Every time I attempt to begin spilling the contents of my head and my heart, I feel my body resisting, my brain blocking the flow - this is writer’s block.
So it is 3:38 in the morning, left over cheesecake and my Twinings Chamomile tea on my cluttered desk. I have just taken a bath after waking up from a fitful sleep. My calendar for the week is full and I started Monday by working from 8 in the morning till 12 mn.
Mind you, my afterhours were all volunteer work, a far cry from the past lives I’ve led: first as an inverted socialite who hid behind corners in clubs and preferred smoking in the pavement with beer in hand while contemplating life’s mysteries with likeminded souls, then to being the reclusive homemaker who would scrub the bathroom floor till midnight or until I am satisfied, smoking in the laundry area while crying over lost loves or thinking more about life’s mysteries or talking to friends abroad over the phone while being discontent over my plight in the locality. So now, life is a lot different. I have since given up the stick and life has been good: I no longer have the luxury of time to languish over my drama.
But it is 3:45 in the morning, and I am acutely aware that my ex soulmate is still in town. I think that romance is my drug and infatuation my high. He will be leaving anytime soon, and it will have been three years since we last saw each other.
Three years ago, we watched a cheesy Filipino horror movie with my cousin who’s his neighborhood buddy. That wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t see my cousin everyday at school. He’s the good uncle who brings his sister’s son to class. Before I’d learned that ex soulmate was in town, I saw this cousin walking down the former’s street… I had a feeling the one who left me has arrived.
I think it is just female pride and force of habit that holds me back from moving on. A couple of times since I found out, I’ve been resisting the urge to find a way to corner him - in attempts to see him spill his guts, I don’t know. According to Greg Behrendt, he’s just not that into me. And I accept that. No matter how I try to convince myself (the me who adhere’s to Greg’s principle) that I know him, ex soulmate, enough to say that it’s his pride that holding him back from cruising past my street, that he has accepted that we have burned bridges and that he is no longer willing to try it out again to me, and even to make amends, it is still stubborn, foolish hope that wakes me up at 3:33 in the morning, wondering if at this point until I am sure that he has left Philippine shores, wondering if we will at least bump into each other, lock eyes after all these time.
To me, there is no use in consoling myself with “I should just be thankful that we didn’t end up together because…” I’ve tried that and it didn’t work. Perhaps the viral Dr. Seuss quote would be more apt: “Don’t cry because it’s over, smile because it happened.” Still sounds sad to me.
He was the closest, CLOSEST, I had to true love. And if I were true to my own side of this so called love, I would bless him as I let him go as I’d always had. For all my mistakes in love in the past, the only mistake I’m committing in this love is holding on, hoping on.
Believe me, I’ve tried getting over him by going out with others. I only felt cheap that way. Should I be cursed to this infatuation - I ask the Lord to bring the good out of the pain.
It’s been exactly 3 years since 2009, the last time we saw each other. The last time we’d promised each other that the next time we’d see each other we would be together.
Twinings, kick in. It’s 4:05 in the morning. Good night.