A Send-Off

I met William through Karla. They were very good friends. Theirs was a friendship borne out of unfortunate circumstances. Short of saying, their friendship was forged in fire. I, on the other hand, was a friend by way of association. But nevertheless, he quickly endeared himself to me.

How could he not? He was smart, funny, good looking, and just about the sweetest thing. And he was the sweetest thing. He was as Karla describes him, “the perfect guy”. I couldn’t agree more. During the few times we went out with him, I would jokingly refer to him as my boyfriend. He never seemed to mind. In fact he would gamely go along with it, even though we both knew I could never be his type. I could only sigh and wish that William were straight.

So our loss was another team’s gain. There was nothing that could be done about that.
But yesterday, both teams experienced a loss. Being Black Saturday, it was made more black by William’s unexpected passing. It was meningitis, and it struck him down as quickly as it had come to him. No one saw it coming. And all of us who knew him, couldn’t understand what could be gained from it.

I couldn’t claim to be a close friend, out of respect for those who knew him really well. But he has touched my life, as he had countless others, and I could all honestly say that my life had been enriched because of that, no matter how brief it had been.
The whole Christian world celebrated Easter today. I woke up praying for some kind of Easter miracle—that somehow I would receive a text message saying William had miraculously survived, and he is well. Obviously, it was not to be.

This is the irony—No resurrection at a day we rejoice at its alleged possibility.

They say everything happens for a reason though we may not understand it at the time. No matter how much it hurts or doesn’t make any sense, all we can do is to trust that whatever has happened, it will serve a bigger purpose.

This is not a eulogy. I choose to believe that William is not dead. He is alive and forever young in our minds and hearts.

So goodnight and so long, William, sweet prince. You will be missed.

Martyrdom is Not Dead

Overheard a conversation between two girls by the bathroom door in a bar in Ortigas:

Girl 1: (emphatically)"I don't know why, but despite what he's done and what we've been through, I still want him back."
Girl 2: "Really?"

I wanted to storm out of my cubicle, cut into the conversation, give Girl 1 a pat on the back and say: "I can totally relate...I don't know either."

Loveology

(with thanks to Regina Spektor for the title)

They say every person that comes into your life brings you a lesson to learn. Ever since this thing with Hugh started, a question had always lingered—What lesson do I need to learn from him? What is he meant to teach me?

I knew from the beginning there would be regrets when this thing ends. And I’m not being negative when I anticipate things ending or having regrets. It’s just a fact that I was faced with at the onset. There were no illusions that this was going to last. We both knew it was a temporary arrangement. But there was the hope that it would be otherwise, and being temporary didn’t make it any less painful.

As I found myself in that dark place once again, I tried to rationalize things, if only to offer myself some kind of consolation. If I could put everything within the confines of logic, then maybe I can finally make sense of things and make it hurt less. No such luck in that department, though.

But thinking and re-thinking, picking at the details make you realize certain things. And for the past few weeks, I think I’ve finally gotten to a semblance of understanding why he had to come into my life, at this time and in this way.

He taught me about desire. And how powerful desire could be. It was exciting and intoxicating. I was drunk with him and him with me. But no real love can exist with desire alone, and that I had to learn.

Ironically, too, he taught me about commitment. I half jokingly told S., “He’s committed to being non-commital.” That cracked her up. It just made me more sad. Sad to realize that I wanted it with him, that suddenly it didn’t seem too scary a prospect.

He opened me up in ways that no one did. I dared and took risks. “I’ve never seen you give yourself like this to anyone,” my sister said. “It’s good,” she says, “you’re finally learning to open up.”

He taught me about patience. God, I’ve given him chances more than I’ve given to anyone, despite my better judgment. But even with all the chances, there was no redemption, only disappointment. I could simply chalk everything up to three things: he just wasn’t ready, or he’s unwilling, or worse, he’s just plain incapable. Whatever the reason is, it hardly matters anymore.

“Maybe you had to go through this and him because he is the preparation for something better,” says my sister. Her words of wisdom offers little comfort right now. But it is another lesson this whole experience with him is teaching me—it is a lesson of faith. Faith that the future holds something much better, the big pay-off for all the struggles I had to contend with. Maybe next time, it will be my turn to win.

But lastly and more importantly, he’s trying to teach me about forgiveness. Although, it is one, I have yet to fully learn. Forgiveness for him, and all the shit he’s pulled. Forgiveness for myself and for whatever this whole thing had been. Wasn’t it Oprah who said, “forgiveness is the letting go of the hope that things could have been better,”?

