It's been more than two years since you knew how I feel for you. I hope you know that I am still waiting for your response until now. Even if it gets harder every day. Even if it seems you already forgot about me.

I love you, and I don't want you to go down in my memories as a heartless human being who doesn't know how to care about other people's feelings. I still believe you are not that kind of person.

When the time comes that I'd look back on today and you'll be just another part of my history, I would like to feel the radiance of your smile and the electricity brought about by your long, slender fingers brushing ever so slightly against my skin. I would like to take in your scent that still lingers in the air. I would like to wrap myself with the warmth and masculinity of your voice. I would like to laugh heartily with you at the stories we share and create weird inside jokes. I would like to romance the thought that in a world where we are being trained to be busy with matters of consequence, time stopped as I was granted the honor of your life shortly intersecting with mine.

Even in my memory, I want to still be in love with you.

There is always that one question that goes unanswered whenever I think about what happened to us. We used to be friends, we used to be happy, and we used to be the ones, maybe even the only ones who believed in each other when the going gets tough. When I talk to you, my heart pumps out renewed strength that courses through my entire body, making me believe I can do anything.

This is us now: not talking, not catching up, no nothing. We have reduced each other from being friends into awkward strangers--just one of the names that sporadically show up on our Facebook news feeds and contact numbers on our phonebooks that neither of us even bother to dial.

----------------

I know we share a lot of interests: we both like a great chunk of music's spectrum, we both like 30 Seconds to Mars and Oasis, you are the only other person I actually know that likes Kasabian, we both enjoy going up a mountain, we both like Chuck... The list goes on.

I admit that you are the reason why I liked the last aforementioned two, because you seem to really enjoy them. It is my way of widening a part of my world so that it overlaps more with yours. I experienced and greatly enjoyed going on a hike up a mountain and the taste of victory upon reaching the summit and viewing the city that surrounds it. I also took pride in being able to sleep in a tent while heavy rains and/or strong gusts of winds threatens to topple it down, and standing on God-given view decks. I fell in love with Chuck Bartowski, who, incidentally shares one of your names. I remember very distinctly that you have the Buy More logo as your display photo when we became friends on Facebook. In a lot of ways I saw myself in him: a guy working a low-paying job who fell in love with someone way out of his league. It's the switched-gender version of you and me.

I went to a hike up Mt Manabu last weekend. I can’t help but remember you every time I walk through the woods. The memories of you are strongest when we talk about each other’s love lives during socials. When that topic comes up I just look up to the starry sky, for that is the only part of the universe where we are together. My heart then utters a prayer that you’ll be sitting in the grass beside me the next time I go on a climb.

But that is the next thing to impossible. I love you so much and I really want to be with you in becoming one with nature, but I am afraid to say this to you because there have been one too many times that you turned me down. Did you know that I intended to invite you on that particular climb? I really was, but then a lot of memories surged back: Paskuhan 2010, the week before you enter law school, when The Avengers was showing in theatres, and the Kjwan gig just recently—different occasions that I wanted to be with no one else but you. I thought that no matter how many reasons I present for you to join me, your reasons to decline are far greater; although I feel you only have one—and that is because I am the one who invited you.

Well, who am I to you anyway? Why would you even trust yourself to someone who loves you so much that (maybe) it reached a certain level of creepy?

Maybe this is all we will ever be. I just cannot grasp the fact that someone who even used to ask me how to court a girl will just drift away like that. I cannot help but hate myself, and those times that I told you over and over that I love you are the greatest mistakes of my life. We would’ve been friends until now. I wish I just settled to just being your friend, no matter how much my heart yearns for more, and no matter how much pain I undergo every time you talk about those girls. Those girls. Not just one girl, but three of them. Three! And none of them was me. Why would I even think I’d stand a chance?

Maybe if I just settled with being your friend, I would’ve had my chance at showing you how happy you would be if you choose to be with me instead. Or if not, burying these feelings in oblivion would’ve been easier. Maybe I would’ve grown callous of the pain that I just start treating you as a friend. I just didn’t realize that the way you’re drifting apart from me now would be a thousand times more painful.

I thought the pain would be over if I tell you how I feel about you. Instead I was introduced to a higher level of torment: the one where you have said everything you need to say, to the point where you turn your soul inside out to release the truth that smothers you… and then you receive no answer. Not even a goddamn recognition. Not one fucking word. I have experienced rejection a lot of times before, but the most painful is where you have said everything that there is nothing else left to say, but still you are left hanging and you start to wonder if what you gave will ever be enough.

