GIGI GOES GAGA

THE NICE GUY

"So how'd everything go last night?" my friend phoned me way too early one morning, about 20 years ago.

"Um, OK. I think we're together now. I think I agreed to us seeing each other exclusively," I explained, a wee bit hesitantly. I knew how the rest of the conversation was about to go down and I wasn't ready to defend myself just yet, not when I could barely keep my eyes open.

"What do you mean by 'you think'? You either are or you aren't," she sounded irritated. "Which is it?"

"OK...we are then," I answered.

"How did this happen?" she demanded to know. "You haven't been going out with him for very long! I've never even met him. And don't you have a date next Saturday with some other guy?"

"Oh shit," I suddenly remembered. "I do, huh." Then...

"Well I was really tired and sleepy, and we were making out in the car when he took me home. I think I even dozed off a couple of times -- I was that exhausted. But I can't wait for you to meet him -- cute face, and you should see his abs and biceps too, oh man! Well anyway, he seems like he's really into me and you know, this guy, he's just...so nice. I didn't have the heart to hurt his feelings. We'll just see how this one goes."

"You be careful still," she said. "Remember how you finally started going out with J because you thought he was too nice to hurt you -- and then look what happened."

Her words were going to haunt me barely a month later. People often say that girls finally go for nice guys when they're ready for a real commitment. But not me, at least not back then. I'd go for the nice guy whenever I was tired of trying too hard to make things work and wanted to sit back for a bit. The problem is: when you pick someone just because you think he's "nice" or "safe," barring any of his other attributes or anything else you may possibly have in common, and especially when you're not quite ready for another commitment just yet -- then you're just as screwed as if you had chosen a bad boy to fall in love with. The problem with nice guys is that when the "nice" is gone, then they're just guys.

So a week later I introduced my new guy to another girlfriend, who took him out to dinner while I was out on my previously scheduled date. I gave my date the option of taking someone else to his formal affair instead but it was too late, he said. Our mutual friends, who set the thing up, thought we'd make a good pair and so I felt a slight pang of regret by the unfortunate timing of events. Anyway, the next morning, over the phone:

"Nice guy G," my friend said about my new boyfriend. "All he talked about was you last night. You think this one's going to last though? He doesn't seem like the other guys you normally go out with. He's a little...quiet."

Oh no, she's confirmed it. This dude's not a good conversationalist at all. OK, if I were to be completely honest, he's not really that interesting either -- unless he takes his shirt off, of course. "But you agree he's nice, right?" I asked, suddenly feeling the need for reassurance.

The following week, I introduced him to my closest girlfriend, the one who helped me get over my last relationship which had left me completely heartbroken and utterly devastated. She didn't ever want to deal with that kind of mess all over again and so I was confident she'd let me know if she saw any warning signs.

"G, he seems like he's really crazy about you and so I'm happy." There was a giant "BUT" hanging over us like a hot air balloon about to explode."The thing is, do you really believe you both have enough to talk about? I mean, do you think he's actually intellectually stimulating enough for you?"

Oh geez, she noticed that he had a bit too much air between his ears, too. "Well, maybe I don't know him that well, yet," I replied. "But what do you think -- he's such a nice guy 'no? It just seems like he couldn't possibly hurt me or even want to."

So far so good, I thought. The next week I introduced him to a couple of my guy friends, just to see what they thought of him. It's always good to get the male perspective of things after all.

D: "I don't know about this one G, seems a little too clingy for me -- like he needs to develop a spine or something."

R: "Yeah, I'm going to have to agree. He was just hanging all over you and couldn't stop looking at you, it was sick. It was like: Dude, c'mon, is there anything you can talk to US about besides her?"

But yes, they both agreed he was a nice guy. Too nice though, they both said.

The following weekend I took my nice boyfriend to a party and introduced him to my girlfriend, the one who phoned me that early morning way back in the beginning of this story, the first friend to find out about him. Suddenly, while hanging out with her in the kitchen he seemed like he was more animated than usual, laughing louder and talking a bit more than I'd seen him with any of my other friends. Wait, could he possibly be flirting with her? Nah, it couldn't be, he wasn't that kind of guy. I think he might have had a bit too much to drink, that's all.

Back at my place, he said, "Your friend reminds me of my first girlfriend."

A week later it was over. My new boyfriend came up with some stupid sob story (complete with tears streaming down his face) about why he wasn't ready for a relationship just yet. He didn't tell me the real reason: that he wanted to go out with my friend, the one who reminded him of his ex. Maybe he was too nice to tell me that and hurt my feelings?

As for my friend, she said that she wasn't attracted to my now-ex because he was boring and talked too slowly, even as she continued to hang out with him (was he possibly too nice for her to stay away from as well?). She couldn't tell him why they couldn't be more than friends and repeatedly lied that it was only because she and I were friends (even if I kept telling her that it was OK because the only pain I felt after he dumped me was a bit of wounded pride). But it turns out she, too, was too nice to be truthful, and she soon ended up going out with a friend of his instead.

Obviously one problem with nice is when no one really is, but instead is merely selfish. The other is that when nice doesn't have any place in a story, then it's just another four-letter word. It certainly didn't belong in this one, and I made sure it never had a place in any of my other ones ever again. Even if it was accompanied by a cute face and a six-pack.

IN THE END

In the end, she tried to make losing her as easy as possible for me.

When Boo was diagnosed with renal issues, and when her health became something to think about every day, I expected the worst toward the end of her life. I thought she'd be peeing in every corner of the house, that I'd have to relocate her bed or litter box permanently, or that I'd have to carry her up and down the stairs. I used to wonder and worry about how she'd be once she lost her sight or her hearing completely. But none of that ever happened.

Even during her last week on earth, when she stopped eating and could barely lift her hind legs, she walked to her water bowl, climbed up and down the stairs (albeit very slowly), sat by our feet during mealtimes, and jumped through the kitchen door to relieve herself in her litter box in the garage. Even when she lay on her furry blanket on top of the chaise and felt like throwing up, she would force herself to get up and jump off the furniture so that she could vomit on the floor instead, where wiping it up would be a breeze. All of these things she always did when she was still feeling fine, and she was determined not to change her ways even when she no longer was. It was only during her final 48 hours that I noticed she no longer had the strength to shoot her urine completely inside the box, and so I moved it inside the house, in a corner of the kitchen, and placed trash bags and liner pads so she wouldn't have to worry about making such a mess for us to clean up after. 

I used to wonder what it would be like when she was gone, but nothing could prepare me for when she finally was. For two months after I held her lifeless body at the vet clinic, almost everything that reminded me of her remained where they last were; I couldn't touch any of them, couldn't even look. One morning I decided to wear wool trousers to work and when I pulled out a pair, I saw its hems coated in Boo's fur. See, her favorite napping place of all was in my closet, underneath all my pants. For the first time since she came into my life I wanted to keep her fur on my trousers and hang it back on the rod, where it could brush against my baby whenever she wanted to go to sleep. I cried the entire time I brushed the lint remover back and forth against the fabric, and then I collected her hair and placed them inside a small plastic sandwich bag.

Last week I finally found the strength to buy a pretty fabric box and place her and all her favorite things inside it: her brushes, her food bowl, her toys, the wooden box of her ashes, a plaster cast of her paw print, the baggie of her fur, and even a St. Gertrude figurine (patron saint of cats) that my sister bought for her on one of her trips. I slid the box underneath my trousers inside the closet, where she can rest for now until I'm ready to do so finally myself; we'll be together until the very end, the way it was always meant to be.

I still cry, almost every day, just as I'm crying right now. Sometimes I stop whatever I'm doing and call out for her. My arms still ache because they want to hold her, and I want to rest the side of my face on top of her head. I miss the sound and jolt she makes when she jumps up on the bed, where at night she lays until I fall off to sleep and in the morning when she wants to be fed. Everything in this house reminds me of her, and of what I now miss. And although I keep telling myself that she had a good life, the very best I could give her, I sometimes wonder about how the rest of mine will be without her beside me.

