Understanding Women

A close friend of mine once mockingly said,

“They’re [maybe] one of the most irrational species that inhabited this planet.”

“I thought women and men are of the same species – Homo sapiens!

Does that mean that we are irrational, too? ” I replied.

I may have offended him a bit because I was laughing obnoxiously. Though, I was actually demonstrating my superb sarcastic prowess on him, again. Then, I noticed him drew a deep breath like those losers do in cock derbies during town fiestas. There was something in him, in his eyes that I can’t explain. Maybe he was heartbroken that time. Or maybe it’s an aura emitted by morbid people like him. I disregarded the idea because, I believe, that is not my burden to bear. Just like they said, “I don’t give a damn or f@$#%”.

I’ve known him for a long time, but there’s a side of him I can’t fathom. But, most of the time I do understand him because he was my friend. But, I really think he keeps a secret ~ a disturbing one. Most people, if not all, keep secrets. It doesn’t matter whether they are good or bad, or what social class they belong;keeping secrets is a leverage. And what I am thinking now is that women keep secrets, too. And I call it~ reservation, which is actually normal at certain levels, but if woman keeps more than half of it. That is a strange type of reservation; it’s a dangerous one. That could be something. 

5 years later

I don’t know what happened after that conversation; the idea just faded away. But today, I can’t help but wonder, my morbid friend who committed suicide last five years ago is, somehow, correct about his opinion about women. I speculate their monthly predicament has something to do with it. Or maybe the media is the culprit for all of these miseries that my fellow-men are experiencing. But I will soon find out.

Women and Math

Women are like Mathematics; they are a protracted quantum mechanics equation combined with integral calculus problem. Yes, the sound of it seems pretty much difficult to imagine or solve. But let’s simplify this. For example, today they like blue, but the next day they like pink. Sometimes they smile on the corny jokes, sometimes they don’t. Today, they like flowers; tomorrow they don’t. Sometimes, they like being chased; sometimes they want being dumped. Today they like you, tomorrow they may hate you just because your’ wearing sponge bob printed t-shirt. How crazy is that? In other words, it’s hard to see the pattern to all of their actions. There is no logic in what they do, except those who are “gifted with genuine goodness”.

A woman’s mind cannot be interpreted. Actually, we can’t read other people’s minds, regardless of what gender they have, unless of course, you have mutant skills like that of Professor Charles Xavier. We can only assume what women think, but we cannot tell what’s brewing inside their minds. We are merely guessing. Despite this confusing reality, women send signals to us (men) if they like us or not. We just have to make use of our so-called spider sense to get a woman’s heart. Or maybe, you can go back to school and attend psychology classes. But there are really rare men whose social intelligence is very high and they are using   this to lure women to their traps. And that’s not me.

At present, no machine has yet invented to interpret women’s minds, neither an Android application that you can download in Google Play or IOS app in iTunes. And if there is such mobile app, it would be a great hit just like and Angry Birds and Candy Crush Saga. Savvy?

“With all of these complexities of understanding women, it only sums up to one thing: Getting the trust or “hearts” of women is not an exact science, but an art of genuine effort, true affection, crystal clear intention and immortal persistence.”

P.S.  No offense to women reading this.

Confessions:I Refuse To Die

Questions

“Of all the people, why me?”  I asked.  The answers are still vague to the incident that happened last September 16, 2011. What misdeed have I done to deserve this predicament? There are other bad people out there, but why me? I have been asking it to myself countless times.

Miseries of Cancer

I was diagnosed with papillary carcinoma, a curable type of cancer ~at certain stages. The doctors said they have to remove my thyroid glands. Death-defying circumstances are trivial to me, but this one  is  odd, because it’s the first time to have my neck sliced with surgical scalpel. And it is cancer , which almost everyone is scared of. It seems death is inevitable ;it’s calling me. Conversely, on that time, I thought it was exciting; I was even smiling before going to the operating room. But after experiencing it, I can’t really say I enjoyed it that much. I’d be lying if I say it was not harsh, as I can still glimpse the flashes during my six-hour operation . Some occasions I can imagine the spewing of blood like those I see in Quentin Tarantino’s films. I can still remember the “slitting sensation’’ every night, in my dreams or in my scariest nightmares, in my subconscious, in my soul.

“But what hurts the most is not the wound itself or the skin testing or the countless piercing of  needles  on my veins , or antibiotics running intravenously that feels like my nerves are splitting ; or the  week long fasting , or the depression itself; it’s the mourning of my loved ones only made silence by their smiles when they are in front of me.”

