To The Boy Who Loves Quietly

Your love is not a bouquet of roses adorned with Ferrero Rocher chocolates. It’s not Saturday date nights, a table reserved for two at a fancy restaurant. It’s not a grand public display of affection. It’s not for everybody to see. It’s not for everyone to know. But it’s mine to keep.

Your kind of love is quiet. It’s a simple message in the morning, and one in the night, and sometimes an ‘I’m thinking of you’ in the middle of a busy day. It’s the endless talks of nothing and everything. It’s the same shared sense of humour, from the small chuckles to the loud belly laughs. It’s the talk that lasts until morning yet feels like minutes. It’s when you let me ramble on and on about my day with you looking at me and listening to me like I’m the most interesting person on earth. It’s the talks of the future which normally scares me, but with you it feels only natural to. It’s when you reminding me to take care of myself but me hearing it as an honest I love you.

Your love crept up on me unwittingly that I just woke up one day and found myself looking at you with brand new eyes. You never forced that love on me. As we talked and spent time together, you were planting that love like a flower seed and everyday, you watered it with care and allowed it to bloom in the right time. You waited until I could feel that flower blooming inside my heart, forcing me to recognize it as what it was. It may have taken some time, it may have been slow, but it was the kind of love that is anything but selfish. And I’d choose it everyday.

Your love is something people would feel whenever they see me with you. It’s something they wouldn’t always see, but something they would always know. It’s something they wouldn’t notice at first, but would eventually realize in each of the subtle ways we show each other that love: the unconscious holding of hands, the long understanding stares, whispers of I love you, our inside jokes, the way we say each other’s name. It may seem like it’s not but it’s always there.

It’s not a lightning bolt that struck me out of my consciousness. It’s not my heart beating fast, as if it would come right out of my chest. It’s not when I see you, I am left breathless. Instead it’s like this: when I’m with you I feel relaxed, safe, and cared for. And most especially, I am sure.

You see, I’m almost never sure of anything but when it comes to you, I don’t have a single doubt in my mind that what we have can last.

It will last…at least for as long as it shall.

Unsent Letter: 03

You asked me if I'm tired. I asked you what kind of tired. You said, "Of me." I told you no, I'm not. But this is what I didn't tell you:

I am not tired of you. But I am tired of constantly feeling like I can't reach you. I am tired of constantly battling for your attention. I am tired of trying to come up different ways and topics, of convincing you that you can tell me absolutely anything, just so we can have an actual conversation, and not just mindless, pointless ones. Like actually talk to me damn it! Talk to me about your feelings, your emotions, your life! Let me get to know you better.

I am tired of always putting in the effort, of always the one asking, of always the one waiting. I am tired of always the one feeling like I'm never enough. I am tired of always trying to guess what you're feeling, of what is in your mind, because you don't tell me anything unless I ask. And sometimes even when I do, you still avoid giving me an answer.

I am tired of feeling like I am the one who should do everything. I am tired of always the one appreciating. I am tired of being not the priority. I am tired of the mediocrity.

So yes, I am tired. And I am trying so hard to hold on because I don't want to get tired of loving you.

Unsent Letter: 02

I understand that I am not the first in your priorities. It stings, yes, but believe me, I understand completely. But please understand too that it will maybe take me a long time to accept that. No, don't blame yourself. There's no one to blame about my feelings, not even me. I know I shouldn't apologize about what I feel but I'll say sorry anyway.

I don't want to feel bad about being a second or third or fourth choice. I don't want to feel hurt about not being your top priority. But I do. I hurt. And the pain only grows everyday; I can't seem to stop it.

Maybe because all my life I've always stepped aside and put other people's interest over mine; inevitably shrinking myself behind the top choices. When I was a kid, I wanted so many things. But I didn't ask them from my parents because in my young mind, I am aware that they don't have the means to give them to me. So I kept quiet because I knew there were  important things that we need more than my own interests,

I've always been giving away too much; my time, my presence, my support, my patience. No one sees it maybe, but I've been constantly putting other people's feelings before mine. And although I have my share of selfishness, there weren't worth the memory. They weren't that lavish. I've always been simple.

My point is, maybe the reason why it hurts not being your top priority is because I've waited for someone like you for so long. Someone who will see pass my flaws, someone who will put me first for once, above everything else. And then I found you, and you love me as much as I do you. But the glitch is that I'm never going to be your first priority. And it sucks big time. It sucks because I shouldn't feel jealous but I am jealous. And I am mad, not at you, not at her, and not at myself either, but at fate. At destiny. Even sometimes, at God.

Why? Why do I always end up second? Why can't I be the first for once?

I am sorry I am doing this to you. I don't mean to put you in a spot where you feel like you're forced to choose. I am not making you choose. There is no choice. I just want you to understand me, and to tell you what I truly feel because you never ask. And I don't want that there will come a time where all of these will explode in the wrong way.

So I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

Unsent Letter: 01

It sickens me to read them all. My stomach drops with each letter I read.
I feel insecure. I feel like my heart is being ripped apart with every love you had shown her; with every similar words you have said to her, that you're saying to me too. And yet I continue scrolling down. I keep reading your posts to each other. I keep looking at photographs I wish doesn't exist because it makes everything real; because no matter how much I want to deny them, they serve as your memories. But I continue looking anyway, knowing full well that what I'm doing only gives me a self-inflicting pain. I never knew I'd become a masochist.

