ArchiBaby is my one and only crush-in-the-corporate-world and he’s totally not my usual type. He is about 5’7. Fair skinned. Really clean cut. And he wears glasses that give him this goody-goody, geeky-geeky look. Also, according to pacqui he is an architect. When I found out he has The Brenz to go with The Fez, I went gaga.
ArchiBaby also reminds me of cotton candy for some reason. Maybe because he always looks like he smells so damn good even though he smokes. I know of his sinful addiction not because I stalk him (it’s a crush, not an obsession), but because of one happy, lunch break encounter: I just bought a sachet of coffee from the nearby Ministop and while walking up the steps leading back to the office building, I caught a whiff of something offensive. I turned to find the source of this unnecessary pollution and there he was, macking on the cancer stick with his buddies.
C’mon baby light mah fire…
In another universe, I imagine our eyes meeting the exact moment I turn. I’d pat my pockets for a box of Virgin while he, a vintage Zippo. Sparks would literally fly as he lights up mah ciggy and I take mah first drag because we’ve finally, finally met our smokin’ hot, smoker counterparts. And by the end of the day, after we’ve consumed a pack or two, we’d be satisfying our oral fixes on each other.
Oh yeah.
However, in this verse, I’m a non-smoker. And neither am I smokin’ hot. So I settled on making moon eyes.
Had I channeled smoker!me, it would have been a very messy and eventually fatal scenario.
First, I’d have to rush back to Ministop and suffer the indignity of asking for a free, supposedly not only repackaged but also reformulated Hope ciggy {illyria}, pacqui and I always snub. I think you also have to answer a survey if you get one. Talk about h-a-s-s-le, tsong!
Let’s go to the part where I finally get the nerve to walk up to ArchiBaby and ask for a light. This is where adolescent experimentation comes handy. I’d dig around my mental archive—folder 1993—and draw from a certain experience how to take drag without coughing.
We’d exchange smiles amid fumes curling in the air. He’d think how nice it is to meet another buddy for his favorite activity. I’d think how nice it is if all this act of sucking and blowing (how crude!) is but a prelude to something even more interesting….
But the joys of smoking under the scorching hot Makati sun would eventually be interrupted.
I’d feel it. That unmistakable itch deep within my lungs’ cavities.
I’d cough. And cough. Cough until I collapse.
Baby Come Back//You Can Blame It All On Me…
Screams. Sirens. Silence.
I’d be rushed to MMC for lung failure. He’d be stunned. In the hospital halls, my distraught friends would accost him. The confrontation, the blaming, one way or another, would lead to The Big Reveal that I did a stupid thing all because of a harmless crush. The irony is not lost to me.
ArchiBaby would be flattered—no, flabbergasted—I pulled a life-threatening stunt just so I can meet him. But then, he’d be grief-stricken. Because his newfound yosi buddy would soon be nothing but a stiffie-in-a-coffin.
My death after a few agonizing hours of wheezing in the ICU would affect him so. Oh, he’d survived for a year. But the guilt of being part of the following news stories—
SMOKING KILLS WRITER; ARCHITECT BLAMED (The Philippine Star)
DESIGNED FOR INSTANT DEATH
Architect reveals new perils of cigarette smoking.
(Philippine Daily Inquirer)
GMA CALLS FOR BAN ON LUNCHBREAK SMOKING (Manila Bulletin)
TOBACCO INDUSTRY—TOAST! (Business World)
ARCHITECT ON WRITER’S DEATH:’I did not know.’ (People ASIA)
and
BABAENG NAGPANGGAP MARUNONG MAG-YOSI…PATAY! (TV Patrol Broadcast)
—would be too much for him. I imagine he’s fackin’ emo, so he’d find a poetic way to die. Maybe set his bedroom on fire with one of the cigarette sticks left from that fatal day (he hasn’t puffed another since). Tsk. And the Earth would be deprived of another cutie.
