~ warm as ice, cold as fire ~

Friday, September 29, 2006
mirror scene

seatwork ko sa cw10. ha! 40 minutes ko lang ginawa yan! sabagay maikli lang sya. haha. nagyayabang na naman ako. hehe. sori.

a little bit mature compared to the things i have written before.

and no, this is not--i repeat, NOT!!!--a "thinly veiled" (a comment by my teacher when she returned our works) part of my life. you'll see...

enjoy reading!

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no permanent title yet. suggestions are most welcome.

I stopped before the ornately carved narra door, waiting for him. Wondering why I consented to this. A tiny sane part of my wine-muddled brain continued to haunt me. Do you really have to do this to prove that you love him? Are you really sure about this? Do...the incessant flow of questions was broken by his baritone voice saying "Here we are" as he opened the heavy door and, gently taking my elbow, ushered me inside.

The room was beautiful, I had to admit. He had prepared for this, I thought. The dominant color was red, ruby red. Love, I immediately thought. And passion. Sensuality. The ambience was romantic, and the faint fragrance of the red rose petals scattered on the bed enhanced the sensual atmosphere. The bed. The enormity of my decision struck me again. The large bed, designed for lovers, dominated the room. I took my eyes away from it and noticed the mirror above the vanity table directly across the room. Oval-shaped, framed by wood-carved cupids and hearts. I could see my face on the surface. Pale. Nervous. Frightened. I could see him standing behind me, his back resting on the door, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Handsome. Gorgeous. Sexy. Our gazes met on the mirror, his smoldering, mine unsure.

"Are you sure?" he asked. "You can still..." There was an underlying challenge to his words. A demand, not a question. And we both knew that I couldn't back down. Not now. The door was locked, and there he was, big and strong and sure to overpower me. And there's no one else on this side of the world but the two of us. I shuddered.

"Are you cold?" he walked towards me. I could feel heat from his body. I trembled again, for an entirely different reason. "I could take that cold away." His voice had dropped to a husky whisper. He took my shoulders and turned me towards him. One hand came up to my chin and made me look up at him. He's so big. So masculine, so virile. My eyes widened as I saw his eyes: dark and burning with passion and need. I couldn't look straight at him. My eyes fell, and they again saw the mirror. I steadily gazed at it. I saw the bed. I saw straining and bucking, heard moaning and groaning. I shuddered, strongly this time.

"Are you sure?" his lips brushed over my forehead. Hot. I felt it down to my toes. A hint of what I would feel later, and more.

Am I sure? I asked myself. I could see and hear people from the mirror.

My friends. My liberated friends. "What? You're still a virgin?"
"No one is pure nowadays, Angel!"
"You need a man right now. You should feel what its like. It’s wonderful."
"Your boyfriend’s going to leave you if you don’t do it with him."

I saw my poor unmarried sister and her two kids, starving.
I saw my cousin, also unmarried, dying of AIDS. I remembered her telling me she got it from one of her "escapades". I frowned at her then, admonishing her, but secretly rejoicing that I had been wise not to indulge in unprotected sex. In sex.

I could still hear my friends talking about what they had done with their boyfriends on secret, hidden, sometimes public, places. I had pretended to be indifferent, but inside the hidden longing to experience what they often gossiped about increased.

I saw my boyfriend, his body over and around a whore's soiled one. I couldn't, I could. I shouldn't. I should.

"Yes." My whisper was barely audible, and I nodded slightly against his chest. I saw him, heard him, felt his chest expand in a sigh. I saw his lips move to my cheek, ears, neck. I felt warmth. Heat. Passion. Lust.

I saw his tanned hand move towards my bodice. I saw his long fingers reach the topmost button of my white cotton blouse. Stark contrast. Darkness invading whiteness. Conquering.