I wish I could delete them all. I wish I could delete her. But I can't go back to the past and undo everything. If I could, given the things that i know now, I'd  redo so many things. I'd never let you go that first moment we met. But I am no superwoman. I can't do that. So now, I am left with no other choice but to try and ignore these unwarranted insecurities I feel.

Still, I can't deny the fact that it's killing me. It's killing me how I absolutely know that I'm never going to be able to compete with what you two had. She gave you many firsts that you may again experience with me but I know it won't feel as amazing as what you felt with her. And the thought that you may be happy with me now but still it can't compete with the happiness you felt before makes me very sad. Almost depressed.

I won't be able to fill the hole she left in your heart...or will I? But...am I just that then? A filler? Someone you need to fill in that emptiness. Or am I greater than the love you felt for her?

What am I to you? What's my role? Who am I supposed to be when I'm with you? Because no matter how much I don't want to feel this, I feel like a replacement, and it sucks so much. So. fucking. much.

What It Feels Like To Be Jealous of Your Ex

Knowing that she had you first is filling me up with a crazy sense of insecurity that I’ve never felt before, and I don’t know what to do about it. I’m so jealous of your past. I wanted to be the one who gave you those sweet memories, but you knew her first. What was I supposed to do?

I don’t know her. You don’t talk about her either, save for that one time. But you didn’t say anything that much, only that she cheated on you so you two broke up. But the bitterness I heard in your voice didn’t escape me and it only added to the nagging mystery that’s already surrounding this girl you fell first.

Who is she? What was she like? What was it about her that you fell hard for? What was it about her that had captivated you so? Why was she different from any other girls? I want to ask these questions. I want you to tell me what made you decide then that you wanted to build a family with her considering you have a child together. I want to ask you these so that I will know where I’ll place myself. So that I’ll know what separates me from her. So that at least my mind can stop giving me these questions and for my heart to stop beating with bitterness and self-doubt.

Because I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve to feel any of this. I don’t even know her. She doesn’t have a clue of who I am. But I still couldn’t stop myself from feeling so insecure. I cannot stop myself from comparing us. I cannot stop from constantly wondering why you chose me after her.

I don’t question your love for me. I can feel that it’s true; otherwise I wouldn’t have given you a chance. However, I can’t help but question the weight of that love. I know, I am aware, that she and I are two different people and that I shouldn’t even start comparing. The only thing we have in common is you. But you can’t blame me. You two had a perfect life together. She loved you. She bore your child. What if one day she realizes that she wants you back? That she wants your family to be complete again? You cannot make me stop from worrying about that because that’s a possibility.

I’m usually a wise person. I don’t worry so much. I don’t overthink about things I have no control over. So why am I being like this? Is this how it feels like to be jealous of your ex? This is ridiculous. And yet…it’s here.

I hate this irrational fear of losing you over to someone you once had. This isn’t me. This. Is. Not. Me. But this is me right now. What am I doing to myself? What are you doing to me? Why am I so jealous when you’re not even giving me something to be jealous about? I am crazy. I’m losing my mind.

This is just the kind of thing love does to people. And I hate how I can’t seem to hate love in all of its flaws.

Why Love Scares Me

Love scares me because it’s real.

It scares me because I know it’s full of pain, hurt and sacrifices, and yet everyone wants to have it. I see it in my friends when they get heartbroken and cry over a guy. How devastating they feel, the agony of break ups, and the process of moving on and letting go. It scares me because even after all the pain they felt, they still choose to love and then the cycle starts all over again. It’s as if they haven’t learned their lessons.

It scares me because I learn my lessons from their experiences and it leaves on a stigma every time. I don’t understand the concept of loving without hurting. Can’t you just love and be happy without all these terrible consequences coming your way? Is self-love not enough?

I’m scared of heights so I’m scared of falling, and as from what I’ve seen, loving someone requires just that and I don’t think I can do that. I don’t know if I’m capable of baring my soul to someone. I don’t know if I can be someone’s idea of love either because I run away from things that I don’t understand. Because, why give myself confusion that could turn my life in shambles when I can just sit back and do something I want that could give me peace and calmness?

Love is such a huge complex thing. It’s not the kind of love I feel for my dog. It’s not the kind of love I feel for my books. It’s not the kind of love I feel for my family or friends. They are the closest people to me and they still don’t know me like I know myself and that alone makes me doubt that I’d meet someone who will.

Love…it’s something more, and that more scares the living daylights out of me because I don’t know what that is; because that more is what makes someone stay by your side even when you’re being difficult. That more is what makes someone choose your complicatedness over something hassle-free and simple. It’s what makes you deserving of love. And whatever that is, I don’t think I have it.

And these are the reasons why I think that love is scary.

             

           

Don’t let go. I have so many issues and insecurities but I promise I am trying my best to fight them off, and with you holding my hand I’m a lot stronger.

Don’t let go even if I push you away. Especially if I push you away. Because that’s when I’m most vulnerable and broken that I want everyone to leave me so they can’t see how damaged I am.

Don’t let go even if I say I hate you. I don’t. You’re holding my hand. You’re helping me. Why would I hate you? That’s just me saying I need you. That’s me saying hold me closer.

So please be patient with me. I know I’m being selfish. I know I don’t deserve you. I know you’re too good for me. I would let you go if you want. I won’t stop you. But you have me as long as you want me and I’d take what I can get.

