I’m better with the written word. I think everyone who knows me will agree. It’s not that my oral skill is deficient; it’s that I tend to be emotional. On paper, I’m able to maintain the proper distance. My words and emotions are two entities. In an emotional moment, when I have to express myself orally, they get mixed up with each other, making a sort of unintelligible concoction. A friend once said I don’t explain enough, but I think it’s because I can’t. Not if I expect anyone to understand.
Now, I know hardly anyone reads my blog, and that’s fine. Still, I feel that it’s time to be more forthcoming about emotions, even with the written word. Even if it’s just me talking to myself.
I am in love.
No, I am not in love with love, as I suspect I may have been with the few who dared break my heart in the past. I know this because the object of my love and I, we’re one of the most mismatched pairs. We’re so different from each other that every misunderstanding is the beginning of the end. I am the lawyer in this partnership and yet, he’s the one who is able to fully express himself. He speaks eloquently while I listen, mesmerised, and the melody of my hometown floats about with every word. Sometimes, I venture an argument, but it’s usually only for laughs. Neither of us really believes I would take too much time to be convinced. Pretending I didn’t agree with him all along is only a formality. I had said yes even before he said anything.
I am in love with someone.
One thing about me is that I keep to myself most of the time. I know many will like me if I make an effort to socialise more often. I don’t mean romantically as matters like that know of no effort, but just in the context of “Did I enjoy talking to that babe? I sure did!” But that’s a kind of effort I don’t feel comfortable exerting. Not when I have my mother, siblings, close relatives, and a few close friends around, people who know how sparse my eyebrows really are and like me anyway. The aforementioned reason is why even the prospect of getting into a romantic relationship is a thought that never lingers. Sure, I would wonder about it after watching/reading/listening to a love story. And then, I would go back online to chat with my nephew about his new Lego set. The days are never empty.
But he saw me when I felt invisible. He corrected my memory about the circumstances of our meeting. The tiny details I’ve forgotten he recounted to me, where I sat first, where I sat next, whom I talked with. In truth, I saw him, too, but to harbour romantic notions at that time was, well, go back to the previous paragraph. Every man was always a romantic partner prospect until the end of the event. And then, it was back to reality, bitch. Except this one, this one tried to go beyond the event. For the safety of my heart, I had wished I’d never met him. But I think I had asked him once, “Where have you been all my life?”
I am in love with someone who loves me back. At least, I think he does. This post will stay here long after I’ve been proven right or wrong, so so much for the safety of my heart.
If you had told me a month ago that I would fall in love and you had given me a description of whom I would fall in love with — not the way he looks but his personality — I would have politely smiled, turned my back on you and quietly muttered, “What an idiot.” In my mind, I would soon move to my adoptive city and have plenty of fleeting love affairs with non-Filipinos. (Nothing against my compatriots, though.) Of course, the object of my affection and I reconnected before that happened. Suddenly, I am one-half of a couple, with all the accompanying future plans it carried.
I AM FREAKING IN LOVE WITH SOMEBODY! How did this happen? Why did I allow it to happen? **PANIC MODE**
My safe-heart sanctuary has been broken into. I’m no longer safe. I wanted to keep my options open, but a wise friend said that fear makes me conjure excuses. My friend and I are alike like that, which makes his pronouncement spot-on. I did use up one of those excuses — twice. Within a span of two weeks. I acted all high and mighty like I was saying something material, but really, I was only buying time trying to piece together a portion of my heart to keep it safe from him. If I get him to hate me, maybe that portion gets to remain unlocked. Maybe I could forget I ever loved him and act as I did before I even considered being with him. Maybe I could go back to being the future player-wannabe.
I don’t know how the story ends. It’s possible the story has ended and it will take a few days before I’m finally OK with it. The situation isn’t easily cured by answering, “Do you still love me?”, although the answer to that at my end is so unequivocal that it might border on the pathetic. As with all things in my life, I wonder if it’s worth fixing, but this is hypothetical because I’ve already decided that the chance I got was too short to be called a real chance.
At the end of the day, there’s only one truth that matters: