. . . . . LYF after ALL

Last night, I finally faced the worst fear that haunted me for ages:

"GOING TO SEE A MOVIE BY MYSELF!"

The thought just bugs me. And until now, I can't still get over with it.

I was there, standing infront of the ticket booths of G4 Cinemas. Half of myself was browsing through movie listings and showtimes - half of myself was looking at the people in line. There were groups of people, bunches, barkadas . . . . . there were old couples, with their kids and all . . . . . and there were young couples, heterosexuals and homosexuals alike. And there was ME. ALONE.

(Wait, I have to throw up!)

(I'm back.)

As if I have other choices, I fell in line for Ms. Congeniality 2. I'm alone for chrissake, why in the world would I bother to watch a serious film? I would just end up committing suicide inside the moviehouse and cause a mass hysteria . . . . . then I'll just suddenly fade away as the lonesome person who watched movies alone. Errrr. Not my type of tragedy!

"For how many?" the girl in the booth asked.

I was just staring at her.

There was an impulse to lie. To buy tickets for two.

"How many tickets, sir?"

"One! Just for one," there! I finally said it.

I wanted to turn around but I'm damn sure that the folks at the back are gossiping, whispering . . . "Ooooooh. He's Alone!"

"So, you're alone?!" the ticket girl said.

Jesus! Lady do you have to put an extra emphasis on that?

"Yes! It's just me," I said with a sly smile.

Say it one more time lady and I'll shove this ticket through you nose 'till the MRT comes out from it.

"Okay! Enjoy the movie."

"Thanks!"

I was already stting enjoying the trailers of upcoming movies that I really do not intend to view alone in the future.

Suddenly, there's this funny looking girl, that looks like a shoe saleslady, carrying a 3-ft long flashlight, that BIG BOSS MAN would be ashamed if he sees it, told me that my seat is taken.

"Yes," I said. "By me."

"Can I see your ticket, sir?"

I pulled the ticket.

"You must be sitted there," she said pointing at a vacant seat in the middle of what I perceive is the lovers' lane. The whole goddam row is like cramped with couples as if a Korean Mass Wedding is about to precede.

"Can't I just stay here?" I pleaded.

"May uupo po kasi dyan eh."

"Then, you should've told me earlier. i can't even see if there are numbers in the seats!"

"Meron po," she said proudly. Then she hovered the glow of her flashlight at the back of one of the seats.

"Well, I'm sorry. I'm not nocturnal. And besides, you shoud not expect that people would come in here carrying a 3 foot long flashlight just like you do."

But then, I just decided to move. The movie is about to start. I don't want to be mugged by an angry mob of Sandra Bullock fans.

Well anyway, the movie is not as shitty as I expected it to be. (I will have to write a separate entry for the movie review, otherwise, I'll ruin this one)

I had some good laughs. Some fake laughs and some genuine laughs.

By the time that the movie ended, my stomach is growling.

So, I headed straight to Bread Tlk to indulge with the heavenly breads.

It was heavenly. I am not a bread conneisseur but when I say heavenly, you have to trust me.

Breadtalk is the only way that can make me believe that heaven exists. (Well . . . . . of course, aside from good sex! When you start calling god, louder and louder . . . . . . then aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh . . . . . HEAVEN. So, shame on those people who says that God doesn't listen when you call him.)

Anyway, I went straight home after the delictable bread.

I went online. An old friend asked me how was I doing.

When friends ask me how am I doing, I just usually answer them with sheer pessimism: "Heto, ganto pa ren! walang Lyf!"

Then, when I saw my answer on the chatroom window. I just realized, this line can't be anymore true, especially now that I have to watch a movie ALONE.

I wanted to commit suicide at that moment.

Then, I thought about OASIS, my OASIS.

I checked if he's online.

He is.

Then suddenly I thought . . . . .

I HAVE A LYF AFTER ALL . . . .