thinking about what he saw and then knocks at about 2a.m. ?
Would I open the door? Would I be asleep?
I started packing after these thoughts.
The bed is made of wood. Maybe [ as if I’d know much, no? ] it would hurt.
Then I paused from packing….but there’s that spacious bath..hmmmm….?
I went back to packing. As if, frannie….As if…
yup, as if.
then there’s the " alright. i will kiss my friend, not as a friend."—> (guy)
                       " There.done then. Does it end now? Please. No more fighting. There. ( Then he kisses my cheeks, so tenderly) I can’t
                          hurt you. I care about you, you know?"—->(guy)
                        " Do you really want me as much as you say you do, F?" —->(guy)
                         " Don’t cry. Come here. please don’t cry" —-> (guy)
 The last couple of days, have been really chaotic, for me.
But I got a " I’m sorry. Don’t cry. I’m stupid sometimes. please don’t cry. Let’s leave it all, for the time being to what I just said, alright?
                   I’m going away and I want to know that you are getting healthier. I’m not helping, I know. I’m sorry.
                   You know that I don’t like it when I go abroad and we’re not alright, as friends."
I just answered " Alright. I feel better with that. Thank you. take care"

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