They undid it easily, then moved to the next one. Undid it. Then the next. And the next. As his fingers moved to the front of my chest, he drew in a sharp breath. I saw his fingers move. Felt the lightest of caresses. I felt my breasts swell, my nipples harden. I gasped at the new sensation. Is this wrong? I asked myself.

He continued unbuttoning my blouse. In a few seconds, I saw my torso, naked save for a wisp of lace. He moved my long straight hair aside, then reached to unhook the garment. I stopped him. He looked at me, then kissed me long. Hard. Passionately. As he moved his arms to embrace me, I looked again at the mirror, and saw the slow descent of a pearly tear to his arm as he drew me down on the bed.

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yeah?

again, comments/suggestions/lavish praises/deprecating remarks are most welcome.

alam nyo grade ko dyan? 1.25! yeah!

plus, iwoworkshop pa sya sa klase. meaning, it's one of the three best works...

oh yeahh...

allow me to wallow in my literary pride and vanity for a while...

dyan lang kasi ako magaling eh...

oh no!!!

hay.

don't ask me how i knew, erm, certain details in this article. i just know.

hope you liked it though. =)

in the snow, traced by blood...9/29/2006 08:57:00 PM

ewan.

hay...antagal ko rin hindi nagpost...hehe

formal interview. think of a...(hay nahihirapan akong mag-english! hehe) kunwari nag-aaply ka sa isang trabaho. ako yung applicant, yung mem(ber)s ung company execs. heehee.
lam nyo ginawa ko?
tinarayan ko yung nag-iinterview sa kin na lalaki. dalawa sila eh. isa babae. mabait sya. yung isa, yung lalaki yung mataray. mataray! ainako. edi tinarayan ko din. at nagtarayan kaming dalawa. kulang na lang magsabunutan/magsampalan kami. but no, hindi sya bakla.

hayy...

accounting. sabog. period.

wahh...tapos na ang pe 2 philippine games class ko...wahh...
wala na kong outlet ng stress, ng frustrations...wahh
in fairness, uno ako dun sa journal kahit the night (and dawn) before the deadline ko sya ginawa. yess...natuwa ata si mam dun sa mga drawing ko kaya uno ako. kahit hindi ko sineryoso yung drawings. kasi inaantok na ko talaga.
hehe...

first love. no, i'm sorry pero hindi ako magkukwento tungkol dyan. pakibasa na lang yung previous post ko. hehe. badtrip ako dito kasi 1.5 lang ang grade ko dito...
1.5!!!
badtrip talaga. tsk. forte ko pa naman ang genreng yan! (translation: that genre is my forte!) pero sabagay, 2 hours ko lang naman...indi, 1 1/2 hours (hour?) ko ginawa at tinype yan!

parang nagyayabang ako noh...pero indi ah...

yung isang article ko nga 40 mins lang, tapos naka 1.25. yung mirror scene.

badtrip talaga. tsk.

aayusin ko na lang. hay.

*hindi sulit ang P450 na palabok bilao sa red ribbon. trust me.

in the snow, traced by blood...9/29/2006 07:25:00 PM

Saturday, September 09, 2006
first love

exercise ko sa creative writing. hehe. comments/suggestions/lavish praises/deprecating remarks/pambabalahura are most welcome. please! i haff to improve this!

tenks. =)