I need you, even just to breathe. I don’t know if that’s healthy but it is for me. I need you because no one else had held my hand like you do. I need you because with you I’m better. I need you because you are my light.

I just…I love you and if that’s wrong then I don’t want to be right.

Love comes slow and goes so fast
It stays as long as it wants but it never lasts
For love is fleeting; you don't see it everyday
But once it's there, it never really goes away.

Love will heal you but it will pain you first
People think of it and always expects the worst
But if you feel that your love is true, don't hold it back
Put your heart out there and pray for good luck.

But love is not suitable for the fainthearted
It is for those who are open; those whose hearts are unguarded
It is for those who take risks and are not easily swayed
It is for those who are brave; those who are not afraid.

So be mental and don't listen to the precautions
Have enough strength to reveal all of your emotions
Because if you don't do anything then you'll never know
And it is far more painful to regret than to feel a little sorrow.

Why I befriend my inner demons?

Many know me as a quiet, reserved and shy person. I’m always calm, even when I’m mad, which I rarely am. I’m never violent. I’ve only raised my voice a couple of times, and most of those moments were because I was standing in the middle of the class tasked by my professor to report on something. Other than that, I could count on one hand the other times I have raised my voice out of anger. I am what they would call calm, cool and collected, which is always adjacent to being called as a happy person, right? Someone who always sees the positive in every situation. Someone who does have problems but deals with them excellently.

            

Well, they are right. I handle my problems very well. And by that I mean I don’t handle them at all. I don’t search for solutions. I don’t classify them. I don’t address them, look at each angle, analyse, and then formulate a perfect solution. No. What I do instead is face them head on. I do not plan an attack. In the wise words of Ironman, I only have one plan; attack. That’s it. I don’t think about them at all. I just go full on and face them.

But the thing is, I attack them with kindness.

You see, these problems have souls. They come from one thing. They emerge because of one thing. And every problem we have comes from one place and one place only.

It’s within us. And within us, there are demons. These demons have many names. They can be called hate, jealousy, insecurity, anger, madness, craziness or just total lack of humanity. Whatever we want to call them, they’re still one and the same. And like us, they all have souls.  

          

These demons have souls, and whether they are worthy of saving, it’s upon us to decide.

           

If we incarcerate them or destroy them so they won’t ever come back, we’re right. But if we talk to them, help them and know where they’re coming from, we are giving them the chance to reform and change. And if we do that, we’re also right.

            

Either way, we are right. Either way we choose, we have to fight. Right? Isn’t that what humans do, we fight an endless stream of demons? And we’ve been doing so since the beginning of times.

           

But if you ask me, I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of destroying. I’m tired of being mad; a person filled with utter hatred blinded by fear and cowardice. I am tired of that me. I’ve been tired of that for quite some time now. So what I’m doing, instead, whenever I have problems, whenever I am in the brink of anger and the only way I could get that out of my system is to destroy something—I try with all my might to calm myself down, cry if I need to, and then sit down then…talk to myself.

            

I talk to the demons I have inside me. I sit with them with a cup of coffee in hand and ask them how they’ve become what they are. I get into their minds, their souls. I get inside their heads and know them. I relate myself to them. I ask them why, how and when. I figure them out.

            

And once I get them to talk back, to pour their heart out in me, once I have their attention and I got their trust—well, it’s easier to listen to them, understand them and tell them that nothing will ever come out of what they’re letting me do but total self-destruction. And since they’re inside of me, if I destroy myself, they’ll be destroyed too.

            

Demons don’t want that. They want to live. They’re parasites. They feed off from someone’s fears; from the seven deadly sins, so to say. They do everything just so they could destroy you. But if you do something as little but as unexpected as to listen to them and talk to them, you’d be surprised that these demons—your inner demons—are not so bad at all as long as you fought the urge to succumb to them.

Once you’re at peace with yourself and accept the fact that everyone has demons inside of them, you don’t allow them anymore to have the power to take you over. They can instead be your companion, a constant reminder that you are not a saint, that you are not meant to be unless that’s your calling, that you are a human being and human beings are not perfect, that you are not perfect and that it’s okay to not be okay all the time. If you start being that kind of person, then you’ve won.

These demons that used to haunt you will now serve as your long lost friends. They will always be there, hanging inside your head, hanging around your heart, but you don’t give them a single ounce of power. Because you talk to them and you get to know them and their story and why they are there. Once you know their soul, you’ll know yours. Believe me, it’s freeing to accept ones inner demons. You have them and you alone control them. You don’t allow it to control you. Never again. Not anymore.

So, befriending your inner demons will never be easy. Those who are only brave enough to accept their faults are the only ones who survive.

So if you have problems now and you’re still standing, kudos to you. You’re not bowing down to your inner demons. You’re fighting them back in a way you only know how. And whatever ways you choose, like I said, you are right.

I only chose this way because I’m tired of the angst. It’s stressful to get angry. I feel much better when I talk to them. I still get mad and insecure and confused and sometimes, I lose myself. What take me back to myself are, ironically, my demons too. By just the sheer knowledge that they’re there allows me to take my sight back and know my purpose.

To talk to them and befriend them, and then reform them if you can because you know, even demons deserve attention. And it should come from you. 

