Tonight I can write about silly things.
Write, for example, ‘How I long to see him,
and just stay there, hush and still’;The days have gone by and I never did.
Tonight I can write what I’ve been keeping inside.
I love him, and sometimes he would love me too.Through nights like this I held…
How foolish I am for doing this all over again.
I would have a dozen of excuse to write about this. Since it’s February, or maybe I missed writing about anything, at all because rarely do I have the chance to sit down and write.
But then again, why do I have to justify anything?
Anyhow, it started with the short bus ride home yesterday morning. It was a crowded bus, but since it was noontime I figured I would prefer this than having to endure the hot one-hour jeepney ride.
I stood in the bus the whole time, having to do with the unexpected jerking and my lack of balance. I was looking around, but nobody would offer their seat, which I was kind of expecting since it happens to me most of the time. But today, I was feeling kind of extra-emotional, trying to figure out why wouldn’t anybody offer me a seat: Is it because I was not that attractive? Is it because I’m too fat? Or is it because of my long-and-messy brown hair that made them think that I’m weird? Was it because I look so tired and unapproachable because I never had any sleep? The list went on.
I decided to shrug it all off. I’m tired anyway. A few minutes from home and I could finally eat and get some sleep. But then, the thought just kept on coming back. No, don’t get me wrong, I don’t really have self-esteem issues, it’s just that these simple scenarios lead me to ponder about why I never had any serious romantic relationships in my entire life. Was it me, really?
There was this one time when I asked my mom about it. In a patient tone, she answered back, “Maybe they thought you were too strong—too authoritative. You were too overwhelming for them.” I blinked, “I don’t think of myself that way.”
I remembered the first boy who told me he loved me.
He was also the boy who used to break my heart every month, every year, every second, every time I would see him.
“I love you, but not as much as you love me.” He said. I quickly recalled where and why and how I’ve been wrong, or which part did I miss, and the same questions popped into my head. But there it was; it was happening, and it was the first real heartbreak that I had.
But looking back, I never regretted telling him how I felt. Indeed, there was nothing noble with unrequited love, but I guess, there’s just something special about saying your feelings out loud and *insert sappy quote here*. True enough, I have obsessed myself with sadness and cheese afterwards because up to this day, I never really found out why he never gave us a chance. But eventually, I stopped asking. As they say, time heals everything. And yes, it did.
“You were special.” A lot of people would tell me when they realize that I never had a boyfriend, but I laugh it off. People are just nice enough not to push my self esteem to a plummet, I think. But then again, when you look closely, true love does not actually come from other people, it must come from within. One thing I have learned, after a series of self-sulking and self-deprecating attempts, is to actually, be better, instead of having to question yourself why true love has never found its way to you.
I guess you were kind of expecting that I would end this note with a “and yes I found love” but no, I haven’t. But that doesn’t mean I stopped believing. I still have the same butterflies whenever I read books or watch movies and wish that it would happen to me too. I’ve seen lots of happy people; couples, not-so-official couples, same-sex couples. I’ve been surrounded by them everyday, and they just make me understand that a real relationship requires maturity, time, effort, and respect—not just because you wanted to be in it.
My roommate once told me, “You’ve got so much love to give.” Yes, and it hasn’t changed since. It will happen, one day, and not just because it’s almost Valentine’s day.
I wish you never sat across me, because since then I haven’t seen anything not to like about you, or maybe I involuntarily dismiss them inside my head. There hasn’t been a day when I didn’t wish that I would get to talk to you again, and ask you the things that you like, or the things that you hate, or what makes you happy. I wish you never sat across me and stared, because from then on, I have been stealing glances just to see how beautiful you are. I wish I could talk past through, with the help of a cup of coffee, but I know, eventually, when that moment comes I would just smile at you and then stare at my feet, with no words to say—
and it’s hard. It’s hard not to like you even though it was so wrong.
The dark chilly mornings where every color everywhere seemed to be a little de-saturated; I stretch out and realize I could take this day as my own, this morning, I could dream all I can, and at night, when the sun sets to sleep I look at the sky, pretends to grasp all the stardust from above, and dream, dream, dream.
And in the afternoons I go to dusty thrift shops, and there I witness my own piece of heaven, with oversized dresses that makes me love myself and my imperfections, and I grab my mom’s hand and excitedly wander. I gasp at the idea. And of course of vintage necklaces, and flat shoes, especially red ones. And of the bows and ribbons.
Yet if there is something I would be most grateful for, it would be the friends I never thought I would have—who would incessantly laugh at me for all the stupid things in the world, and cry, and be crazy and would be there through rough and not. For punchlines effortlessly flawlessly delivered. For targets met and job well done. For days when I go back to the apartment from the office, and there I find my younger brother patiently waiting to eat breakfast with me, and most of all, for the family that I would never trade for anything.
For these, thank You, thank You.
Always,
me.
Part of my struggle to mature is to leave the senseless rantings/writings I had about love then. But I couldn’t bring myself to click the delete button, being that I am a very sentimental person. So there, just leave this blog to die and if you want you can follow me in a new, less sappy one. Thank you very much!
Well, here it is. Cheers to the attempt to grow up. Ha ha!
