| Jan. 17th, 2005 @ 01:34 am Once Upon a Time... |
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Current Mood:  angry
I had a driver named Manong Nelson. He was the best driver I ever had, and the only driver I could actually start a conversation with. He knew all my friends, where they lived, and how to get there. And he was friends with all of them. And he saw Cam and I from the time I just liked her 'til we got together. But things started to change. The gas bill would was never at its most expensive. Turns out, he uses the car while waiting for me in Ateneo to go to Greenhills or Riverbanks to buy his vcds. Turns out, he's too cocky in the household and refuses to be used as utility, justifying that he'll only drive for me, even if I'm not there. He was transferred to Ate Carissa for awhile, and now, he has been fired. Good bye Manong Nelson.
I had a house in Magnolia St. It was a big house, and for 18 years of my life, I saw it through its renovations, expansion, and evolution to what it became. A house more than a home. My room there was perfect. I had everything, and there were days when I wouldn't leave it all 'coz it had precisely, everything. It had a ref. It had a tv. It had a bed. I had a laptop. It had everything. But things changed. It went up in flames, and everything that was 'everything' about it sorta disappeared along with it. Goodbye Magnolia.
I had a yaya named Nanay Nelly. She was the best yaya I ever had. She screwed up a lot, but I can't seem to hate her too long. She seemed to understand me the best among the 80+ staff that we had in our house. She knew where all my stuff was, and she attended to all my needs. Life was easier with Nanay Nelly around. However, when the fire started, everything sorta changed. She saw the Christmas lights explode, and the smoke did not diffuse rapidly into the air that could've prevented her from going up the family hall. She knew that KC was inside, she even served her pizza. But she abandoned her alaga, when she could've gone in. Her instinct was to tell Nanay Melinda downstairs that there was fire, when there was innocent KC, in my room, unaware of the brewing fire. Well, tomorrow, she will be fired. It's a less painful 'fire' to undergo than an actual fire where your skin is engulfed in flame, in addition to the toxic smoke that poisons your lungs and makes you suffocate painfully for 4 minutes. Goodbye Nanay Nelly.
I had a zest for life. To me, life had never been this good. I would tell my friends that I was super happy with my life and that I couldn't ask for more. I had everything, and everything was going right. However, somewhere along the unimaginable perfection, I doubted when it would all be taken away. On December 16, while I was watching 'Bad Santa' (a movie so bad that Cam and I actually walked out - and pun intended, Santa was truly bad to me this year) and eating in Bubba Gump, my house was burning and my sister was dying in suffocation. Weeks later, I am having maximum difficulty finding my zest for life again. And I live each day to die into the next, wondering what is left of the passion that I once had. Life is returning to normal, and I am not the same. To cry all my tears such that there will be no more tears to cry, and I still yearn to cry, not knowing where to exact my tears. I'm fine again, but I don't want to be fine. I'm starting to be normal, but really, I'm not alright. They say I'm starting to smile again, to laugh, and be crazy old Toff, but behind closed doors, I'm broken and it's hard to heal. People think I'm alright. Putang ina! I'm not alright, and I don't want to be anytime soon.
I had KC. And to me, she was the reason I'm alive. To live in a fucked up household is not an easy thing. To have a father I can barely talk to because of a 50 year age gap, who knows economies more than the birthdays, or sometimes, the names of his own children, who was never there for me during my youth, and who I extremly abhorred all my life, until my developed nonchanlance towards his existence, degrading him from father to housemate, is an ordeal I undertake. To be alone in an enormous house, to exist in a house more than a home, to exist in a life in the limelight, where politicians, world leaders, royalties, and showbiz personalities come and go to Magnolia at any random day, is an abnormality you have to live with. To be surrounded by superfical people, siblings from my fatherside who I felt never really loved me, mom or KC, friends of my parents who abandoned them when my father lost the elections, but are now back now that power is once again in my father's hands, people out to use you for what you have, but don't really care a shit about how you are, is a nightmare that you'll never be able to wake up from. But through 18 years inside this hellhole, KC kept me sane. And she was the only one I trusted, and she was the only who knew how I felt. She taught me how to smile amidst this hell i'm living in, and not give a damn. And she made me smile, and she made me laugh. She made me cry, yes, but she made me strong. And she made me feel loved. But she's gone. And I have to face life alone.
Things are changing so fast. And I don't want them to change. Weeks ago, during the wake, I never wanted it to end 'coz I felt that life stopped, the whole world stopped to mourn with my sister. But now everything and everyone seems to be alright, but I'm not. I get everything I want, but the one thing I want right now, is something I can't get. I can't get back my sister, and I dunno if it's because of Nanay Nelly, or the guard who knew that KC was there, or the fire, or the stupid firemen who weren't properly equipped, or the fucking Christmas lights that should not have been turned on, or Mel and Joey for interviewing my mom that night - by the Christmas tree despite her refusal to be interviewed (they showed up anyway. assholes!), or those putanginang handlebars that prevented KC's escape, or congress for holding my dad on extended time when he could've been home, and upstairs could've been populated, or myself for not forcing KC enough to go with me to Starbucks, or for leaving for some LaSalle block party when I could've stayed and been with KC through the ordeal - but I'm fucking pissed that things can't go my way. And things will never be the same.
I've done nothing but help others, even if sometimes, people don't appreciate my kind gestures, or my thoughtfulness, or my martyrdom anymore. I've done nothing but be nice, or try to put smiles in people faces. I've done nothing but help, help, help, help, be nice, be nice, be nice, be nice. And how does life repay me? By taking away my home, my sister. I am not OK! And if I am, or if I'm starting to, I DON'T WANT TO BE OK! I cannot be happy when my sister is dead. And no one understands how I feel because that's how life works.
Once upon a time, I was happy. And everything was perfect, and everything was going fine. My happiness is gone, and everything is fucked up, and things will never be the same. Life has gone on, but I haven't. Life is returning to normal, but I will never be the same. |
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