The Great Love of My Life
Saturday, June 24th, 2006I’ve been avoiding writing about this one for quite some time now. But lemme take a crack at it now.
Hmmm… shall I name her? Let’s just call her Cleo. Those in the know must know who this one is.
I once wrote an article called "Cable Car Rice". It came out in The Evening Paper, if memory serves. Twas all about a buncha friends who’d hang out at Cable Car Pasay Road, and all the good times we had. One of the featured characters was a lady I pseudonymed Cleo.
I had the hugest crush on her back then. But at that time — mid-late 90’s — she was a tad too young for me and hugely uninterested in me.
I was hugely sprung for her from the moment I first laid eyes on her. My mom says she’s ugly but I always thought she was one of the most beautiful women in the world. Aquiline nose, rosy cheeks, weak chin, swan-like neck, ample bosom, body with curves in all the right places, slender legs… no butt to speak of, though.
She was also a smashing conversationalist, which always scores ganda points with me.
One night at Cable Car, bass guitar institution Bobby Taylo and I roasted Cleo. We were playing with some dice-like game, trying to figure out what underwear she was wearing. (Don’t ask… you had to have been there.) It was all Bobby’s idea and he was actually the one doing the roasting. I was just in charge of laughing. But for some strange reason, Cleo got miffed at me. Go figure.
Fast forward around five years, to late october/early november 2000. My ex-wife, Lost Soul, and I had just broken up.
In an effort to lift my spirits, I went over to Suburbia (a bar in Malate — Adriatico Ave. corner Alonzo St.). As is my wont, I took the back door, de-jeeping at Taft Avenue and walking through side streets the rest of the way.
As I approached the corner of Bocobo St. and Alonzo St., I saw Cleo from around 10-15 meters away. Damn, she looked good!
She looked my way. Saw me. Smiled a huge smile. Waved. Waved me over.
We chit-chatted a bit, catching up. She was in gimmick clothes, hanging out with a buncha people at the corner of Bocobo St. and Alonzo St. Turned out her house was right at that very corner.
She asked where I was headed. Told her I was on my way to Suburbia, asked if she wanted to come with. She answered in the affirmative so we went to Suburbia.
Cleo and I took a table right in front of the stage, where I saw that the band playing that night were friends of mine. When they saw me, they called me up onstage to jam. The tune was "Smooth" by Santana.
Cleo later told me that it took her a couple of minutes to actually notice that I’d left the table. (She was occupied with the menu.) Laking gulat na lang daw niya nung nakita niya ko sa entablado. Ha ha ha. =)
We had ourselves a pretty good time that night. And made plans to go watch a movie the following week.
Our date pushed through the following weekend. On my way to her house, I walked past the Malate Church (sorry, I don’t know if that’s really what it’s called but I assume you know which church I mean). As I walked past the church, I texted her, telling her where I was and asking her if she’d care to join me there so we could get married. She texted back with a smiley face.
When I got to the corner of Bocobo and Alonzo, I texted her again, asking her to come down. (Strik ang erpat niya, so to save ourselves grief and numerous questions, she’d asked me to just text her pagdating ko doon.)
To occupy myself while waiting for her to come down, I played with my phone — some silly cellphone video game. So occupied was I with the game that I failed to notice her as she walked up to me.
"Sige, text!," was her greeting. (Take note of this, the plot shall thicken as the story progresses.)
We walked over to Robinson’s Place, Malate, where we elected to watch The Grinch.
I remember just about every detail of every moment of that night.
We had barbecue-flavored popcorn; she drank Sprite, I had Diet Coke (wala pang Coke Lite noon).
Twas a funny movie. We both enjoyed it immensely.
As we had walked into the theater in the middle of the movie, we stayed for the next screening. Between screenings, her phone kept going off. Apparently, some guy she used to date was asking where she was and if they could see each other. She put him off gently, saying she was out… subtly implying that she was out with another guy (namely, me! =) ).
After the movie, I asked if she had to be home any particular time. No particular time, she replied. So we hung out at Starbucks an hour or so. Shared a few good laughs over a couple of Mocha Frappucinos. Conversation with Cleo was truly something else.
We clicked in a way I never have with anyone else, before or since. We both had a certain skewed, twisted sense of humor and an equally skewed, twisted way of seeing things. We fit, hand in glove. Cleo and I… just… clicked…
… in a way I haven’t with anyone else, before or since.
So conversation over two Mocha Frapps morphed into a walk around the Malate neighbourhood. I told her that I’d likely been conceived somewhere around there (my folks lived around there at some point).
Cleo and I then had drinks and dessert at Cafe Adriatico. Smashing conversation continued. By then, it must’ve been around one am.
After drinks and dessert, we then went over to Marlon’s neighbourhood bilyaran, where she kicked my ass at billiards. She was good. And I sucked at billiards (still do, in fact… it’s not one of my manly man skills, he he he).
Never had I had my butt kicked by anyone so gorgeous. Nor have I ever enjoyed being pounded into the ground as much as I did then. =)
By the time I finally ended up walking Cleo home, it must’ve been around past four in the morning.
Like I said, we clicked. =)
And that was just our first date.
We then started hanging out a lot. She’d come over and hang out at my house. Or I’d hang out at hers.
She’d text me in the wee hours of the morning and ask if I could call her. I’d call her, of course. And we’d spend hours on the phone.
The first time she came over and hung out at my house, it was ostensibly so I could teach her how to play the guitar (yeah, right! =) … well, that was her excuse…. =) ). We ended up mostly just hanging out and watching tv. I did show her a few chords and shit on the guitar but it was mostly just hanging out.
She asked for a massage at some point, which of course I was only too eager to give. She had a body to die for, after all.
