On Dating a Rockstar

It has a nice ring to it, you must admit. Dating a rock-star makes you feel like the model-slash-trophy girlfriend. Pretty much like the wife of Travis (Blink 182 drummer). As a member of the sector of society called women, whose population is presumed to have the same qualification as yours when it comes to getting a dating partner, you may be considered lucky. You grabbed a “star”, no matter how crude the word preceding it may sound. You probably feel like a lion-tamer, and it is quite true. Dating a rock-star does have its perks. Like all situations in life though, there is also the other side of the coin.

Love and Hate
He is the man every, if not all, desires, and you’re the lucky lady who caught his eyes. You feel the love and adoration other women dream of. The things you got on your list as a fan who wanted to be the idol’s love have been ticked off fast as lightning, and you are a point of envy. There is nothing bad about it really. Other fans may just stab you right on the back, as you are christened with the name, “idol-stealing bitch”. It is inevitable. Given that a rock-star’s life heavily relies on his fans, you can never be free of the feeling that he is not yours at all. You carry the burden of making these fans feel that you are merely one of them lest you risk your beloved’s career. The more the rock-star loves you, the more the fans hate you. It’s always a two-way street.

Number Two
And they say you have to accept the person for who he is. The rock-star you are dating unfortunately is the Siamese twin of his guitar (or another instrument in other cases), if not the husband of it. You can bet your life on it, no music can be better than what they produce together. Therefore, even the sound of your love-making, the rhythm you produce together, no matter how in sync, can never compare with what “they” can make. You see how he becomes serene when his arms are wrapped around the slim body of his guitar? Envy of that is something you will have to battle with for as long you are with him.

MIA
If you are that lucky, you could be dating a guy who plays in a really famous band. You get to be written about on magazines and even featured on TV (not always in a good light though). However, fame does not come cheap. It eats time, energy, and even enthusiasm to socialize. You are not that lucky after all. After a series of nightly gigs, show guestings, and other famous-people stuff, chances are your rock-star lover is too exhausted to even send you a text message. He’ll probably be Missing-In-Action for a week or two and you are going to drive yourself nuts thinking whether he’s just sleeping like dead or really six feet under.


Number Three
So you thought it is just the instrument, the fans, and the fame getting in the way. You are fine with it. It will take time, but you’ll get the hang of it. Then here comes rehearsals, music-creation itself. You are now down to one (you) against four factors that make him the rock-star he is. Better start asking the question now. Are you still up for it? It is highly doubtful that you will be put in priority against music. It is the root of everything, the biggest nemesis. He can be out nights on end for this, while you crumble and do a crying-in-the-bath scene. This is all you can do. It’s music or you, nothing in between…so much for rock-star life.


See, dating a rock-star may be like winning a lottery, but as most enormous prices, there are aspects which are difficult to swallow. If you're stomach-ed enough for it, then by all means grab your piece of the cake and eat it too. If not, don’t even dream of it.

A One Act Play in a Schizophrenic's Mind

In a Tudor style bedroom. There is a huge closet, a bed, a nightstand and an arm chair beside it, and a boudoir,. The air is cold coming from the open windows and the light from the wall lamps flicker, creating a rather dim atmosphere. The mother sits in front of the boudoir wearing a flimsy lingerie in black. She is in her late 20's, pale, and her eyes are deep brown wells. She intently watches herself brush her long locks, one arm holding the tips out to be smoothed. The son enters and quietly sits on his mother's bed. He is a young man, about 13, taller than most kids his age. His hair is long as what his mother wanted for him. He carries the face of his father, brutishly handsome. Thick brows, thin lips, dark brown eyes .It can be seen that he hasn't gone to his room after tea time as he is still wearing his dinner clothes (the inner garments of a suit). He sits on the mother's bed and starts looking at what his mother is doing. His image is reflected on the mirror. The mother acknowledges his presence with a quick glance at his reflection.

Son: The mayor seems to be bearing good intentions.
Mother: Does it matter?
Son: Shouldn't it? We have been living in false motives for too long now mother. (slowly lies down on the bed, his legs dangling. The mother sets down the brush. Silence)
Mother: Yes. We have... been... living... it's what matters.
Son: (shakes his head) Father, has he written? (more enthusiastic tone)
Mother: (sighs and stands from the dresser. She goes to the chair beside the night stand and grabs the overcoat for her night gown) He is the only literate person who acts as if he is not.
Son: He had good intent. (Watches the mother walk towards the boudoir again.)
Mother: (picks up a cigar from a pack on the buodoir, walks to the open window.) Intent alone... not even enough to sustain... himself...(Lights up the cigar and starts to smoke.The wind blows the smoke back in, clouding the already dim room. Blowing on her face, her eyes gets stung by the smoke and becomes teary)
Son: (sighs and sits up) I... wanted to be like father... (lowers his gaze)
Mother: (Stops puffing and turns to her son...Her face becomes sympathetic and she walks over to him. With her free hand, she slowly lifts his face levels his gaze to hers. She smiles at him affectionately) I ordered a grand piano.
Son: (his eyes widens in disbelief) but how? where?... who? Is it the ship captain!? (angrily backs away from his mother) Does he entertain you enough mother? (his voice rising)
Mother: (shocked. she stands just staring at his angry face for a while before finally speaking in a slow disappointed tone.) He does darling... The first one after many years to bring me peace.
Son: (his expression immediately turns regretful. He lowers his gaze again.) Does he have good intent?
Mother: (sits beside him on the bed and goes back to smoking) Yes and more.
Son: (looks at his mom with a bit of disappointment) the piano came from his intentions?
Mother: (laughs) I am writing for the city hall the day after next... I asked for an advance.
Son: (brightens up... then slowly becomes sad again...) and father??
Mother: (looks at the mirror) He is the wind. I don't see him. I feel him.
Son: (sighs. starts to stand up) Goodnight mother. (kisses his mother's forehead and quietly leaves the room)
Mother: (goes back to the window and continues smoking. The wind blows the smoke she puffs to her face, stinging her eyes and bringing tears...) He is the wind...

Set dims and curtain falls...

You Are, Love Lost

You are, love lost
The blissful crudeness of
Warm days and wintry nights
The spontaneity perhaps
In the mundane everyday

The farmer's wheat and sickle
The fisherfolk's net and sea
To eyes beholding city lights
To feet crushing concrete walks
And all ears to cacophonous talk

Somehow...
You are a sad sonnet
With your sallow eyes
Your laughter cut short

And I, an ode to you

13/7/2011

The Verdict

And the world shall declare your guilt

For you are a thief of thoughts

A murderer of mundanity


13/7/2011

Weary

and in the river of dreams

i shall find you adrift

a blanket of weariness

en-wrapping a fallen leaf


she has robbed you

of your passion

she has robbed you

of your passion

cast you like unwanted nets

made to gather odoriferous fish


your heart was bait

your mind couldn't help

but feed on. and your body

a machinery

of the quarreling couples

decision...


she preyed on your youth

as you suctioned wisdom

she robbed you off your passion

and immediately you are sailing ship


in the river of dreams

i found you adrift

July 13
For Jimson