Day 3: dressing pain

6:05 AM


I woke up even before my alarm got off with my day calendar muttering its digital voice . . .

1.  Be in Abu Dhabi before noon

2.  Conduct Aggressive Suggestive Selling workshop in Khalidiya Mall and verify Mary Ann, Ahmed and Kenneth for their Training certification.

3.  Staff Accomodation Visit at Musaffa in the afternoon.

Big day !!!

11:21 PM

Back in Dubai from Abu Dhabi

I am so tired I want to  sleep in the hot bathtub but I have to this.  Mental rehab . . .

Abu Dhabi is an hour and a half bus ride from Dubai but it took me two long hours to get there today.  Traffic was so sadistic upon entering the capital city of the United Arab Emirates I actually began fantasizing about sadomasochism.  Wouldn’t it be thrilling to have a love bus in the middle of daylight traffic – all whips and chains – me as the dominatrix in white leather, screaming, “You !!!  You with the blue turban, bend over !!! ”  Whaaack !!!

Oh I remember Madonna’s Erotica era.  I remember my then-best friend Eldan and I taking the long bus ride from Sampaloc to Cash and Carry in Makati to grab the last bootlegged copy of SEX (coffee table soft porn metallic book authored and modelled by Dita – Madonna’s alter ego )  from a smelly guy who wrapped it in newspaper.  For 2,000 pesos.  We were both pimply little sissies needing alter egos back then when times were basically spent in schoolbooks, Casey Kasem’s Top Ten and conventionalities.  SEX have moved us from nerdy freshmens to subversive fanatics; dressed in leather, wearing brown mat lipstick and singing Deeper and Deeper:  I can’t help falling in love I go deeper and deeper and deeper . . .  humming the early trenches of being different and dressing pain in sequins and furred tank top, as we squint in real life (squinting is clearly an indication of  wanting to be invisible) . . . to actually fit in.  To be as cool as the varsity players and the rich kids driving their Nissans to school.   Nonetheless, Eldan and I had our own esoteric world of temporary insanities – recording our favorite songs from the radio – reading our fat novels – eating kikiam with rice and we were cool.

Pain is an emotional fucker.

When you start feeling pain – you actually don’t feel anything.  Just pure unadulterated void.  I never had problems with rejection (because I have mastered acceptance) or being bullied around (because I always fight) and honestly I don’t mind being deceived (work has perfected that and well, I get back most of the time) but I have a monstrous problem my own personal battles about being me.   It gives me pain to see myself being dragged to a situation that I allowed myself to be in under clear protest.  I can be really vulnerable and I hate displeasing people, especially people I deeply care for.  And then I begin hating myself for that.  Yes.  Most of the time, I dress my own pain.  I sometimes design the outline and more often than not, choose the fabric as well.  Well, don’t we all?  Well, I do not dress it shabbily.  I am swarovskis and goth eyes and faeire wings . . .

Come to think about it, we do carry our own pain and through the years I have learned to laugh through it – we do get fucked real bad with its metallic and VERY COLD dick but it gets to be easier when you learn to laugh through it.  In its most intricate, piercing moment, I dress my pain haute coutour.

Pain, in fact, is a validation that you have reached the next level of growth.

For three decades I have had pain in all colors, shapes and sizes.  Deaths, unrequited love (the worst!), being dumped (the worst of them all!), professional deceit, friends who deceive you and hiss death wishes behind your back, being lied to, flunking classes, parental disapproval (so painful until you realize that all parents are just scared that their children will end up like them), weight gain (current pain), physical pain (which can be emotionally damaging especially tooth ache), words that hurt (which equals to aphysical beating) and that pain (so inexplicably deranged) of not getting what you want.

When I was younger I’d burst into flames and antagonize everyone and everything around me.  It always works for me.  Inflicting the same pain to the next person sitting next to me.  It was so heavenly.  Until it happens back to you.  You becoming the object of karmic violation . . . or validation it depends on how you call it.   I am a self-confessed masochist so I write and direct my theatrics.  Oh so well.


In times of exquisite pain, I wallow.  I do.  I have been ostracized many times by friends who called me drama queen.  Crucify me.  I have to thank my lucky stars for having a few good friends through the years who found my dramas to be a learning experience rather than a sob fest.  I heard more Pick yourself up bitch! than the usual phony Awww.  For what it is worth, wailing it is the safest thing to do to filter pain.  It is like letting go of an angry dam and gushing it out to freedom.

A rainbow does come after every storm as they say.  I say a mammoth of a man comes out within you after dressing pain in any way you do:  pauper like, casual dining, signature, faux signature, black tie or nakedly dressed to perfection.  Besides pain does make you a learned humanoid geared to be better.  Set to conquer beauty and love that does bring forth pain as its evil partner just like the balance of life in general:  black and white . . . good and evil . . . as we all dance to the hue of pastels and color bursts between them.

” . . . give me life give me pain give me my SELF again . . . give me life give me PAIN give me my self again . . . “

Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos


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