My Petit-Bourgeois Love

When it comes to love, I’ve never been a proletarian.

I’m not excused from our comrades’ class analysis, recognizing the fact that it takes a lifetime or two to change petit-bourgeois consciousness. And so, there shouldn’t be a big fuss if I express a bit of romanticism and delve – quite rarely though, I must admit – into the pleasures of lumpenic deeds.

Decisions are always intrinsic. Choices are always a personal command. With all honesty, I try to reshape my own reality and keep up with the progressive thoughts and principles and theories and practices of our sacred struggles. I apologize if programmed relationships do not make any sense to me at this point. I feel it violates the natural flow of things. Nobody has ever offered me with a convincing meaning of love. How could we put a framework to something undefined like love?

Is it not counter-revolutionary?

To some extent, yes. Please give me time. Put me under cultural revolution. For as long as Katy Perry sings on stage, my petit-bourgeois love remains.

What if extend your love to the highest cause? You know what I mean? Will your notion be the same?

You won’t see the depths of my heart but if you will try to hear, the beats are always there, in rhyme with the revolution.

*** *** ***

We define love.

We call each other “baby” because we don’t care if it is mushy. The hell with what they say, those people have bad breath. We deleted our own Facebook accounts and created one for the two of us. We find happiness in changing our profile pictures every other day. Sometimes, it looks like we’re flirting or dancing or making faces. Many times, we pose like rockstars and pornstars. We’re not bothered at all. They’re just jealous in their own pathetic frame of mind.

I always put you on my status so that you’ll receive a notification and like it. I don’t care if nobody likes my status for as long as I see you there. You never put me down. Baby, it makes my day.

We are inseparable like a mixture creating a new substance. A new form. A new identity. Each of us gives meaning to each of us. We love each other more than we love each other. I am you and you are we. I am electron and you are proton. We are magnet’s opposite poles. We are the duality of nature. At the same time, we are the singularity of the universe. We make the world go round. “We’re the king and queen of hearts”. It’s not on our list of favorite songs but it’s rather pleasant to the ears. Cheesy, so what the freak?

When it rains, I hold the umbrella while you carry my things. When it’s sunny, I put a towel onto your back and you wipe away the pockets of sweat running down my nose. I take care of you, you carry my weights.

We make a good couple. They say we now look the same as a sign of real love and happy ending. I love these people; they’d surely go to heaven. Our eyes twinkle with the same glow and our lips fit perfectly every time we kiss. Our noses collide, creating sweet and romantic electric impulses. Our breasts pressed together keep us warm ‘till the break of dawn.

*** *** ***

I love you in a sentence:

I love you that my loneliness would trigger the explosion of nuclear plants and put an end to this world.

I love you that the gravity would go crazy and make everything dangle in space if we fall apart.

I love you that I could knock out Manny Pacquiao in one round should you break my heart.

I love you that I can reach the highest peak of the wavelength of energy.

I love you that I won’t be afraid anymore of that lady in Starbuck’s logo.

I love you that I won’t also be afraid anymore of the Baretto sisters.

I love you that I wouldn’t think of Angel Locsin in my fantasies.

I love you that I could explain the meaning of nothingness.

I love you that I can hide in a photon of light.

I love you that it doesn’t need a metaphor.

I love you that I cannot accept mediocrity.

I love you like a Friday night.

I love you like a revolution.

I love you like stargazings.

I love you like all there is.

I love you is a sentence.


I love you.


May 8, 2011