Between The Lines

He never really liked books, unless if it’s a Sherlock Holmes series from Arthur Conan Doyle. He even complained about the sequence of David Levithan’s “A Lover’s Dictionary”. He said it was confusing, more than my penmanship in all my hand-written letters. (I mean seriously, that is the point of comparison?)

That sounded rather off, but I forgave him. I knew he didn’t mean it that way. Besides, romance novels weren’t his thing, most especially, when the story’s not a linear narrative.

I browsed through the book’s leaves, wondering if he left underlines and notes aside from the definition he initially written for me. And there it was, a smiley beside a short entry.

reservation, n.,

These are times when I worry that I’ve already lost myself. That is, that myself is so inseparable from being with you that if I were to separate, I would no longer be. I save this thought for when I feel the darkest discontent. I never meant to depend so much on someone else.

He glanced at me, caught me re-reading the page. He smiled, but did not utter a word.

Then that was him, more than I could ever define.


flux, n.

The natural state. Our moods change. Our lives change. Our feelings for each other change. Our bearings change. The song changes. The air changes. The temperature of the shower changes.

Accept this. We must accept this.

-David Levithan’s The Lover’s Dictionary


Dear Mr Snooze,

Believe me. This isn’t a sad entry from the Lover’s Dictionary, or maybe that’s just how I interpret it. Yes, I always lift notes from Signs and Symbols and Subjectivity class. But I mean this, seriously.

Yes, this is my natural state. I change my mood every now and then like a crazy bipolar. The music changes, like a song followed by another with a different genre in a poorly recorded mixtape. The air changes, shifting from the sunny summer weather to the latter months’ heavy storms. But I don’t know what it has to do with the shower. See, suddenly I crack a joke like that!

But seriously, thank you for being patient and understanding. For being aware that I am a twenty-three year old yuppie who overanalyzes matters every waking day, whose moods shifts any given time, who acts like a bratty six year old kid at times, who rants until forever, and as the list goes on.

Thank you for accepting me just the way I am, no attempts on modifying, revising, editing. Thank you for picking me up every after work, rain or shine, only to listen to my work woes during dinner. Thank you for tolerating my kamalditahan and kabugnutan brought about by my hyperactive hormones. Thank you for lavishing me with my cravings and for allowing me to eat my heart out whenever I’m down because I am an emotional eater like that. There’s more to the list, really, but I guess few words could do it.

Just that, and thank you for the love that has always gone beyond me.

Yep, our feelings change, as we grow fonder and fonder of each other.

Levithan and the Language of Love

I have been lusting over David Levithan’s “A Lover’s Dictionary” for months now. Last summer I found one hidden in a shelf of a three-floor bookstore. I really wanted to get it as my summer reading but I felt too guilty when I looked at the tag price. Heck, I never spent too much on a book.  And I don’t think I ever will. I just hoped we meet again when it’s already pegged at 50% off.

With all sadness, I followed Levithan’s Twitter instead.  I took delight in his posts like they were real dictionary entries – only shorter, but still beautifully romanticized. I have mentioned this fondness to the boyfriend. We usually spend a while scrolling up and down Levithan’s Twitter every weekend to pick out our favorite entry.

I don’t know what has gotten into the boyfriend’s mind last Monday. I was getting crazy at work compiling pictures from the recent photoshoot and preparing for a report and meeting that afternoon. He gladly volunteered to be the driver and assistant to the busy bee me. We had snacks on the way to the other office when he showed me the book. Boy! I was more than happy! I had this stupid smile on my face and my feet were on tiptoes the whole time.

It was a big good luck for the meeting/report. It really turned out good.

And Levithan came with a baby mohawk zebra

Dinner at one of my favorite restaurants marked a celebration of my happiness. He brought me home afterwards.

I started reading as soon as I got home. And have I mentioned he defined me too?

I am a noun defined in 10 lines