Fruitless Friday Feelings

I was developing feelings for you.

That, despite me knowing what was in store or NOT in store for me – a mutuality.

Maybe I have challenged myself too far. From the get go, you had been nothing short of elusive. Pushed my luck still. Won a couple steps ahead. Didn’t mind falling back a thousand steps back every chance you get to hurt me. You may argue how the hell “hurt” happened when you did nothing but be kind. No, not by any deliberate effort but by not doing anything, by not feeling anything, by not acknowledging that I was developing feelings for you.

You’re too kind, too safe that it hurts. It hurts that I want you to feel for me too but your wall’s too high to climb, too thick to melt. Or that even when, on several occasions, you reclined enough for me to reach for you – and you to reach for me – it remained a whacking world between us. That world of your deep-seated beliefs, in which I may belong, with which I may, in every word, agree, all set in an extrinsically harmonical motion, all acceptable and tolerable except to be with you. Alone. Just you and I…as I develop feelings for you.

Because as thoughts run deep and varied in my head, so do the many episodes of nightmare and daymare I imagine you being with somebody else, or new, or with whoever has been allowing himself to develop feelings for you while you conveniently and consistently deny a hefty amount of which in return. Haven’t come to grips with the idea of passion and indifference marrying together. How could they? How could you?

I miss you, Mot Mot.

I miss the warmth of your every kiss.

I miss how it has always been a tryst.
I miss how I surrounded myself with orange because you love orange, despite me hating it because in my eye, you're all apple - dangerously sweet.

I miss you driving me home, me walking you home.

And the risk we carried with each embrace, or the spoon you’d raise.

Now, all this missing is useless.
All this pining fruitless.

I’m sorry I have left you.

I’m sorry there went myself, snuggling into the blanket of self-preservation.
I’m sorry I have developed feelings for you.

Phantom Winner

The unorthodox European style of directing, the poker-faced performances, the implosive nature of each scene, the tangible air of sophistication, the faded essence of its portraiture, the enigmatical story itself (an extreme paradigm of the love-career collision), and that elegant musical score it creepily dances to - that’s how queerly satisfying, Phantom Thread is. As manic-depressive as a cerebral film can get. 

A possible dark horse winner for Best Picture.

9.2/10 stars. 

Almost done with my Oscars marathon! 🎥🍿🤓

PS: Love this year’s films’ unpredictability. Odd scenarios coming heaps & thick, moment to moment. My kind of indulgence.

Dodge

On social media, I captioned this photo "DODGE" - perfectly describing the way you always deal with my feelings for you.  

See, this is our only picture TOGETHER. Not exactly showing our faces but anybody can see how happy I am to see you this happy...serving your vocation.

I'll keep this here. In my little space where there is a vastness of possibilities...

🧡

of you and me.

TOTMMOOTOHY is (my new) TOTGA

In true Toff fashion, I pulled the cryptic card 

to express my joy for our very 1st snap together 

(albeit with our "beard").

Named it after you.

TOTMMOOTOHY.

CINDY / Eeeh-eeehk

A girl cowed against a concrete post facing the crowd. Seemed compliant to the day’s fun activities but too anxious to fall in.

Caught my attention. I love underdogs.

As I egged her on to join the rest, she leaned against me, angled to sit on my lap, and from that time on, we were inseparable.

Asked for her name. Only got an indistinguishable “eeeh-eeehk.”

Without a name, I watched this baby nibble her candies away like it were some adult’s comfort food. Held her closer to me, and, despite me hating Baby Shark, reassuringly urged her to dance along. What she did next struck a chord with me: she knows Baby Shark so well!

Told myself, my role here is done. She doesn’t need teaching. Shame. But then, she extended her hand to an ambiguous object flying over the boys in the rear.

Carried her towards the source of her wonderment. Loved the awe in her otherwise sallow eyes.

We lost sight of the object but I gained a new insight into her identity. “Cindy! Cindy!” shouted the boys nearby, pointing jealously at the girl snuggled in my arms.

“Eeeh-eeehk” is “Cindy.”

At that, she wolfed another candy. My satisfaction from knowing her name looked like a sweet candy traveling down a malnourished girl’s throat.

So satisfied I offered my hand for a fist bump, to which she obliged. She acknowledged the gesture. Without. A. Word. Smart girl.

Another modest volunteer approached us & smilingly asked to take selfies with us. “Cindyyy,” I cheered to break our faces to an ear-to-ear smile. There she went again: candy-to-mouth. Didn’t care. Naturally camera-shy & candy-greedy.

Came lunch. Without a claim stub given to active participants, Cindy looked on at the queues & stole a glance at me. “Hungry, Cindy?”

If there’s a graceful chance power tripping is deemed favorable, it was this time. Cut the queue to bring Cindy closer to the very thing she’s good at: eating. She’s down to her last candy, after all. She did Baby Shark with as much passion as everybody else. She deserved a reward.

Fed her. Blew every scoop into cooler, chewable helpings. I swear, the amount of rice she devoured was 4x what I usually could. Promised her more chocolates I was keeping in my knapsack for dessert.

Left her for a sec.

When I came back bearing chocolates, her mom was already with her.

“Pipi siya,” Mama Bear coyly declared.

That’s enough to leave me speechless myself.

Few days ago, I busied myself spitting words of regret on social media. But Cindy was God’s way of telling me how words, when you have the power to convey them, should be spoken to appreciate life more for not everyone is given such power other than with their benign soul.

Charlie Puths My Feels Into A Song

I'm Palaya

While doing French & Spanish filmfests, it dawned on me how much I miss watching plays & musicals. 

Today, I went for it. 

Ampalaya Dialogues #TwoIsBitterThanOne is something. 

Spoken Word Poetry moved me like I’d never been before. Talented, talented artists fill this country to the brim. May brighter light shine upon them. Kahuhusay at tataba ng mga utak that I suddenly feel mediocre or craving to learn as much, if not more. The show exceeded expectations but this Leandro & this Carlo exceeded “ordinary looks.” Geniuses in disguise! 

Film / Película: My Christmas 2017

German Film Week last week, Película-Pelíkula: Spanish Film Festival this week.

I call this season "My Christmas" and boy was it merry for me this year.

KUNDSCHAFTER DES FRIEDENS - Senior citizen agents. Outsmarting present-day agents. Recipe for witty-slapstick comedy. 

7.1 out of 10.

NEBEL IM AUGUST – Nazi Euthanasia. Depressing. But boy’s phenomenal acting gave the powerful message some softness off-balance filmmaking emanates. 

7.4 out of 10.

MEIN BLIND DATE MIT DEM LEBEN – Feel-good. Positivist. Naturally charming. Much-needed destressor I needed. 9.1 out of 10.

SELFIE – Organic. Subdued satire. 

7.5 out of 10.

LA PUERTA ABIERTA – Surprisingly entertaining. For a prostitute film. Can imagine Jaclyn Jose portraying this & still come out funny. Unique storytelling. 

8.9 out of 10.

LA DELGADA LÍNEA AMARILLA – Started out dramatic. Unfolded comic. Ended dramatic. Surprised dark fantasy master Guillermo del Toro produced such a simplistic movie. Packs some disturbing punch though towards the end. 

8.7 out of 10.

BONUS: VICTORIA & ABDUL. Managed to squeeze in some mainstream. Right amount of gloss & inspirational. 

8 out of 10.