She ended up staying overnight. No, nothing sexual happened that night. (That stuff happened later.) But we did end up sharing my bed. As my bed at that time was a futon which barely fit me, it was a snug fit for both of us.
I wasn’t complaining, of course. Hey, dreams were made for moments like that. I mean, there she was, a forever-crush (merong mga babaeng tinatawag ng forever-crush, dahil crush mo sila forever), the lady of my dreams, snuggling with me in my bed. Hoo-yah! =)
She went home the next morning. Texted me something like, "Thanks for the massage. I can’t recall ever feeling so bloody good!". Something like that. Tangina, super-mega kilig, di ba? =)
I ended up saving that message in my phone for quite a while. =)
So Cleo and I spent the Christmas season 2001 hanging out a LOT with each other. November and December were spent seeing each other just about every day.
At some point a week or so before Christmas, I came in contact with an old girlfriend of mine. Let’s call her… oh, what the heck, let’s use her real name — Nina. Nina Escueta. There. =)
Anyway, Nina wanted to meet up and catch up. So we made a date for Christmas night. Not Christmas Eve, mind you. Christmas night. The evening of Christmas Day.
Take note: Cleo and I were at that point "just friends". There were moments when I could’ve/should’ve gone for it and made a pass… we’d be snuggling in bed or something… but it never felt like the right moment. (Yes, I think like a chick an unfortunate amount of the time.) Besides, I did at one point ask if I could kiss her, to which she replied by pointing at her cheek, saying, "sige, dito, o," and smiling sweetly at me.
Point being, technically, Cleo and I weren’t an item yet. So I could set a date with Nina with impunity.
I actually told Nina all about Cleo. Nina called her my "pseudo-girlfriend".
So come Christmas night, I had a date with Nina Escueta, an old high school girlfriend. Strangely, Nina and I decided to meet up at Malate. Cafe Adriatico.
(hmmm… sigh… there’s just something about Malate….)
As I was on my way to Malate, Cleo and I were in constant text contact with each other. She was out with friends. I told her about my date with Nina. Aba, nagalit! We had our first fight. Twas a text-flame war. Messages were written all-caps (which, of course, signifies yelling/screaming/shouting in the cyber/text world).
The text exchange went something like this…
Cleo: AH, GANON? EH, AKALA KO BA WE’D MEET UP TONIGHT?
Aya: Eh, di ba usapan natin maybe lang? Sabi natin we’d meet up if neither of us were doing anything else.
Cleo: YUN NA NGA. O, DI WHY’D YOU SET A DATE?
Aya (getting a tad miffed at being yelled at): I DON’T SEE WHAT YOUR PROBLEM IS AND WHY YOU SEEM TO BE GETTING HOT.
Cleo: WELL, I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT WE HAD PLANS.
Aya: FUNNY, I THOUGHT THE PLAN WAS TO MEET UP IF NEITHER OF US HAD ANYTHING ELSE TO DO.
And so on and so forth.
Of course, in hindsight it seems obvious that Cleo was just jealous. Back then, however, she twisted things around somehow so that it seemed she had a legitimate grievance. (She was good at that sort of thing.)
Nevertheless, I still met up with Nina. We had dinner and drinks at Cafe Adriatico.
T_ngina, bakit ba? Hindi naman kami "kami" ni Cleo, eh, di ba? To tell the truth, Nina’s pseudo-girlfriend comments stung. I felt put out that I seemed to have boyfriend-type responsibilities without boyfriend-type rights, perks and goodies.
So Nina and I had dinner and drinks. She spent the evening flirting shamelessly. With both her words and body language. I, however, spent most of the evening pouring my heart out about Cleo… how I was falling in/already in love with her and we were "just friends". As the date came to a close, Nina said something like, "Hey, if things don’t work out with you and your pseudo-girflriend, give me a call para akin ka na lang". (Nina has always been a shameless, lethal flirt.)
Cleo and I did end up meeting up later that night. In the last few-hours of Christmas 2000.
We hung out at her house.
Had a long, serious, heart-to-heart talk. I bared my heart. Told her I was falling in love with her and that because of that, I thought it best that we not see each other as much. In fact, I said, I thought it best that we stop seeing each other for a while.
I felt that continuing to see her would just lead to heartbreak for me, knowing that we were "just friends".
Teary-eyed, she said that she understood. She looked surprisingly saddened by my decision.
As I was leaving, she stopped me at her gate and asked, "Do you trust me?"
I said, "Of course."
She said, "Then close your eyes."
"Huh? Why?" I said, taking a defensive step backwards.
"You said you trust me…" she said.
"Well, ok….". And I closed my eyes.
Then I felt the softest brush of her lips against mine.
Twas the softest, sweetest, briefest whisper of a kiss… ever.
* * *
I cabbed home in tears. Kept thinking that maybe I’d made a terrible mistake saying we should stop seeing each other.
Merry Christmas, eh?
So we spent the next few days incommunicado. No text messages, no calls, no nuthin’. De nada.
Damn, it was tough. I’d gotten so used to her presence. We’d spent the past couple of months seeing each other virtually every day, after all.
The week between Christmas and New Year’s was a cold one indeed.
Then, on December 29, as I was boarding a bus to go home after a Quezon City gig, I received a text message.
Cleo: pssst
Aya: O, what’s up?
Cleo: Wala lang. Miss kita. And my dad’s in the hospital.
Aya: Ha?!?! What? Where? Puntahan kita.
So I proceeded to Manila Doctor’s Hospital, where her dad was confined.
She cried on my shoulder. I cheered her up as best as I could.
And we started seeing each other every day again. She needed someone to be there for her, with her, and I just couldn’t abandon her in her time of need.
We spent New Year’s Eve holed up in her room, making out. Damn, she was hot!!!
