The Breakup Diaries
Massao na Mizu
Massao: sorry for the long time no update! For reason, check my bio! Like anyone would really care or anything! Than for all the lovely revs!
Chapter 2
Disclaimer: The book was written by Maya O. Calico and characters are in favor of guess who?
A/N: Kaede is only um…her late thirties here and I changed Yura with Kikyo!
February 3, 10:12 am
Paralyzing morning with Kikyo. Must have looked like discarded rag. Certainly felt like I had been dragged through the mud over protracted breakup dinner that I didn't even see coming.
"Holy potato! Have you been stung by a bee or something?" Kikyo cringed, looking at my blue-puffy eyes.
Then I broke down with the news.
"Oh no," she gasped. After hugging me tight for what felt like 10 minutes, she said: "That makes two of us then."
As of last week, she and Naraku Onigumo were cooling off indefinitely. I feel a wee bit better am not exactly all alone in new state of wretched dumpee. Then Kikyo walked me to the kitchen, in manner of physical therapist aiding invalid, and prepped me the following eye compress:
Ingredients:
2 tea bags (preferably green tea or of the chamomile variety)
ice
water
How to:
Drop ice into a cup of water. Allow tea bags to steep in them for about 5 minutes. Place a bag over each eye to reduce puffiness.
Kind of reminds me of that saying by Betty Ford (or was it Eleanor Roosevelt?): "Women are like tea bags; put them in hot water and they get stronger."
Note to self: Make sure tea bags are steeped in cold---not hot---water!
Oh, why doesn't he love me anymore?!
Feb 4, 8:42 am
I had a heroic struggle to keep myself together. Must take to list-making as therapy. Perhaps sense of achievement will help me salvage my self-esteem? Miss her already!
My to-do list:
-Clear room of debris. Goal: must see bottom of floor, not carpet of used Kleenex
-Toss out trash First check for bruised ego in can. If still breathing, salvage and place in a box for safekeeping
-Punch holes on box lid to provide ample oxygen supply (to ensure ego stays alive)
-Check phone for messages (none so far)
-Erase all saved messages from Kouga in phone inbox. Except the one were moi was referred to as His Precious Little Sweetie (edit to erase degrading word, 'little' and save the edited version to outbox)
-Delete "Wolfie" in Phone Book to avoid texting him messages like "I miss you, Wolfie" or "Come back". Or worse, sending him a mistext in the hopes that he will reply. Utterly Pathetic.
-Change "Wolfie" to "Darn Big Bad Wolf!!!" in phone book.
-Call Inu, Sango and Kikyo for post-break up pow-wow.
-Call in sick for work.
*~*~*~*
I rang up Auntie Kaede at the Breakfast Club as soon as I had successfully peeled myself off my bed---20 minutes past schedule.
"Breakfast club," Auntie Kaede chirped into the receiver amidst a clatter of plates and teaspoons, all sorts of spraying sounds, and a cacophony of voices. Sure sounded like a busy day. I was suddenly struck by paralyzing case of worst day.
"Tita Annie?" I mumbled.
"Hey Kag, you're up," she said in her old voice. "On your way down to the café? Got a full house today."
"Uhm how fully?"
"As in full, full," Auntie Kaede chuckled. "My cup runneth over," she added mock dramatically. "What time can you be here? I have the espresso machine buzzing non-stop!"
"I was hoping I could uhm, go, er, on, ahh, on leave today?"
"Bruha*…(*witch)"
Uh-oh, was she mad? I hadn't used up all my leave credits yet, so why was she getting on my case?
"Oh, I'm sorry Auntie, but…"
"Decaf brew ha*! (Like ne in Jap)!" Auntie Kaede instructed one of the counter crew while speaking into the phone. "Sorry, what's wrong, Kagome?"
"I don't feel so good. I feel I may have a flu…" I felt the sides of my mouth tug down as I explained myself.
"Want to tell me all about it—lat--?"
"Later? Oh, you want me to call later, Auntie?" Well, if too busy I can…
"Latte?" Auntie Kaede called out to someone—not me.
"OK, one café latte coming up!" she returned to me. "Sorry, Mr. Francisco's secretary is here to pick up his morning latte. What were you going to tell me later?"
