All you need is a slap

I've already written four fairly long paragraphs and dropped five names. I ended up replacing all of them with a flimsy metaphor: a conversation with Jenn early this morning.

It was almost fifty past one, and we've spent the last forty saying nothing. Inevitable, but previously discussed.

"Ano bang ginagawa mo?" I said, offering answers that grew more ridiculous by the minute, all wrong.

"iPod-fixing," she answered.

"But Jenn, it's hopeless!" I reacted.

Her iPod's pretty old, but it's one that she isn't, understandably, willing to let go. Do you remember the limited edition U2 iPods, the ones colored red and black released to tie in with How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb, complete with the iconic Irish band's members' autographs engraved in the supposedly smudgy back? Yep, she has that one, and she's the only person I know who has it.

It'd be a pain seeing the autographs of what some argue is the greatest rock band ever be used only as a paperweight. But it faced that fate: the gadget conked out and has been out of service for a pretty long time. She's already had the folks at Apple look at it, and was told that it can still be fixed, but if money's an issue, she's better off buying a new one instead. Not an option.

"I know," she said, laughing, and still trying. Suddenly, "it lit up!"

"It's a light bulb now!" I mused.

It took three more minutes of awkward silence.

"Oh my God," she suddenly went. "It's working."

"Wow," I answered, also in surprise.

"It's synching," she said.

I started wondering how it could possibly happen. I'm not dismissing Jenn's abilities, but her iPod's been cryogenically frozen - of course, it's a metaphor! - for years now. By then it would've already died a natural death, which is a complete contrast to the band it inspired.

"I slapped the back of the iPod," she suddenly claimed.

"Two years, Jenn," I merely said. My face, obviously something she would'nt see on an online conversation, was a mix of surprise and amusement.

"I read it online eh," she explained. "Ako naman, parang, what the heck, sira na din naman. Might as well try it. Ayun."

"You've been slapping me for weeks, and all your iPod needed is a slap," I quipped.

"How ironic," she said. All caps.

The four paragraphs I wrote earlier were supposed to be about the times when you've ran out of something to say. Sure, the time comes once in a while, when after a long time of exploring all the possible options, you just stop talking and spend the rest of your lives in awkward silence. Now, we've only been talking (intensively, at least) for around a month, and already - after the virtual (note of that) slaps about our excuses for a love life - we've run out of things to say.

I don't usually explain the metaphors I use on my blog entries, but what the heck. It's one thing to move on, and it's another thing to just get tired of things and give up. But sometimes, however tired you think you are, you're never really finished with things. All you might need is, well, a slap.

The past few weeks have been a distraction. Just right there, I have run out of things to say, but all those conversations meant one thing. It's far from over.

And your responses...

okay. i have nothing to say, honestly. but. binasa ko siya :)) and yun. yun lang :D

Blogger N.11/23/2008     

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