What a tragedy.
So it’s good I just made with the secret moon eyes. By doing so, I saved his life. It feels incredibly good that he’s indebted to me, really.
Baby, Now that I’ve Found You I Won’t Let You Go…
It was during a serendipitous elevator ride when I first saw ArchiBaby. He was already inside, holding the doors open. As I stepped in, I think I was yawning wide enough to show my molars but the moment I saw the snuggable-huggable-cuteness that is him, I quickly clamped my mouth shut.
How could you not be overly conscious when someone looks that good at 8:00 a.m.?!
My brain triggered the release of happy hormones. I was so high in my delight –what a visual treat for a Monday morning!—that when he got off, I didn’t notice what floor it was. I was busy staring at his lean form as he walked away. So it was months later when I was able acquire that piece of information. And that happened while leshay and I were going down to buy merienda. At 3:00 p.m., the elevator doors opened…revealing him in all his doable glory.
The vision once again threw me off balance. Blinded by this man-boy’s beauty, my steps came into an abrupt halt, causing me to stumble slightly. And to top it off, I was wearing a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression that would put leshay’s own to shame!
It was so embarrassing. In my mind, I cried:
Eat me, Earth! Eat me!
But my pleas were in all in vain.
To save face, pretend nothing happened. That’s the rule (or in absolutely mortifying cases like tripping on the shoe laces of your Doc Martens and falling face first on the street—PLAY DEAD. Don't move an inch. See how fast mocking laughter transforms to panicked worry. Trust me, it works). So I simply stepped in. Thank the PTBs he only spared a questioning glance at the clumsy girl holding up the elevator trip.
But as the doors closed, effectively creating my own little Nirvana, I had to bite my lip hard. A sudden fit of giggles threatened to erupt. How ridiculous! But I discovered—and accepted—that this is some kind of uncontrollable reaction whenever he’s in close proximity.
As the elevator went down, leshay had no idea such fantastic feelings were coursing through my veins. Then, ArchiBaby got off at the 14th floor. Leaving traces of his sugary scent. And a very flushed admirer behind….
Ooooh Baby I Love Your Way…Everyday…
When I see him, I feel like 12 again. Crushing on the boy-next-door. Scheming how to catch him in a game of cops-and-robbers. Swearing I would just DIE if he doesn’t smile in my direction.
I don’t know ArchiBaby’s name. And I’m fine with that. I don’t need to know his name. I just need to see him now and then because I like how he makes me feel.
Oh-so-girly.
I can’t think of a better way to end this unnecessarily long entry than with a dreamy *sigh.*
~~~
Oh yeah.
However, in this verse, I’m a non-smoker. And neither am I smokin’ hot. So I settled on making moon eyes.
Had I channeled smoker!me, it would have been a very messy and eventually fatal scenario.
First, I’d have to rush back to Ministop and suffer the indignity of asking for a free, supposedly not only repackaged but also reformulated Hope ciggy {illyria}, pacqui and I always snub. I think you also have to answer a survey if you get one. Talk about h-a-s-s-le, tsong!
Let’s go to the part where I finally get the nerve to walk up to ArchiBaby and ask for a light. This is where adolescent experimentation comes handy. I’d dig around my mental archive—folder 1993—and draw from a certain experience how to take drag without coughing.
We’d exchange smiles amid fumes curling in the air. He’d think how nice it is to meet another buddy for his favorite activity. I’d think how nice it is if all this act of sucking and blowing (how crude!) is but a prelude to something even more interesting….
But the joys of smoking under the scorching hot Makati sun would eventually be interrupted.
I’d feel it. That unmistakable itch deep within my lungs’ cavities.
I’d cough. And cough. Cough until I collapse.
Baby Come Back//You Can Blame It All On Me…
Screams. Sirens. Silence.