Hers was the yummiest, most perfect bod I’ve ever seen up close and personal, before or since. Her skin seemed to glow. Luminescent. Her breasts were perfect — ripe melons with strawberries on top. Her waist tapered smoothly from her ribs to her hips. Breathtaking.
Small wonder she was never lacking in modeling work. Truth be told, she could almost pass for Amanda Griffin’s twin sister… or brother. He he he…. =)
Bawasan mo lang ng kalahating paligo, Amanda Griffin na siya.
(… damn, this is getting tougher to write down.
This is why I’ve been avoiding writing about this. This part of the story still chokes me up.
So anyway….)
So we were making out… when we realized neither of us had a condom.
So we suspended the hot n’ heavy proceedings to go out and buy a pack of condoms.
We walked down Mabini, kissing each other along the way.
No, it doesn’t strike me as malaswa or too PDA. It wasn’t that kind of scene. I thought — still think — it was one of the most romantic walks I’ve ever taken. The only thing that would’ve made that walk any sweeter would be having it take place in Paris.
(Yes, yes, i know… pang-chick-flick talaga pagkatao ko)
Now, excuse me but that memory of kissing along Mabini is enough total recall for me right now.
* * *
Whew.
Ok, that’s enough of a breather.
So anyway….
Cleo and I became "a thing" January 2001. According to her, we weren’t an official item, as in a boyfriend-girlfriend/commitment kinda thang. I guess the safest way of putting it would be to say we were "seeing each other". At least, that’s how I prefer to put it. Cleo just called it "a thing".
Aray, ‘di ba? He he he.
Later on, when "the thing" — whatever it was — had ended, she told me, "Did you ever wonder why I didn’t want you to be my boyfriend?"
I of course said, "ummm… yeah, bakit nga ba?"
"Well," she said, "it lacked oomph."
Whoah. Can I die now? Earth swallow me up na. =)
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Those painful words were heard much, much later.
January to March 2001 was heavenly, as far as I was concerned. I think those months were the most alive I’ve ever felt, before or since.
We’d hang out, she’d come to virtually all my gigs, we were practically living together.
No female before or since has ever made me laugh as much as Cleo did. Ahhh, the laughs we shared. Like I said, we shared a certain twisted sense of humor.
One time (… at bandcamp… =p), I found myself trapped in her room, unable to make a badly needed trip to the bathroom. Cleo’s dad had since come home from the hospital and was prowling about. Like I said, strik ang erpat niya. (in english: her father was strict) If he found me in her room, there’d be hell to pay. So I was trapped in her room, unable to pee.
Being the strange, demented people we were, we turned it into a huge joke. She suggested I just pee into a plastic bag and she’d run outta the room, yelling, "pee comin’ through!".
We collapsed in gales of laughter. You had to have been there. =)
* * *
Another super-romantic moment of ours was the time we went to Enchanted Kingdom.
I was with a band called Freeverse at the time. We played tight-fit-outfit boyband pop (I was the goateed bad boy — every boyband has one). Freeverse had a gig at Enchanted Kingdom. Cleo came with us.
(Oh… for those who may not know, Enchanted Kingdom is a theme/amusement park outside Metro Manila, a local Disneyland, sort of.)
A vivid memory of that time remains: kissing in the cab on our way to meet up with the guy we’d be riding to Enchanted Kingdom with. Kisses so sweet they were fattening.
Our desire for each other emanated in waves.
Ahhh… sigh. =)
At the theme park, she demanded we ride the swinging ship ride oh, at least a coupla million times. She loved that ride. She was the one who taught me to let go of the restraining bar, fling my hands into the air in sweet surrender and say yes to the thrill of primordial fear. =)
Ahhh, sigh…. =)
* * *
Only thing was, the longer our "thing" kept on keepin’ on, the greater my desire for some sort of commitment. Yes, yes… I’m a chick. So sue me.
A lifelong guy friend was of the opinion that I actually had the kind of relationship most guys want, the kind of relationship most guys would find ideal. Great sex, great times, no strings.
Well… guess I’m not most guys.
Anyway….
Valentine’s 2001 was spent at Audiotorium, a bar along West Avenue. It has since closed down but back then, Freeverse did pretty good business there. As is the norm, Valentine’s night was a gig night for us working musicians. Cleo came with me to the gig.
Pretty romantic, pretty sweet. Flowers, chocolates, hugs, kisses, the whole deal. Snuggling in the bandroom. Snuggling between sets. We were pretty PDA (Public Display of Affection) with each other at that point.
Soon after Valentine’s was when things started to go sour.
* * *
See, the thing about our "thing"/relationhip/M.U./mag-"un"/whatever (aside from its being painfully undefined), the highs were higher than Olympus… but the lows went lower than Hades. Hell, Cleo would’ve given Ares a run for his money in the war department. I mean, I thought I had a violent streak. (Ares rules my sign, after all)
Aside from a humiliating pambubugbog in a high school fistfight, I don’t think I’ve ever been as beaten up as I was with Cleo. Before or since. I mean that literally. As in — pisikal.
Lemme site a few of the more outstanding examples…
First, some background… One thing Cleo hated was walking out. She hated having someone walk out on her, even if the only thing that someone was walking out on was a fight with her.
She came more from the Mike Tyson school of thought than a Sugar Ray Leonard mindset. She was more one to bite an ear off than one who would back off intelligently. Ha ha ha. Sorry, Cleo… It’s my blog and I get to say whatever I want about you. =p
It’s funny — I ran into an old Freeverse bandmate a couple of nights ago and he and I got to talking about that "thing" relationship between me and Cleo. He remarked that the rest of the band used to notice the marks she’d leave on me. Scratches, bruises and sh_t.
