Here’s the deal: for now, I’m making a self-imposed moratorium on political entries here in The Marocharim Experiment.  Granted that I’ll still be blogging about political matters over at Filipino Voices, but for now, I am making a political statement by not blogging about politics for as long as I can stand it.

For one, I’m getting tired of ranting about politics whenever I get the chance to blog.  I’m just a writer: I AM NOT A POLITICAL COMMENTATOR.  I cannot stress this enough.  It’s not because I’m in any kind of trouble from people because of my political views, it’s more like more and more people are making politically-charged entries (some even becoming political “commenters” in the process) without having a single idea about what exactly is so “political” about something political.

A case in point would be the thread of comments in Jun Lozada’s blog, especially in one of his entries, which has me all but thinking if these “commentaries” can pass off as legitimate arguments in a court (much less “rule”) of law.

Second reason why I’m imposing a political blogging moratorium in this blog: I seem to keep on repeating my political views over and over again, to the point that I’m sounding like a broken record.  The bottom line is resistance.  If you don’t believe that, then I hope that we can meet halfway by respecting each other’s views.  Now if you can’t understand that, I can’t help you.

Third, there are a lot of things I like to write about more than politics.  To be honest, politics is my least favorite topic to write about as a blogger.

Fourth, and perhaps the most important reason, is something I take from the cue of stuart-santiago: once a political person is given a political avenue to make a political viewpoint, everything becomes politicized to the point that you become nothing but political, that you may so come close to crapping and pissing politics.  I’m a very imbalanced writing personality: I really can’t commit myself to writing on a single niche because, among other things, I like writing about the inane.

So will I still participate in political blogging trout-slapping and (heaven forbid) piss-contests?  Well, only time will tell before I start addressing This Government through unflattering remarks that will probably have me going all paranoid again.

For now, Marocharim the Political Commentator is taking a brief break from this dizzying hurly-burly of political commentary.

Mainly because I really, really suck at it.

Yeah, you.

Sometimes I wonder why for 822 days, you were always on my mind.  Not that you consumed me, not that you were my reason for breathing, but you were somewhere there.  You were the lingering thought in my head for over two years.  Maybe it was just too hard to let you go, even if there was really nothing that took place between us.

As much as I hate to admit it, ours was a fleeting romance through early morning text messages.  A few meals shared together, a few gifts exchanged.  Sidelong glances that lasted no longer than what people usually pay attention to interesting strangers, or dogs wearing sunglasses.  There’s no use wondering about the what-could-have-been’s, if nothing ever took place.  Was it my cowardice?  Was it your reluctance?  Was it Cupid’s arrow playing tricks?  Was it just dumb - and damn - luck?  I have absolutely no idea.

It still pains me to go to places where we shared at least one of those three-and-a-half minute conversations, which was by my watch, the longest we ever talked to each other one on one.  For the longest time, memories of you were stuck in my head and tattooed on my mind.  I was at emotional highs when we talked over the phone… for three-and-a-half minutes.  I sank to an emotional low when I realized that in one of those crucial moments, I can’t stand by your side even just to hold your hand… and even in that moment, I realized that save for two embraces, I never really held your hand, ever.

Times have changed, years have gone by, and I was still stuck in the moment.  I have absolutely no idea how many relationships you’ve gone through since then.  You have absolutely no idea how many chances at romance I gave up.  Not because of memories of you, but because of you.  Because I wanted more than text messages and sidelong glances.  But everytime I tried to enter the door… well, you know what happens.

Eight hundred and twenty-two days.  You know as well as I do that there was more to what we were, and there was more to what we weren’t.  So I just stuck with the “what we weren’t” part, and decided that Day 823 is best left to the memories.  Left to the what-could-have-been’s and what-if’s, thrown to the wind, let go, and just… well, left alone.

Ours was definitely not love.  Not in the general idea of it.  Not in the sense that everyone agrees with.  For someone who gets paid for knowing what the right word is to something, I sure as hell don’t know what it was.

All I know is that if it happened to anyone else, all 822 days of it, it will move me to tears… just to hear of a beautiful love story never told.

Postscript: This entry has been hanging around on my Drafts for exactly a month and eight days now.  Somehow it’s only now that I managed to gather up the courage to post it, although it has already been finished for quite a while.  To some extent, the antecedents are real.