I’d be rushed to MMC for lung failure. He’d be stunned. In the hospital halls, my distraught friends would accost him. The confrontation, the blaming, one way or another, would lead to The Big Reveal that I did a stupid thing all because of a harmless crush. The irony is not lost to me.
ArchiBaby would be flattered—no, flabbergasted—I pulled a life-threatening stunt just so I can meet him. But then, he’d be grief-stricken. Because his newfound yosi buddy would soon be nothing but a stiffie-in-a-coffin.
My death after a few agonizing hours of wheezing in the ICU would affect him so. Oh, he’d survived for a year. But the guilt of being part of the following news stories—
DESIGNED FOR INSTANT DEATH
Architect reveals new perils of cigarette smoking.
(Philippine Daily Inquirer)
GMA CALLS FOR BAN ON LUNCHBREAK SMOKING (Manila Bulletin)
TOBACCO INDUSTRY—TOAST! (Business World)
ARCHITECT ON WRITER’S DEATH:’I did not know.’ (People ASIA)
and
BABAENG NAGPANGGAP MARUNONG MAG-YOSI…PATAY! (TV Patrol Broadcast)
—would be too much for him. I imagine he’s fackin’ emo, so he’d find a poetic way to die. Maybe set his bedroom on fire with one of the cigarette sticks left from that fatal day (he hasn’t puffed another since). Tsk. And the Earth would be deprived of another cutie.
What a tragedy.
So it’s good I just made with the secret moon eyes. By doing so, I saved his life. It feels incredibly good that he’s indebted to me, really.
Baby, Now that I’ve Found You I Won’t Let You Go…
It was during a serendipitous elevator ride when I first saw ArchiBaby. He was already inside, holding the doors open. As I stepped in, I think I was yawning wide enough to show my molars but the moment I saw the snuggable-huggable-cuteness that is him, I quickly clamped my mouth shut.
How could you not be overly conscious when someone looks that good at 8:00 a.m.?!
My brain triggered the release of happy hormones. I was so high in my delight –what a visual treat for a Monday morning!—that when he got off, I didn’t notice what floor it was. I was busy staring at his lean form as he walked away. So it was months later when I was able acquire that piece of information. And that happened while leshay and I were going down to buy merienda. At 3:00 p.m., the elevator doors opened…revealing him in all his doable glory.
The vision once again threw me off balance. Blinded by this man-boy’s beauty, my steps came into an abrupt halt, causing me to stumble slightly. And to top it off, I was wearing a deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression that would put leshay’s own to shame!
It was so embarrassing. In my mind, I cried:
Eat me, Earth! Eat me!
But my pleas were in all in vain.
To save face, pretend nothing happened. That’s the rule (or in absolutely mortifying cases like tripping on the shoe laces of your Doc Martens and falling face first on the street—PLAY DEAD. Don't move an inch. See how fast mocking laughter transforms to panicked worry. Trust me, it works). So I simply stepped in. Thank the PTBs he only spared a questioning glance at the clumsy girl holding up the elevator trip.
But as the doors closed, effectively creating my own little Nirvana, I had to bite my lip hard. A sudden fit of giggles threatened to erupt. How ridiculous! But I discovered—and accepted—that this is some kind of uncontrollable reaction whenever he’s in close proximity.
As the elevator went down, leshay had no idea such fantastic feelings were coursing through my veins. Then, ArchiBaby got off at the 14th floor. Leaving traces of his sugary scent. And a very flushed admirer behind….
Ooooh Baby I Love Your Way…Everyday…
When I see him, I feel like 12 again. Crushing on the boy-next-door. Scheming how to catch him in a game of cops-and-robbers. Swearing I would just DIE if he doesn’t smile in my direction.
I don’t know ArchiBaby’s name. And I’m fine with that. I don’t need to know his name. I just need to see him now and then because I like how he makes me feel.
Oh-so-girly.
I can’t think of a better way to end this unnecessarily long entry than with a dreamy *sigh.*
~~~