Being who I am, I couldn’t even defend myself when she’d turn violent. I couldn’t afford to block most of her blows because to do so would hurt her. So I’d just accept her hand strikes.
I drew the line at her attempted kicks, however. She tried to kick and/or knee my balls a few times. Those attempted assaults I would block/parry/deflect as gently as possible.
Once such attempt was made as she was walking out of my room. She tried a back kick to my balls. I smothered the kick with a pressing block. Thankfully, the block didn’t raise a bruise on her.
Another such attempt was in front of her gate. She tried a knee to my balls, which I again smothered with a pressing block. If memory serves, that didn’t hurt her either.
In fairness to Cleo, however, that attempted knee was launched in response to a thrown grape.
Yes, you read right. I threw a grape at her. It was a mock attack on my part, thrown in jest, not in anger. Being in fear for her life and limb (grapes being lethal ballistic implements), she responded with a hearty knee to the balls. =p
Lemme rephrase what I said earlier… Cleo came not from the Mike Tyson school of thought but from the George W. Bush school of thought. As in, bomb the f_ckin’ motherf_ckers. =p
Yet another attempt on my balls happened at the corner of Mabini Avenue and Quirino Avenue. We were grappling. Standing up. She was trying to claw my eyes out or get her hands around my throat. I held both her hands by the wrist, trying to dissuade her as gently as possible. Frustrated in her attempt to throttle me, she again tried the ol’ knee in the balls.
I deflected it with my left leg. Thank God for experience with Muay Thai fighters. =)
As I often tell women — forget trying to knee a guy in the balls. All men know how to protect their balls; it’s an ingrained instinct for men. If a guy is even halfway streetwise, you’ll never get a solid shot to the balls in.
Another otherworldly violent interlude happened along EDSA. That was the time she busted my lip with a nice right hand. She had a hell of a jab, she did. =)
We had just come from a birthday celebration in Laguna. We’d arrived late and most of the food was gone. All that was left was food she didn’t like. So she didn’t eat. I, on the other hand, was hungry so I ate heartily.
Later on, when we were back in Manila, she tore into me. We were walking along EDSA’s sidewalk, between Buendia and Ayala Avenue, heading south.
"Eh, bakit ka kumain?" she said, eyes ablaze.
"Bakit hindi?" I asked.
"Dapat dinamayan mo ‘ko."
What the…?!?! I thought. And I said as much.
She poked my temple and forehead repeatedly with her index finger and said, "Isipin mo kaya?".
"So bale… kung ‘di mo trip ang chibog at ayaw mong kumain, dapat magutom din ako? Where’s the logic in that?" I said.
She stormed off, walking ahead.
I snapped. It’s something that shames me to this day. I caught up with her and shoved her in the shoulder from behind.
"Ang labo mo," I said. "Anong klaseng pag-iisip ‘yon?"
Having been challenged thus, she lit into me with a fast right hand that would’ve brought a smile to Bruce Lee’s face. She caught me clean. Split my lip.
Even if I’d been so inclined, I don’t think I’d've been fast enough to parry that jab. It was a beautifully executed strike. Credit where credit is due.
Knowing more strikes were now forthcoming, I moved in close. Not a moment too soon. Rights and lefts rained all about like SCUDS in Iraq.
I moved to her right and wrapped my arms around her. Smothered her arms. Pinned them to her body with a hug.
Enraged, she then bit my neck. Went right for the jugular. Seriously.
Feeling teeth on my jugular, I knew I had to defend myself from this fresh new vampiric assault.
I spun her around and positioned myself behind her. Got into position for a sleeper hold. Locked the sleeper hold into place.
Modified it, however. Regulated my power so as not to hurt her. Didn’t even wanna render her unconscious. Just wanted to lower her heart rate and blood pressure a tad so as to calm her down.
A sleeper hold, you see, doesn’t cut off one’s air. It just limits the flow of blood to the opponent’s brain. This hold doesn’t target the windpipe; it merely puts pressure on the jugular vein and carotid artery. This slows the opponent’s heart rate. Keep the hold up long enough and the result is an unconscious opponent. Modify its power and duration, however, and the hold can be used to calm someone down. Well, that’s my theory anyway.
Just then, some guy bicycled past us. (We were on the sidewalk, remember?)
"O, pinapatay mo na ‘ata ‘yan, ah!" the bicycling guy exclaimed.
"Hindi. Kinakagat ako sa leeg, eh. Pinapakalma ko lang," I replied.
The guy bicycled off.
Cleo calmed down. I let her go.
A few hours later, we kissed, made out, made love, made up.
Betcha thought this story would be pure chick-flick, eh? Nope. No such luck. If only it had been so.
The thing that hurt most about these violent interludes was not the physical injuries I sometimes sustained. The thing that hurt was that someone who said she loved me could actually raise a hand in anger.
Yes, yes, I know… Eh, akala ko ba hindi talaga kayo "kayo"?
Hindi nga. But we did profess love for each other.
She just didn’t want a commitment.
Perhaps what she wanted was a punching bag. He he he. =)
* * *
Ok, time out muna tayo sa kwento. I wanna field questions raised by the last two comments attached to this blog.
Blues2Death, no names. =)
I think I know who you’re referring to however. He he he. And I’m SURE i know who and what you’re referring to in your own life story. After all, I was there for what I assume was the final chapter. 
Ann Marie, oo naman. Hindi ka naman talaga todo maldita, eh. Mukha ka lang maldita. Pero kyut ka naman, eh. So carry mo naman. Madali kang pagbigyan dahil nga kyut ka. That’s what I think, anyway. Ewan ko lang po kung sasangayon si pareng Tagie. =)
What made me decide to write about this? Hmmm….
