Here I am trying to locate my very first tarot-related blog entry in my LiveJournal, but instead I stumbled into this:
hot pink purple china glow wrote, @ 2002-08-04 06:23:00
Thursday was really great. What a way to start the new month. A load of stuff happened that day, as in talk about fluctuating emotions & vacillating mood swings. Yikes. I woke up that sullen morning only to realize my internet connection was screwed up & my mom just coming home from God knows fucking where. She decided to sleep in my room because she didn't want to wake up Dad yet just so she can hit the sack in theirs. Bitch. She picked on me all of a sudden for very trivial reasons. OK, so she was cranky & all that for being so shallow as to get mad & crap, but she went going too far, berating for everything that she hated me for, & even interrogating me about other things she absolutely could care less if she knew. I had to spend the whole morning crying wallowing in self-pity & anger again, with my dad scolding me how I shouldn't have stayed there arguing with my mom. How could I not, do tell me, dammit, please. I was still trying to sleep when she barged in! I was so pissed off that I had to take it out on our household help, who was in turn harboring petty grudges now against my own damn mother. We talked about the harsh & inane complexities of Life over brunch, & I waited until my mom woke up & could finally move out back into her bedroom.
A few minutes after she woke up, she didn't say a word about this morning's confrontation, but only asked for a few mangoes to be brought upstairs. (Our tree bore fruit like crazy, as always, so, there.) I glumly went into the kitchen to do as I was told. The maid was in the washroom tending to some laundry. As I was light-headedly washing the mangoes in the sink, the doorbell rang once. I only dryly said, "Manang, get the door please." (I usually don't order her around like that. As much as possible I don't make requests, especially if I can manage them on my own.) But I had to go check who was at the door myself as a delivery guy called out for my name, with a big red truck outside. Ack.
I had to rush to the gate quick, before my parents decided to go down & see what the fuss was all about. I forgot that in my haste & brooding that my hair was all tousled, my eyes & nose were quite red & puffy, & my clothes were so wrinkled, as if I've gone homeless & rolled out of a sidewalk or something. I signed the receipt slip, & the guy handed me my package, which was a huge box, saying "flowers po."
Now I was taken aback. What the...?!? Why & how the hell would I ever get flowers back then? I anxiously blurted out "thank you" & ran back to the front door, worried about the box. I was thinking frantically how come the box was rather too large for a regular bouquet, & why wasn't it signed. Only the information where the flowers came from was indicated all over. I hurried back to the kitchen & tried to open the damned package, with more crazy thoughts swirling in my head. It certainly didn't feel like the right time to get a bunch of flowers on a gloomy afternoon... or maybe it so did. I was derangedly thinking I had a demented stalker who tripped on sending me flowers for some weird reason. Maybe they were black, & I had death threats. Or maybe my friends thought of greeting me "happy birthday!" in advance like that. WTF. The maid got pretty excited, too, but I really didn't say anything coherent. I don't actually remember saying anything intelligible at all. I was that haywire.
Now I know what was the SMS I got earlier that afternoon all about, from some girl asking me if I've received any flowers yet. I thought she got the wrong number. We both thought so. Yikes.
Lo, behold, after superhuman attempts of not ripping the box apart; thus, ruining the flowers, I yanked the cover open & saw a pretty bouquet gaily wrapped in orange paper & clear cellophane, tied up neatly in place with an orange ribbon. Much to my astonishment, the flowers were 2 dozen long-stemmed peach roses (just what I've always wanted! haha) & a neat picture of the flowers with an inscription at the back was tucked in front of the bouquet. Getting them dainty roses that day was intensely lifesaving.
I should've known from whom it was in the first place...
Who else but him? He was up to them surprises again. He'd always surprise the hell out of me (oh, bewilder) with flowers. This was only his 3rd bouquet, but I'm not counting nor expecting for more, & it feels quite like the first time I got flowers from him. But how he gave me my first bunch was a crazy story, hehe. I'm talking about the beau, of course!
I usually don't get flowers by mail. I got chocolates & a strawberry-scented stuffed toy bunny once, & a few cards some years ago, but that was it. I was sixteen then. Fast forward to last year: when the beau first gave me flowers, we were at the mall late last year & he was grinning excitedly, saying he had a surprise for me. We both snuck out that afternoon, so I was basically edgy, wary about "surprises" (like being caught or something) & worried about going home after. He led me straight to the florist's booth, then handed me a dainty bunch of pink, white, & yellow daisies along with a small box of my favorite chocolates. Gadzooks. The florist was beaming at us, as well as everybody else who saw the whole commotion (mainly a group of giggling long-haired girls). I was a nervous wreck. I was greatly touched of course, but I found it unnerving having to hold a bouquet of flowers like that around the mall. I was squealing indignantly & handed him back the daisies. I said I'd take them as I thanked him for the nice gesture, but I just couldn't go walking around like that with them in hand. It was really weird of me, I know, but I couldn't help it. At that moment I felt like wanting to burst alive so I could just DIE. Christ.
He then gave me his first roses a few nights after that weekend. He was to about pick me up, then he sheepishly presented a dozen red roses which he was holding behind his back all the while. I again was stunned, then ran back inside to hide the bouquet in my room, flinging it on my bed, hehe. I decided to take care of the flowers after I get home, & stared at them for a long time when I had the chance to take a better look at the bunch.
When he called up to check on me & if I have already received the flowers, I didn't even know at first how to break the news to him, much more how to thank him for it. I agree with him, though, how it would've been better if he had to give the roses to me himself. Maybe I would've gone uneasy again & slap him around a bit with the bouquet, haha.
My kid sister would tease me about all the flowers I got from him. She'd grin & say, "nice flowers" & flustered me'd just laugh it all off. Crazy. I feel like a princess on a bad hair day everytime. This Thursday was no exception. I was so mixed up I had to beep in the news to a few friends. The roses must've been a real fuss, when I had my best bud unexpectedly ringing up at my doorstep who hurried over from work to check them out.
I was a mess, so I quickly dressed up & we can head off to her place. I didn't know what else to say, except I showed her the main book I was reading to learn more about tarot cards after the flowers. Then at the moment we left my place, I showed her the card & this flap that came along with the package entailing rose caretaking how-to's. All the while I was in a daze. I let her do most of the talking, but she never said anything much about the roses, except that yes, they were hella pretty & she doesn't know if she'd get something like that even on her deathbed. Yikes. She was the first person ever, btw, to give me a peach rose last Valentine's Day. I've returned the favor giving her a bunch of her favorite whites.
I miss my dad. I miss my kid sister. I miss my LiveJournal. I miss the beau. Yes, YOU. I'll probably kill myself on or before the 10th this month, but I hope to God I won't just yet. I still wish to see you at least for one last time, but I'm not sure how things are going to work out by then. I've never really gushed about the lovely things you've done for me, but that doesn't mean they're worth nothing at all. Whatever happens, I just wish you'd be happy & safe. I'll be always grateful for everything you've done & given to me.
(MOTD) = Joe Satriani - Always With Me, Always With You