Healing the Wounds

The operation  immobilized me for couple of months. First two weeks were nightmares: I had the difficulty of swallowing solid foods, so I have to consume mushy foods (like those foods for infants); it feels like being a kid again. It brings back childhood memories. I was very cautious swallowing  because I am scared I might untangle the stitches . But it’s a good thing I was well-taken care of. Somehow it tells me it’s fine to be ill occasionally ,so people will take good care of me, even for a short time. That’s absurd, I know. But I really appreciate  my family’s dedication (especially mom’s) in taking care of me during the  my darkest hours – and that’s so precious to me. (Thanks Mom! I’m going to buy you a new  bag! )

The Therapy

It is malignant, so I had to undergo radiotherapy — a procedure to wipe out all the remaining thyroid cancer cells after the full thyroidectomy. I stayed in the hospital for three long days in pure isolation after taking the Iodine-131. Every time I travel to have clinical tests, I have to buy three seats in the bus (since we don’t have a car) to avoid radiating other commuters, albeit they have no clue on my radioactive state and its possible [harmful] effects to them Endangering other people’s health is something my conscience can’t take. I was not raised that way. Then, I found myself in pure  isolation  in a small house made especially made for me. I miss my family, especially my nephew ~ Renz. You know that feeling and that overrated line that corny people used to say -“You’re so near, yet so far”? Well, that was it. I want to hug and kiss him, play with him, but my radioactive body forbids me. And that fact alone is killing me.

Living with Thyrax

Then, after months of going back and forth in the hospital, I’ve come back to the world of the living, setting my day of resurrection other than my birthday, of which I rarely celebrate. But this time I’m with Thyrax. At the beginning, I thought taking in a cute bitter pink pill every day was trouble-free.Well, it’s not, because complications came along with it.

Right now I have a scar on my neckline , of which  I perceived a long awful stitch mark .I tried to erase it with highly-priced creams sold in pharmacies. But after several days, I realized removing it was futile. What for? Is this to hide the truth? This scar is now part of me. I even think this is cool; it’s something unique. This is not a trophy for some contest, but I view it as a battle scar to victory over death. And not everyone is given a chance to fight for his or her life. I am privileged I’ve done it.

Prolonging Life

I still have tests scheduled. The past results were good, but I am not yet cancer free. Also, I have several clinical tests missed. Last time I heard the doctor said I still have 20 more years (or less) to live after the therapy. Great ! Maybe, she is lying.Maybe she wants to scare me ,so that I’ll have regular check up.Well ,thank you.But I wont  waste my time trying to prolong it. It’s okay; I’m dead already, and this is just a consolation. I think 10 years is enough time for me to enjoy my life and accomplish my “99 things to do before I die list”. I am very eager and positive about my remaining years on earth .I am motivated  do good things for my loved ones and for the people around me, instead of waiting for my death day -miserably, regrettably, wastefully.

Questions Answered

At this instant, I know few  answers to  my questions that had me pondering for almost a year— I was tested — It’s a wake-up call for me — and  it’s a lesson learned that I will remember every single day of my life. I supposed, in this life, we’ll have to be tested in order to see and appreciate the value of our lives. Now, I’m stronger than before; I have recreated  seventy-five percent of myself  and I have a sense of purpose.

“We will be more appreciative about life in its very meaning the moment we are challenged it will be taken from us. And for that reason, you have to fight for it.”

How about you?  What inspires you to get up every morning?

Why do you persist in this life?

Of Love and Friendship

          For me, love is one of most fascinating topics to write about in this world. It could be love for God, love for family, love for humanity, love for a friend, love for the opposite sex, etcetera. Human as we are, we fancy anything related to love. We walk the earth for love . Essentially, love makes us truly human. And with that in mind, I am going to start writing about it.

“When we meet someone who makes us feel the world is ours — and the possibilities are limitless— that we can go beyond ourselves; I believe that is a sign of  profound love.”

           To fall in love with our friends or best friends is a gamble of life and death, I may say. That is when we are dying to confess to a friend about how we feel but we just can’t— because we are anxious such act will impinge the existing rapport. Within our subconscious, we would rather see our beloved wrapped in the arms of others happy than to feel the indifference they might induce to us as we confess. That is not cowardice at all, but rather a noble act –when we are impeding our own happiness for the sake of others’– even if our soul is craving to take part of that “unknown happiness.” For me, that is heroism .

“And in this life, people [heroes] who sacrifice for a worthy cause, like love, win immortality.”

           There are times our logic teases us, but love ignores it [logic] most of the time and we have no control over it: We do fanatical things that sometimes others  perceive it  “eccentric” of some sort. But, eventually, we bid to that notion goodbye because it’s what we believe a better resolution. In that case, we opt to consider the boundaries between love and friendship, and then our hearts die. We renew our hearts with that piece of consolation called “friend”, and then we go on with our normal lives but we know half of our soul is missing~because we let it die.