Well… Let’s just say I need this final catharsis so I can finally lay this aside. Part of the cathartic process for me was a couple of tunes on Wdouji’s Ground Zero album. Those two tunes helped me process the heartbreak of 2001. Pero may natira pang kapirasong Kryptonite sa dibdib ko, parang yung tinik ng Kryptonite sa may bewang ni Superman.
I suppose I need to write this to complete my healing process.
I think I’ll always love Cleo, however….
The flame will dim, I’m sure.
The torch will one day be reduced to dregs and embers.
But for as long as my heart still beats,
part of its beat shall be the thought,
the memory
of her.
I once told Cleo that she’d always be the most beautiful girl in the world to me. It’s been five years and it still holds true.
This begs the question: why?
After being beaten up by a woman, after having my heart broken… why does the thought of Cleo still make me sigh?
The heart has its reasons. And its reasons often lie beyond reason. Love has its own reasons. Love is its own reason.
I also have to admit, however, some twisted part of me still loves her because she was a bitch to me, because she kicked the sh_t outta me.
I’m sure friend Reeni will bear witness to this about me. I love them bitches. It’s the ones who are kind to me who I mistreat. The ones who kick the sh_t outta me, I adore.
Being a man, I’m genetically predisposed towards stupidity. That is my great failing in life, that I was born a man.
Laugh if you want. I know this to be true.
Friend Meg and I once postulated the theory that if you want them to be nice to you, be nasty to them. I believed this to be true once.
I now know this is bullsh_t.
Love has no reason. Love needs no reason.
And Love… is its own reward.
Powtah, naging chick-flick na uli. Ayos! =p
So anyway… back to the story.
* * *
Lest you think Cleo and our "thing" was all about sex and violence, perish the thought.
When she was sweet, she was very sweet. She loved me well, in her way. Not as well as Sacred Sagg, perhaps, but Cleo did love me well, in her way.
We had wonderful times commuting, Cleo and I.
We once boarded a bus for Laguna. We sat on the right of the bus. In this country, the seats on the right side of the bus seat three people. Well, they’re supposed to, anyway. But since most of our buses seem to be imported from countries where everyone’s a pygymy, what is in theory a three-seater can only seat two comfortably.
So to discourage anyone from sitting next to us, we started acting silly. We flung limp-wristed hands hither and thither, saying, "Gaggle of geese! Gaggle of geese!" aloud. You had to have been there.
Another fond memory is of a conversation about good looking but mentally challenged types.
"So waddaya do," Cleo asked, "if the girl you’re seeing is yummy but can’t speak well?"
"Uhhh…" I replied, "just take her to bed and keep her away from people para hindi nakakahiya?"
Cleo started giggling, a sure sign of another imminent laugh trip.
"Ok," she said. "And when you’re gonna make her pakilala to your friends, just say, ‘o, when my friends are around, don’t talk, ha? If they talk to you, just cry.’ ".
Ha ha ha ha ha ha. =)
You had to have been there.
Another especially sweet moment was the time she came to a Freeverse gig at Hard Rock Cafe. Neither of us had any money to speak of so we ended up walking down the length of Ayala Avenue from Hard Rock Cafe to Buendia.
As we walked, she endeavoured to teach me how to speak with an Australian accent. (Cleo’s half Pinoy, half Aussie.)
Apparently, "shower" in Aussie is "sheowuh". "Burger" is "buh-guh".
I made up my own Aussie words. "Loyif" for "foil". And "tewtuh" for "tooter".
She found that immensely amusing. We spent a good two-thirds of the walk laughing.
I moved outta my house in Paranaque at one point and Cleo took me in. Like I said, her dad was very strict with her and would hardly approve of my moving in with them. Taking me in was quite a brave sacrifice to make on her part.
Of course, my living with them also had its advantages for them. I helped buy groceries and such. I washed their dishes and cooked for them. I also helped take care of her dad when Cleo had modeling gigs to attend to.
Cleo would wash my clothes for me. She always made sure I looked absolutely smashing for gigs. She was also my wardrobe consultant. Being a lot slimmer then than I am now, I was a presentable template for her fashion ideas.
She hipped me to the cool shoes to wear. She also introduced me to the chicks-dig-shoes principle.
She took good care of me, in her way.
What is certainly one of the sweetest moments, however, was the time when…
… she slept over at my place. We made the sweetest love ever. The next day, she had a modelling gig. The producer picked her up at my house early in the morning. Knowing that we both had a busy workday ahead of us and wouldn’t see each other ’til two days hence, we parted tearfully.
Oo, ma-drama kami ng slight. =)
I had two gigs that day. An afternoon gig in some school within the University Belt. Then a gig at Suburbia that night.
As Freeverse and I started playing what was a Cleo-Aya theme song, "I’ll Be There (the Martin Nievera version of the tune)", I was downcast. When Cleo was at the gig, I’d spend the whole song looking at her lovingly.
Since I knew Cleo wasn’t there, I shut my eyes, sighed and played quietly weeping guitar.
Emotion swept me away. Raised goosebumps on my own flesh.
As the song drew to a close, I looked up.
And Cleo was sitting right in front of me.
My face lit up like the dawning of the sun. My smile cut my face in two. I grinned from ear to ear.
We looked at each other. And smiled. Eye to eye, heart to heart, soul to soul.
Sigh….
I’m such a chick.
"O, ‘kala ko ba hanggang bukas ka pa?" I asked her after Freeverse and I had finished our set.
"Di kita matiis, eh," was her reply.
Awww….
So we had a late dinner at a malate resto whose name escapes me at the moment. I remember the meal, though. We both had pasta — spaghetti bolognaise. I had a coke light and she had iced tea.
’Twas a fairly romantic dinner.
* * *
Then there was also the time she took me to have a dental check-up. I had my teeth cleaned and stuff.