The Human Condition

It is a human condition: that love, especially if true, will always involve a letting go. – Secret History of the World by Jonathan Black

Isn’t it the greatest irony that we spend our days on a romantic quest, jump from one failed attempt on love to another in search of the elusive soulmate, and as soon as we find it, we realize it’s simply not working out and we have to let them go?

We tell ourselves that if we could just find The One, we would finally be happy and complete. But the happiness we find with them is fleeting, and we have not caused them happiness but misery, and the only recourse is to part from them so they may search what will make them truly happy. And the cycle never ends.

What is the point in all this searching? What is the point in feeling a sense of certainty that everything led you to this moment if the moment only ends too soon?

Why do you have to let go of the very thing that makes you happy? Why do we always have to choose?

But the point is, I did let go. And he came back.

A Strange Calm

I feel strange. I had expected to fall into a deep blue after things ended between us, but I can’t seem to find the appropriate emotions. I wanted to wallow in the memory of us (whatever little there was), and cry in regret for what could have been. Yet, I feel light. Maybe I did make the right decision, and peace is finally washing over me.

I admit I have the tendency to be a drama queen (my friends will disagree that it is more than just a tendency), but at least I am conscious of the fact that I do love the drama, and maybe a bit too much. In the words of D, an architect friend, “You are needlessly complicated.” He doesn’t mince words, does he? Bastard, but god bless him for his honesty.

Well, anyway, what I’m driving at is this: I think I’m missing out on the drama by not even feeling sad that it’s over. Yes, I did cry for two days, and yes, I did go back and forth every small detail—what you said, what you did, and even the very first time we met—in an attempt to understand what and where it went wrong, or if it even meant anything to you. A part of me didn’t want the drama and the hurt to end too soon. But in the end, I found that I didn’t care anymore. In the end, I realized, it was about me. It will always be about me and what will really make me happy. You won’t.

I’m not even sour graping. I know that for months on end, I have written how you affected me, how you moved me, and whatever I felt at that time couldn’t be more real. If I ached for you, it wasn’t just in my head. It was almost physical. So maybe this is what makes me feel strange, the fact I was able to let go of you just like that. I am learning. I am finally learning. Isn’t that wonderful?

You may have your reasons and motivations. And for all your declarations that you are happy where you are, I somehow sensed that you were trying to convince yourself more than you were convincing me. I knew your game and I was on to everything. I had been a willing accomplice more than you think I did, and I went into this whole thing with my eyes wide open. You, my dear, were just being a coward.

I do hope you find what it is that will make you truly happy. I earnestly wish you that. Don’t get me wrong. I do have regrets being with you. I knew that even before we started. But it would have been a bigger regret not being with you, even if it were only a really short while, I knew that too.

I could not say with finality that I will never want to be with you again. If one day, fate intervenes and finds us together again, I hope you’re ready by then. And I just hope I’m still there.

Finding Peace

“I always have a recurring dream of you where you’re always fighting. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose,” he said. I made a joke out of his dream. Then, I told him about mine, “we were playing tennis, and neither one was winning.” But it wasn’t the dream I wanted to tell him, I wanted to tell him about my recurring dream too, where he always seemed torn, but it was always me he chose. He chose me.

But I know that it’s really just a dream and I should have known better than to put stock in it. He said he’s happy where he is at his life now, but could not understand why he seems to do all of these things with me, yet he does them still. It’s not love, I know. Although sometimes I wish it were. Despite that knowledge, whenever he does what he does, I couldn’t help but fall for him, couldn’t help myself from falling apart.

We saw each other briefly, and not in the way I would have preferred. He seemed distant, dismissive. Maybe he, too, knew that we were reaching the end of the road, and couldn’t bring himself to face it. Even until the end, he couldn’t be man enough to own up to his part in this game we played.

“Can we be friends?” I asked. “Yes,” he chuckled. Did I sense bitterness? Maybe it’s just my imagination. It’s quite hard to tell when you’re ending things over the phone. And though I’m not sure if things will ever be entirely over between us, let me settle with the fact that for now it is. And just like I thought, it went down quietly, there were no hysterics, no crying, nothing of that sort. It was even…friendly.

He once said we had chemistry, and I believed him. It felt real, after all. It even convinced me he was the one. But chemistry can only take me so far with him, and it’s time to loosen my grip and begin to let go.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Yes, I will be, I thought.

I imagine sometimes that he reads this blog, and who knows, maybe he actually does. So let me imagine I am talking to him right now, as if he were here:

You asked me one time, if I would be willing to fight. I told you, “if he was worth it,” and last night as we talked, I wanted to tell you what I have always wanted to tell you since that conversation we had, I did fight. And I thought you were worth it.