"I think I'm coming down--"
"Great, come down, Kag! Need you big time. Thanks."
Then, her end of the line clicked.
"I think I'm coming down with a breakup fever, Auntie Kaede."
Sheesh.
*~*~*~*~*
Feb 4, 9:28 am
I looked in the mirror this am and discovered something I had never seen before. A second chin. Smiling back at me. I'm 23—my order for a double chin shouldn't be due for at least another 30 years! Who's the wise guy who had it Fed-Exed to me via overnight delivery? Is it physically impossible to gain five pounds overnight?
Can feel love handles around my waist. Arrgh! I have officially become a blimp! And it's all Kouga's fault. Damn him for treating me to all that rich food in fancy restaurants with his impressive lawyer paycheck. For telling me I looked pretty just the way I was, then insisting I watch his weekly basketball games instead of working out at the gym of playing badminton with Sango and Company. For saying I was fleshy, not fat.
Perhaps he was fattening me up so no one else would look at me in manner of wanting to possess. Because the last thing he needed to worry about was some dude making play for his girl. His sweet, precious…tabachingching!* [fatty-a sweet way of saying someone she's fat and cute]
I can see it on T-shirt now: "My boyfriend dumped me, and all I have to show for it is my cellulite."
I felt productive pulling out all my 'fat clothes' from the closet. But I seriously dread going to work. It feels like I have to go on a two—hour commute instead of mere three minutes in elevator to café at ground floor. Perhaps the will be elevator traffic?
`*`*`*`*`*`*`
The Breakfast Club, all 50 square meters of it, was teeming with people when I walked in. when you've got a café that small, 10 people are enough to make the place feel like a mosh pit.
I tied on my apron and assumed counter duty. I wasn't exactly looking forward to a day of serving up coffee or ringing up the cash register, but a girl has to make a living. I've been at this since the summer before college graduation. Mom had just left for Los Angeles to find work and I needed to make productive use of my spare time. Dad has passed away at Christmas, and my mother felt the need to earn more for the both of us. Auntie Kaede, Mom's youngest sister, also felt the change of scenery would be good for her. She had just set up BC and needed someone to take care of business while she assumed her day job as a senior purser for Cathay Pacific Airway.
My job description: Work the espresso machine, keep countertop spanking clean, give correct change, maneuver CDs in the manner of a DJ, and tally daily sales.
I liked the work so much that I never left. You could say it was like a summer fling that morphed into the real job "perk" I couldn't resist. And to be perfectly honest, I really didn't know what I wanted to do after college.
After four years of English 101, Asian History, Statistics, and Communication Theory, my future stretched out before me as nebulous as a cloudy August sky.
What's more, I discovered firsthand that job hunting was just that—a fight for whatever few slots were available to the graduating class. It truly entailed the survival of the fittest, and I wasn't up to the challenge.
But Sango surely was. She was the smart one in our group. Thanks to her cum laude*(valedictorian), she had employers from Procter and gamble and San Miguel knocking down her door a few days before graduation. And Kikyo, despite her AB Economics degree, opted to turn her bead-making hobby into a full-time enterprise. In some ironic way, she was thankful her mother got an annulment from her father. Now she didn't need to get employed to avail a company car. Her dad readily bought her a silver Lynx as soon as the ink was dry on the annulment papers. Apparently, guilt has the power to do that. Inu Yasha was lucky. As scion to Bernardo Industries, he had a job waiting for him the moment he was born. But then, who care about getting Php 30,000 ($600-which is big enough in our country) a month if you'd rather live in Palawan, drinking pina coladas out of coconuts and romancing some blonde ex-stockbroker named Yura who was a warlock in her past life?
But then, Mom always told me you can't have everything. Auntie Kaede liked to joke that she was lucky enough to employ the only barista*(coffee maker) in the country who has a degree in Bachelor arts, major in Communication Arts.
Just so the degree can flex its muscles a bit, she gave me an extra job: She let me write the menu for the Breakfast Club.
Bananarama Split (two bananas split with Vanilla ice cream)
St. Elmo's pie (apple pie in a la mode)
Desperately Seeking Sushi (tuna sashimi rolled in vinegar-ed rice).