That’s just so heartless of you to not value other people’s feelings. It’s alright if you don’t consider me as a friend anymore. I just hope you see me as another person standing at the same level as you are. I am still someone who expects an answer when they ask a question. By the way you’re treating me right now, it is as if you are trying to tell me that falling in love with you is a sin and this excruciating pain is the price I have to pay.

But like what I said at the earlier part of this letter, I still believe that you are not that kind of person. I still believe you have a reason why you are doing this.

I am afraid that this love I feel for you will be replaced by hatred in the future. I fear that I will realize that the love I offered and hoped you will reciprocate is nothing but an idol I set up for myself.

I really, really love you.

---------------

There is always that one question that goes unanswered whenever I think about what happened to us.

Is this what I deserve for having the strength, just for once, to fall in love with total abandon?

A Writer Once Loved

I recently came across a short free verse poem on Tumblr about someone who once dated a writer. Being a writer, or at least that's what I proclaim myself to be, I felt the need to write a response.

And because I am a lonely soul, I have added my sad twist to the story. After all, the poem said "I once dated a writer."

I decided to take on a male's voice because it seems more fitting to me that way.

This writer once loved

but it didn’t work out.

I forgot our anniversary

and she got mad at me.

i do not remember the date,

But i remember the way

she smiled that day

As she instantly held captive

Of my soul.

I forgot to take the trash,

that contains the olives

that she took out from her pizza;

And starch her uniforms

That still smell faintly

Of her favourite perfume.

I may forget to do the laundry

But never the way

She looked in her chiffon dress...

That dances freely

As she lingers in my memory...

Fleeting.

Wanting to be forgotten.

Writers are indeed forgetful.

But we remember the little things

and it's heartbreaking

because rarely

do we get appreciated

for this gift.

Real-Life Unfriending

How do you delete someone from your life?

She was the first friend you had in college. You had nicknames for each other, enrolled the same subjects, had the same schedule, and always had lunch together. She knew your deepest desires and a lot of things you haven't told other people. She knew the things that irk you, your fears, your scheduled day of fasting. You knew her route going home depending on the weather, her abnormal shoe size, and what she had for dinner the night before. You even considered her as your best friend. She was your sister.

How do you select the memories and throw them into the recycle bin?

That moment when she introduced you to the person that will ultimately change your life. You were swept, and he had you at a salute and a slight raise of an eyebrow. You let that whirlwind that caught your heart go with the shrug of your shoulders and a knowing pout on the face. She likes him and this feeling is a violation of the unwritten girl code.

How do you uninstall the feelings that became part of your operating system?

That slight but cheery annoyance when he calls your attention for nothing and the rush of blood to the cheeks as he smiles triumphantly when you glare back at him. His confidence as he walks across the room that always leaves you mesmerized. The uneasy yet satisfied feeling that it seemed he sees no one else but you. The inward smirk brought about by his lame pick-up lines, after which your shoes felt like they grew wings that let you soar happily with the clouds. That feeling when the pick-up lines that make you barf with disgust suddenly works on you. The scent of his jacket and the electricity as his skin brushes against yours, the longing feeling that makes you willing to give anything just to be able to feel them again. The sound of his voice, the look on his face, and the juxtaposition of his body to yours that Oasis’ Wonderwall will always remind you of.

How do you get rid of the virus that destroyed a friendship?

The look on her face that accuses betrayal as he intently chose you to be the one to do him a favor. Jealousy so thick you can cut it with a knife. The tension that fills the air when the three of you were at the same place at a particular moment and the awkward guilt that you know you shouldn’t feel, because the only thing you did was to fall in love with someone who shows the same to you. That guilty feeling you still felt, held, nursed—hoping it will go away, because movies tell us that friends are more important than the person you love… even when you knew it was the one you have waited for. That single truth that you forgot: real friends will let you have both.

How do you Restart relationships?

How do I tell him that I have loved him all along, even when in silence, even during the time that she explicitly told me that it will crush her if he and I end up together? How do I tell her that I miss the old friendship we shared, when there were no competition on who is he sending an IM to first? How do I tell him that I still have the doodles that we drew when we were trying to prove each other that lefties are good artists? How do I tell her that drawing me away from him only made me love him more? How do I tell him that I wrote letters to him every single day because I miss him so much? How do I tell her that I have already made my choice and it was him? How do I tell him the fact that I have already liked every aspect of his soul and that I want to instill my tag location on his heart for always?

How do we shut the world down together and reboot our operating systems—no programs installed, no error messages, no viruses, and no expired licenses for fake software, just the start button and the recycle bin to throw the bad memories away?

Originally written March 2012. Amidst the chaos in me.

