This week, I’ve been obsessed with finishing a couple of petitions for annulment (of marriage). I’m hell-bent on filing them by February 14.
My friends think I’ve got something against Valentine’s Day. They’d be wrong. What I have is a deep and abiding hatred. A pathological, single-minded vendetta against that day.
I guess I owe you guys an explanation.
The story that The Four like peddling around law school was that I began February 14, 2006 eager to give flowers to a girl, and ended that day catatonic and watching Brokeback Mountain, and that no one really knows what happened in between. That is a lie. Because I know exactly what happened in between. I’ve never blogged about it, except maybe only to describe the consequences. Now, almost a year later, I think I’ve piled enough distance between myself and that day to write something.
The Girl. People who know me well wonder why I liked her in the first place. She didn’t care at all about politics. She loved reading romance novels and watching TV. And cooking. Someday she wants to earn enough money to buy all those pretty shoes. To be fair, I really don’t know her that well, so maybe this is just her public interface. All we ever had were a couple of conversations, and a card game during the block Christmas party. Looking back now, I think I liked her for what I thought she symbolized: That if maybe we got together, I can forget about all my little losing wars, and all the thousand little strings that bound me to a lifetime of picking up fights.
The Plan. All I wanted was to give her roses on Valentine’s Day. She’d be in law school, watching over her organization’s little flower booth. I figured I could pass by and give her the flowers. She didn’t have to say or do anything. A straightforward transaction. I’ve never been a fan of treating relationships like a game of Battleship – with hidden moves and incomplete information. I wear my heart on my sleeve – I wanted to tell her in clear terms that I liked her and that I’m not out to be her buddy.
The Turn. As bad luck would have it, the night before Valentine’s an over-eager classmate accidentally informed the girl of my little surprise. Next day, the girl skipped out on class and booth watching duty and asked one of her friends (let’s call her Friend A) to go shopping in Megamall. I’ve already ordered the flowers, and now they’d go to waste. Another friend (Friend B) and orgmate of hers volunteered to drive me to Megamall – the price of the flowers included a reasonable attempt at delivery, after all. What happened next went something like this:
Friend B(to girl, by text): Please stay in Megamall.
Girl: I’m about to go. Why are you going to Megamall?
Friend B: I need to give you something.
Girl: What is it? I really have to go. Are you going here with someone?
Friend B: In the parking lot already. Where are you?
Girl: If he’s with you, I’ll be angry at you, and I’m leaving.
Friend B(to me): I think you need to stay in the car. I’ll give these to her.
The Fall. She took the flowers and left. I remember sitting in that car, too stunned to say or do anything. It wasn’t the girl’s fault. She is just a child, when it comes to these things, and anyone should brace for disappointment when dealing with children. Friend A hitched a ride so she could give her boyfriend a Valentine’s gift. We had dinner with Julz and Kitch, and then we all watched Brokeback Mountain in Friend B’s condo unit. I barely spoke the whole time.
Julz: Dude, okay ka lang?
Me: I…
Julz: Grabe yung Brokeback ‘no?
Me: Nnnnhhh….
Julz: Okay lang yan. I’m sure na-appreciate nya yung flowers.
Me: I…
Julz: Ikaw naman kasi eh. Nood na lang tayo ng UP Fair.
Me: Neeehhh…
And then we all watched the UP Fair. Friend A and her boyfriend and Friend B and Julz and Kitch. I hated it. Hated the love songs. Hated the food. Hated the fucking lameass fortune tellers and magicians. After getting assurance that I could crawl back home, they dropped me off the footbridge in Philcoa. I saw their cars speed off, and then I convulsed and retched by the stairs. My brain was clicking on old subroutines, and my skin was wet with the fever sweat of memory. It was almost instinctual, to reach back. To the north. To the cliffs. To my cold and pale ghost lady. I was angry at her, for leaving me here crippled and alone. And then I was not angry, but just breathing in the steadily throbbing blank of sadness.
Epilogue
Two weeks later, GMA declared a state of rebellion over the city, through PP 1017 – and got away with an undeclared, and therefore unreviewable martial law. We were rushing a memorandum of arguments to the Supreme Court. There were manifestoes and mindbombs to move. I hadn’t slept for days. In the middle of everything the girl finally gives me a reply, through text. She thanked me for the flowers, but made it clear that I wasn’t her type, and that they made her feel uncomfortable.
Well, what can you do?
I laughed. Hard and full and fresh, like the howling of a madman against the storm.
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