Love Isn’t Always On Time and Things I Wish I Had Known

Caution to probable male readers: This is not for the faint of heart. I had flicked off a few of my blog buddies, one by one, just to be able to write posts like this. But then, I suddenly found myself earning a new set of dude pals because I just couldn’t help myself from clicking Like on your impressive blog posts. Now I may have another batch to flick away – soon. 😀


Nobody in my childhood and teen years had hammered to my awareness the value of enriching the mind. I was raised in a household that glorified good looks more than cerebral strength. Same as to the necessity in complying with societal norms; Everyone should get married, have children, try to live happily ever after.

In the recent past, almost everybody never gets tired aiming these questions at me: “You aren’t seeing anyone anymore? Do you realize how much you’re missing out on not having a man?”

If the inquisitor is a female, it’s tempting to bounce back with: “You know, you’re just too dull to cultivate any hobbies instead of immersing yourself with the crap your man throws your way.”

If it’s a man, it would be lovely to imagine myself blurting out: “@s$h*l*.”

But I try to manage with a smile. Sometimes my counter goes like “Eh, they’re all the same” — although it may prompt me to run for my life afterwards. 🙂  My safer candid reply has come down to, “If only it was that easy to hook up with anyone for hooking-up’s sake.” 

Look, I’ve been through all that – young love, sweet romances, affairs, marriage, matrimonial dissolution, dating, younger men, etc. They entirely sum up to an unfortunate truth: I wasted too much of my precious time on men.

Don’t get me wrong. I do like men. No, to be precise, I love men. They’re fabulous friends, buddies, helpers, acquaintances, entertainers, co-workers, bosses, business partners, etc. I am grateful for having them around.

And I still get crushes: I blush helplessly in front of a ridiculously handsome, humorous, charming man; glance surreptitiously at the hottest-looking guy inside a 7-11 store; fall off my chair (out of admiration) reading well-crafted blog posts of interestingly (emphasis on the term interesting) intelligent men. I may be jaded, but I’m not dead.

In the actual romance department, though, it’s undeniable men are fantastic only during the early stages — best to enjoy them while they’re still into you, I mean. Subsequently, things inevitably turn downhill.

Before I forget, the words sharp and “very wise” have also been used to describe me.


The highest number of responses I garnered came from my “opus” — — which received mild criticism from one or two co-bloggers who told me I had been merely lashing out for all the romantic blows I took in the past. Partly true, I guess. Even so, my major issues remain: Why do women generally have to come out as the pathetic gender in the sphere of love? Why are they willing to swallow a massive nutty pile of bullshit from their partners just to duck the prospect of being alone, at least, for a while?

Unless you were fortunate to have ended up with the person The Gods of Heavens had matched you up with, sustaining a relationship would be a lifetime of struggle. Especially for the woman who’ll always be on the losing side by reason of her cultural status and emotional constitution. Why has jumping through hoops always been the woman’s task?

The principal cause of men misbehaving happens to be us, too. We women let them get away with unacceptable behaviour. Then we feel dreadful and disgraced for having allowed the mistreatment.

All around me I see only couples who simply go on enduring the company of their better halves for whatever reasons. They aren’t happy, either. A greater number are even tons unhappier than the unmarried ones. And there’s this thing I have noted as well: The inevitable crisis of growing old could tame some men and make them behave better, or finally results to them becoming improved, docile mates. Nevertheless, what kind of woman would be willing to wait that long?

Loneliness is likely the no-joke repercussion most single women can’t bear going through. As for me, I don’t feel the type of loneliness these women are straining to dodge. Honestly. Maybe I’m finer flying solo. Or perhaps, for mysterious reasons, it just doesn’t bother me. The conformists will, however, always have something unpleasant to say to my case and argument.

I watched an Oprah episode on man-woman issues ages ago that had one man asserting, “Most often (for us), it’s all about right timing.” The rest of the men in the audience nodded. It’s that simple. I wish I had known that in my much younger days. I wish all women knew that. So they wouldn’t have to shed all those tears and keep jumping through hoops which are undesirable corollaries to the “privilege” of staying as the other half of a couple.

To my mind, still, that man’s sentiment is a brown nutty pile of bullshit.


I couldn’t think of a better title for this post other than the the words “love isn’t always on time” from the lyrics of “Hold The Line,” my favorite from the band Toto. The song says it well: It’s never really about what the woman does to keep a man. Please get that, my fellow gals.

