You're not getting any younger

ME
You know what’s a perfect date? It’s when you hate what I’m wearing. Tattered short shorts, oldest shirt I can find, rubber slippers, messy hair and all. We go someplace where people usually dress up with cameras on their neck. I’ll drive our twenty-year-old car, aircon broken, windows down, near empty fuel. We’ll sing whatever’s on the radio, and light up every 25 kilometers. We’ll spend the afternoon sharing a huge frappe, discussing something trivial like how islands form, component of plate tectonics, to what I recently came across from work (i.e. do you know it’s the male sea horse that gets pregnant? Does that make them more nurturing than their female counterpart? If RH Bill were pushed in the underwater Republic of Hippocampus, would they vote for it?). 

Smoke. Talk. Smoke. Talk. Argue. Laugh. Chill. No need for anything pricy. No roles to fill. Just us, talking like great friends, because we are. `

US 

My ideal date is not what we usually have. Regular dates often start with an argument over where and what to eat. I like pasta, you want rice. I’m craving for pizza, you had chicken in your mind. There are times when I’m  forced to have dinner even if I’m on a diet simply because you wouldn’t eat if I don’t and I can tell you’re hungry. So I nobly throw my conviction to lose pounds out of the window for you to have the satisfaction of sharing your experience of chewing and swallowing.  

We’ll have desert somewhere and smoke, I’ll tell you about random things, and you’ll try to listen, then space out every 5 minutes.  I’ll get bored myself (hello?), remember I’m pissed about dinner and ask to go home. 

YOU
Happy 22nd Birthday. Because it’s your day, let’s have your kind of date. That means buffet right? 

***


Thanks for being my greatest friend (and driver), for being understanding, patient, and stubbornly loyal (though it doesn’t matter). If it’s possible to fall in love with friendship, I think I did, and that’s what keeping me for the longest time. 

You’ve always been lenient with me, allowing me to do whatever I want, whenever, wherever. You’re unimaginably kind and persistent. It’ll be hard for anyone to put up with my crazy antics and shit but you do, every single effing time. I have no idea where you get your staying power. Do you have fetish for indecisive complicated bohos?  :/  

Anyway, I hope you reach this part of my open letter because I know you hate reading so I’m ending it now. Happy Happy Birthday! Thank you for sharing your past 5 birthdays with me. I wish you all the happiness that you deserve.

I will always love you.

taralets

Dear David,

This is for you. Where do you want to go???

Beach? Anywhere cheap? :(

I need to soul search again. Don't worry, I won't quit my job this time.

Love,

Ai

sometimes you have to think hard before answering

Trick Questions from Everyone:

Lola: Aira, nasaan yung lighter mo?

Translation: I know you're smoking. Surrender your lighter to confirm.

David: What time did you sleep?

Translation: Why are'nt you replying to my texts last night?

Mama: Hindi ka kakain?

Translation: Are you starving yourself again? Your face looks sallow, you look better with pudgy cheeks, eat two cups of rice, call your brother and sister, lets start eating, why are you dressed up? Are you going somewhere?

Niki: San ka pupunta?

Translation: Sama ko? *puppy dog eyes*

Maye: Ate Ai, nasaan yung USB/laptop/make up/book/slippers/cellphone/anyothertangibleobject?

Translation: Can I borrow your USB/laptop/make up/book/slippers/cellphone/anyothertangibleobject?

Random Friends: How's David?

Translation: Are you guys still together? 

Translation of Translation: can be a) I know you're still together, of course! b) Your names will forever be conjoined, I can't talk to you without thinking about him.

grow old with you

I’m a boring person. I’m starting to think I am.

Awhile ago, david and I are eating dairy queen in gateway. We’re silent for a few minutes, separately savoring softserves before the realization of routine sinks in.

You see, we’ve been doing this for four weeks straight already. Every Friday after dinner we get the same dessert. But this entry is not about couples being stuck in a rut, it’s about me as an unexciting gf.

I acted cheery and told him some stories about work. He listened patiently while I babbled about rainforestation and planting native tree species.

On our way home, he asked about my opinion on the recent hostage drama, my answer irked him. We’ve always had opposing views. I sometimes accuse him of being a devil’s advocate.

My current read is Ben Yagoda’s The Sound on The Page, it’s very insightful and informative I have to share bits of it to someone. Ofcourse, I turned to david and told him Erickson’s observation that a lot of writers have speech impediment like Winston Churchill, Jorge Luis Borges, Lewis Caroll, which made Erickson believed that “a stutter becomes a writer”. It may sound dead boring and utterly trivial but I can relate.

At home, I continued reading my book while david sat beside me, staring at something only he can see.

I blurted something about writing fiction. He said I already did. Oh yeah, he remembered my short stint as a ghostwriter for adult fiction during my freelancing months. He was so amused about it. He thought I was writing porn. It’s only 5k words. Obviously, it’s not counted. I’m thinking more like, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, with all the meticulous and elaborate descriptions.

I bored him more by telling the connection between music and writing, how good writers produce rhythmical sentences.

From what I can tell on his facial expression, he was being polite and probably wandering why penguins can’t fly.

mic test 1 2 3 4. hello?

David via South Park Studios.