After, I wanted to buy peanuts from a vendor but she disallowed it, saying, "Babe, you just had your teeth cleaned. Don’t you wanna keep ‘em clean first? Savor their being clean muna."
She took care of me, in her own way.
* * *
Now here’s where it really gets interesting.
Before Cleo and I started seeing each other, she had been with another guy. Let’s call him Ghiwa. No he wasn’t Indian or anything. But let’s call him Ghiwa.
(… stop me if you’ve heard this one before…. An Indian guy walks into a bar in Malate and says to the Pinoy bartender, "Why do you call me Bumbay? Don’t you know that Bombay is the capital of India? What would you do if I called you Manila, Manila, Manila?")
Now the thing about Ghiwa was, what Cleo was to me, Ghiwa was to her. At that time, he was the The Great Love of Her Life.
I don’t think I ranked within her top five. I don’t think I was even in the running. She did love me, in her way. I just lacked… oomph.
There was a night when Cleo was at a Freeverse gig at Virgin Cafe QC. She spent the whole time texting Ghiwa. And some of the texts were pretty racy, too.
I know this because she willingly showed me a few of their exchanged messages.
F_ck buddy-cum-punching bag, that was me.
Oh, and it was funny… when my phone would beep or ring, she’d be all over me about who, what, where when, how. She’d get downright inquisitorial when anyone would text or call me. But when someone would text her and I’d ask who it was and what it was about, she’d just stonewall.
Freverse had one particular group of fans, one of whom had a crush on me. Let’s call her Pam. Whenever Pam would text me, there’d be hell to pay. But when Ghiwa or anyone else would text her, sorry na lang ako.
Siya lang ang anak ng Diyos. Siya lang ang may karapatan.
Events played out in such a way that Ghiwa and I actually became text-buddies. Well, kind of. Let’s just say that he knew about me and I knew about him.
I had the advantage of physical presence in Cleo’s life. He was stuck in Negros, you see. I was with her in Manila.
But he had the ultimate advantage of owning her heart. At least that’s how it seemed to me.
Ghiwa and I kind of double-teamed to keep her afloat, financially and emotionally. He’d send her money. I’d help her out with expenses too. And I was her emotional pillar, f_ck buddy and punching bag.
The man on the side, as John Mayer might say. Which was funny, because I was the one who was right there with her.
I remember one particular time. ‘Twas Holy Week, if I recall correctly. Freeverse and I had a gig in Cebu…
… and it was a rather large gig, too. Concert-type gig. It was held in some kind of football field. Audience of thousands. Screaming chicks. That kind of gig.
Cleo and I had been fighting a lot. So I planned to take a much needed breather in Cebu. Just wanted to stay a few days, maybe a week. Just cut back, relax. Take stock. Take a break.
Cleo called my cellphone and begged me to come back to Manila. Kailangan daw niya ako.
Being a sucker in love and at her beck and call, I came back to Manila immediately. Ora mismo.
The minute I landed at the airport, I went straight to her place. Bought her lunch. Fried bangus and plain rice.
At inaway niya ako.
I don’t remember what we fought about but I do remember tearing a brand new pair of shades off my own face in frustration and crumpling the metal with my bare hands. She had a way of getting under my skin.
My birthday came a week or so later.
She and I celebrated it at her place. An hour or so into my birthday, at around one in the morning, the subject of Ghiwa and my own place in her life came up. She couldn’t/wouldn’t tell me what I wanted to hear.
I got up to leave. She restrained me. Remember, she hated people walking out on her.
She hooked a finger in a belt loop of my pants. I tried to free myself. She tugged on the belt loop so hard, the belt loop snapped. I got pissed and held her wrist. She slapped me. Hard.
My eyes blazed.
It was my frickin’ birthday and I get this?!?! F_ck this!
I turned to go.
She laid her hands on my shoulders. Gently. Apologized for slapping me. Gently asked me to stay. Said she’d make up for slapping me. Wink. Wink.
I was furious. Fed up with being her boy toy/handyman/punching bag. I told her I wanted to leave. Take a long walk. Cool down.
She took my shirt off, thinking that would keep me from leaving. I surprised her by walking out of there with no shirt on.
Fuming, I paced the streets of Malate.
After I had regained my composure, I realized I couldn’t wander aimless and shirtless the whole night. Wandering aimlessly about Malate with a shirt on is one thing. Wandering aimlessly and shirtless, now that’s a whole other thing altogether. =p
So I went over to a convenience store.
The guard on duty placed a hand on my chest to prevent my entry, saying, "Bos, bawal po dito ang walang damit."
Pointing at the clothes they had on sale, I replied, "Eh, kaya nga ako ‘andito, eh. Para bumili ng damit."
Only thing was, all they had on sale were shirts for women. Everything was two sizes too small for me. Thankfully, however, being a member of Freeverse and thus used to faggoty tight fit attire, I was ok with walking outta there looking like the boyband member I was. =)
I then proceeded to my friendly neighbourhood tulak and got high.
And that was how I spent my birthday that year. Walking around Manila, high, in a ladies shirt bursting at the seams.
Lemme pause here for a minute and talk a little bit about drug use and its role in our lives.
Kids, don’t take drugs. Seriously. I’ve been there. And I know. Drugs don’t fill the hole in your heart.
Seriously.
That was one of the problems back then. Everytime Cleo and I would fight, I’d go get high. I’d go straight to my source and score. Then spend hours playing guitar and/or wandering the streets of Pandacan and Manila, walking.
I often walked around playing guitar in the wee hours of the morning. No one ever attempted to mug me, thankfully. The various street people around must’ve taken one look at me and known I was too high and/or too weird to mess with. Lucky for them they never did. =)
* * *
Things came to a head one night.