The Guy

He’s the guy that looks bored and uninterested, with eyes that are flat, unreadable and emotionless. He is the quiet guy standing behind his loud friends; the guy whose smiles are rare, who talks only when asked, who looks like he doesn’t give a shit about anything. He is the guy who rarely gets the attention, and he’s fine with it. And yet, out of all his friends, he’s the one you noticed. He caught your eyes and interest. And before you know it, he’s going to be THE guy. 

He’s going to be that one person which thoughts and emotions you want to get to know. He’s going to be the one you’re going to lose sleep over, trying to imagine crazy, cheesy romantic scenarios in your head. He’s going to be that guy you want to call yours. You imagine him to be interested in, and only, you. You think about him always until you can’t pretty much differentiate reality from fantasy, and that you want the latter to be the real one.

But it’s not. It’s never going to happen. He’s never going to be THE guy for you. Because he already is the guy in someone else’s life, and that just sucks so bad and so heartbreakingly, regrettably, unfortunately sad.

A Passage of an Unfinished Story #1

“She smiled a little, just a little that he wouldn’t have seen it had he wasn’t looking close enough. And he is starting to realize that he would always be looking closer than what was enough when it comes to her. He had wondered why guys go crazy over a girl’s smile. Now, he knows.”

What I really want right now? I want to fast forward the events these recent days and rewind the past. I want to grasp that happy me five or so years ago and I want to hold on to it and never let it go. Back then, my happiness consists of small little things like toys and my parents’ smiles. Now, my happiness consists of concealing myself to the world, locking myself inside my room, read a book or write something, put the earphones in my ears to shut the world up, and ignore my mother’s sad eyes or my father’s unreasonable series of fits. My happiness depends on my friends and even though there are times they disappoint me, or use me or take me for granted, I ignore them because at least they’re not mad and they make me smile. My happiness right now would be to live faraway from my family— which means being totally alone where I could do whatever I want with no one watching me or judging me. 

If only I knew how valuable my happiness was as a child, I would have brought it with me as I was growing up after realizing how the world really is.

It doesn’t really matter— with me being here,you being there, us being not in the same balance—it doesn’t matter who’s right or wrong anymore. We both didn’t want to lose each other and yet we both didn’t do something to save whatever’s left.

Love? It’s still there. It’s still here, standing between us. But is it enough? Would it really be enough?

There are times that love saves two people from hell. But there are also times where love is hell for both people. And we both know where love took us now. We love each other so much that we thought it would be enough.

We are so wrong.

MIXTAPE

I’ve been in love with a girl I know since highschool. I knew she was the one when I took her to prom on our senior’s night and she kissed me and told me that she’s never going to love any other man as much as she loves me. It was then that she owned me.

But the thing is we were not together. We were not a couple. Because her life was already organized even before she met me. She had plans. And she was willing to sacrifice everything in order to reach it, and sadly, including me. She said that she needed to achieve her dreams first before she can fully commit herself to me. It was unfair of her to have such small confidence and trust in us for thinking that she wouldn’t be able to reach them with me. But then again I understood her point. She needed focus, and emotional things are just going to be on her way.

So I let her go. She didn’t tell me to wait but before she boarded the plane, I saw it in her eyes: the hope that someday, when she’s ready to come back, I would still have her. That was the exact moment where I ran to her and kiss her with all the love I have, but when I let her go I didn’t tell her anything. I didn’t need to. Because I’ve already decided that I’m willing to wait for her, even if it would take me forever.

Five years has passed and I was surprisingly contented with the status of our relationship.  We communicate once a day. It’s a must. She was the one who insisted that even if we can’t talk to each other, we would send even just one text, or e-mail, about anything, so that our communication would be consistent. I liked that arrangement. It meant that she doesn’t want to lose me.

I’m working at a publishing company as a copywriter. She’s on a financial firm. She’s good with money. Being financially stable was her dream, because she grew up having less. I wasn’t the same. I was born in a middle class family so I didn’t really experience how it felt to run out of money. My family is a bunch of lawyers, or on marketing firms, except for me. I’ve always been the artist in our family. And my job as a copywriter was just enough to suit my lifestyle. But photography is my passion. It has always been. My co-workers and friends and their friends hire me as an official photographer on their weddings, birthdays, and just practically any event. I always say yes, not because I needed the money, but because I’m always excited to be the one who captures moments that would turn into memories which would stay with them forever.

And it was on one of those events where I met you. It was the wedding of my friend John’s sister. It was while you were walking to the altar when I noticed you for the first time. You were the maid of honour. I knew I was supposed to be looking at the bride. After all she was the star of the day. But during that moment, I almost filled the entire memory card of my DSLR with your face, and it would all be you walking down the aisle.

I continued watching you subtly later on the reception. You were unescorted and it made me wonder why. So I asked John to introduce us. I told you my name, and you told me yours. I remember thinking that it suited you perfectly, and it really did.

We then started talking, and boy did we click so well. There weren’t any awkward silences in between. You talked about your job. You’re actually a published novelist hiding under a pseudo name, because you don’t want to be famous. You told me that your day job as an events planner was something you’ve always dreamed of. And when it was my turn to talk, I told you about my day job as a copywriter. I told you about her. It’s not something I hide. I’m quite proud about the fact that I’m already emotionally taken, and it was surprising that for the first time, someone didn’t judge my decision to wait for her. You even supported it and said that it was brave of me, and loyal, and that you wished there are more men like me.

I knew you were not trying to impress me. I knew you were not trying to be anything. You were just…you; honest, witty, talkative, smart, happy, with an infectious smile… beautiful. So effortlessly, ethereally, beautiful.