But life goes on, and I always knew that one day I would no longer hear her determined bark and feel her plant her body next to mine whenever I stayed still for more than a few moments. I've always known that when love enters our lives it alters us completely: when Boo came into my life she changed almost everything whom I thought I was and made me all the better for it. Even now that she's gone, even now as I miss her, she'll keep changing my life in ways I've never expected or known, simply because this love I have for her will never ever die, even as I cry for her less and less and finally learn to live without her.

THE A CHRONICLES: VERTIGO

The term vertigo refers to the sensation of spinning or whirling that occurs as a result of a disturbance in balance (equilibrium). It also may be used to describe feelings of dizziness, lightheadedness, faintness, and unsteadiness. - From The Neurology Channel

The last time I saw A, I knew it was going to be the last time. Or at least, given the plain fact that we're connected through several mutual friends, that it was the last time we were going to be the way we were then. It was early in the morning, at the crack of dawn, and he was fast asleep, softly snoring. A sliver of sunlight cut through the sides and bottom of the vinyl roman shade covering his bedroom window and appeared to frame his head.

I lay next to him as he faced me and I remained perfectly still, not wanting to wake him up. I studied his face carefully, trying to remember the way his eyebrows knit together and the furrowed skin in-between, his lips still in a defiant pout. He looked peaceful -- though tired, exhausted by everything life was throwing at him. We were supposed to be each other's escape from reality, a refuge from the storms gathering about us, ready to strike. But there was just too much reality to escape from, and not enough distance from it for us to run away. Instead, we became too real to each other; in my case, I started to feel a bit of hurt, even a bit of pain, knowing that we were on nothing more than borrowed time, and not even enough of it. It wasn't supposed to be like this -- even if to this day I can't quite explain what it was all supposed to be like. All I know is that we couldn't help ourselves the first time we threw ourselves here, confident that we were strong enough and experienced enough to know when and how to get up again and walk away from this bed, this room, and from each other.

The night before, we talked and kissed and held each other. But mostly we talked as we lay in each other's arms, constantly touching, kissing, tasting, and breathing. It always amazed me how well our bodies seemed to fit into each other; from the beginning we moved together easily, effortlessly, as if we'd done so for years. That night we talked of where we were headed, of decisions we needed to make soon -- and none of them involved the other. When he fell asleep, I put my arms around him, kissed his shoulder, and fought back tears. I had no idea what I was crying about, but now that I look back I think I was crying for myself, and not for him.

When he finally opened his eyes and managed to mumble a few words, I inhaled his breath, which always smelled of cigarettes, and wanted to kiss him right away. We might even have; we always did when we were this close to each other. And when he finally shifted his body in order to get up and brew his daily morning cup of coffee, I held on to him. "Do you have to get up?" I gently pleaded. "I won't be gone long," he replied. In my head I thought: Oh yes, you will. We both will be.

The last time we kissed, he was dropping me off home that morning. He stopped the car suddenly and unexpectedly when we were close to our destination, and then he leaned over and placed his lips firmly over mine. We made plans to see each other after, of course. They never happened, despite the very best of efforts and intentions; reality had caught up to us both. I should have known. Well, I did. Clearly, knowing that something's going to happen doesn't quite prepare you for when it does; prophecy doesn't soothe the soul. I kept asking myself as I felt an ache so sharp that I couldn't breathe: how did I get here? Why wasn't I more detached, more nonchalant, as I had been with others before?

And that was my answer, I finally realized. For way too long I'd kept my emotions in check, believing that I didn't need that kind of deep connection as much as I did. I protected myself, curbed my passionate nature, and compartmentalized myself: brain, heart, gut; sex, love, both. When A came into my life, it was as if I'd released the gates to my emotional dam and let everything finally gush and flow. Because we had no future in sight as a couple but were already longtime friends I thought I could simply feel what I really felt, and say only what I meant. At the time I couldn't remember being as honest and open with any man before him. Maybe it's because I thought there was nothing to lose, even if there was.

