testosterone boy

stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry.

Tag: sad

No, nothing good starts in a getaway car.


Of all the guys I had dated since my breakup with Erl, he was the youngest and most interested in me than anyone I’d ever been with. He was completely out of my standards but I was okay with it—at the time.

After a couple of bad dates, I thought maybe I should try someone different for a change. Someone who’s not in my usual roster. Someone who I can be with that doesn’t oblige me to put the most effort in. Someone who’s as attractive but not as predictable. He was the perfect getaway car.

I thought that if I start dating someone opposite from my ex and the other guys I had dated I’d be happier. I led myself to believe he was going to save me and that he was the one I have been waiting and wanting and hoping for.

He was so sure about his feelings for me and I thought for sure I was willing to make it work with him. I was wrong. He turned out to be another mistake. Although this time, it wasn’t because he broke my heart but because I broke his.

To be honest, I had great moments with him. He made me smile every time he tells me how lucky he feels that we’re together. He treated me like a princess that needs to be served and pleased and protected at all cost. But for the most part, I felt uneasy and uncomfortable and annoyed around him.

I didn’t feel the sincerity in him. I felt like he was only putting a show. It seemed all too good to be true. I didn’t feel that he was being his true self. Or perhaps he was being completely himself but I misjudged him because a huge part of me knew he was not the one for me.

Perhaps I over-reacted when I told him that he needs to grow up because we had only been dating for a few weeks yet he was already stressing me out with his pettiness and issues. I was always annoyed at him for it. Also didn’t like that he was only always talking about himself: “My friends tell me I’m this…” “People at work tell me I’m that…” “I have so many suitors…” “What I want is…” and more I’m-this-I’m-that monologues. He was too full of himself that I never felt he wanted to get to know me.

I knew I had to end it even he wanted to reason with me and try to patch things up. I also knew I had to do it in a way that’s awful and disrespectful and insensitive to push him away. So I went out on date and posted it on Facebook for the world and him to see. It worked.

After that night, he gradually disappeared from my life. He stopped calling, texting, and sending me pictures of the LEGO display he’s been working on for the casino he is employed at.

One friend told me that maybe I wasn’t being fair to myself and to him. Maybe I could have at least tried to understand and get to know Melvin better, see where the relationship could have gone if I did. Maybe I threw a good thing away because I was too sensitive about someone who was only being himself. Maybe I got it all wrong, maybe I was being a total asshole.

Or maybe it didn’t work out like I had hoped ‘cause I rushed into it. Clearly, we weren’t ready. I know I wasn’t. And we know nothing good starts in a getaway car.


He was the best of times, the worst of crimes.

IT IS HONESTLY SAD AND CRUEL knowing that most people we meet and learn to adore eventually have to leave. It isn’t always the case, yes. But in my experience it always happens like clockwork.

When I met James, I was confident he was only going to be a hookup. One that I had psyched myself up to settle for since I become single. Again. I was also certain he saw me as an available sexual offer on his table as well.

I didn’t know it was going to be more than that because he made it oh-so-easy for me to like him.

I remember the first time he took me to his favorite breakfast place. It was a sunny Friday in June. We ordered our food to-go, and as we walked back to his place, we ended up eating our food in the nearby park ‘cause I told him I haven’t seen it in the daylight. It was my second breakfast at the park, which was very memorable because my first was with my mom when I was 10 or 11.

I appreciate people more when they do things for me and with me that reminds me of my childhood and of my mom. James gained multiple “pogi” points for it.

Although he and I never went out on a date or at least there was none that we considered as one, I still had great times with him when we were at his place just talking about our lives. He was always interested about my stories and I, to his.

For a little over two months, we were spending time together without having to fck, which says a lot because I was always horny around him and I was able to restrain myself. Haha. We were contented just to cuddle in his bed and chat until we fall asleep. It was nice and warm and sweet—

I fell for it.

My blind optimism romanticized what we were and I had hoped it would lead to something more. It was as if there were no red flags in front of me. It was as if he wasn’t seeing other guys, or as if my friends never warned me he was not a good idea.

Of all his good qualities, his being charming was a standout. That’s what made me want him more. And who passes up on that? I’ve always been a princess, and every classic Disney fan knows princesses are always paired up with a prince that is charming. That’s how their fairytale stories were written. But alas, we were not that kind of story.

Surely, I’ll miss James.

Now that he’s left my country, all there’s left is to watch his pictures on Facebook like I used to watch him sleep, and I’ll feel him forget me like I used to feel him breathe.

The moment I knew.

It was a Thursday afternoon. The room was wonderfully bright and warm. On the corner night stand was a Bluetooth speaker playing “Your Song” by Rita Ora from his iPhone.

He was packing work clothes in his gym bag and other items in another bag for his trip to the beach that weekend.

“Did you eat your food already?” he asked.

