Bless me Lord for

I've just come out of a Grey's Anatomy Season 2 marathon and I'm weepy. Or more like tired of being weepy. I swear: every single episode, every single sub-story, all minor characters. Kahit hindi ako mashado ka-relate, go iyak. Kapagod. Sobrang nakakapagod, nakakatawa na. The whole issue of adultery of course gets to me. In a bad way. Pagmay adultery na kasi ang isang tv show, or isang movie di ko na kayang panoorin. So you can imagine that this was bordering on EXTRA CHALLENGE na.

Sometimes, I wish I could go back to the time when things were black and white. Certainty, even blind certainty, is powerful. And safe. And powerful because safe. Is a non-smoker's smirk towards the smoker's section. Is an old maid's snide remark to a kabit. Is a middle-aged guy's nostalgia for childhood. It's productive, and efficient but inauthentic. It's correct but not right. It's irony that's repetitive, and fixed, and uselessly explanatory, and futile. It's un-creative. It's what is ushered in by "back then", or "i once knew" or "when I was..."

When I was about seven years old, I tricked a neighbor into kissing me. The kid of a neighbor's maid. We were in my brother's room and lying on an upturned rocking chair-cum-bed I asked him to kiss me in the cheek. And he did. And we ran to the garden after that as if nothing had happened. And I don't think he remembers it. I hope he doesn't. Becuase It was sick and manipulative and evil and pathetic and sad and sad and sad and the world then was entering me. It was vicious. It was weak. It was smoke entering the room of my mouth. The broken toy that you return to your friend's cabinet without saying that it was you who did it: who threw it down the stairs, stepped on it, hidden it in the plant plot for weeks, pretended you had not seen it. It was the wrong kind of dress you really really wanted to touch. It was enough reason for apology. it was worthy of sorry. So there. So I'm so so so sorry.