I told myself I wouldn’t blog about Valentine’s Day. And I didn’t. I did blog on the 14th, but on something totally different. But right now, I just can’t help myself. The mere fact that I was blogging on Valentine’s Day meant nothing else than that I was single and dateless. Single and Dateless? That’s S.A.D. And that’s totally sad.
I hadn’t even gotten past that bit of depression I had last holidays when Valentine’s Day was suddenly just around the corner. It was actually a good thing that I had my CD4 count to worry about until a couple of days before Valentine’s. I thought the high that my CD4 count left me with was good enough to last me a while, but…
Anyways, Friday night, the 13th of February, I purposely went straight home from work, not even bothering to stroll through the two malls that I could’ve passed. I just didn’t want to navigate through the presumably huge crowds that were there. Okay, so maybe that’s not the entire reason. I didn’t want to see droves of couples walking hand in hand either. That way, there was nothing to rain on my solitary parade.
Next thing I knew, it was Saturday. The 14th. Valentine’s Day. I only had a trip to the grocery with my mom scheduled for the day. I took time to drop my little cupid, Baby Nathan a line first thing in the morning, and met my mom at the supermarket shortly after. I wasn’t really enjoying being there. I already saw some couples shopping that early in the morning, and I wasn’t too keen on seeing more. I just wanted to get out of there. So I rushed my mom through shopping, and left for home even before the rest of the mall opened.
I don’t even remember what I did the rest of the day. I think I was just watching television, snacking, surfing and sleeping for most of it. But thankfully, no drama. I even decided against going to the nearby Burger Machine, afraid of having to pity myself for going for a buy-one-take-one deal alone. The day passed by without a hitch and I was happy. I slept through the night, and Valentine’s Day 2009 was over. You’d think, right?
The following day, the 15th, I spent at home again. I was able to do some chores around the house as well, and evening came with nothing really significant happening. Right after dinner, I retreated to my room earlier than usual, and got into a text conversation with a friend. And then it happened. Cellphone in hand, with Nina singing I Love You, Goodbye in the background, I just shattered to pieces. I don’t know what got over me, but I got so depressed.
My chin trembling, tears streaming down my face, and who-knows-what out one nostril... the works. I blame my friend for telling me I made his day. I blame Nina for singing her sentimental song. I blame my right hand for pressing “PLAY”. I blame the night for being so dark. I blame my mind for losing it.
I think it was self-pity that crept in. I looked into the mirror and took everything in. I saw what others saw. I saw me. I looked okay, but still tried to figure out what was wrong with the person I was staring at. It was a question which I couldn’t answer. Is it the HIV? I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Maybe nothing is. Maybe I am okay.
Fortunately, I was able to calm myself down after that. It was over in no time. I just always enjoyed having a good sob, something I haven’t done in a while. I now needed to focus on the work week ahead, and was fast asleep in no time. I woke up with a bad headache and a mood to match, luckily without the puffy eyes. I know it’s a bad way to start the week, but hey, I’m just human.
Another Valentine’s Day gone, and hopefully no more residual dramatics. Another twelve months before I need to deal with it again. The countdown begins... now. Ngarrr.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Valentine's Day
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Not so Christmasy
Oh, shit. Four days to go till Christmas.
It’s never been a day or a season I look forward to. Ever since I had the maturity – or should I call it angst – to look beyond the decorations, the gifts and the food, and into all the emotions that are wrapped up with it, I’ve come to realize how the holidays have usually been a lonely time for me.
I know I’ve always regarded myself as a loner, and as being strong and secure, but Christmas is a time that magnifies all my insecurities, all the loneliness, all the self-pity and all the hurt. I can honestly say that I’ve cried myself to sleep on more than a couple of occurrences of Christmas.
I can’t say I’ve always been single whenever Christmastime comes. But memories of the few years that I’ve had someone special beside me during the holidays end up being tainted with doubt when the relationship ends because of infidelity, mostly on their part.
Last year, my first Christmas after my personal vow of singlehood, I remember getting the most greetings ever, mostly from the guys who I was playing mistress to at the time. But knowing that they needed to sneak off and could spare just a few minutes from their normal lives to drop me a line, and when these guys would need to go back to their wives, girlfriends, partners or boyfriends, I realize that the numbers didn’t count. Eventually, I’d be alone again.
This being the last weekend before Christmas, I’ve been attending party after party the past few days. Fun? Yes, definitely. And though I am usually nothing more than a wall flower, the happiness overflows in my heart when I see other people happy. Creepy to some extent, I know. But deep inside, I’ve been feeling the loneliness skulking in.
From my late father, I inherited a penchant for booze. And though I don’t really do much of it, nor am I addicted to it, I’ve been treating myself to my fair share of the drinking the past few days. But as much as I’d like to try to drown my sorrows away, it’s like the heavens have taunted me again. I do not get drunk. I’ve gotten as far as tipsy and sleepy, but never ever gotten puke-mad-don’t-know-what-I’m-doing-can’t-remember-what-happened unconscious. I don’t know if that’s a good thing. I want to forget the loneliness. I want to be numbed of the pain. But I wasn’t meant to be that lucky.
