17 Again? (not the movie)

I was one of the last to get to the 6Underground gig last night, but I found my friends still hanging out downstairs, making like rockstars, talking and smoking (cigarettes). And as I found my spot to sit amongst the boys, I got comfy on one of the ledges, ready to smoke myself, lighter ready, I realized the pack I had in my hand had run out.

Where’s the nearest 711? I asked. I have to buy cigarettes.

Friends pointed me to the right direction.

I walked alone, strutting just a little, the way I do when it’s just before a gig and I’m antsy to get to watch the live bands.

Walking, down the hall and to the left at the main road, at the corner, I found the convenient convenience store. Walked in and went straight to the counter. I said, “Ate, isang Marlboro Lights, soft pack.”

Cashier lady looked me up and down. Looked again. Frowned. Hesitated. And said, “Ilang taon na po kayo?” (Translation: “Wow you don’t look 23 are you for shizz buying cigarettes?”)

I don’t think I helped her suspicion when I stammered with the answer. “I’m twenty…? I’m twenty-three!”

She asked/insisted for an ID. And who knew, it was one of those nights I actually had one on me.

So, yeah, I got my cigarettes. But I hurried back to the boys, excited to pass on the story. I laughed my ass off over the cashier lady apologizing over and over. I laughed, telling the story, and retelling it now, still not knowing whether to be insulted or thrilled.

Okay, okay, so maybe more thrilled than insulted. So I can still pass off as 17, huh? *bats eyelashes*

I say, when I get carded just because I was dressed somewhat Jonas Brothers-esque, nothing’s really stopping me now from going on dressed like that. I mean, look at these pretty boys dressed as asexual, androgynous (also, in all likelihood, talentless) creatures:

I was wearing something close to Joe’s — rightmost kid — outfit, except my vest was black and my shirt was pink. And — Holy gayness WTF? Is that a braided… THING, a.k.a. A HEADBAND dangling from his head???

…

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I’m too old for this shit.

2 Years Later

When an immediate family member passes away, you mourn, no doubt.

Time heals all wounds they say. In this case, I’m left wondering (while cursing to the high heavens for making me deal with this unwanted drama) — how much time does it take??

When an immediate family member passes on, even when the relationship is strained, it hurts like nothing I’d wish on my worst enemy. I think the strained, complicated relationship I had with my father even made the pain, the fucking loss worse than what it would have been if we had been close.

It was 2 years ago, on a hospital bed, April 15, 2007, 1:08 AM, my dad was prounounced dead amidst nurses and the doctor rushing to his side. My mom and I standing there, watching, helpless.

I remember EVERYTHING. Making calls to the rest of the family. The sound of the machines. The sound of the flatline. The people. The place.

2 friggin’ years ago. In those 2 years I’ve bummed around, found work, left work, went back to work, found new friends, lost old ones… I’ve done so much. And yet, one thing stays the same:

The tears. The tears are still there. And the memories are crystal clear.