I didn’t reply so he went towards me as I was finishing the buttons of my shirt. He was wearing a black tank top that had Les Mills printed on it and black gym shorts, all fitted his tight chest and body. Standing in front me still waiting for my response, I reached for his right hand and stood up. 

There’s no way I am going to back out again. I was going to tell him how much I admire his sweet smiles, the goofy faces and pickup lines he makes, his poi dancing, and most of all, I love the way he makes me fall for him in many effortless ways, even I know he doesn’t feel the same towards me. I knew I wasn’t going to lose the moment this time.

He smirked at me and stared, fixed his eyes on mine, as if he already knew what exactly I am into. His dark green eyes told me to remain on guard and stick to what I had to say that very moment when he was only a breath away. 

It felt like melting along with the continuous sound of music filling the entire room. I didn’t know where to begin. I’m scared of what might happen next. I’m afraid that he might reject me. Again. For once, those negative thoughts backfired on my head.

But I was too weak and shy to speak for those words. I thought it was not the right time until he put his arms around my waist and pulled me towards him, without hesitation, without any words, he opened his mouth and reached for my lips. 

All of a sudden, it felt like I was floating in the air with my both hands around his neck. If I was in the middle of a beautiful dream that moment, I wished not to wake up at all. But it was for real, I’m not in a mindless dreaming. It was the best two and a half breathless minutes of my life.

When our lips parted, we remained standing locked in each other’s arms; that was the moment I knew it was going to be our last kiss.

And the sinking feeling starts.

You should have been here.

You should have shown up that weekend. I waited for you to message me and to pick up the phone when I called you up that Saturday afternoon, but hours passed and there was no response from you. I stayed in the entire evening, still waiting, as I comb back through my memory how you said you’d be here.

If you had showed up, it would have felt like all the stars in the sky had just aligned and I’m the luckiest guy in this world. But you never did.

On the next day, I spent most of the time in the shower in hopes that the cold water could at least numb me from the pain. There in the bathroom I let the water ran from the nozzle from my head down my body as tears streamed down my face, and I tried not to fall apart as I hopelessly cried, “He said he’d be here.”

Dad, you said you’d be here.
We were going to meet for the first time in forever. I was going to show you my favorite spots in Quezon City to hangout so you would get to know me more, and you were going to introduce me to my half siblings from your first family so I could feel to have a family again. And we would have spent the weekend as if it wasn’t going to end.

I honestly don’t know what happened. Everything seemed so perfect. What happened, dad?! Did I say something that put you off? Was I out of line? Was it because of the way I speak or the way I use punctuation marks in my text messages? Did I say something way too honest or too gay that made you run and hide? Because you said you’d be here. What changed your mind?!

Did you forget everything we had talked about? Did you forget how much I missed you? Did you miss the part when I said how immensely happy I am that we found each other? Didn’t you mean when you said you wanted to see me too? Didn’t you mean when you said you wanted to make up for the 24 years that you been gone? I thought you meant all those words. Now I’m not so sure.

I know people disappear and these things happen, but I remember how excited I was when you said we’re finally going to meet on the last weekend of April. Ten weeks now and I’m still reaching even though I know you’re not going to respond because I believed you when you said you’d be here.

You should have been here and I would have been so happy.

Leave this blue neighborhood.

On Wednesday morning, I was finishing up on my graveyard shift when I started to feel itchiness in my throat. Shit! I knew it was not going to be a good day for sleeping.

True enough, the coughing and feverish feeling came forward later in the day when I got up to prepare for an evening commitment. My head was heavy and it felt as if gravity was ready to knock me down the bathroom floor.

I still fought the distress my body was all too susceptible to succumb into. I went to my Wednesday night thing.

That same day I was awoken by my ringing phone: it was my sister. To my joy, I straightened up and began asking about her and mom and our other siblings and her daughter! I was just ecstatic to have had to catch up with her! I didn’t let her speak in our first two minutes on the phone, until she stopped me with―

Kuya, kelangan ko ng pera. Padala ka naman.” Brother, I need money. Please send me.

Then the next couple of minutes I had her on the line circled to why/when/how much do you need? That was it. That was all. Of course.

You know, the thing about my sister is that she maintains her communication with me, which makes me happy. She never fails to reach out whenever they need something i.e. money, hand-me-down clothes or cellphones, money. She is very consistent at that. Even my mom. Which is also sad, because I don’t really feel they care about me. At all. Well maybe they’re confident that I can manage on my own.

But it sucks. Big time!

I always have to live with the fact that the very people I expect to express affection in me are the same people who show otherwise. Hence I had become hopeful-to-the-extent-of-clingy to the idea that other people outside my family tree should give me the care and love and attention and affection I try so hard to receive. This is very upsetting, tbh. And annoying, I should add.