For almost the entire time I was with A, because this was all new to me again and wholly unfamiliar, I'd lost my balance and started spinning around in place. It was like being dizzy -- of not being able to think or see clearly and not being able to stand firmly in place. I couldn't see the signs, or at least I wouldn't. I was unsteady and so I hung on to every word of his, every promise. In the end what I needed to do was lie down and close my eyes until I could visualize the situation just as it was, and open them when I found my equilibrium again. Finding it was difficult, perhaps for the both of us. At first I proposed that we cut off ties completely; he said he didn't want to lose one of his best friends, but the only way I knew how to get back on my feet was to pretend he never existed until I was ready for him to be present again.So he said goodbye and promised to care for me from a distance, once he figured out how to. Finally, after tossing out various terms of our final goodbye we decided not to, and we remained friends, perhaps it was the only way we really knew how to be with each other and because we now knew each other as few others did.

The last time I smelled A was when I finally picked up the chambray nightshirt I wore the last time I was with him, which I'd tossed aside so I wouldn't see it and think of him. I held it up to my chest with both arms, bent my neck, and took a deep, prolonged whiff: it still smelled of his skin and his cigarettes, with a trace of the cologne he wore and even that familiar scent of him that used to linger in my hair after he was gone. I still remember burying my face in it as a flood of memories swirled around my mind, from the first time he surprised me with a kiss to the last time he did. And just when I started feeling a bit lightheaded again, I threw the shirt in with the rest of the wash and let the detergent remove every trace of him. Or at least the him that was always meant to disappear one day, along with the us that was never supposed to begin, but not before I found myself again.

FOREVER

“He is not a lover who does not love forever.”~ Euripides

"Forever is composed of nows." ~ Emily Dickinson

"I can't promise you tomorrow, but I promise you'll never regret today."~ Unknown

I'm in Manila right now, and I've gotten in touch with people I haven't seen in ages. A common theme among several of my friends at this moment is that of sad goodbyes, of ending relationships they hoped would last forever. When we were in our 20s we felt that we could experiment with various relationships, that we could bravely invest time in different men and varied scenarios in our quest to find out who and what was right for us. Kissing frogs along the way to find our prince wasn't so much of an issue then, even if some of them made us fear we'd catch their warts, or worse.

But now, at our age, we feel that we no longer have the luxury of time. As one girlfriend put it, "How could have I wasted all this time on something that didn't last?" Which makes me think: did they really squander all those years? Is love supposed to last forever in order to be considered real and true?

"Just because it had to end doesn't mean it wasn't supposed to be," I told one friend. "Sometimes people enter our lives for just a window of time and that's only as long as they're meant to be there." One problem with measuring true worth by the tick of a clock is that it's too simplistic, I find. For instance, how are we supposed to know what can work for us unless we know what doesn't? How do we find out what we want without learning what we're supposed to avoid?

I've fallen in love deeply several times and can never explain why I did, even if I can easily discuss why I later had to decide to take my heart back and put it in its place. Although in the beginning I might have thought and felt that I could be with the person forever, it didn't mean that I was wrong when eventually I realized I couldn't after all. And even when I woke up one day and found out that I no longer loved the man doesn't indicate that I really never did.

"You were happy for at least part of that time you were together, and you learned from the experience, right?" I asked my friend. She nodded her head. "Then don't think you wasted your time or were stupid for being with him at all. The hardest part is knowing when to leave -- and you've already made that decision. And now you can move on again, and you're smarter than you were."

I can look back and clearly see what role a former love has played in my life. Unfortunately this clarity always happens in hindsight, but that's simply how real lessons always work. I've realized that although my heart isn't very smart, I always end up making the right decisions for myself -- at least when I've found the strength to carry it through.

I'm the kind of girl who still believes in a forever kind of love. But if it doesn't, I'm comforted -- in time -- that at least I had it at all. Nothing's wasted when you've felt that you've really lived, even when you feel like you're dying.