I was at Cleo’s house when a friend named Yamani called my cellphone. Yamani is a singer I once worked with. I was her guitarist/bandmate for a while. I also was her kickboxing teacher at one point. She and I were pretty good friends at that point.
So Yamani called me up, asking if we could hang.
Aya: Hello
Yamani: Hi. Asan ka ngayon?
She was asking where I was because she wanted to see if our respective locations were close enough to each other for us to get together and hang.
Aya: Somewhere in Malate.
Cleo’s eyes blazed. She looked at me piercingly.
Yamani: Well, I’m singing at Pan Pacific Hotel tonight. Wanna come to the gig?
Aya: Ummm… bahala na.
Yamani: Ok. Sige, text-text na lang.
Aya: K. Bye. Ingat. =)
And I put the phone down.
Cleo grabbed the phone outta my hand and threw it across the room.
"YOU’RE NOT ‘SOMEWHERE IN MALATE’!" she screamed. "YOU’RE IN CLEO’S HOUSE! IN CLEO’S HOUSE! IN CLEO’S HOUSE!"
My phone crashed onto the floor, fell apart in a dozen pieces.
I held my temper with difficulty. Took several deep breaths. Truth be told, I was on the verge of blowing up.
The whole situation — the lack of commitment, the drugs, Ghiwa, the stress of having to wear tight-fit stretchy clothes at the gig every night, playing stupid songs with singers who didn’t care about singing in tune, being in a f_ckin’ boyband, fer crissakes — was enough to turn anyone volcanic.
But I somehow managed to contain my temper that night.
A few days later, I awoke to find her in a boxing match/cat fight with her brother. They were going at it tooth and nail. She was trying to claw his eyes out and he was punching her in the face and belly.
I sprang off the sofa where I’d been sleeping and bear-hugged her brother and pulled him away.
"You’re gonna manhandle me now?" Her brother asked caustically.
"No," I replied. "I just wanna break it up and have the both of you calm down."
Cleo was having none of that, however. While her brother and his arms were thus restrained by yours truly, she took the opportunity to drag her claws… este, nails… across his face, drawing blood.
I let her brother go and grabbed Cleo instead. Grabbed her from behind and pinned her arms to her side in a bear hug.
Before I could tuck my head safely beside her shoulder, she responded with a beautiful counter. Gave me a headbutt to the nose, breaking it.
I saw stars. Whoah, I thought. She’d caught me good. I was stunned. My nose bled freely.
Her brother took that opportunity to make his getaway.
Seeing my blood, Cleo calmed down enough to fetch several rolls of tissue from the bathroom.
We managed to staunch the flow of blood eventually.
I again managed to restrain myself.
Fast forward a few weeks, however, and Cleo and I weren’t so lucky.
She and I were in her room, in bed. Just lazing. Snuggling.
Her phone chirped. Someone had texted her.
She spent the next few minutes texting.
Then turned to me and said, "Are you mad at me?"
"For what?" I asked.
"For moving on."
I snapped.
Backhanded her phone outta her hand. The phone flew across the room.
We both went after the phone. I got it first. Picked it up and threw it to the floor. It smashed apart. Broke into several dozen tiny pieces.
Her first strike was a backhanded bitch-slap to the face. My face snapped to the left with the force of the blow. She then tried a forehand slap on the backswing.
I ducked under the blow. Embraced her. Pulled her down to the bed. Pinned her arms and legs.
"Babe," I said between clenched teeth. "Kailangan natin pareho magpalamig. Mainit tayo pareho. I’m gonna let you go now. Then I’m gonna take a walk. Have to cool myself down."
So I let her go and turned to go.
She sprang up, spun me around and slapped me again. Hard. A nail tore into my face.
I grabbed her and pinned her to the bed again.
"Last warning, Cleo…" I said. "Isa pa, lalaban na ko. Namimihasa ka na. Matagal na kitang pinagbibigyan. Ni hindi ako sumasangga dahil alam kong kung sinalag kita, masasaktan ka."
"I’m gonna let you go and walk outta here," I continued. "Just let me go. I’ll be back, I promise. We just both need to cool off, calm down. Ok? Please, don’t try to stop me. Please. Just let me walk out of here. Please. And please don’t try to hit me again. I’m serious. Malapit na ko pumutok. Last warning. Seryoso ako."
I let her go again. Got up off the bed. Turned to go.
I’d gotten all the way to her room’s door when I heard her running towards me.
She grabbed my left shoulder and spun me around.
I snapped. Went into combat mode.
Time slowed down, a la Matrix.
I saw her right hand shoot out in a jab. In combat mode, however, her hand seemed to move languidly.
I slipped her punch, moving to the left. Parried the blow to the side with my left hand.
One thing Cleo never understood was just how hard it was for me to restrain my reflexes whenever she’d attack me. She never understood how much it takes. It’s so much harder to keep from being who and what I’ve trained myself to be than to just let my reflexes do their thing.
F_ck it, I thought to myself. Let your reflexes go.
And so I did.
I sought the closest yet safest target. Sorted my options. Not the face. Don’t wanna hurt her. Settled on her tummy as the best target.
Threw a low reverse punch/right cross.
Thing was, though, having parried her punch to my right, her right arm was still blocking my vision. And she was hunched forward as a result of missing her target.
So my punch, which was intended to hit her tummy with regulated power, hit her breast with two thirds power.
She crumpled to the floor, writhing in pain. She was in tears.
Para akong binuhusan ng malamig na tubig.
I picked her up and put her on the bed. Apologized profusely.
We both started crying.
Started fighting again soon enough, however.
So rather than start up again, I elected to leave. Ran outta there like a bat outta hell.
Got as far as the driveway downstairs when I heard her running after me. Wanting to foil pursuit, I upended a chair to block her path.
