about a (gorgeous desert) boy

(please play everything but the girl's i don't want to talk about it when reading this. it would get you in the mood. just click the video above. trust me.)

checking my emails this morning (i woke up early. it felt so hot, i was actually sweating. it turned out, i forgot to close the sliding glass door to the terrace, as well as the blinds, so the sun rays invaded the whole room quite early. ), a friend from way way before, before i even learned about the two important ls -- live and love -- sent me a very, very "advance merry christmas" greeting.

i stared at those three innocent words, a bit bewildered. no one has greeted me that for a long long time. since i don't know what else to say, i just replied with -- "what's that?' it seemed she didn't get the joke for i got nothing but a loud protest -- silence.
oh well, lowell.

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but what does merry christmas even mean? it's been a while since i enjoyed the holidays. the last time i had fun was when i was eleven years old, a year before my favourite older brother died eleven days before christmas. since then, christmas at home had been gloomy. though three years ago, when i was going out with someone at the former british colony, i actually enjoyed christmas.
three years, though, felt like such a long, long time ago.

********

that last one was not even serious. the relationship, i mean. it was like a faucet. it was on and off. depending on our moods. we both have the temperament of an artist. the mood swings were wilder than the fluctuations in the stock, currency and bond markets combined during the peak of the debt crisis in europe. we lasted for like what, five months? two months dating and three months living together. not that i did not love him, but i was so lonely then. i was missing someone who was working in the desert strewn with the golden sand, and there he was. so available. i was so vulnerable. two lethal combinations, i tell you. it's like mixing bomb and bullets. they could be fatal. don't you ever try it. don't you ever go there. because sometimes, it's hard to go back.

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i wasn't that fond of him at first. he was so self centered (well, he was young and gorgeous. a quarter french, three-fourths chinese. a bit vietnamese.) and talked about nothing but himself. how he used to be a famous personality, won a mr. something title in that island of dim sum, hot pots and high rises. how the paparazzi used to chase him.

my first reaction while giving him a head to toe glance (the way i would size up a competitor in louboutin, marc jacobs and chanel dress) was, yeah right, mr. brad pitt of hong kong. and i am angelina jolie. no, make that zooey deschanel-- brainy, quirky, talented. actress. a real one. 

but when i went home, curiosity got the better of me (i was later eaten by the cat and it was not a good feeling) and i googled him. i was surprised to find out that everything that he told me was true.

there were pictures of him on online newspapers, blogs, forums and on teevee as well. he was even involved in a sex scandal. the ensuing media frenzy, paparazzi chasing him around, stalker sending him scary messages online and on his mobile phone, frightened him and his family, so he gave up the limelight and led a quiet life.

(why he stayed in that unromantic island instead of going back to the most romantic city in the world where he was born left me bewildered and more curious.)

so i arranged to have dinner with him. followed by more dinners. drinks. bar hopping. he would drive me home in his car. but he was so paranoid. every time he would see someone with a camera, he would ask me to hide, cover my face, or run to the parking lot and inside his car. kalurkish! trouble is, there were too many people (mostly tourists) roaming around hong kong carrying cameras.

at first it was fun.

when we went out, fans would sometimes ask to have a picture with him. that would be the signal for me to disappear for a while. or stay at the corner and watch him with his ready smile. fab!

when we went out clubbing, we didn't have to fall in line. the guys at the gate would just let us in. sometimes we would even get free drinks. gorgeous boys and girls would introduce themselves to us. some of them his friends way back when he was a contract star of the island's biggest teevee network.

one time, we were inside his favourite boutique looking for something that he could wear to the premier of tom ford's first film -- a single man -- when a fan approached him asking to have a picture with him. since the fan was alone, frenchie asked me to take their picture.

instead of taking the camera from him, i walked out.

then later on, over dinner, i told him never to ask me to take his picture with whoever. otherwise, i would throw the camera at him.

"i am not your servant!" i protested.

he was quiet the whole time. i knew he was mad. that was so him -- when he was angry, he would just stay silent. and when he had too much anger bottled up inside and he wanted to release them he would just explode like a volcano. he would punch the walls or the door of my flat, or kick the tires of his car. then he would complain that it was too painful (hitting the wall, door, etc).

cute! so childish. still a boy, after all.

(a wet kiss in the rain..hot hot hot...we never did that, of course...hahaha.)

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but.

like all good things, it did not last. too much pressure. too much jealousy (mostly on my part. he was a big flirt. he would flirt with almost anyone -- gurls, guys, bis, gays. duh!)

i am not the martyr type (well, at least not all the time). i could only take so much pain. as if!

(later, much later, i learned why he stayed in this island - he could not live away from his family, especially from his mother.)

see, i told you. he is sweet as a little boy. with a sour temper.

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was i heartbroken? for a while.

but that, too, didn't last.

i bounced back and resumed my clubbing life. where i would find my preys.

then i got tired. bored. i needed a break.

so i totally disappeared.

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but there is this boy d whom i could not get over with.

maybe because he was so young, so innocent when i met him.

so gorgeous too, even if he was still wearing braces.

it's been six, seven, eight years since i last saw him. i could no longer remember

the irony is, we were apart way, way longer than we were together. we were together for about three to four weeks. but those weeks were filled with so much fond memories. in such a short time, i felt like i have known him much, much better than i know myself. i had seen him laugh, cry, lost his temper, overjoyed, scared, angry.

i still remember him and think about him. sometimes. i still spent sleepless nights wondering what happened to him. asking a lot of (futile) what ifs? why not? lots of ifs. endless ifs.

he was the first one who cried when i told him i love him and i tried to stop him from leaving the country (i was then in manille). he just graduated from college at that time. so full of ambitions, eager for adventure. in the end, i let him go. i even helped him get everything that he needed for his new life in the desert. without me. chos!

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yes, i played the martyr and i was happy for it.

i still have some of his photos stored somewhere in my bedroom. in our old house that was recently swept away by the strongest typhoon to ever hit the earth. an apt metaphor, you say? let those memories go. let the boy go. move on. find a new one.

still....

when i feel lonely, i would like to look at those pictures and feel young again.

but they are gone. lost forever. except in my memories. but they too are fading. like a forgotten old black and white film that has been gathering dusts in an abandoned basement.

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ah, don't mind me.

i am just being the dramah queen that i am.

it always happens, when the dreaded christmas, new year and then my birthday come. yes in that order.

i wish i could skip all of them.

but how can i when everyone else seemed excited about them?

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hopefully, they would be different this time. desert boy, gorgeous as ever, is coming home. finally.