Whoa ...

Okay, my last few posts may have confused the handful who have discovered this new web log. Let me clear up some things:

1. I am not near-suicidal. But I do appreciate the concern.

2. I do not wear all-black and write morose poetry. I am as far from being the artsy, death-obsessed male as any Y-chromosomed carbon life form can get.

3. I am not a total loser. While I am closet dork, I successfully mascarade as an athletic, party-going bachelor. I have qualities that are very attractive to many women, believe it or not.

4. I am male. I went in the bathroom to check. Just now. Am really, really sure.

I know it is kind of pathetic to dedicate a web site to one's unrequited love; but it makes sense to me, okay? The key word here is closure -- I feel I'm getting it this way. Cool?

Real life has resumed. I hope work will not give me the free time to brood.

Ready?

Are people in my life ready to know how I truly feel?

My best friend Dong is. In fact, he noticed my feelings for Marga before I did. He is planning to write a jokebook about me very soon. "How to Tell If Your Best Friend Is Fatally Stupid" is the working title.

My sister Joanne would freak. I can imagine her reaction in one word: Ew.

My mom and Tita Fides (Marga's mom) would despair. They would probably have me committed for having psuedo-incestuous desires.

And Marga? Well, last weekend, she just asked me to be her cohort in getting a guy in my office to like her. So it is safe to say, Margarita is not ready either.

A Brief History

Marga's family and mine live in the same village, two houses apart. Marga's parents separated early; while my dad died when I was 5. Considering they faced common challenges, our mothers -- both beautiful, active, single moms -- bonded. Their closeness is one Joanne and Marga emulated even as seven-year old's. And me? Well, I am the alpha male .. the only male ... the strong, silent type ... destined to be the man of two houses.

When I was younger, I thought Marga was my cousin, as I called her mother Tita. Eventually, I knew she wasn't blood relations, but I treated her like she was. I made her cry with my incessant jokes about her chubbiness; but I was the first to defend her if any other boy did the same. When she and Joanne fought, I mediated. When she and Joanne schemed, I told our mothers.

I don't think anyone can tell the exact moment they fell in love. In my case, I became aware I fell in love with Marga, probably years after I started falling.

Did I fall for her the day we had our first heart-to-heart talk about what we wanted in life -- our adolescent dreams? Was it the time I noticed that despite her insecurities, she was hauntingly beautiful? Was it the day I realized I was rushing home, so I could spend some time with her; even if it was in the guise of being the designated driver for her and my kid sister?

Sad how I have no fucking clue, huh?

Hurt Me, Baby, One More Time

So if this is such a big problem, why don't I just buy all the chick flicks my disposable income can manage, copy the best lines and confess my love to Marga? Why am I making a web log where it is not likely I could find the solution? Why am I making myself a walking, talking target for every amateur psychoanalyst in cyberspace?

I did say I was stupid, right?

Why did I agree to help her get this guy at work to like her? How can I survive each day knowing I could be bringing her closer to a man who, quite frankly, doesn't deserve her? How can I live with myself when the dreaded day comes and they do end up together?

Considering that last bit, I think I may be a masochist too.

I hope writing my daily thoughts as I navigate this turbulent time in my life will help me think more rationally. Marga wants me to help her get something she wants and I will. But I need to flush all this melodrama out of my system if I am to survive 2005 with my sanity intact.

I need closure. Fast. And if it means, diving into my pains head first, so be it.

"She"

I have got to find, for the purpose of this web log, a better way to refer to the woman who has haunted my dreams for a good part of the last decade.

I could call her M. That's the first letter of her name. But this exercise is all about trying to be creative, so I won't.

I could call her Sis. She is the best friend of my kid sister, Joanne. I have to admit, early in my life, I loved her as a kid sister. I can't recall when I stopped exactly ...

I could call her Chubs. That's what I called her when she was 13 and fat. But I don't want full-figured women sending me hate e-mails about derogatory labelling. I have enough problems.

I could call her Teresa. Like Mother Teresa. Because instead of becoming a management trainee for a big corporation after graduation, she chose to work in the Northern Provinces for an NGO involved in community development. She gave up two years of her life to teach, dig wells, bathe pigs and such, before coming back to Manila this year.

Or I could just call her Marga -- short for Margarita. Because that's her name and I think it's beautiful.

Also, I must embrace the fact that my right brain is paralyzed, and making up witty/cutie code names for a web site is one skill my degrees in electrical engineering and business management did not prepare me for.

Kuya

I have always been a big brother. I am the older of two siblings. I am responsible. I got good (great) grades. I never went through the "angry teenager" phase. I am good with money. I meet deadlines and curfews. I respect authority. I tell the truth. Parents, bosses and strange dogs trust me.

The label never bothered me until "She" refused to see me as nothing else but her best friend's "Kuya". And every man on the planet knows that romance is out of the window once a woman starts seeing you as a surrogate father figure. Unless she's Kris Aquino.

I'm not even THAT much older. I'm 27 and "She" is 22. But the fact that I have known her since "She" was five, that "She" always called me when neighborhood boys said mean things to her and that I chaperoned her and my sister to most of their teenage dates, has predestined me to be someone "She" will always love deeply -- "as a brother".

Life can be a cruel bitch.