An Open Letter to...

December 4, 2018 Tuesday 8:33 AM

Ever dearest L_ _E:


What can I say? Thanks for breaking my heart!?


You're the best!...


I want to believe that you're doing this for my benefit--that all of these would end up working to my advantage, sooner than later (before it's too late).


Thinking this way, I want you to bamboozle me some more. No pain, no gain--this is what masochistic individuals imply--and in a weird sense, as confused as I am, I agree with them to some degree.


At this point, I just need you to throw at me all you got (including the sink). Let me experience the worst that I could ever feel. So, when I'm done with it, we could both move on.


Slap me degradingly like how mothers used to do it when their children keep on murmuring invectives after being scolded; punch me with all your might on the chest or better yet, on the gut, where it really hurts, to the extent that I will regurgitate whatever's in my stomach; scratch me malevolently and sink your sharp, vicious fingernails into my skin, making my face wrinkle in fear, pain and anger but still repressing a cry to avoid pure embarrassment; kick me on my behind or on my crotch for best results since that would absolutely elicit a shriek even from the bravest of men.


You can also opt for an effect inclined towards emotional torture.


Shout curses on my face with your stinking breath and fresh saliva attacking me at all angles; tell me without hesitation that I've done worse than any human being alive--that I've been a fan of the most stupid, most sluttish movies ever produced...that I'm in a lame job with a pathetic subordinate position that has neither ranking nor financial progress in sight...that I cannot make others around me happy since I don't have enough money and I disregard the quality time to do so or I simply don't care (period)...that I always talk crap and nobody gives a s_ _t about what I say in the first place.


You know what (my) L_ _e? I shouldn't feel a tinge of shocking pain or devastated morale any more after everything I've done and after all the things we've gone through. You can also blame me for being a bad, ungrateful son to my parents whom I feel don't have a single dose of trust on me.


But...why does it still hurt? If I could only prove to scientists that there is a soul, I'd put myself up as a guinea pig to be a lab rat, so they can discover if a soul can really be pierced and crushed. Because, this is exactly how I feel right now.


What amazes me is that despite all these miseries, I still have you--inside me--breathing (down my neck).


I keep on wondering how I am still able to speak: to animatedly muse about Kobe, Lebron and the Lakers or my fave PBA team, the Ginebra Gin Kings; to rant furiously about death, Duterte and the Catholic ideals; to facilitate meditation and channelling of positive energy during class sessions; to inter-personally reach the center of my mind to psyche myself up that I must go on with you.


It's unbelievable that I continuously get all worked up planning dates out for you--to be organized--to revive us.


After all these years of anguish, why in the world would I still want to be with you?

The positives. I look for them. I've witnessed them. They're like diamonds in the rough. The inconsistent miracles. How incredibly inconvenient that I take the bad with the good and vice versa. How do I do that? I don't know. I just do. I'm not alone. It's not without precedent. Others do it as well to ultimately survive and win.


They even do it better than I do.


They proudly eat their pride; hop from one moment to the next; and whisper (nervously)/shout (at the top of their lungs) either robotic, preprogrammed 'Our Fathers/Hail Marys' or the much more spontaneous 'Give me a break Lord.'


I, on the other hand, am at this juncture, when all I do is think first about you. Actually, that's the best that I can do at present--think about you. I'm afraid though that there will come a time when I've totally squeezed and drained my mind from so much thinking that there will be nothing right in my left brain and nothing left from my right brain. Sounds crazy, right?


Yes. You do take me into a roller-coaster of internal turmoil. One minute--happily intense and gladly torrid. Next hour--cursing heavily while uncontrollably banging my head on the solid pavement. I wish I can literally do this--to once and for all end our relationship.


This is nuts because when things revert to the good, old, merry days, I instantly change my view about you.


Believe it or not, you make me feel this way.


Now, I simply want to look you straight in the eyes and say, 'Dear L-i-f-e, you suck!'


Lovingly Yours,


'You Know Me (Well)'


This piece was originally published in my personal blog on December 18, 2018.

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