Le Batalieur

I thought I was more cynical, more cautious, and more critical when it comes to this thing.

That's how I want to see myself, anyway. After my former experience, I swore that I will not entertain any thoughts about garden flowers, porcelain teacups, curtained mornings, fresh parks, long lunches and late dinners involving a specific person less I am ready to tackle the bittersweet, worldwide battle of staying together my parents are participating for more than two decades. The tryst I had made my armor brittle, cold, and weak. I just wanted someone to fight for me in the same way I would fight to death for him. However, the one I expected to hold my hand at least until midway stroke me at the back and left me dying when we had not yet even entered the white, iron gates then. 

I suppose one would say that I should try again. After all, I only had one experience of an almost, and another of an unrequited infatuation (the possibility of entering the battle with me never occurred to him). They were not so bad, isn't it? I suppose I should test the waters again and fish for a funky piranha or something. Maybe I'll get a seahorse, if I am lucky. 

But not everyone in this world has that amazing speed of recovery. My college friends call me the "recap girl", because they said I was the only one in our Comm class who has the "ability" to capture the highlights and memorable moments of the past meetings. You see, for one to be an effective recapper, he has to relive the memoir a few times, maybe even more, depending on how real everything felt again. I am the type of person who reminisces the "what-happened's" too much and feels much deeply every time. I overthink and I travel back too often. These qualities make me the perfect person for the job.

Now, I heard somewhere that an ability can turn into a liability. I can't agree more. My recapping skills extraordinaire has rendered me to be clingy to the past. It is hard to move on. 

So where do you fit in this mess?

You just might be the one; the one who can help me forget. The one I can create new memories with without having the fear of resenting them. That person who can set me free. 

Because it's you, I might try again. 

A Hello to the Art of Farewells

Here I am, contemplating to write another letter. You do know what this means, right?

Letter = Good bye.

I've never been good at farewells; I never handle them well. I would always turn out to be the last one to get a grip and stop my tears from falling. For an instance, ever since I was a kid, I would bawl my eyes out whenever my Dad lets go of my tiny hand to hold his suitcase of dreams. I would watch him kiss my poor mother with sweet hopes, and turn to my sister and kiss her forehead, as if telling her to be a good girl and help my mother watch me. Finally, his eyes would meet with mine and the silence between us gives birth to the promise of his return. He then would lift me up, kiss me quickly on my wet cheek, let me down to the ground, and turn on his heel. Still, I would cry and shout for him to come back as he slowly fades into the busy airport terminal. It is always that way.

Always. So much that this attitude of saying goodbye to my dear father whenever he goes for work carried on to how I greet endings. One time, my second grade best friend announced during our homeroom time that she will be leaving next year for London. At that time, I was so elated for her that I even gave her a wallet as a good luck gift. I thought that she will just be on vacation, and come back in time for the next school year. It didn't sink in to my eight-year old self that there's that big possibility that I might never see her or bond with her again. My great delusion ended though. On the second week of third grade, I cried -- no wait, I thrashed out. It was then that I realized that she left for good.

So you see, the remaining part of my innocence about leaving was shattered at a very young age. One might think that by now, I should get used to it. By now, I should be just letting people come and go into my life easily because I am already used to goodbyes. After all, some would come back -- like my father. I should just be alright.

However, reality is not all should's and must's. Not all people are like my father. Not all living, breathing humans here on earth give their last hugs and kisses before they leave for their own adventure. Not all can possibly consider and think that the ones they left behind will have the heavier job of recovering from their lost presences. Not all people who leave will come back.

Trauma. That's what farewells caused me. "Forever" became a vague idea, and "always" meant sometimes. I fear the words and the act so much that I contracted  an illness that I am currently trying to cure myself from. This sickness victimizes people, myself included, into experiencing the unwanted anxiety of worrying and feeling sadness almost all the time. Furthermore, once a person afflicted with this trait gets close to another, this abnormal coping drives the sick person suddenly away from the other, filling his/her mind with irrational doubts.

Yes, I have the disease of having a very hard time trusting.

I push and pull away. I get sad when I'm too much happy. I get confused when everything's a-okay. I am constantly finding an imperfection on a person I would really, really like to know. I am that paranoid person who will say the magic words first when she feels that the other will leave her soon.

Because of my little idiosyncracy, I became the person I hated. I am the one who says goodbye...and never comes back in fear that she will be left behind by the person she is beginning to trust. I write letters to express my regret of not being able to stay. I write to remember the memories I shared with them and imagine the ones that I will miss out. Insane, right? Hear me out though.

I am trying to change-- to get myself cured. I realized that if I stubbornly live this way, my life would be an empty shell of love lost and bittersweet greetings. If I do not change, then I would never experience the beauty of taking risks. Plus, I agree with what John Green wrote in his latest book. I do believe now that even though we don't have the choice but to get hurt in this world, we do have the choice of who hurts us.

So hold on, okay? When you feel that I am withdrawing again, please pull me back into the life of colors. When you notice that I am too quiet, get me talking. When I begin to get mad at you for being clingy, soothe my feelings by letting me go a little. Give me the space I need, but never be too far away.

And if there will come a time that you will have to leave me, don't say a word. Never promise anything out loud. Just look me in the eye, and let the comforting silence assure my hypersensitive soul that you will return. That you will come back to me.

Date and Time: July 2012. 2:17 pm
Place: A table for two, Jollibee Katipunan
Weather: Raining.