Other people should not be obliged to show their interest or attention in me. But I tend to shove it down their throats often that it becomes sickeningly hard to swallow. I make them feel responsible to shower me with affection―


with understanding
with acceptance
with love

And I know it is not right. I am truly and utterly sorry for being this way. I just feel so alone and neglected and uncared for. I hate to be this person. I hate to have this behavior. I hate myself for acting this way. I just couldn’t help it sometimes.

I want to leave this blue neighborhood and never come back. I just couldn’t find it in my gut to know how.


I (always) almost do.

“Letting go doesn’t mean that you don’t care about someone anymore. It’s just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.”  —Deborah Reber, Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul

You always have that one ex you simply could not seem to forget. I think that’s normal. You had a great time with them before fate stepped in and made the relationship quite a mess, so I see no reason to hate. That’s totally fine.

I, for one, still feel something for this particular boyfriend I was with two years ago. This isn’t the same kind of feeling, though.  What I feel for him now is far less than I had before the breakup took its toll on us. I loved him in the most special sense of it, but I no longer feel for him that way now. It’s the memories we’d shared that I couldn’t just leave behind for good: the laughter, the sex, the morning kisses, the mushy exchange of promises, the disagreements, the jealousy, the cheating, the fighting, and all the reasons we stayed and left.

You might say I have not yet completely moved on, but it’s far from it. I totally am. This is why I don’t hate him nor want to forget about him. You move on because you want to move forward with your life or so you can jump onto the next guy without it appearing to be just a rebound. You move on because you have accepted that the magic’s not there no more, and nothing you could do to stop the pain except to forgive. More importantly, you seek to move on from certain people because you know it is the best thing for you, if you want to be happy again. You don’t hate them nor you forget all the reasons you were together in the first place. You don’t constantly rekindle the bad things they’d done to you. You don’t plan for a revenge. You don’t play the same damn things you were so quick to believe. Moving on is never about being bitter towards the person or whatever the hell happened between you.

He has hurt me more than anyone else has. Truth be told, I almost wanted to get back at him. I wished I could do the same exact things he did to hurt me, perhaps even worse. But there was also a part of me that longed for reconciliation. I know it was never all that bad and I’m not one to just turn my back from something (or someone) that made me genuinely happy within the numbered days.

Don’t get me wrong though, I’m moved on and all but I still can’t have a fairly good conversation with him. If you deem it as hypocrite, I couldn’t care less. Maybe I’ve forgiven that he has hurt me, he was bad for me, or it’s over now, but I am not comfortable yet to get close to him even as friends. Sometimes I still wonder about him, and sometimes he tries to reach out to me but I never answer. I don’t know why. I just think better of it—


but I almost do it.

He should’ve said no.

It is honestly sad and cruel when people take for granted what they have over petty lavish perks.

On Friday morning, Seb called me up to ask how I’ve been. He’s a friend I knew from another friend back at the university where I attended my Bachelor’s Degree in Journalism in ’09. They were boyfriends at the time until mid of this year.

We talked about work and life, which naturally led to digging into our current relationship statuses.

Seb is a very nice 30-year-old guy as a friend and as a lover. I was there when he and my friend started off their love story; only I wasn’t when things went rough.

I hadn’t been very concerned about how their relationship went over the years because I was busy with my own turf and I was confident they had it all figured out. Furthermore, it was their relationship for all I care.

“Dorian wanted space,” he said. I knew then where the crackling in Seb’s voice was heading to. It wasn’t just the “asking of space” that’s the issue here. There was more to it than the need for a time off. He got in touch with me not because he wanted help to get his boyfriend back, but because he needed someone who had firsthand experience in the matter to tell him what he already knew himself about.

Dorian asked for ultimate freedom. Not that Seb had been too restricting, but it’s the exploration of singlehood that came knocking at Dorian’s fantasies. I can’t blame my friend. He’s only 21 and he has lots of things he wants for himself, dreams and aspirations he badly need to achieve before time can take it all from him. I should know, we’re of the same age. However, our difference is that I don’t intend to leave the people who have been there all the while as I thrive. He met new folks and got the opportunity to live the life he’d always wanted for himself. It’s that overwhelming flow of satisfaction that got the best of him, which can ultimately cloud anyone’s better judgment.

Three years they’d been together, Seb always being there for him, both eyes and hands open to support him, all flushed away. Everything they’d gone through and everyone they’d been with including myself, all left behind. Just like that. Without even looking back. Even disappointing that my friend turned his back on the very person who only didn’t become his boyfriend but even more as his family, all for the sake of fortune and fame that were laid in front of him, thanks to Seb.


He’s my friend, but I just wish before he had decided to went all Marilyn Monroe, he should’ve thought of the people he was prepared to leave behind in pursuit of some saloon meat or whatever it is he calls “space.” It’s his life so he calls the shot, but temporary happiness is just a lame excuse for immaturity and lack of better judgment.

I don’t know about him, but he should’ve thought twice before he let it all go. He should’ve said no.