“To end friendship for the venture of speaking out our love is like committing suicide.“

          This is so because such procedure can be  painful, but it will free us from all anguish. Our minds whisper us that suicide is an ally who offers relief through death, but suicide [sometimes] is an egocentric feat because we think only of our own convenience or gain without minding the sorrows we might inflict to others. How about the people who truly love us? Our lives are not our own; it belongs to God, to our family and to the people who love us and need us. Thus, suicide is not our salvation; it is a labyrinth that lures us deeper to the void of melancholy and to the “dark side”. But one thing to ponder about revealing our intimate feelings to our friends is that, circumstances like these beget maturity and brilliance; it lets us grow to be a better person. Actually, for me, it is by controlling our emotions we become conscious that keeping secrets and truths is not really amoral in a sense— only if it meant to keep the happiness of people around us.

             And for the people who sacrificed by keeping their silence, resentment has no place in the heart, but only acceptance. One day your self-control will be rewarded  with love that exceeds your expectation. Maybe, one day, if God permits, you’ll have the courage to say, “I’m sorry ,but I love you” to the ones you can’t live without. But no matter what happens, always bear in mind that everything has its own time. Let us not force things to happen because God has better plans for you~ for us and the unraveling of events pertaining to love will be much cherished if grown naturally, effortlessly and sincerely.

“In the end, love is one thing that makes us equally perfect and imperfect; it is what separates us from brutes.”

We feel. We think.  We are not brutes. We are humans.We love.♥

Part 1: Revived :Confessions of an Educated Stalker

“It is truly amazing when a heart changes its rhythm once it tasted the warmth of  love . However, it is a tragedy to see a person of dying love.”

          I saw Beth on the pale window over our house looking in a distant scarlet sunset taking a deep sigh. I know in my self she is in  plight. Every day when the sun is at its weakest, she stood against the gloomy windows routinely lifeless and fragile ;but  for me the  traces of eloquence and inquisitiveness remained that I have always dream of. She was still  my ever dearest Beth. Below the horizon , amidst the dilapidated galvanized sheets roofing of our home, through the rumbled streets, I watched her with astonishment. Every minute was like eating vanilla ice cream.

        I could still recall, we attended the same community college and we used to exchange casual smiles and good days, even goodbyes. She was not  arrogant  like any other schoolmate I’ve known , who belong to the affluent social class of my beloved town .She was ,maybe, the only astute yet carefree person I have ever met . She is the only one, the only one. She is but a well-mannered woman , of  high caliber — academically,spiritually,socially . She is illustrious and belongs to a contemporary benevolent family in our locality - image of an ideal  family which is perfectly opposite to the families that surround me. She was a vivacious and energetic woman, who has been the apple in everyone’s eyes .I must admit she was astounding, and me, always striving as  the green apple in the middle of the red ones.

               We talk seldom but there are times  we get acquainted through peers  , when I peddle some of my crazy antics and overrated but corny jokes. Those efforts are well-compensated because she laughs at me ,at least,  and  her soul always making me devilishly in high spirits.

         But those times have passed; things change like autumn leaves fell to the ground. Her father’s  demise and her step-mother rule over their home along with  debts in the bank. As far as I remember she live in  ancestral  mansion once full of love ,joy , prosperity, and my favorite - Cattleya and luminous orchids of yellow and violet .Those are now replaced with cobwebs of sadness and dusty fixtures of regrets and  debris  of fears falling from the roof. The Cattleya in the garden  superseded with overlapping weeds that almost cover their whole balcony , and what remains of the orchids are now strangled net baskets  and twisted twigs once used  to make a pedestal of bouquet .Deep within my self,for her, I would go back in time to make  floral crowns for her  from their  garden ,but it is , of course, possible only  in my dreams.Yes, only in my dreams.

                    I miss their house. I miss the old “them”. I miss the old Beth and her golden facial gestures, those cheeks and her playful sparkling eyes that seem to talk to my soul saying, “I am blessed.” Then, suddenly my reminiscing vanquished, as a balut  peddler blinded my sight. With the infuriating sound of the horn, I was distracted. I did not buy a single egg, thinking it is my  punishment for the stranger who  ruin my  fantastical flashback on Beth. I made few more steps towards the gate ,a   spot where she can notice me , from  the terrace next to the windows  hoping for ,at least ,I can catch even a single  smile .I failed.Her smile  is now as illusive as a firefly; the reason maybe is that, her thought   nailed  blankly towards  the sky of  the fading  beam of light.

                             The sun   slowly  eaten by night’s darkness , and Beth went back inside the house .I sighed and tasted regrets as I botched another attempt to get noticed by the diamond-jeweled goddess. Tomorrow, I’ll be back again to glimpse the sparks in her eyes,  and eventually fetch Beth’s  illusive smile for my heart to pound.

To be continued…

P.S. : This is not my memoir, and Beth is a fictitious character.