November, 2007 Archive

first of all, i apologize to those who had a negative reaction to the little fictional story i posted. i understand that it sort of concerned some of you because the main character was a nurse. it was also narrated in the first person, making it look at first that i was talking about my own experience, and it was kind of deceiving.

i’m sorry it sounded that way to some of you, but that was not my intention. i assumed that people who drop by here often remember some things about me that will easily give away the fact that i was not talking about myself in that little story. obviously, my assumption was wrong, so please accept my apology.

secondly, THANKS to those who left comments encouraging me to continue doing it. i appreciate your kind words, i really do. at the same time, i also want to set the record straight: i have no illusion whatsoever of being called a writer. i am not trying to be modest or something. i am just very grounded on reality. i have read a LOT of books, and i know why writers are called writers. needless to say, i am completely aware that i do not have what it takes to be considered a writer. i am well aware of that, but i also happen to know that  it is not that bad to just dream it is possible.

although i am not a writer, i am very comfortable calling myself a storyteller. to quote the immortal words of napoleon dynamite, “there is plenty of that where it came from”. as far as i can remember, i have made up stories in my head since i was 5 years old. i do it all the time, even when i am doing something else. i would see someone, or something, and a story will pop up in my head like a movie. they are not good stories, but they are stories nonetheless.

over the years, i have written a lot of stories in some sort of paper. no, i do not have those papers anymore. yet another proof that i do know where the line is. sometimes however, i find it fun to share those stories. just for the sake of fun. there’s nothing wrong with that, right?

i guess what i’m really trying to ask is this: when real life gets routinely redundant, don’t you think it’s okay to just chill and share some silly stories to get our minds off some kind of boredom?

i think it’s perfectly okay.
let me know what your thoughts are.
thank you.

for me, the itch came early.

people call it the seven year itch, but as i said, mine came early. i guess i can call it my three year itch or something. we have been married a little over three years then and my eldest was just about a year old.

no matter what i do, i cannot think of anything to turn the whole thing around and blame my husband. he was this loyal, helpful and dependable lover and friend. to top it all, despite his initial dislike of having kids that early, he totally embraced the situation and really did his best to be this hands on caring father.

cheating was not even planned. he was one of the physical therapists at work and i have seen him a lot of times. when he asked me to help him with a patient that he wanted to work with, there was no extraordinary spark. no undefined tingling sensations. our encounter was nothing but an ordinary encounter. i must admnit that he had this really charming aura, but i never really had the time to notice him in that sort of way.

i will not elaborate on the boring details of how the call for assistance in working with my patients turned into this unspoken flirting ritual that made my head spin for a few weeks. all i can say is that it was not his good looks that drew me in. it was his inherent warmth towards the patients. he was the kind of PT i would like to have if i needed help to walk again. he was caring, sensitive, and gentle.

after all is said and done, i still do not know what happened. i really cannot say i had a reason. my husband and i were not rich but we had everything we needed. sometimes, i even think it was almost like a stupid act of trying to break out of boredom. i mean we were this young, model  couple. maybe, my subconscious cannot handle the clean, perfect image that others had about us. i know, even to me, that idea sounds so moronically lame.

i really don’t know. but there i was, one windy afternoon, giving in to the invitation for a cup of coffee. a cup of coffee that i clearly knew would lead to something else. it was a case of knowing exactly that the fire was obviously hot, but there i was, touching it anyway. on my own free will.

some friends ask me if it was worth it. you know, that i gave up my picture perfect family and am sitting here alone with my child. that i gave up my husband just for that exhilirating, but passing experience. that i humiliated my family by being this unfaithful woman who didn’t even have a logical explanation for anything. that i didn’t even have “the itch” but i scratched it anyway.

they don’t believe me when i say i actually don’t know. but that’s the truth. i refused to fight for my supposed vow. i refused to ask my husband to give me a second chance. sometimes, i even remember myself relieved that my husband didn’t argue when i said i wanted to leave. he probably thought there was nothing left to fight for. that i was already out of the door and was quickly stepping into another man’s home, another man’s heart.

that implication was reasonable, but ironically, i found it funny. funny because i knew that wasn’t what i wanted. ironic because the idea didn’t even occur to me. when everybody thought i would rush out the door and follow the man of my so called fantasies, i shocked them when i didn’t.

i left, and i went on my own.

now, i’m all alone. not happy. not sad. just alone.
to be honest, i don’t know what is more disturbing.
the fact that i am alone, neither happy nor sad, or the fact that i am all alone, unsure if i am happy or sad.

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fictional story.
my pathetic attempt at fictional short story writing.
don’t tell me it sucks, because i know. that is exactly the reason why i am keeping my day job. or in my case, night job