The Nasty Comment.

A moviehouse should definitely be your last choice if you are looking for me.

I am not fond of spending bucks to sit back in a comfortable chair, in the middle of a silent crowd concentrating, and splicing those motion pictures into their own words – interpreting it in their own way and, like a flash drive, would save them in their minds. And some of those folks would barely breathe, then would spurt chewed popcorns in your hair. Others would comment that the movie sucks, or that the movie touched their innermost veins and had strummed the deepest neurons of their brains.

Nako, nagkantutan na naman sila.

The nastiest comment from an ill-mannered guy four seats behind me.

“Cake”, starring whoever she is. About being a corporate yet long-forgotten daughter, a hopeless romantic, a writer about travelling who turned to be a bridal magazine designer or something. Two bed scenes in the movie. Hey, I’m not counting it. From the title and the movie cover itself, I wished that I shouldn’t have paid 153 pesos just to watch this girly movie. (My first impression was that this movie is so much parallel to Mean Girls of Lindsay Lohan, you know- those teeny types of movies that every flirt girlfriend would spend nights and play it over and over again. You’re so fetch. Fetch’s not gonna happen. The famous line.) Well, this one has its own level of maturity and uhh.

I suck at criticizing movies. All I felt while watching one of the mushiest movies I’ve watched – I am not the guy I am before.

Yes. In terms of love.

Imagine, I’m currently single and contented with the stripes of my life. Stripes – those monotonous schedules that seemed to be endless and totally asphyxiates my personal life. Schedules that inserts me in a bottle and let my head poke itself out until I’d have violet marks on my neck.

Ever since I broke up with my seventh girlfriend, I told to myself to limit my orgasmic radar. Uhh, orgasms – I mean, love orgasms. Orgasms, not that other thing. The love thing. Okay, orgasms is not the right term (calls Jhed).

It’s just that being in love for me is too ancient, too unchallenging. That fucking thing called ‘love’ surrendered and bowed before me and made a curse that proudly shouts ‘Utakgago will never find love again.’ I do have candidates (sounds like election) for my eighth, but I have learned to live alone and appreciate the absence of a girlfriend. I learned how to go to malls without those handbags, those washroom breaks, those retouching moments, those off-shoulders or tube or backless or those revealing clothes. I learned that there is a glint of hope for me when I am single. When nobody would text me (you know how much I hate texting) day and night just to greet each other. And the list goes on.

I finally knew that my life would be so much rocky without a girlfriend. No worries, no pains, no hassles. It’s like creating a built-in massager in your whole body which will soothes your everyday eyebags. Honestly, my seventh girlfriend made the greatest impact in my life. When we broke up, I almost swore to myself not to love again. I almost declared a hiatus with my heart’s feelings. Up to now, I am still numb.
Enough. I am not really used to write mushy posts. I enjoyed the movie and somehow gave me this conclusion: I am numb. 

To Rizza, I know you are reading this.

~ by utakgago on November 3, 2006.