Hungarian Like a Wolf (two Hungarian sausages served with potato salad)
Must seriously rethink life plans.
The booth at the Breakfast Club, with its red cushioned leather seats and shiny Formica tabletop, has seen happier times. Friday night dates that lasted into wee hours of the morning, cups overflowing with bottomless hazelnut coffee, conversations brimming with wit and innuendo. Couples who kissed between mouthfuls of the Bananarama Split as Tears for Fears crooned from the CD player behind the counter.
But there was going to be none of that tonight. Not for as long as I was parked here. Alone. I quietly summoned St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes, to slow down my racing heartbeat and hold back a torrent of tears. I wanted t feel as normal as I could. After all, there were cappuccinos to be served, sales to be punched up…
"The Reflexexexexexexexexex…"
….and CDs to be changed.
Or in this case, CDs to be reported to the piracy police of the Philippines. Aunt Kaede should seriously stop buying these obscure, strangely-titled, obviously pirated compilations CDs. (This particular one, entitled Duran Duran in Concert, was a dead giveaway.) As I walked over to the counter to change the music, Aunt Kaede waved me away.
"I got this, Kagome."
For a split second, the jarring noise of the CD skipping made me forget my heartbreak debacle with Kouga. Sweet relief was mine, no matter how short-lived—just when I felt I was going to be OK, the Universe sprang me a biggie.
"Give me time to realize my crime…"
Of all the CDs in her collection, Aunt K had to choose Culture Club's best Hits in the 80s. My shoulders quaked a la Billy Crawford, my eyes lactated a rivulet and I assumed the composure of spilt milk.
"Wahhh!" I bawled shamelessly, very much like a woman having a nervous breakdown.
Aunt Kaede rushed to my side. The leather seat squeaked against her thighs as she slid in the booth next to me. She rubbed my back with a warm hand and offered me a stack of paper napkins to decongest my nose.
"Why? Why?" I sobbed. "Why isn'd id working oud. I thoughd we were huh u happy!"
"Alright, let it out," Aunt Kaede told me as Boy George crooned on…
"Do you really want to hurt me? Do you really want to make me cry?"
Breaking up really sucks, don't I know it, but I didn't need a cross-dressing 80s pop icon to drive that point home.
I didn't ask for this. I didn't go to bed at night, secretly praying that God make the coolest, smartest boy in school fall in love with me. Getting Kouga Kakeshi to like me was more than a long shot—punches at the moon more like it.
So you can't say I manipulated it into happening. Alright, so maybe I fantasized about it until it materialized—like the first time I laid eyes on Kouga in freshman year when he campaigned in my class for student body treasurer. Or when he led the Trailblazers to their sixth straight win at the UAAPs [a basketball league or something where Philippines colleges battle each other in Basketball] in sophomore year. And that time when he walked onstage to receive his summa cum laude medal on graduation day. Not to mention every day in between those big ticket moments.
OK, OK, so maybe my obsessive thinking had something to do with getting the Universe make our paths cross more than a year ago today, but this is exactly how it happened…
A trippy January shower tap-tapped on the awning if the Breakfast Club. How odd, I thought to myself as I arranged the coffee cups in neat rows about the espresso machine. It was a Friday night, but the café was virtually empty at half past nine. Usually, pop kids from the nearby college hung out here—six people squeezed into a booth designed to seat four—nursing their iced coffees for hours before hitting Chico—that "chill place"—at midnight for dancing and majoy partying.
Quite a departure from my Friday night agenda, the highlights of which are follows:
-Prepare coffee for noisy college kids in quickest time possible, making sure I didn't get Nadia's mocha chino mixed up with Joaquin's ice frap or Lester's decaf non-fat café au lait.
-Provide nonstop musical entertainment courtesy of The Eurythmics, Culture Club, Duran Duran, Cyndi Lauper, U2, The Cure, Bananarama, Madonna or whatever "rare" 80s compilation CD Aunt Kaede had brought home from her latest flight.
I popped in Culture Club's best Hits in the 80s on the player, and settled down to read my copy of M magazine's February issue. Boy George was singing "I Tumble 4 U" while I answered a quiz titled, "How psychic are you?"
And then, it happened.