When I told you about my passion for photography, you were so interested that we ended up talking about it for most of the night, in between eating cakes, gulping down bottles of champagnes, and dancing. While I go around and capture pictures of everyone, you stayed by my side and watched me. And the way your eyes light up with awe as you looked at the photos made everything even more worth it.

“They’re beautiful,” you whispered to the photos, but to me you said, “You’re amazing.” And when I looked at you staring up at me, I saw something in your big expressive brown eyes; something that I haven’t seen in a long time:

Longing.

You were missing something, and it was clear that you found in me what you missed. You’re eyes said that you wanted to stay, and whatever it meant to you that time, I wanted it too. I wanted it so bad.

That night, we ended up lying on my bed, naked. Our souls were bared to each other. We discovered that we’re both made up of dusts from the universe. That like the constellation of stars, we were bright, vast, and that there were parts of us that had remained unknown. And so we explored. We connected in more ways than we could ever imagine. Our bodies were perfect together. Our minds think alike. We listened to each other’s heart and deciphered the meaning behind each beat.

I kissed the freckles that were gathered on your cheeks. They looked like stars, so I wished on them. I wished that that night would never end. I wished on them hard.

            I kissed the scars on your neck and back. You said that they were the result of having small pox the year before. You hated them. You said you didn’t want me to see them. But I reassured you that it was okay, and so you let me. You trusted me.

            As I was making love with you, as I worshipped your body, I could sense that under that confident smile lies an insecure person. And so I asked you to tell me what you are most insecure of, and you gestured to your whole being. I remember feeling so mad. I wanted to break something. I wanted to blame each person who made you feel that way. But because I know that I cannot, and that we only have one night, I made love to each and every single part of your body instead. I left nothing. I made sure that when it was over, you would know how utterly perfect you are.

            And then you started kissing away the worried frown between my brows, giving me back each healing kisses I gave you. You kissed away the wrinkles that were forming at the corners of my eyes. You made love to the laugh lines at each corner of my mouth and trailed long lingering kisses down my jaw, onto my neck, and to my chest; marking yourself there forever.

            We whispered everything and nothing into the darkness that filled the room. We danced between the warm sheets of my bed; our bodies colliding in tune with the music that our mouths were making. The sweet moans, the hungry groans, the hurried gasps—each sound that had escaped from our lips was like a song. I was drowning into you and I didn’t want to get up.

But we knew that what we were doing that night wasn’t right, but how can something so beautiful and amazing be so wrong? I didn’t want it to end. You didn’t, too. I was prepared to stay, to gamble, to risk all the years that I had with her just so I could have another day with you. It bothered the hell out of me since I wasn’t even in love with you, because it was not possible. I was in love with her. But then if I were to choose that night, I would choose you over her. To hell with all the consequences.

And so as we laid still, covered under my blanket, with the first rays of sun hitting our bodies, I told you that I want more of you; that I want more of us. But you shook your head and said that nothing right will ever come out from something that was started the wrong way. That no matter what we do, we have people whose hearts we carry within us and it’s our responsibility to take care of them. “You carry her heart,” you said, “and I… I carry his.”

I just stared at you in utter surprise. And then I asked, I had to ask, “Do you love him?”

“Yes, as much as you love her.”

Your revelation felt like a bomb. You dropped it on me without any warning. I didn’t know that you were committed to someone else. You didn’t tell me. No one ever cared to tell me. I just went right into the pit with no knowledge of what was waiting for me at the bottom. But even then, even if my heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces, I still wanted you. But I could feel you already withdrawing yourself from me, and so I tried to hold on by wrapping my arms around you, wishing to everything that you would take your words back, to stay with me and leave him.

However, I thought about her, on what she would feel if she ever found out. Devastated, she will be. She had put so much effort into her dreams, trying to reach it as early as she can just so she can come back to me, and what did I do? I betrayed her. I broke her trust. I violated her loyalty. I murdered her heart. When not once she ever cheated on me, because I would know. Because if the situation were reversed, she would tell me.

And then I thought of how, perhaps, you were feeling the way that I do, that’s why you wouldn’t allow yourself to want more than what we have shared. That’s when I gave up. You love him, as much as I love her. I kissed you one last time before I pulled my arms away from you. I brushed the tears that had fallen from your face but I didn’t tell you anything. I didn’t need to. My silence said it all.

We got dressed in awful silence. We couldn’t even look at each other’s eyes. And as I stood there, I could only watch in helpless surrender as you were getting ready to leave. I offered to take you home because it’s the least that I could do. I didn’t want to just let you leave my apartment like an unmitigated ass; like nothing ever happened. But you looked at me and just smiled weakly, shaking your head no. That single word meant so much more than just you rejecting my offer of a ride home, and it almost broke me down.

For the next minutes I watched you brush your hair, put on some make-up and then when you were ready, you tried to flash me a happy smile. But they didn’t reach your eyes, so I didn’t bother joining your pretence. You sighed and retrieved something from your small bag and handed it to me. It was a CD. I asked what it was for. You said that the day before the wedding, you felt restless. It was like something was going to happen; you just weren’t sure what. So you made a mixtape. And before I could ask you what the connection was, you covered my mouth with your hand and shook your head. You kissed me for the last time then said goodbye, and the coward that I am I just stood there and watched you leave my life forever.

