June 15, 2009. Another failed relationship for me.
I am currently back in the market again and my friends do not know anything about it. Weird enough, they don't read my blog anymore so they wouldn't have a clue at what's going it. I prefer to have it this way, I'm not complaining AT ALL. I guess they're so full of all my beautiful bullsh*ts already--- they hear about it almost everyday, I whine about my problems every single moment of our lives together that I bet they don't want one more bit of a story of my crappy lovelife.
Crap. Crap. Crap. My love life is full of crap.
I have been changing lovers 5 times since my major break up last December. That’s almost like 1 boyfriend every month. If I earn a million from every failed relationship I had in the past, I'd be super rich. Easy-weezy math.
But whoever said break-ups were easy must be one total a**hole. I admit, some of my failed relationships weren't that serious anyway, but every break-up leaves me with the biggest emotional grudge against myself. Right now, I have the hugest question marks in my forehead. Is there something wrong with me? Do I love too much? Should I still continue on believing in the inner goodness of men? Should I still believe in the magic of love? Is it ever practical to still hold on believing that SOMEONE out there is capable of loving me at all?
A friend of mine once told me that having relationships is like looking for that perfect pair of jeans.
Sometimes, you go out on a weekend and find a pair of jeans that are on sale. You think that pair is good enough so you buy it. Anyway, the whole thing is on sale. You could imagine the gazillion tops and shoes and belts you can pair it up with. Your eyes would sparkle from the thought of having a good find. A nice pair of jeans that fits your bottom perfectly is gold mine.
After a week, you finally use the jeans and you find out that the butt area doesn't fit that well. It's too tight. And you start to think it's too short. And it makes your legs look annoyingly big. Like Beyonce big.
You start to think that the jeans weren't for you anyway. After a few days you place it at the bottom drawer along with the other jeans that you initially thought were good.
Sometimes (well it happened to me LOTS of times) I bought jeans that didn't fit me at all. Like I usually save it for the day I could finally lose my much-awaited, almost-impossible 20 lbs off. I just wanted to have it, and I would beam at the thought of the day I finally get to wear it. Then the 20 lbs never came off no matter what killer diet you try. The jeans just lie untouched in your closet and come Christmas, you give it to a friend. Or a stranger. You shed one little tear as you hand it over knowing that it never worked for you and that pair of jeans.
And sometimes, you find that perfect pair of jeans in the mall. And then you convince yourself that it's not the perfect time to splurge. There is a perfect season for jeans hunting and today is not the day. You go home a bit regretful coz whew, those jeans were awesome. So you finally get to convince yourself to buy it anyway. You rush back to the mall and find out that the jeans were no longer there. Someone else had it. The next month you see someone else sporting on those jeans and you just wanted to die at that very moment.
So there. My life is a search for the perfect pair of jeans. If regrets were a dagger, I might have already died with 50-something stab wounds.
For now, I shall face life butt-naked hoping that someday I'll bump into that perfect fit.
Someday.
I am currently back in the market again and my friends do not know anything about it. Weird enough, they don't read my blog anymore so they wouldn't have a clue at what's going it. I prefer to have it this way, I'm not complaining AT ALL. I guess they're so full of all my beautiful bullsh*ts already--- they hear about it almost everyday, I whine about my problems every single moment of our lives together that I bet they don't want one more bit of a story of my crappy lovelife.
Crap. Crap. Crap. My love life is full of crap.
I have been changing lovers 5 times since my major break up last December. That’s almost like 1 boyfriend every month. If I earn a million from every failed relationship I had in the past, I'd be super rich. Easy-weezy math.
But whoever said break-ups were easy must be one total a**hole. I admit, some of my failed relationships weren't that serious anyway, but every break-up leaves me with the biggest emotional grudge against myself. Right now, I have the hugest question marks in my forehead. Is there something wrong with me? Do I love too much? Should I still continue on believing in the inner goodness of men? Should I still believe in the magic of love? Is it ever practical to still hold on believing that SOMEONE out there is capable of loving me at all?
A friend of mine once told me that having relationships is like looking for that perfect pair of jeans.
Sometimes, you go out on a weekend and find a pair of jeans that are on sale. You think that pair is good enough so you buy it. Anyway, the whole thing is on sale. You could imagine the gazillion tops and shoes and belts you can pair it up with. Your eyes would sparkle from the thought of having a good find. A nice pair of jeans that fits your bottom perfectly is gold mine.
After a week, you finally use the jeans and you find out that the butt area doesn't fit that well. It's too tight. And you start to think it's too short. And it makes your legs look annoyingly big. Like Beyonce big.
You start to think that the jeans weren't for you anyway. After a few days you place it at the bottom drawer along with the other jeans that you initially thought were good.
Sometimes (well it happened to me LOTS of times) I bought jeans that didn't fit me at all. Like I usually save it for the day I could finally lose my much-awaited, almost-impossible 20 lbs off. I just wanted to have it, and I would beam at the thought of the day I finally get to wear it. Then the 20 lbs never came off no matter what killer diet you try. The jeans just lie untouched in your closet and come Christmas, you give it to a friend. Or a stranger. You shed one little tear as you hand it over knowing that it never worked for you and that pair of jeans.
And sometimes, you find that perfect pair of jeans in the mall. And then you convince yourself that it's not the perfect time to splurge. There is a perfect season for jeans hunting and today is not the day. You go home a bit regretful coz whew, those jeans were awesome. So you finally get to convince yourself to buy it anyway. You rush back to the mall and find out that the jeans were no longer there. Someone else had it. The next month you see someone else sporting on those jeans and you just wanted to die at that very moment.
So there. My life is a search for the perfect pair of jeans. If regrets were a dagger, I might have already died with 50-something stab wounds.
For now, I shall face life butt-naked hoping that someday I'll bump into that perfect fit.
Someday.
I actually still read you :) and although we don't talk too much, you have always been part of my prayers.
ReplyDeletetake care, keith.
Beneath the contortionist moves and crude jokes is a kind heart that I'll always believe in.
ReplyDeleteThen January 2011 came.... our eyes met and we got out of our comfort zones...iTS AMAZING..
ReplyDelete