Memories
It's another boring class day. I sat at my desk, aware of my History teacher' s presence at the front of the room yet not minding her, and whatever words she ground out of her mouth entered my left ear and flew out of the other without letting my sleeping brain register them. I absentmindedly looked around the room, and then...
I caught myself staring at him again. I couldn't help it! I unreasonably reasoned to myself. He's so handsome...to the eyes of a simple ten-year-old girl. He's tall, fair-skinned, lean, and athletic. Quite intelligent too, when I mind not the fact that I rank higher in class than him, and completely ignore the fact that he prefers to bum around and/or play basketball with his dumb barkada. He was one of the school jocks, one of the heartthrobs in our small school. I had a few rivals on our section. But I was the one who loved getting his attention whatever way I can (or have to). I was plotting on how to get under his skin again when...
A pair of steely black eyes met mine. I gazed quietly, (quite) longingly at his (my!) beloved's face, refreshing my memory (which didn't need to be refreshed) of his solemn (sometimes), almost grave face, his short, slick (with the help of hair gel) black hair which he's really proud--and therefore protective--of, and his red lips that I...Our connection was broken. He looked out of the window, either out of boredom induced everytime by our old maid of a History teacher, or because the sight of a fat, pale girl with wild, unruly hair in wrinkled uniform and dirty shoes sickened him...oh, please, let it be the first! Disappointed Me shifted my gaze to our teacher and daydreamed of him.
I was, back then, at the age and grade (sixth) where maturity (in our school) seemed to be measured in number of crushes or girlfriends or boyfriends. Some of my classmates have had two or three ex(boy/girlfriend)s. and I, the innocent inexperienced one, haven't had any. I only had one crush, one love, my first and only. I even swore to myself that he would only be the one in my life. How corny and silly that sounded now.
Of course, he, being one of the oldest and therefore more matured (I later realized that maturity is not necessarily counted in years) ones in our section, should follow that "code of maturity". He did. It did not seem very unpredictable, even for me. The innocent romantic in me just silently, secretly hoped that I would be the lucky one--his first girlfriend, though the realistic one that I tried to hide perpetually reminded me that he would never ever even consider me as an eligible girl.
The latter one was right. He had a girlfriend before the first quarter of the school year ended. I wasn't that surprised. But what shocked...stunned me was that he got one of my closest friends (she knew I had a crush on him...!) as his girl. I could not blame him. She's beautiful, sexy, poised (and not a lack-brain)...every inch a young lady. She's also older than me. I couldn't talk to either of them for a week.
What treachery! That week, I felt all sorts of imaginary pain that all brokenhearted ones feel. I imagined--felt--that my heart was being stabbed repeatedly with a serrated knife. I felt--imagined--that my heart was hollow and numb and I couldn't feel anything anymore. Say it, I've felt--imagined--it.
After that week, I became my usual self again. But I want vengeance! Neither of them apologized to me. But wait...what am I feeling? All the pain, all the love I've felt suddenly disappeared in a flash the first time I saw them together after that fateful week. Hey, don't I love him anymore? Don't I? But I knew I had to avenge my wounded pride...and make him repay (somewhat) everything that I felt that fateful week.
As I was the youngest in our section, the most childish, the class crybaby, no one paid grave attention to the pranks I pulled on him. Once, he seated himself beside his girlfriend, not paying attention to the class. I, unfortunately for him, was seated behind him. He seemed to be completely oblivious to that fact when he moved there, the stupid Romeo. I looked at his back, and saw his hair. His precious hair! I reached out and patted it once, twice. He only grunted. I smiled evilly. I thumped it again, harder this time, three times. "Ano ba?" he hissed, obviously annoyed, and moved away. Ha! I derived a particular diabolical pleasure out of doing that. I was sure of my intentions and reasons. I wanted to annoy him, make him move out of my line of vision as he is a tall guy and he blocked most of my view of the blackboard (and I hated that very much especially when I'm copying something from the board), and separate him from his girlfriend because they are exchanging stupid mushy words unfit for humans. I did not do it out of jealousy. Promise.
Once, after my annoying him once again, he said to me, "Break na tayo!"
I responded, "Right." And yes, he's right. I was free of him, thanks to him.
Memories of first love really never die. I was forever haunted by the stupid things I felt, thought, said, and did when I believed myself to be in love for the very first and last time.

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at wag kayong maniwala na nainlove na ko. ginawa ko lang ito para me exercise ako. hehe. pero totoo na thinump ko yung buhok ni stupid boy. hehe... =)

in the snow, traced by blood...9/09/2006 12:01:00 PM