An Unexpected and Amusing Incident

Lack of chaos. Serenity. Words that fit in painting the actual sphere where I currently move and engage my senses. A slave to unnecessary emotions no more – that’s something that took a long time to come about. It’s been peaceful, indeed. I’ve shied away from men here who wanted to get closer, and I’ve doubted anything out there could be worth giving up the current comfort I’m savoring, owing to the absence of romantic dramas around me in recent times. Sometimes I question what could ensue in the face of an unexpected occurrence that holds a potential to rustle my calm or bend my will (Hold it – this isn’t another of my meditative posts). Surprisingly, an incident last weekend might have given me the answer to that.

My favorite time of the week, Saturday, commenced with my trip to National Bookstore where I ended up puchasing a – uhrm – Virginia Woolf classic (Hey, don’t think I didn’t hear you. So I’m an ambitious reader, huh? 🙂 ). Watching “Guardians of the Galaxy” had already been incorporated in my agenda so I proceeded to Gateway Mall to check out the cinema schedules. I was looking up at the lighted box, trying to decide on a screening time when somebody stepped and stood in front of me. It took me around four seconds to recognize the guy. Oh, it was my son’s Music teacher from way back. Let’s just call him (by the pronoun) He. I noticed He looks a bit…rounder now. Especially down the belly section.

After the Hello and Good-to-see-you exchange. He asked me to sit somewhere with him at one of the tables in the fastfood area so we could talk and catch up on the people we both knew. He also said he doesn’t teach in Claret anymore. He has gone back to pursuing his Law studies which is being supported by his parents and sisters. He is still with his long-time girlfriend.

Let me narrate first to you my history with this dude: It was more than five years ago. I was a single mom who conjectured a real relationship wasn’t what I really needed. I’d grown weary of the highs and lows caused by actual amorous alliances that anything less complicated became more appealing to me. Perhaps something more casual and nonbinding would suit me better. But it couldn’t be with just anybody. The right buddy or special acquaintance would be ideal. My son’s grade school Music teacher, who had been a chum, suddenly fell into my lap. Great timing – as he seemed to be the one who could fit my needs (Er – he’s 10 years younger; there’s no single man my age anymore). Good-looking, tall, smart. Another bonus: we both love music. We entered into some kind of arrangement; the kind in which emotions couldn’t come between us. He had always played around anyway even though he already had a girlfriend (Ah, musicians). That specific reality about him was no longer my problem, I inferred (Yeah yeah, not good of me – and a huge mistake, I know. Believe me, I’ve repented).

Well, you might have guessed what followed. I started having some “feelings” when I shouldn’t. The Danger sign blinked sharply: Time to pull out. Good thing we were both busy. We were soon able to let each other drift apart. I fell into another real relationship. For years we’ve lost touch.

Last weekend, though, He was confident that we could easily slip back to the way things used to be.

He: We can go back to the way we once were.

The idea caused sudden repulsion in me I flinched. He asked why.

Me: I’d rather have you as a friend.
He: We can be friends again, too.

I knew what he meant, and I knew it’s time to be more forthright. We used to be merry comrades who were comfortable being candid with each other anyway.

Me: You have no job. You look 16 pounds heavier now. You are living with your girlfriend. And you’re suggesting this. (I snapped my fingers for clearer impact) As if it were a piece of cake. You’re incredible.

He: I’ll be crooning you with your favorite songs anew everytime we’re together.

Something from my gut blurted “Ick!” As if he looked and could belt like music dreamboat Harry Connick, Jr. Exasperated by our chat, I told him, “Let’s go” and rose to my feet (What I meant was it’s time for us to go our separate ways). When he stood up, his smug aura projected he completely misunderstood what I just said and didn’t get my point. I sat down again.

Me: I mean I’m going home. You should go home, too.

He sat down as well and started using another of his former tactics – pleading. The deduction that going home early to his waiting partner had become a monotonous pattern for him blared transparently. While he yammered on attempting to convince me hooking up again would be a very good idea, I looked at him and wondered how I could have even developed affection for this guy in the past.

I decided to make things easier for both of us. Bolting from my seat, I said “bye” and matched my steps with a laid-back smile plus a wave of my hand. He looked surprised. Then he nodded. I walked straight off and didn’t look back. I was relieved, feeling glad to claim back the rest of the night for the activities I had originally planned. “Guardians of the Galaxy” proved entertaining, and it alerted me to a delightful talent in new hottie Chris Pratt. Have I mentioned he’s got perfect abs, too?

Indeed, how time changes things.

My amusing encounter with Mister Smug helped inform me of a fact or two about myself.

Somehow, it all made me feel better.


I simply liked this photo. That’s all. 🙂