Kilig Moments...the Stuff Movies are Made Of

Alphabet played bass guitar, and he liked showing off his skill. Even over the phone. He'd play a tune and I'm suppose to guess what song. But I wasn't into music then, since I had myself pretty convinced I can't sing to redeem myself. One song I can remember though, is Toto's I'll Be Over You. I didn't know that song then, but it's become one of my favorites right after that. And I'd never forget that time he played it for me over the phone.

Every chance I could talk to him, every moment I could spend with him was kilig moment. Perhaps it was a one-way street, but he was polite enough, and nice enough, to let me pass that street.

I once asked him why he could be so indifferent in person, when he's so talkative and open with me over the phone. He mumbled a few excuses, and it boiled down to both of us waiting for the other to start the ball rolling. It bothered me, the way we could be best friends on the wire, and strangers for real. I felt I was being short-changed, but I was willing to get anything I can. For what it was worth, I got my just rewards.

*****

Potassium permanganate. The substance of kilig.

Chemistry class that day was horrible. No amount of careful handling prevented me from getting potassium permanganate stains on my lab gown and hands. I was washing beakers and tubes and giving my palms a good dose of scrubbing when Alphabet came and stood beside me. He looked at my hands and told me to hand him the soap and he'll do the washing and I concentrate on my hands. He'd finished cleaning the wares and I was still sloughing off my skin. Laughingly, he took one of hands, grabbed a brush and pretended to brush it like a maniac. I was ticklish, add to that, so out of breath with his nearness and the fact that he was holding my hand. I tried to pull my hand but he continued to soap it and rub it. When it became apparent that even his TLC won't do anything, we rinsed our hands...and went our separate ways. We never, not even once, talked about that incident.

For my 17th birthday, I invited the merry gang to my house...the Giordano Girls and the boys. Alphabet gave me a bar of Whachamacallit, wrapped in silver foil and red yarn. I kept the wrapper and ribbon until a fire in my room two years after destroyed it. Since the GGs knew of my infatuation with Alphabet, they took pains ensuring we were beside each other always. Pictures were taken. He helped blow the candles. Then my friends insisted I open their present. It was a gray Giordano shirt...the same brand/color/shade we gave Alphabet for his birthday. If that wasn't bad enough, they made me try it on...infront of him. If my coloring allows me to blush, I would have put roses to shame then.

Alphabet Soup 1

My friends and I called him Alphabet...because his name seem to contain all the letters of the alphabet. Incidentally, in highschool, my codename during Christmas Monito-Monita was also Alphabet...because my name contains all but ten letters of the alphabet.

So what about Alphabet? He was a cutee, though not in that hunky chunky sort of way that I really prefer. He was cute in that he was smaller than most of his friends, good facial features...I really didn't care much about him, actually, it was Ms. Piggy who had a crush on him. But I started to notice him when he butted in during one of the discussions about Highlander, the Series. If he had been any other person, I would have chalked him up with the rest of the egocentrics (which were 10 cents a piece among the male population in our college department). But he was wearing sunglasses and my mouth fell open and I was reduced to being an idiot.

Sometime later, given an opportune moment, with us both being class officers, I worked on the nerves to call him up. With a little (count hours) persuation from Ms. Giordano Girl, I managed to dial his phone number and ask for him. Luckily, it was Alphabet who answered. If it had been his mom or somebody else, I'd haved hung up. I was so out of myself I started asking if we had classes the next day that I completely forgot to introduce myself. When he asked, I mumbled "your classmate" which, of course, was stupid, even by my own standards. After I properly identified myself, he seem to warmed up a bit and asked if I was doing anything else and if we could chat for a while. My little heart pumped all the blood to my brains, so much so that it got overflooded with oxygen. I blurted out "I can't. We're not allowed to chat on the phone". I could've hit myself on the head with the phone and never regret it more than I did saying those words...

But then again, he seem to read the signs and called me up frequently after that. Fifteen minutes...thirty minutes...soon we were having one hour chats. Mostly, we just laughed at things, gross jokes that amuses him, yucky stuff that makes me wanna throw up. If there was a person with whom I enjoyed talking it was Alphabet.

Over the phone, he seem like the perfect guy. But up front and personal, it seems there was always this wall around him...and only a few people were allowed in. Ms. Piggy, Ms. Giordano Girls, most of the cool girls and his band of friends. I was on the outside. Too awkward to set foot inside in case I was not invited. Too cautious in case he might break my own walls. Sometimes, I did managed to climb up a wall and took a peek...He'd respind positively. But most of the times, I just stood outside the gate and wait for him to open up.

Next...Kilig Moments with Alphabet

Betcha Didn't Know This About Me

So, the time came to decide...to go out with the Confessions...of a Picked Mind. Ha ha and ha. Isn't it great, that the world is full of wonderful crazy things, and we can hide from it or enjoy it like it'll get out of stock tomorrow?

I've always been afraid. Of this and that. People assume I'm a free spirited, go-getter, don't-care-a-fig girl, but I've always wondered if that's just a front. I'm actually scared of confrontations because I don't want to be thrust into the limelight without a script (which is what usually happens in a confrontation...). I hate not knowing what's next, or how an exact thing would turn out (I'm a sucker for recipes!)

Before trips, I surf the net for hours looking for and memorizing maps. I'm an OC with lists. I write down everything. I plan and dissect every aspect of my foreseeable future. I lie awake at night turning every possibilities in my head. I've an internal clock that wakes me up at the exact time every day, even with a bad hangover. I diet and count calories so I'd live to see my grandchildren vacation to Pluto.

And then, on the spot, I'd go "What the heck!", and go the opposite way. I lose papers and list and promptly forget where I place things. I go and have confrontations anyway because my mouth is faster than my mind, and my mind is faster than my sense of caution. I snack on chocolate bars and treat myself to ice cream on blah blah days.

Anyway, I'm the anti-thesis of how people perceive me. I'm the exact opposite of what I've managed to become, so far...Isn't that crazy or what?