The tiny bell attached to the front door tinkled. More like rang itself into a convulsion as the front door swung open. A man slogged his way into the café, his back drenched from the rain. He looked soaked to the bone, his hair rumpled, and his oversized jacket in dire need of dry cleaning.
Even in this disheveled state, I knew this stranger was no other than batch brainiac, all-around jock who enjoyed near-celebrity status in campus…
Kouga Kakeshi. In the flesh.
Of all the coffee joints in all the Katipunan Avenue, he had to walk into mine. And he was drunk as a doorknob. A girl should be so lucky!!!
Kouga dragged his size 12 sneakers to the corner of the café, followed by a trail of muddy tracks on the floor. He miraculously squeezed all six feet of his athletic mien into a booth, and then slumped over. Limp as a rag doll. A rag doll that had knocked down a napkin holder and sent paper napkins pargliding onto the café floor.
The muddy, wet café floor.
Under normal circumstances, I would have let out a tired sigh (in the manner of Judy Anne Santos in of her slaved or hurt roles) before fetching the mop from the closet to clean up the mess. But since my U. C. C. (Ultimate College Crush) had caused the topsy turvy, I pushed the matter aside.
There were other things to think about such as:
Do I walk over there right now and introduce myself?
Or do I wait for him to come to the counter like all paying customers do? Did my hair look alright? Would he recognize me from school? Do I call him Kouga Kakeshi or simply Kouga? Or is the latter a kind of in-crowd nickname reserved for just really his close friends?
Oh, and there was that tiny, insignificant matter about my heart. It was thumping like a rabbit on ecstasy.
But when I didn't see Kouga move for five minutes, I panicked. What if he had collapsed from alcohol poisoning? Or could he have sleepwalked into the café, in the rain, only to awaken clueless and sick with pneumonia tomorrow morning?
So I tiptoed over to his table armed with the only First Aid I knew.
Unfortunately, it wasn't CPR—damn. Instead, I brought him a large cup of steaming café latte.
I made like a mouse on a stealthy mission to score some cheese and walked over to him slowly and quietly. Rather silly, really, because what I really needed to do was make noise rouse him for his probable hypothermia/cirrhosis of the lvier/narcolepsy.
So I tugged at his sleeve. No reaction. I tapped his shoulder. No movement. I pulled his hair. He didn't budge. Then I haltingly reached for his wrist for a pulse…
"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh!" I screeched.
Kouga's corpse had suddenly grabbed my wrist. He was still slumped on the formica tabletop, eyes shut. But he was speaking to me. TO ME.
"Am I dead yet?" he slurred.
"Uhm, apparently not, no, not yet," I stammered.
"You sure about that?" He opened one eye slightly, and stared at me.
God he's cute.
"Positive," I nodded, doing my best cool and collected act.
"Prove it," he smiled weakly.
"Well," I nervously replied, "last time I checked, your beat was pulsing…"
Idiot Stupid Moron
"What I meant was…" I slowed down, took a dee pbreath, and corrected myself, "your pulse was beating."
Kouga smiled. Both his eyes were opened now. He pulled himself off the table, rubbed the back of his neck and stretched his arms upward. Then he propped his head onto an elbow, and stared at me through squinty eyes.
He said nothing.
This was the first time I got an up-close-and-personal view of Kouga Kakeshi's sculpted square haw, doe-shaped brown eyes and comforting—much like the lights of a Christmas Tree—that I suddenly felt at ease despite his awesome physical presence.
"So if you aren't an angel, what are you?" he finally asked me.
Angel? Did he just call me an angel?
As in celestial being of the skies? Oh my god! Who cares if it sounds like a line?!
I slid the cup of coffee right under his nose.
Mustering my most cherubic grin, I shyly said: "Your latte day saint?"
A lazy smile stretched itself out on his full lips, like one would on a hammock. I think he liked that—he stayed on and we chatted until I closed the shop at midnight.
It amazed him, he said later on, that he should find an unlikely friend in a "in a funny, angel-faced, attentive coffee gal" (his exact words) just as the pressure to pass the bar multiplied exponentially (no thanks to daddy) and he had hit rock bottom.
Every night after that, Kouga showed up at The Breakfast Club and waited until I locked up the café to walk me to the lifts, them to my Aunt's apartment 20 lfights up the building.
