The One That Got Away

Its been over a year since my last real, functioning relationship. That was J, a handsome Mexican-American I met when his company (our client) sent him to help us out with operations. He stayed in the Philippines for a little over 2 months. We were together for 4 months and 23 days until the distance (he lives in Tucson, AZ) finally drove us apart.

We had a beautiful time together. I was happiest with him. Even until now, nobody has given me that much happiness. Letting go of him was an ordeal that I almost didn't live through. Here are some posts from my old blog in MySpace [http://blog.myspace.com/irisgodd3ss] that I wrote as I was going through that painful time…

I've done so much thinking these past few days, more than I care to admit. I stopped dwelling on the good memories. Instead, I started really seeing the bad. How it started to go wrong. How he became the stranger that he is now. How he stopped caring about me.

There have been so many conflicting emotions for the past 11 days. I started out being numb and in a way, it was a comfort. I didn't cry. I couldn't cry. I prayed so hard that it will stay that way. But the numbness melted away and there was anger. Countless times I lashed out at him, at myself, at anybody who even dared mention his name. That, in a way, felt good too but it didn't last.

Then there was pain. It was constantly asking myself "why?". It was constantly getting the urge to call him just to hear his voice. It was constantly having to hear from him that he still loves me and misses me. The tears were endless, the slideshow of memories even more so. It was just so…painful.

The pain is still there every waking moment, even on the moments when I hover between consciousness and slumber. But there is also acceptance and clarity. I have stopped viewing the whole thing through rose-colored glasses. The magic is gone. Memories are just memories and there's no turning back. Reality bites but to deny it is foolish.

I look back and I'm not sorry it's over. I am thankful it happened, thankful that I had that Perfect Time with my Perfect Man. I have no regrets, really. We were happy. But things change and people change and I am learning to live with that.

There is still that sense of loss when I think about him. Sometimes the sadness is so great that I just hit rock bottom again. But each time I break through the surface gasping for air and I am just a little bit stronger, just a little bit wiser. Its not much but its a start.

I won't deny that my heart still belongs to him. There will be others but it probably won't be the same. For now, I'm done with love. And I'm done with him. [Breaking The Silence, May 29, 2006 ] 

It's official. I hate airports, specifically the Departure Area. Somehow, it's synonymous to loss, pain and heartbreak. You stand there and look around and you see people saying goodbye to family, friends and lovers. There are tears, hugs, kisses, promises to keep in touch and well wishes. It's probably the saddest place in the world.

I remember as a child I used to spend summer breaks in Manila with family. I remember Mum taking me and my sister to the airport and we'd cry the whole time until we had to board. It was just for a few weeks but it was still so sad. When summer was over, we'd cry with our cousins because we won't be seeing them for another year.

I remember when my parent's separation was final and my dad flew to Manila to start over. Daddy was going away and we couldn't stop hugging him. I remember he cried and said he loved us and he was sorry. I remember when my favorite aunt left to work in London and the entire family flocked to the airport to see her off, the endless rounds of hugs and the promises to send pictures and keep everyone updated which hardly ever happens nowadays.

I remember seeing N off to the airport everytime his work here was done and it was time to go back home to Manila, home to where his real goddess is. I settled for a hug and a kiss and a promise to see him when he gets back, while I fought back the tears.

Most of all, I remember J leaving. I remember how we held each other tight in the car on the way to the airport. I remember that even with all the frenzy of making sure all his things were in order, he still managed to hold me close. I remember how freely the tears flowed and how I didn't care what people thought. I remember how he fought back the tears because he is a man after all but at the very last moment he couldn't hold them back. I remember how his arms felt around me and how we held each other close. I remember his scent and how he whispered over and over that he loves me and that he'll be back for me. I remember that one last magical kiss. I remember getting into the car and watching him while it drove away until I couldn't see him anymore. If I had known that I was never going to hold him or kiss him or see him again, I would've held him tighter and kissed him deeper. I never would've let go.

Is there a place sadder than an airport's departure area? I don't think so. It's a place for goodbyes. It's a place where dreams end and reality begins. It's a place where love gets left behind, never to be found again. [Airports, May 30, 2006]

 You don't know how I hoped and prayed that you'll come back but you chose to break my heart all over again. You don't know what you turned your back on but it seems that you have forgotten all that we once were and all that we've been through together. You don't know how much you've hurt me these past few months when you promised me that you never will. You don't know what its like to try to live again when the ghosts of dead promises linger on. You don't know what its like holding my head up high while people looked at me with pity and talked about how I was just your little Philippine fling behind my back.

You don't know how it is to love somebody so completely that it consumes you and that person won't love you back. You don't know the sadness that comes with clarity. You don't know the tears behind the words each time we talk while I work hard to pretend that everything's alright. You don't know how I push my body to the limit each day to keep myself busy just so I don't spend any time pining after you.

You don't know how I know that I will never love anyone as much as I love you. You don't know how I can't be with anyone else because I keep finding faults, simply because they're not you, my perfect man, my pseudo-god. You don't know how hard I am working to find my way to where you are, no matter how impossible it is, just to see you again.