I didn’t get out of my apartment that day, or the next. I just stayed and listened to the mixtape you gave me. I waited for something big to happen while I was listening to the songs. I waited for some kind of an unexpected discovery, something that would make me understand you even more; something magical and vast and strange, like our meeting.

But what happened wasn’t something big. Instead it was more like a slow revelation. It revealed to me in small realizations the answer to all the questions I had in my mind: Why we can never be? Why we can’t just throw our responsibilities and feelings away and just give in to the strong connection we have for each other? Why we can’t be impulsive, aggressive and just do whatever our hearts was telling us to do?

I found answers, but they were not about you. That’s just it. It’s like a dead end; you are a dead end. What happened between us made me realize that no matter how many times you question the way of the universe, no matter how loud you would shout to the sky and wish on a falling star, no one will ever answer you back and tell you what you want to hear. Life will continue to disappoint us, hurt us, and scar us in the most bittersweet and ironic of ways, but it also has the power to turn something small and unexpected into something that has the power to change your life. It’s just up to you to decide whether it’s for the better or not.

It made me realize then that no matter how much you want to make a thing into something more, if it is not meant to be, the whole world will conspire against it. But if it is meant to happen, not even the universe could stop it.

Still, you ask yourself. Can that one night be really enough to last you a lifetime? Perhaps yes, perhaps no.

People say that you could only love one person in your life. If someone told me that a year ago, I would have agreed with them. But I’ve read once that you can actually love two people at the same time, but the other one is called your soulmate. You just have to decide which of the two you will choose.

I didn’t know the difference between the two back then because I was contented with having the love of my life. And as far as I knew she was also my soulmate. Life proved me wrong.

Because in a wedding, set in the most random and ordinary of days, as I was doing something that I have loved since I could remember, I met a girl named Camille. I met you. And the way we connected wasn’t only spectacular. It was out of this world. In my more fanciful of days, I would call it miraculous. But just like how miracles are, they mostly only happen once. The most important thing to do is to cherish them. Remember them. Take care of them. Remind yourself how blessed you are that you got to experience something so wonderful; that in a planet inhabited by billions of people, you got the chance to meet that one other person who is exactly like you. That in a one and a billion chance ratio, you met your soulmate, and then realize that not everyone is as lucky as you.

**************************************

You’re like Math

Yeah, Mathematics, Algebra, Calculus and the likes

All those complicated numbers and letters and Greek symbols that never really made sense to me

All those tangents and cosines and graphs and diagrams that my brain refuses to digest

That’s what you are to me

Sometimes I understand you, most of the time I don’t

And I may ignore and get tired of you for a while

I still find myself going back,

Missing your complicatedness

Needing a dose of your mystery

Hating your casual arrogance

Longing for your unmitigated gentleness

Figuring out your silence

And finding meaning into your grins.

You speak of things not many people can relate to

And there are times you are unapologetic when you say awful things unintentionally

I admire your skill of being carefree

Looking at you makes one feel so…unburdened; light

But there are times I look at you and see your soul reflected into your brown eyes

You don’t notice it because I don’t let you

I pull away from your amused stares

I pull away from your double-meaning words

Because I’m afraid to find out whether I’m right or wrong

To assume what they were about

But as much as I admire your carelessness, I hate it too

You show kindness to everyone and everyone mistakes it for something else

And I hate how I’m one of them

However, there are times I catch you staring at me

And when I stare back, you smile and don’t look away

I’m not insensitive and I think you feel something for me

But unless you directly state them, I won’t assume

I won’t

I don’t want to be disappointed

I don’t want to get hurt

And I don’t want you to know that

You have an overwhelming power to either love me or hurt me.

I didn’t ask for confusion

And yet God gave me you

Well, not really no

At least I don’t think so

But for whatever reason, I’m still thankful

Because of you,

Because of only you,

I am getting better

I am changing for the better

I have learned how to keep it all together

But even though you don’t care,

Thank you anyway

You dense, insensitive, ungrateful shit.

Why do they call it heartbreak?

Why do they call it heartbreak? Who invented heartbreak? What, did someone get dumped for the first time and then felt that their heart all of a sudden was like being physically ripped into two and that’s enough for them to declare that their heart was breaking? Or maybe it’s not merely a metaphor? Maybe that person is literally having a mild heart attack triggered by the emotional turmoil they were going through at that moment? Because seriously, there HAS to be a start, a point, or a moment, where the idea of heartbreak came to life.

Since I was curious, I looked about it on Google. I have typed “Who invented heartbreak?” only to have a lyrics of a song, a Youtube channel, and different sites of the singer and the song as results. And then I typed “Who was the first person to have been heartbroken?” Google gave me 10 Ways to Heal a Broken Heart blog, an It Must Have Been Love lyrics by Roxette, a list of broken heart related songs, and etc., but none about what I was exactly looking for.

It sucks big time to not know because I want to know so badly. I want to know who that person was and what he/she did to overcome it, and also because I’m so done reading How To shits because I did them all; every single one of them, and yet it. stiLL. HURTS. 