You could say we made beautiful elevator music together.
But that was a year ago.
* * *
February 6, 11:58 pm
Reasons why Kouga broke up with me (must be written down, again and again, let I forget!):
1). I'm too nice—Kouga's words
2). "He's too cute for you"—Kikyo's point (reassess friendship with K)
3). "He's an asshole." Sango's opinion (everyone's entitled to one)
4). I didn't sleep with him—Inu Yasha's mental reasoning.
February 7, 1:20 am
Should I have slept with Kouga? Support group post-mortemed dead relationship last night over beer and Cheetos at roof deck. Inu Yasha was on my case about being all chaste and pure and not going "all the way" with Kouga.
"You should have unleashed Kagima on him," he said with the authority of Kami creating world in seven days. "then maybe we would've stuck around."
"Kagima who? Where's the cheetos?" I attempted little diversionary tactics to no avail, as Inu Yasha remembers Kagima too much... I suspect Inu Yasha's out to ruin me, I concede he makes quite a sharp point sometimes that it pricks.
"Kagima you," he said offering me a swig from his bottle of San Mig light.
"Oh. Her," Kikyo acknowledged, looking a tad embarrassed for me.
Ah yes, Kagima—my alter ego with an attitude. The half of me that emerged when I was stone drunk.
Will explain: One gang bonding weekend in Baguio—upon prodding of Inu Yasha—I consumed two rum and cokes, two vodka tonics and a glass of wine in one sitting. Alcohol overload made me, uhm, particularly hot under the collar. I believed the word Inu Yasha used was "horny."
Personally, I prefer bold and brazen. I was so weird—started hitting on just about any man standing close enough to be my prey. Except we were at Mines View Park, hence the object of my—er, Kagima's—affection were trees older than Baguio itself. Inu Yasha doesn't qualify as prey-able male no matter how drunk I get.
"You were waaaay hot that night, Kag," Inu Yasha teased me.
"Really?" I cringed.
"Scorching," he laughed. "I had to pull you back 'cause you were about to smooch a pine tree." Alrighty.
"Can we please change the subject???" In desperate attempt to change cringe-worthy topic, I sobbed into my hands. I also felt paralyzing case of Missing Kouga. "Besides, my bark is worst than my bite,"
"You got the bark right," he smirked.
"Ease up, Dog Demon," Sango said in her though-love tone. "Higurashi didn't have to do anything to keep her guy."
Ah, the voice of reason in our gang! "Thanks, S," I quipped grateful. Despite seemingly tactless ways and tough attitude, surname-calling tendency, Sango's a true friend.
But then, did Inu Yasha have a point? Did my conservative Catholic upbringing drive Kouga away? Not like we didn't do anything physically. We did. A lot of kissing, touching and fondling and groping.
Perhaps Inu Yasha is right as I am very territorial about my body. I have my mom to thank for fortress-like protective tendencies, or perhaps blame, now that we were holding memorial for my love life. Mom always used to give me The Lecture: "You give him the tip of your finger, he'/ll ask for your hand,. You give your hand; he'll take your arm." And so on and so forth until a guy "traveled south of the border, if you know what I mean," was Mom's exact words.
So even with eyes closed while kissing, I knew just when Kouga's hands were about to stray into my No Entry Territory. Every time he ventured underneath the V-neck of my baby blue sweater, my hand would seize his frisky fingers automatically. Like I had an inner tracking device that warned me of trespassers.
And this is really embarrassing, but here's a secret; the first time Kouga got to see my uhm, breasts in their naked splendor, I cried.
I sobbed into his chest all night that his shirt gone all soppy and soiled with my tears.
He didn't touch me with a 10-foot pole for a whole month after that. I was starting to get annoyed actually, but I didn't know how to give him the go signal to try again. Should I really have slept with him?
"You know my take on this?" Kikyo chimed in prettily.
"What?"
"The truth? He was way too cute for you, girl. He was bound to leave."
I'm still trying to find solace in Kikyo's words of wisdom as she is my gorgeous best friend, who has gotten every guy she's wanted since we were 12 years old. I can't. This Cause of Relationship's Death not any better than the "I should have slept with Kouga" argument. I'm beginning to feel a burn on my forehead, as if I'm being branded in manner of cattle before the slaughter.