She tripped over the chair and fell crashing to the concrete, wrenching her knee painfully in the process.
I just kept going. I’d had enough. Had to get away.
* * *
After that last incident, Cleo and I still kept seeing each other. But things weren’t the same after that.
A couple of weeks after the majorly violent incident, Cleo had a photo shoot in Corregidor. I decided to follow. Thought it would be a sweet, romantic thing to do.
So after my gig, I hung out with my Freeverse bandmates ’til dawn. Then went straight to the CCP complex to catch a ferry to Corregidor. When I got to the ferry launch point, however, they told me that the only rides available were to Bataan. None to Corregidor.
So I ferried to Bataan. Then looked for a banca to take me to Corregidor. After much searching, I finally found someone willing to ferry me over to Corregidor. Paid him an exorbitant fee, too. But what the hey, I was in love.
I remember the thrill of the fast banca ride from bataan to corregidor. ‘Twas a small banca and the pilot and I were the only two people on the boat. I felt like Odysseus on his way home to Ithaca. =)
So I surprised Cleo by suddenly showing up at the photo shoot. ‘Twas a bikini photo shoot. God, she was gorgeous. Talk about a body to die for. T_ngina, panis yung mga FHM 100 Sexiest Women kay Cleo. And believe me, I’m a connossiuer of fine women. =)
At one point, she had to change outfits. As it was an outdoor shoot, there was nary a dressing room in sight. So she took cover behind me and changed bikinis. She was fine….
The last sequence of shots was taken at the beach. Cleo was perched uncomfortably on some rocks but she posed like a pro. Super sexy. To the max.
After the last shot was taken, I was so taken with the sight of her that I just tore my shirt, socks and shoes off, dove into the water with my jeans still on, and swam to her.
"Come on in," I said. "The water’s fine."
She swam with me. I took her in my arms, carried her afloat.
So sweet.
I then ruined the moment by relating another how I’d once been to another photo shoot, at another beach, with another model. Me and my big mouth.
First times were a big deal to her. She wanted that moment to be a first for both of us.
So she left my arms and trekked away, back to the hotel, leaving me scrambling for my clothes.
* * *
’Twas Cleo’s birthday yesterday. July 4. Sigh.
* * *
Tangina, i-fast forward na lang nga natin hanggang sa dulo. Nalulungkot na ko masyado.
* * *
Freeverse went to San Francisco the second week of June 2001. We stayed there a few days.
Played the Philippine Independence Day celebration in San Fo. Ang saya. Nobody really knew who we were or particularly gave a shit. =)
But we also backed up Diether Ocampo so….
It was funny…. The crowd started chanting "DIETHER! DIETHER! DIETHER!"
Our faggot singer had an ego the size of Texas so he actually thought they were chanting, "FREEVERSE! FREEVERSE! FREEVERSE!".
Ahhh, sigh…. The only thing larger than a guitarist’s ego is a singer’s. Eddie Van Halen calls it LSD — Lead Singer’s Disease.
Ryan The Faggot sucked. Cocks. He sucked cocks. =D
Hindi, loko lang. Baka kasuhan pa ko ng libel. =p
I don’t know if Ryan was really gay but he certainly was a spineless, ball-less, disgusting faggot who cared more about his dimples, his shoes and his frickin’ biceps than he did singing in fuckin’ tune. He couldn’t sing for shit. Period.
He sucked.
So anyway….
I spent almost a week in San Francisco. I was all set to go TNT — Tago Ng Tago. I was planning to go illegal. Was all set to board a bus to New York.
There I was, bags and guitar in hand, all set to follow my lifelong dream of New York… when the realization hit me — I could imagine a life without New York but not a life without Cleo.
So I came home to Manila.
Brought her a pair of diamond earrings.
Went straight to her house upon landing at NAIA.
Caught her there just as she was on her way out. She was shocked to see me. Not pleased, though. Just shocked.
Offered to bring her to wherever she was going. She accepted.
Handed her the earrings when we were in the cab. Her hand shook as she accepted them.
Asked if we could have dinner. She declined. Asked if we could see each other sometime and talk. She declined.
Ouch.
’Twas a real earth-swallow-me-up-na moment.
I came home for this?
A few days after, I tried to visit her at her house.
When I got there, Ghiwa’s car was parked in front of her gate.
All became clear. No wonder.
Double ouch.
’Twas funny… The bar underneath their house was playing a Sarah McLachlan tune. A Cleo-Aya theme song, in fact.
Triple fuckin’ ouch.
But that’s alright.
Love, like music, is its own reward. Never mind its slings and arrows. Love is its own reward.
From her house, I proceeded to my source and got very, very high.
Rode a jeepney home. As I was riding, I heard a tune in my head. Grabbed my ever-present music writing notebook and wrote the tune down.
To this day, it’s one of the finest tunes I’ve written.
It’s on WDOUJI’s Ground Zero album, in fact. The only tune named after a woman. So if you’re curious about Cleo’s real name, just check Ground Zero out.
Two tunes are dedicated to Cleo…
For You and You Alone and… the aforementioned tune.
WDOUJI recorded Ground Zero in October 2001.
I gave Cleo a call before going into the studio. Just wanted to ask her to wish me luck.
She was beeyatchy beyond compare over the phone.
That phone conversation was when she told me she never made me her boyfriend because I lacked oomph.
Oh, and there was more….
At one point, I asked how her dad was.
She said, "Look… please don’t think we’re friends. We’re NOT friends."
And I suppose that’s where this story ends.
* * *
I spent the next year in a haze of drugs and bebop.
My heart was filled to bursting with the absence of her.
But hey, I got two songs out of it, so what the f_ck.
Love, like music, is its own reward.
I’m still standing.
And I still believe in love.
Woof! c",)
