Monthly Archive September 2008

Romanticizing, Or Something Like It

I was going through my abandoned Livejournal today, hunting for a link to an internet article from God knows how long ago and because it’s a bit unavoidable, I started reading my old entries. I do this every now and then (usually when I am hit with bouts of paranoia and start worrying that I didn’t privatize certain posts) and as usual, the barely recognizable Helga of old left me chagrined. I was a whiny, unnecessarily dramatic, meandering wreck who thought too highly of her bratty self and I find comfort in the thought that I have come a long way since. It’s nice to know that despite being a drunken mess for the most part, the past three years or so weren’t such a waste.

For a 23-year old, I’ve had a pretty interesting dating career. Unfortunately (and I say this with no trace of bitterness at all, just how I see it in hindsight), most of the guys I’ve ever involved myself with proved to be bad choices and— to a certain extent— wastes of time. I do have questionable taste in men, I admit to that. Fortunately, I didn’t end up with any of them.

These days, it feels like I’ve reached the end of the road and I mean that in the loveliest, most optimistic, and most satisfying way possible. It hasn’t particularly been a long time— just a little over a year (and I must say: there’s this pair of jeans I’ve had longer…), but it’s been a sweet journey culminating in the realization and the hope that he is The One, the last lover, and the only person I would ever want to wake up next to every morning (and please forgive me for the cheesiness) forever.

As much as I try not to, I have always had this tendency to romanticize even the most mundane of things. Everything seems prettier when written down and thought of in big, fancy words; the scenes and stories, as they play out in my mind, are always duplicated, layered, blending set to screen with 60% opacity, and topped off with 2 pixel Gaussian blur filter. It’s easy to lose myself in this little world of mine (and I often do) so I compensate (usually guiltily) by attacking life in the shrewdest and harshest way I can.

Un-romanticization #1: There are no great forces that brought us together. The universe did not see two stranger hearts seeking each other and decide to have them meet.

Following the trail of e-breadcrumbs I left, I have come to see that one major factor that brought our relationship out of the carnal stage and into that level of having actual, deep feelings for each other was my unconsciously understanding what it was that I wanted. You know how it is when you’re young, pretty, and have people left and right telling you you can basically get anything and anyone you want: you turn ruthless and obsess about objects (ideas and people included) that don’t easily fall onto your lap. You seek and are always up for a challenge; the main goal is to figure out how something or someone works to own them. Embarrassingly, that was how I was. Coupled with my former inclination to go after assholes, it’s no surprise I never formed anything lasting up until he came along.

And so I realized that I was looking for a connection, not a challenge. I got it right, this time around.

Un-romanticization #2: My heart has never been more honest with my mind.

I love how my body fits into his perfectly— like a Matryoshka doll, how in sync our movements in bed are (with only the slightest blunders caused by emotional highs), and how attuned he is to my thoughts and emotions. It’s not hard to forget the rest of the world and its complexities and totally immerse myself in just us. It’s the scariest thing ever.

Un-romanticization #3: But not as scary as us not working out.

Before he left, he told me that he fears I’d be hating him two years from now because our plans didn’t fall through. Each day is geared towards making us work. The distance is frustrating and so am I, when I demand, dwell, and let my immaturities get the best of me.

For the past several weeks, I’ve been feeling bad about not having ever received flowers for him. It’s a barrel of silly, really, wanting a bouquet of roses simply because it’s what boyfriends give to their girlfriends as a romantic gesture. I have yet to get my flowers but I’ve stopped complaining and giving him grief for it. If he’s willing to let me hold his hand while I fall asleep or while we make love; if he’s there in bed beside me when I wake up, ready to be assaulted with my good morning kisses; if he’s working his damn hardest for our future because he wants nothing more than to settle down and start a family with me, that’s pretty romantic.

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Style Icons

Admittedly, I’m not big on fashion nor am I fashionable. I love shopping (like most girls), especially for clothes, but I’m not the kind to keep an eye out for the latest trends or splurge on expensive designer items. Because of my devil-may-care attitude when it comes to dressing myself, I often find myself wearing stupid jeans, a stupid shirt, and stupid flip-flops most days and it’s not surprising when people mistake me for a 14-year old. Now despite being a borderline fashion disaster who can’t tell the difference between cotton and polyester (I am able, though, to spot a fake Coach or Louis Vuitton purse when I see one. It’s easy, really: see that woman dressed in a Mercury Drug uniform about to board that Cubao-bound jeepney? Those LV monograms on her purse probably stand for LolVag. …okay, that sounds lame AND wrong), I’d like to think that I am able to pull off decent-looking outfits.

Recently, the boyfriend gave me a copy of InStyle’s Secrets of Style (I actually thought it was a book on web design when he told me he had a Style book for me). I haven’t had the chance to go through it thoroughly, but I’ve flipped through a few pages and saw several pictures of celebrities— presumably style icons. (Cue in awkward transition here!!!) So I thought: well, damn, I’ve got a few style icons myself! And let me show you them! Though I don’t necessarily aspire to copy the way they dress, these are people I look up to and prevent me from leaving the house dressed in, I don’t know, shipping boxes? (O-ho)

1. Edie Sedgwick

Edie Sedgwick has long fascinated me, even before Factory Girl came out in 2006 (a movie that prompted an ex-housemate to start acting and dressing like her). According to Styledash, shoulder-sweeping earrings, short bleached blond hair, heavy eye make-up, black tights, and leopard print furs make up the Edie Sedgwick look. Nevermind that I haven’t worn chandelier earrings five times bigger than my ears since college, that it’s been years since I last had short hair, that and I’ve never worn anything leopard print (or fur!) my whole life— if there’s one thing Ms Sedgwick and I have in common, it’s that a cigarette and a drink are our best accessories.

Edie Sedgwick

Our boobs are both non-existent, too!

2. Lauren Conrad

While there is nothing exceptional about her wardrobe, Lauren’s simple, above-the-knee dresses are very familiar to me, in the sense that these pieces are already things I wear.

Lauren Conrad

3. Clémence Poésy

Clemence Poesy

Unsurprisingly, not a lot of people are familiar with this French actress, who has one of the most beautifully-unboring faces I’ve ever seen. She looks fabulously pulled-together and classy even though it always seems like she’s up to no-good/just freebased heroin/about to scratch your eyes out/planning your death or how to steal your first-borne son.

4. Mary-Kate Olsen

There is no other celebrity I adore more than Mary-Kate. I love how she can go from all-glammed up to lazy-Sunday-ashcan-hobo-mess and still be, well, hot. It’s pretty easy to pull off the latter look, too: just throw on a slightly oversized shirt, a huge bag, anti-paparazzi shades, mess up your hair a bit, grab a Starbucks latte and voila! you’re a fat MK! Pants are optional.

Mary-Kate Olsen

Notice a theme here? Save for Lauren Conrad, these girls are built like cokewhores.