Am a Loser.
February 8, 9:15 pm
I cannot believe my own mother is prying into my sex life!
My ex-near-sex life rather.
She called me on my cell today. Aunt Kaede must have told her about The Breakup plus my detailed breakdown scene at BC. Suddenly, my tears gushed as if La Mesa dam broke in my bedroom. It was so comforting to hear Mom's voice, to hear her consoling me the way she did when I scraped my knee while playing dodge ball in grade school. Or how she caressed me in my sleep every time I had a high ever. I could almost smell the scent of Jergen's hand lotion and Pond's cold cream lulling me to sleep.
Bad case of missing mom have me bawling, "Come and get me now, Mom! When will you send for me?"
"Don't worry, child. Give me just a little more time."
Just as I was getting sentimental and mushy, mom eased into lecture mode:
"You'll get over him," she reassured me. "It only gets hard to recover when you've already given yourself to a guy."
Ha! Loaded with so much meaning. Mom was obviously fishing for my reaction as she continued, "Just remember, when you give your finger, he'll ask for your hand…"
I pretended to have second bout with nervous breakdown to change the topic, and mom momentarily shifted to world news.
Mom: Have you been watching CNN?
Me: Sniff, yes, sniff, sniff. Why?
Mom: Well there's some really disturbing news these days.
Me: I know, Mom-war, violence, all the useless fighting.
Mom: And that new medicine call The orgasm Pill?
Me (reddening): Oh OK.
Mom: How outrageous! I mean, whatever happened to good, old-fashioned love and marriage? A pill for orgasms! What's the world coming
to? (No pun intended by Mom here, I'm sure.)
Me (shrugging, attempting best approximation of total innocence): Don't know
Mom (whispering): Do you… know…what an… orgasm is?
Me: Mom!
Mom: I mean, you're so young.
Me (in best defensive, I'm-quite-mature-thank-you tone): Mom, I'm 23. Of course I know what an orgasm is. Read all about it in Cosmo.
Mom (tersely and haltingly; I'm pretty sure she was grasping an armchair to keep from succumbing to dizzy spell): Well. Do you…know…
what…it…feels…like?
Icantbeliveshedoingitagain!
Me (mimicking static over the phone): Mom, you're breaking up, breaking up…
Mom: But I thought that was you, dear.
* * *
I was beginning to get used to a worsening state of insomnia. Quiet nights stretched out like a now-comfortable road. I sometimes spend the night thumbing through old journals, recently I've taken to analyzing body language in old photos to search for early clues I might have missed regarding the demise of my relationship with Kouga. Then later on, tired from body language analysis, I think up reconciliation scenes and that's when I finally begin crying myself to sleep.
But tonight an unidentified number was interrupting my misery and persistently ringing my cell phone at such an unholy hour.
The display flashed "Private Number".
Who was this? Oh Kami—did Kouga change his phone number? Was he calling me just to hear the sound of my voice? Or—paranoia alert!—was this the new girl in his life checking me out?
She had probably rifled through his phone book while he wa in the bathroom or something@ Girls can be such nosy sneaks!
My heart thumped wildly as I picked up the call.
"Hello?" I said softly.
"I'm calling for Kikyo Kinimoto," said the female voice.
"Who is this?"
Exasperated sigh. "I'm looking for Kikyo Kinimoto please."
"This isn't her phone…"
"Then why the hell did she give this number to me?" she asked, sounding real pissed.
"I don't know," I meekly replied. "But this is her best friend Kagome."
"Well, Kagome, can you pass on this message? Tell her to show up at the M offices Monday morning, nine am. It's an emergency model call."
Stunned silence,. Kikyo was going to model for M???
My favorite magazine in the universe???
"Who shall I say is calling?" I asked, still in shock.
"Tell her it's Kagura…" the voice tersely said. "Kagura Onigumo of M magazine."
No way!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~````
Massao: well… I hope that was satisfying enough! Grin… Really, I'll try to update next week, it's periodicals wk and I need to study real well or else I won't graduate!!! Luv ya all and kindly leave a review! No flames!