I cried it all. Sobbed in front of my friends. Rhymed his name with all the swear words I could come up. Cursed his entire person. Burned every single picture we had. Wrote a three paged back to back angry letter on long sized sheets of bond papers. Sang my heart out for three consecutive nights in a karaoke bar with all the songs I feel that I relate to. Deleted his phone number and every picture we have together. Deleted every picture we have on Facebook and Instagram. Deleted every post on Facebook that has anything to do with him. Read every damn book about a girl who was cheated on. Cried myself to sleep. Partied with my friends. Told my mom I’m going to be a nun. Cleaned up my room, arranged it, and then re-arranged it. Told my family that his name shouldn’t be uttered anywhere at any time and that from now on it’s a form of blasphemy. Took all of the things he gave to me, put them in two boxes, and then mailed it to him. Threw away our stupid couple ring. Permed my hair and dyed it brown because he loved it as naturally straight and dark blonde. Wore dresses more often because he loved me on my jeans and band shirts. Ate all the sweets in the world. Sent the three paged back to back angry letter to him but left a copy for myself that I inserted in my journal. I did everything that an angry heartbroken girl could do to overcome her grief and yet I still hurt.

And then when I was done with being angry, I started the next step: Acceptance. So I did accept what happened to us. He cheated on me, fine, because men are polygamous by nature and all that shit. I accepted that he’s the absolute worst asshole under that sweet, pretentious, charming mask and that I was a fool to have been fooled because I knew better but I still risked everything and hoped that he would change but he did not so shame on me. I accepted the part where breaking up with him would only hurt me more than staying with him but I did it anyway because I thought myself as brave and a kind of girl that will not take any shit from anyone anymore. I accepted the fact that he’s never coming back. I accepted the part that maybe he never loved me at all. And I accepted the fact that maybe he really is in love with her and that the two of us are doomed before our relationship had even begun.

So I was done accepting everything about him and me and what we once were, what we should have been and what we are now. So I should start the next step right? The biggest and hardest one: Forgiveness.

But even though I’m done being angry and have accepted everything, I can’t find it in me to forgive. I see him almost everyday and I still feel this bitterness inside of me. It’s not because I want him back but because I have this feeling that unless I do something, he’s going to repeat what he did to me to other girls and they would undoubtedly give in because I know how charming and nice and deceptive he can be. He’s such an asshole he’s not supposed to live and breathe and not warning the girls away from him feels like a sin.

Everytime I see him I want to stick my fingers inside his eyes and take out his eyeballs. If only I could throw a good punch I would have done so and that would be the end of it. But no, I can’t even throw a stone and expect it to land in the direction I want it to. 

I want to hurt him, like hurt him physically and emotionally. I want to get even. I also want to hurt my friend—no, that bitch doesn’t deserve to be called my friend anymore. I will call her “The Bitch” starting now—hurt THE BITCH and pull her hair out and make her bald and humiliate her to the entire school. 

I recognize this feeling: pure hatred. It makes me evil and I don’t want this. But I can’t help it. They hurt me. They didn’t think about how I would feel when they stabbed me behind my back while I was left ignorant and oblivious that I’m already bleeding. 

Which brings me back to my first dilemma: who invented heartbreak? Because I seriously want to strangle that person for giving humans the ability to recognize the ache in their chest as an emotional thing because it shouldn’t have been. Feeling a tightness and pain to your chest should never have meant that your heart is breaking. We all should have been a bunch of science freaks and believes in it more instead of believing in mere feelings and emotions. We should have been more on science and only sees the literal facts behind what we feel and not romanticize every fucking pain and hurt someone is inflicting on us by their mere words and actions. We should never have been that sensitive. In fact, we should have all been born unfeeling. The earth would have been an easy place to live in.

In a perfect world, people are given the chance to feel and not to feel. I would choose to be insensitive. I don’t like feeling broken hearted. I don’t like feeling like something just died in me, a heart, a liver, a kidney. Even my stomach felt ruined. And so it is unfair to call it heartbreak when in truth every single part of you shatters into bloody pieces. 

It wasn’t just heartbreak when I felt like someone punched me in the gut that moment I saw them kissing. It wasn’t just heartbreak the moment he turned to me when he heard me gasped and the look in his eyes said it all and I felt like my mind just blew off. It wasn’t just heartbreak when The Bitch looked at me and said sorry, that she didn’t mean to hurt me and that she didn’t mean to betray our friendship, even though we both know she’s lying, and every word she said felt like flame in my lungs because I couldn’t breathe and I was hyperventilating. It wasn’t just heartbreak when they both looked me in my eyes as they held hands and said that they’ve been together for two months and through it all, it felt like they ripped my heart out, stepped on it repeatedly and set in on fire. 

It wasn’t just heartbreak because it was so much more than that. My heart did not only break, it shattered into a million bloody pieces that have fallen scattered all over the floor and all the time I can do nothing but watch them murder every single piece. 

So who the hell told everyone that when the love of your life hurts you, you are called brokenhearted? Because I tell you, that’s fucking inaccurate. 

But you can’t get away from it either, can you? So how do you not hurt? How do you unhurt? How do you forgive and forget? 

I guess you don’t, right away I mean. Eventually, yes. In the meantime, you just learn to live and deal with it. At least that’s what I’m telling myself right now because I have nothing else to do but move on and let them be. 

But I do know this. If he cheated his way into her heart, he’ll cheat his way out too. I just pray that she’s not going to be as devastated as I am when that time comes. Or maybe not? Maybe their relationship will grow into something deeper and will end up in marriage. Who knows? I just hope that when that happens, I have moved on. Like completely, unaffectedly, moved on. 