It's been a while.

I miss you.

I miss everything. I miss your eyes, your scent that used to play around my nose every time you come near me--like the uninvited thoughts of me wanting to kiss you that very moment. I miss your hands, your long, slender fingers that you always used to run through your hair. I miss your face that was especially made by the hand of God. I miss the string quartet that always plays on the back of my mind every time you're near me. I miss the songs that we used to talk about. I miss your voice accompanied by a thousand singing angels every time you speak. I miss your laugh, a low chuckle designed for quite a reserved person that you are. I miss your smile especially when you do it for me--the single, most effortless act you can do to render me incapable of feeling nothing but sole adoration towards you.

I hate you.

I hate your eyes that you direct towards people who don't care about you. I hate that even through your peripheral vision you can't seem to see that I am here looking at you the way you look toward the girls you like. I hate the insecurity that this brings, the feeling that I will never be good enough--and it creeps through me like the way your scent used to linger around my senses: unwelcome but nevertheless coming through, like a shot of poison that is slowly killing me. I hate the songs that we used to talk about and how I would instantly be reminded of you the moment I hear them play. I hate how I would sometimes even hear your voice at the back of my head singing those songs and how I would secretly smile to myself, but let that smile instantly fade away because I know i am supposed to forget it. I am supposed to forget you. I hate your thoughts that speak of nothing but words that you know will hurt me. I hate that I feel you have done all those things intentionally. Most of all, I hate how I know you will treat this letter as nothing but an awkward confession of love and rage from someone you couldn't care less about.

I hate the fact that I am now in the process of convincing myself that I am supposed hate you and everything that reminds me of you because it's the only way that I know to finally get over how I feel.

I want you.

I want you to tell me that everything's okay, that all those evil theories I have constructed in my mind from those years of infatuation and hatred swinging back and forth are not true. I want you to show me that you are not a bad person, that you are still the one that knocked me off my feet the moment you first smiled at me and did a mock salute as a gesture of "hey, nice to meet you". I want you to tell me the truth, no matter how hurtful you think it would be. I know I can get through it someday.

I love you.

I just know that I love you. Still. Always. I still love you because it was so easy for me to write the first part of this letter and how hard it is to write the second one. I still hope and wait for the possibility of the third part of this letter coming true. I love you because even after I was clearly hurt, the hope that you will find someone that will make you happy triumphs over the negative feelings I have towards you. I love you and I don't want you to push the people that care for you away, because I don't want you to be alone.

I love you so much that it has come to the point where I don't feel anything anymore. I love you so much that I am starting to doubt the power of the very feeling that I have and whether it really exists. I love you so much that I know that what I have will never be enough. Maybe all unrequited love will somehow come to this, where the person simply gets tired of showing affection to someone who doesn't feel the same. Maybe the person did not really grow tired--she had just become aware of the fact that the more she gives, the more it will hurt in the end. I am not really sure what happened in this case; maybe both. And I fear the day that I'll start to forget you; because I know that all I have now of the love I used to treasure are the memories that time is slowly evanescing away.

Yes, I'm Hardcore Like That

Normally, a contractual employee's job would be terminated on the day stated on the papers s/he signed. In my case, it would be on the sixth month. I started on the 21st of June, and my contract was supposed to end on the 21st of this month. But today, the 14th of December, the universe conspired and I broke the rule--I signed a new contract that makes me a permanent employee.

Yes, I'm hardcore like that because my God is awesome like that.

I didn't undergo the typical probationary period that temp-to-perm employees would normally undergo, in the case of my other officemates, an additional 3 months. And I signed my regularization contract even BEFORE MY FREAKIN' REVALIDA.

When my revalida is supposed to be the measurement of what I have done for the company and what I could still offer (still have to do it fo'sho though).

Today I also got my health card, which means I now have the liberty to get sick. Been holding that back for too long now. Kidding.

Yay?

 

 

Why, this is too much awesome in a day that the universe should have a counter-attack. On the day that I signed my regularization papers, I got a sh/tload of escalations. Which made me think that they are thinking that the regularization isn't worth it after all.

My boss says that sh/t happens, and this is one of those sh/t days. But this is just too much. I can't use my global employee of the quarter reputation for this--that reputation in fact makes it harder. That award, and all of the expectations that come along with it made this job harder. This day, my 99% accuracy is now a little less than 99%.

And damn, my real life in this job is only getting started.

This could have been one of those good days but it wasn't. Funny how such failures can ruin a supposedly great day. Or even a week, maybe.

At least the countdown for the 12 days of Christmas is already on it's way.