I expected too much. Nothing changes. I fear nothing will.

The new year barely started but I can already feel that nothing has changed.

Last Saturday, my mom and I went to the Mall of Asia, just to look around for gifts for those in NJ.  My cousin Marc is leaving on the 8th, and we wanted to give our relatives there simple nothings for the holidays.  My dad brought my lola and aunt and uncle home in Manila and dropped us off there.  We told him to get some rest, reminding him that’s it’s only been a month since his heart attack.  He said he will.  We came home around 10PM, after my brothers picked us up after their male bonding session in Antipolo.  My dad wasn’t home.  He never came home.  He went out to smoke and gamble with friends. 

I hate my dad and his constant disregard for his physical well-being.  I hate my dad for constantly rejecting opportunities that he can spend with us.  I hate my dad for making us, his family, always wait.  He fucking always makes us wait.  We’re always spectators in whatever he’s doing, but he’s never a spectator for us.  He’s never there.  And he wonders why I don’t like coming home.  What a shithole.

I can’t believe my grievances came in early this year.  I can’t believe it’s only been four days and already my dad is setting the record for being the country’s earliest asswipe mover.  I can’t believe this at all.

Why do we always have to wait?  Family comes first, right?  How come that’s not the case for us?  What the fuck?

Oh and Dylan?  Well.. there’s new drama again.  I can’t believe this is not yet over.  I am so tired.  I just want to be happy.  I just want to be satisfied.  With this new drama, he will always be angry again.  He will always be depressed again.  And I have to be strong again.  And I’m tired of being strong.  This is one of the reasons why I like being around Patrick and Moks.  I can be wimpy with them, and I won’t feel bad about it.  I can be lame, and I won’t feel guilty.  I don’t have to put up a strong facade and pretend that I can handle everything.  I am so tired.  I just want to be happy.

The worst part is what comes with the drama.  Whenever there’s the drama in his life, he forgets that he loves me.  I take a backseat.  And worse, I stay there.  I can’t believe it.  Just when I thought I’m done being the last on his list, I’m back here again. 

I love him.  So much.  Too much.  I wish I knew how to let go.  It would be easier, I know that for a fact.  But I don’t want to start all over again.  I don’t want to go through having to cope with the loss again, and finding someone again, and having someone to care for me again, someone that won’t mind my phone calls or texts, someone that doesn’t consider me as  a nuisance.  I want him back.  I want him back so badly.  I want the Dylan that I have come to love.  This is not him.  The angry vengeful kind.  The depressed.  I want my strong man back.  He used to be so strong.  And now… I have to be the one again.

I can’t be strong for two men.  I can’t be strong for both my dad and my boyfriend.  I can only do so much, and I am so tired.  I am soooo tired.  I don’t want to be here anymore.  I don’t want to be in this position anymore.  There are days  when I just want to pass the time with Pat and Moks because with them, I can be shallow.  I can be imperfect.  I can be OC and OA and they won’t hate me for it.  They won’t criticize me for it.  They won’t call me weak and shut me out.  I just want to be just a girl.  I just want to be happy.  And it’s taking so long to get there.

They say that we go through hard parts because that’s how you extract the perfect cup of tea.  You put it in hot water and temper it for a time.  I must be God’s fucking favorite cup of tea.  It never ends.  Being a daughter, a lover, a partner, a friend, a MAPee… I can’t believe I’m even thinking of getting a fucking sport to add to that list.

I want to be happy again.  I hope Dylan wants that too, for himself I mean.  I miss the happy Dylan.  I miss the stressed-but-graceful-still Dylan.  I do not like the angry Dylan who forgets about me.

Am I forgettable?  Am I that dispensable?  That’s the second worst thing you know.  First for me is to go blind, next, is to not be remembered.  I have constantly pushed myself to do something to be memorable.  For people not to forget about me.  For people to always remember my name or at least an experience associated to that name.  I do not want to be forgotten.

I do not want him to forget.  I do not want him to forget.  Nothing can be more painful than that.


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