However, at the moment, unfortunately, I’m still as heartbroken as a girl can be. Hopefully, I recover fast enough so I can get back up and start over again. Because the thing I learned through all this is that it’s fucking exhausting to be angry all the time while trying to heal your broken heart. I don’t know how humans learned to cope with this shit but I will get over this in a way that I know I can; with boxes of ice cream and set of words to help heal my brokenness.

RAIN

The feeling you get before, during, and after the rain?

That’s how you make me feel.

You make me feel anxious;

Like how I feel while looking up to find the sky dark and cloudy,

Immediately knowing that it might rain—

Instantly worrying over something that still hasn’t happened yet.

You make me wonder;

Like when it’s already raining, and I am sure that I’m not going to get wet.

So I stay still and wait as I watch the rain in fascination

And think about my life,

As I wait for it to stop.

And then you make me feel relieved and nostalgic;

Like how I feel when the rain finally stops, knowing that I can finally go out.

But when I do and get to fill my lungs with the smell it leaves,

I start missing it—

The sound it makes and the stillness it gives to the surroundings,

As if everything was in a pause.

You mess up my thoughts and emotions.

You are the sole reason why I write these words.

You are what you are to other people, but to me

You are something else entirely—

Something you haven’t heard,

Something you probably don’t even want to hear.

But the damage has been done, as they say,

I now have a reason to dream

And an excuse to feel poetic.

And that’s how you make me feel.

IN SILENCE

In silence

I found a friend

I found solace

And it didn’t seem to end.

In silence

I found something oddly pretty

Without the noise it makes

It exudes a quiet beauty.

In silence

I found pain

It rang in my ears

It rang in my brain.

In silence

I heard everything

I heard every damned noise

That my bloodstream was making.

In silence

I looked for freedom

And then I heard a voice

But it wasn’t mine.

It was in silence

When I heard your voice

You were calling to me

But why is there so much noise?

In silence, I kept calling

And I assume you heard me

But you did not respond

Perhaps my voice echoed vaguely.

In silence is where

Eventually I found my answer

That you weren’t calling for me,

Because you were calling for another.

When your voice was gone

In silence, I stayed and held my ground

But someone heard my muffled cries

And took my hand then pulled me out.

And then the silence

Was suddenly replaced with noise

But all I heard was his heart

Calling out for my voice.

In silence I have been lost

In it I almost drowned

But despite all the noises of the world

It was my voice he had found.

I’ve never heard such beauty

In the noise that I’ve been avoiding

For it wasn’t really a noise, but a sound

Of his heart and mine,

As together they pound.

In eternal silence

He saved me from

He introduced me to songs

That I could sing to;

He gave me freedom.

In silence I found him

In the noise he heard me.

We’re two people who wanted to escape

We’re two people meant for eternity.

Regrets. Reasons. Decisions.

I think everybody has that something that they regret. It maybe something you’ve regretted not doing, someone you’ve regretted letting go, or something you’ve regretted not choosing. These regrets are haunting you every day, accompanied by these words; “what if” and “should have”.

It kills you to have made those decisions. It pains you to have chosen something that turned out not right. And if you could only go back to those times, you would change it. But you know you can’t, you never would, and you never will.

But if we could travel back in time and it will make us able to change whatever decision we regretted making, our future and present would change too. People who came, the memories we made with them, the places we went to and the right choices we made after that past regretted decision would not exist anymore. The future, which is actually our today, would drastically change. And before we know it, we might regret it even more.

You see, there are reasons why we do what we do. And as much as reality dismays us, sometimes these reasons are unknown. Lucky are those who have found their reason, their zest, their purpose. Some even hate what they do but they go do and finish it, all because they have a reason. It’s their motivating factor. It’s what inspires them.

But there are also those who haven’t. For them every day is an unending cycle of mundane life. It’s always a struggle to get up in the morning and go to work, or to school, or to anywhere you should be in the morning, if you don’t even find happiness in it. Some like what they do, but that does not mean they are happy. They long for happiness, contentment and love. They are the ones who although not alone, find themselves lonely. No one is supposed to feel that way.

But life is life. It’s a cycle. No matter where you are today, you are not going to spend the rest of your life there. Somehow, somewhere, it'll change. And there enters your decisions. It may come out as something you would regret in the future, or it may turn out to be the greatest decision you’ve ever made in your entire life.

Have you ever felt passionate about something? That you would do anything and everything for that something? That you would compromise and be submissive just for that something? That you know you won’t be complete without it? If you do, then you are lucky because some other people are not as lucky as you. Unlike you, they don’t have that kind of something. And it’s not a good feeling. It’s close to saying of feeling nothing. Not happy, not sad, just completely normal. And to be normal is not good. Because it won’t make you grow into your best self. You have to be either happy or sad. You can’t be in the middle.

It’s frustrating to realize that there is something lacking in your life. No one is supposed to feel that way, right? But then there you are, completely convinced that there is supposed to be more to your life. You can’t stop feeling guilty because you know you are much more blessed than other people. You have food on your plate, 5 times a day. You have a beautiful house. You don’t work that hard to earn money. Somehow, it finds its own way to you even if you don’t need it. And of course, you don’t even have the right to feel lonely because you have a family, loving parents and crazy, funny friends. It makes you feel selfish and it may sound that you are a whinny brat which makes you hate yourself because you are not content on what God has blessed you. But you can’t help but feel that there is really a hole in your being that’s waiting to be filled. But by what, you don’t know.