This will be my first Christmas after finding out I am HIV-positive. How much worse will HIV make it? Only time can tell.
So far, sans the HIV part of it, Christmas seems to be a time when everyone is already busy with their special someone. And as I’ve learned, third wheels will get left behind. Even just seeing strangers everywhere I look paired up walking hand in hand just leaves me sighing and trying to shake the loneliness from my mind.
Apart from that, it seems to be a time when people seem to be wearing new clothes, sporting new looks, and of course looking damned good, and it’s been such a torture to try to keep myself from having any part of that pie. I’m just afraid it’s going to get too complicated. Or maybe I’m too proud to admit that I’m needy. I don’t want to run the risk of having something end up as a fling just to tide me over the holidays.
So for now, only solitude will surely remain by my side. I’ll be constantly reminding – and convincing – myself of all the pros of being single, and if I’m lucky, when I go to bed tonight, I’ll wake up to find out it’s January already. If that doesn’t work, I’ll have to whip out – Gasp! – my License to Drama. Just wish my sanity luck... please.
P.S. On a good note, POSITIVISM.PH is up and running! Check it out! Thank you, Hotbox and Synthesis! Congrats, Bossings! We've only just begun...
Thursday, October 09, 2008
House, Not Home
It was Wednesday night. I had spent ten hours at the office, making money to pay the bills. I took an hour-long bus ride home, standing in the aisle the whole way. Instead of taking a tricycle in, I took the ten-minute walk home, meaning to save fifteen pesos, which could buy me two cups of rice for lunch the next day. And all this for what?
I walked into the house, and changed from my work clothes. I hadn’t even eaten dinner, or sat down at all, when my mom started bombarding me with things she needed me to do. Things that weren’t really urgent. Things that could wait till I at least sat down.
Peace and quiet helps an introvert like me recover from a long day. And it was clear she didn’t care enough to give it to me. So I raised my talk-to-the-hand hand to shush her, and went on to have my dinner.
Then it started. She started sighing, and clutching her stomach in alleged pain. She told me that if I’d come home one day and she wasn’t there, I’d probably find her in the hospital. Then she asked me if I had medicines. Mylanta. I shook my head.
And what did I do after all this? Absolutely nothing. It was happening again. She was acting up again. Craving for attention. The attention that’s been lacking since her favorite son left the country. The same attention I was deprived of since childhood.
She’d done this before, lying in bed, claiming she “almost had a stroke”. Complaining that half her body was numb. I’m not stupid. You don’t almost have a stroke. It’s either you do, or you don’t. That time, I turned my back for two minutes, and the next thing I know, she was out of bed, all dressed up, ready to go to the mall. Retrogression at its finest. Imagine how my eyes rolled.
So this time around, I was already in The-Boy-Who-Cried-Wolf mode. I was eating dinner, not giving her even a glance. I had my eyes glued to the television and was letting everything from her go in one ear and out the other.
Hospital? I don’t know what psychic powers she used to see that coming. I knew she was acting when she asked me if I had medicines. I never stocked medicines and she knows it. At least not until I started on ARVs, and that she doesn’t know. And of all medicines, Mylanta? What for? Gas? Indigestion? Hell.
I admit I was so tempted to shoot her bad act down by telling her, “I have HIV, and you’re complaining about gas?” But like always, I just put my poker face on and kept quiet, making sure I locked myself in my room as quickly as possible, safe from the attention-starved monster. It reminded me why she doesn’t deserve to know I have HIV. Because she doesn’t really care.
In times like these, I usually call my sister. Because no one else would believe my story. Because only she knows my mom and the craziness she’s capable of.
Good thing she was home, and I was able to vent. We share the same wavelength, and vent as we do to each other, we never fail to find humor in all the insanity that life throws at us. By the end of it all, I was laughing again, smiling again.
I slept soundly through the night, and rushed through my morning routine so I could leave for work and escape any residual craziness at the house. Yes. This is my house, but it is not home. My room is my home. My bed is my home. My friends are my home. My sister is my home. My solitude is my home.
Monday, May 12, 2008
I Am Still Me
I’m back from a weekend spent very quietly at home. After my lab results came out last week, and before my CD4 count at the end of the month, I’m left with a good two and a half weeks with nothing much to worry about. My mom went with some other relatives on an out of town trip. I was a bit torn between going and staying home, bugged mostly with dramatic thoughts that this might be my last chance to go on a trip with the family. But I got over that soon enough and elected to stay home and spend time alone. Solitude kept me company.
I genuinely love being alone. I wasn’t moping or sulking. I just enjoy being myself, by myself, doing what I want to do. I was up to my usual things. I mean, other than having sex left and right, it was just like before. I went to the market to buy vegetables. I got online to check e-mail and surf the web. I napped a bit. I finished some work on the computer. I did some chores at home. I did some home improvement as well. I got myself a haircut. When I got horny, I served myself... if you know what I mean. Really just regular stuff. I worked up a sweat, got tired, got hungry, got refreshed... basically got myself going.
It was reassuring to realize I could still do everything like before. It was validating to know that I wasn’t demoted to being just someone who was sick.
I now know I’m still the same me that I was before this chapter of my life. I am not HIV. I am me.
