You once said that you are becoming a man-hater. You, however excluded me among those who haunted you. Well, don't. For I am like them too. Their desire is my desire. I just don't state my proposals openly. Unfortunately, I was drawn too close that I started to fall in love with you. Sorry for you trusted me and I have broken it. I just don't know what to do. Day by day everyone, especially you begins to notice my affection and it made me feel uncomfortable. I promise that soon, I will confront you about my feelings. I will confront you when the time is too late to make another move.
- March, 1999 The Third Insomniac's Pastime
---
Ours is a puppy love story.
She is one of the most gorgeous ladies in class that year. A mestiza from a city down south, she steals men's hearts with her long flowing hair and slender body. Her delicate hands are like poison whose potency leaves a person blindly assured of her undying affection. Her almond eyes whose stares melt anyone it gazes upon, leaves an impression of vulnerability. She is an angel to many, and her soft voice is like music unheard before. Its melody rouses everything that is good in one's heart.
I do not recall how we were introduced. All I remember is that she is not your average lady whose life revolves around boys, shopping, and everything kikay that permeated during our time. She is a lover of life and a lady of high culture. Much as she is pushed aside by those who envy her, those who appreciates her presence worship the very earth she walked.
We become close not because of the way she looks, but because of the way she understands me. Coming from a school, whose values and norms were far old-fashioned from those graduating from the exclusive ones made adjustments for me a daunting task. Like her, I was an outsider. While many others find my presence strange, she embraced me like one of her own. I am her protector and in return, she is my shock absorber.
Months pass, her vulnerability reveals itself through her weak academic performance and a long distance relationship that is getting nowhere. Others in class tried to get her attention by professing their love with flowers in one hand and with disgustingly expensive chocolates in another. She turns them down and instead seeks solace with friends, as she sorts out her life during those turbulent months of our freshman year.
Things between us would have remained platonic, if not for her closeness that tips the balance of emotions absorbed by my juvenile heart.
As she becomes more vulnerable, I become more protective. I am intent on saving her sanity that in the end I traded mine for hers. She became my infatuation, my source of happiness and the reason of my sleeplessness.
The only thing missing is my confession.
However, I know that I have no chance if I decide to take a risk and expose my emotions. She is an angel, and I am just a mere mortal whose borrowed immortality is attributed to her presence. I would have kept my emotions only if not for the lingering feeling that my love should be known.
And so I did confess my emotions at a time when there's no chance I can get a heartwarming reply.
---
It was late afternoon, the sun casts a long lonely shadow over the skyscrapers in Ortigas. We were strolling around Shang-ri La Plaza for a simple hang out when I decided to stop by an overlooking deck near the elevator and tell her my feelings.
I could not remember how the words fell into places. I knew I was stuttering for sure because I am never comfortable with confrontations. I tried to shield us from passing people for I know that their presence would only make a chicken out of me. My words were loaded with emotions, but such ammo was not enough to dent even the surface of her heart.
My words were a declaration of surrender and that afternoon, I got my clearest reply.
"I wish us to remain friends." she utters while both our heads leaned over the stainless railings looking at the shoppers below.
"I understand. That is why I confessed it to you, now that I'm sure that everything will be forgotten when summer begins."
---
It was the first and last time I was turned down by someone. There were others who came after, but never did I open my heart like what I did for her. In my successive attempts, underground operations became my battle manual and ambiguity of gestures became my strongest tactic.
Years passed, I entered relationships only to fail them after. Meanwhile, I never learned to express my emotions out of fear of being rejected. The memory of being turned down probed itself deep into my psyche that the only way I let someone open me is through some sensual maneuverings.
This is my story.
Had it not for a friend who's heart got a severe beating this evening, I would not recall this memory and remember how it is to risk loving, only to lose that person in the end.
We have no control over someone's emotion, just the way someone has no control over the matters of our heart.
The girl and I became friends after the confession until both of us graduated from college. Sadly, we never achieved such degree of closeness again nor we talked about my misguided infatuation one early summer of our first year in college. Ah, the price of loving someone.
All's Fair in Love and War.
- March, 1999 The Third Insomniac's Pastime
---
Ours is a puppy love story.
She is one of the most gorgeous ladies in class that year. A mestiza from a city down south, she steals men's hearts with her long flowing hair and slender body. Her delicate hands are like poison whose potency leaves a person blindly assured of her undying affection. Her almond eyes whose stares melt anyone it gazes upon, leaves an impression of vulnerability. She is an angel to many, and her soft voice is like music unheard before. Its melody rouses everything that is good in one's heart.
I do not recall how we were introduced. All I remember is that she is not your average lady whose life revolves around boys, shopping, and everything kikay that permeated during our time. She is a lover of life and a lady of high culture. Much as she is pushed aside by those who envy her, those who appreciates her presence worship the very earth she walked.
We become close not because of the way she looks, but because of the way she understands me. Coming from a school, whose values and norms were far old-fashioned from those graduating from the exclusive ones made adjustments for me a daunting task. Like her, I was an outsider. While many others find my presence strange, she embraced me like one of her own. I am her protector and in return, she is my shock absorber.
Months pass, her vulnerability reveals itself through her weak academic performance and a long distance relationship that is getting nowhere. Others in class tried to get her attention by professing their love with flowers in one hand and with disgustingly expensive chocolates in another. She turns them down and instead seeks solace with friends, as she sorts out her life during those turbulent months of our freshman year.
Things between us would have remained platonic, if not for her closeness that tips the balance of emotions absorbed by my juvenile heart.
As she becomes more vulnerable, I become more protective. I am intent on saving her sanity that in the end I traded mine for hers. She became my infatuation, my source of happiness and the reason of my sleeplessness.
The only thing missing is my confession.
However, I know that I have no chance if I decide to take a risk and expose my emotions. She is an angel, and I am just a mere mortal whose borrowed immortality is attributed to her presence. I would have kept my emotions only if not for the lingering feeling that my love should be known.
And so I did confess my emotions at a time when there's no chance I can get a heartwarming reply.
---
It was late afternoon, the sun casts a long lonely shadow over the skyscrapers in Ortigas. We were strolling around Shang-ri La Plaza for a simple hang out when I decided to stop by an overlooking deck near the elevator and tell her my feelings.
I could not remember how the words fell into places. I knew I was stuttering for sure because I am never comfortable with confrontations. I tried to shield us from passing people for I know that their presence would only make a chicken out of me. My words were loaded with emotions, but such ammo was not enough to dent even the surface of her heart.
My words were a declaration of surrender and that afternoon, I got my clearest reply.
"I wish us to remain friends." she utters while both our heads leaned over the stainless railings looking at the shoppers below.
"I understand. That is why I confessed it to you, now that I'm sure that everything will be forgotten when summer begins."
---
It was the first and last time I was turned down by someone. There were others who came after, but never did I open my heart like what I did for her. In my successive attempts, underground operations became my battle manual and ambiguity of gestures became my strongest tactic.
Years passed, I entered relationships only to fail them after. Meanwhile, I never learned to express my emotions out of fear of being rejected. The memory of being turned down probed itself deep into my psyche that the only way I let someone open me is through some sensual maneuverings.
This is my story.
Had it not for a friend who's heart got a severe beating this evening, I would not recall this memory and remember how it is to risk loving, only to lose that person in the end.
We have no control over someone's emotion, just the way someone has no control over the matters of our heart.
The girl and I became friends after the confession until both of us graduated from college. Sadly, we never achieved such degree of closeness again nor we talked about my misguided infatuation one early summer of our first year in college. Ah, the price of loving someone.
All's Fair in Love and War.
No comments:
Post a Comment