You don't know what happened why I became that stupid, pathetic person you turned your back on in a snap. You don't know the secret that changed me that I keep to myself no matter how heavy it is because if you knew, it would break your heart. You don't know how I'm protecting you from that pain so I suffer in silence on my own.

You don't know that I've been taking all the blame for what happened to us just so no one will think badly of you. You don't know that, cliched as it may sound, that your happiness means more to me than my own.

You don't know how I love you. But maybe, just maybe, one day you will understand. [Usted No Sabe, August 01, 2006]

 The thing I've been dreading has come at last. He has met somebody that he wants to be with. It was inevitable and I have been expecting it to some degree but it still came as a shock.

Surprisingly, the world did not end. I did not spontaneously combust and a meteor didn't wipe out the entire human race. And I didn't cry, not a single tear. It was almost painless. There was just this gaping hole in my heart and I just felt so empty, so hollow. The sadness is exquisite but there's also the peace of knowing that I can now move on too without guilt and without holding anything back.

It makes me proud that he was man enough to tell me himself instead of waiting for me to hear it elsewhere. He kept his promise and I am thankful. J is a good man and that at least explains why I loved him so much. He deserves someone who can make him happy. From what he told me about her, I'm a little apprehensive (and not because I'm being the psycho ex-girlfriend!) but I think he's old enough to figure things out on his own. Instinctively, I wanted to go over there (like I can!) and beat her up. But I'm tired of being evil and so now I'm just being supportive. Besides, she's twice my size (ok, so I'm not ready to be completely nice, big deal!).

As for me, the guy I kinda liked who I thought disappeared just miraculously reappeared with a perfectly plausible excuse. I think there might be something good here. We'll just have to wait and see.

I've been given an extra day off, which I totally deserve considering the crap they've been putting us through at work. I'm spending a weekend in a beach to catch some ME time in the middle of the typhoon season and I'm so excited. I initially planned on heading to Boracay but I decided to go somewhere more affordable, maybe Bohol or Malapasqua, so I can save up to go to Thailand or Australia on my birthday. I figure its time for me to focus on my wanderlust instead of the other kind of lust. It never brings me any good. Not that I'm complaining.

I'm babbling. I know, I need to get a life. I'm working on it. [Wander Girl, October 04, 2006]

 So you wonder why it means a lot to me to be friends with you, after all that's been said and done. Its because at one time not so long ago, I loved you with all my heart and even when its over, even when I've moved on, even when you've moved on, you will always be a part of me.

So you wonder why I care if you do things out of character, if you make decisions worthy of a lesser man. I care because you are my friend and because you have done so much for me.

So you wonder why I'm disappointed. We hated this very thing back in the days then you suddenly tell me you've always wanted to do it and now I find myself wondering what else had been a lie. I am disappointed because I know you are a thousand times better than that. Most of all, because you are a good person and I would hate to see that goodness wasted.

So you wonder why I bother. I wonder too. Maybe its because I appreciate the short time we were together more than any other. Maybe its my way of repaying you for everything you've ever done for me. Maybe I'm just trying to make a difference. But what I do know is: you would've done the same for me. [Of Weed and Cigarettes, November 01, 2006]

He is still with the girl that he told me about, S. She's a beautiful person. I don't know if they've kicked the weed habit. That's their business. One time, a couple of months ago, she messaged me out of nowhere asking me for advice because she suspected him of cheating on her with one of his girl friends. I, being the model ex-girlfriend, pacified her as best as I could. I'm glad to say they're happy and still going strong. We're all friends, and we keep in touch. They know I'm the biggest supporter of their relationship.

Sometimes, when I think about him and look back to how we were, I feel a sadness that's bitter-sweet. Its not pleasant, but its not unpleasant either. But that's very rare nowadays. I did love him, in the purest sense, without a reason or an agenda, and I know a little part of me will always love him. He could've been that one great love that old folks refer to, the one that always gets away. I don't know for sure. I like to think there's no limit in the number of times we can fall in love. I know I'm falling again. But that, my friends, is another story.

Wannabe

I want to be a writer. It just hit me one night. I could literally hear the "ting" of the light bulb turning on in my head, like one of those Looney Tune cartoons.

Its about time, too. I was beginning to think I was a lazy, no-good, directionless swine. I've been wondering about my lack of enthusiasm for work, any work. I don't hate my job, but I don't like it either. I'm grateful for my job, I really am. Its a pretty good job, especially since I will never have to take calls again for the rest of my life, and can go petiks for hours. It pays well, too. I get to pay bills, go on trips, go on binges, buy silly overpriced bikinis and coffee, and get myself pampered from head to toe in spas, so I can't complain.

But its not a vocation. I can't honestly say that its my calling to work in Quality Assurance in a call center. (Come to think of it, I don't know if working for a call center is a calling for anybody, but that's beside the point.) I literally have to drag my ass off to work everyday (or night), and I totally refuse to spend one minute more in the office than I absolutely have to (except when I'm on chika mode, but again, that's beside the point). If it weren't for my friends, and for my fat paycheck, I would've quit a long time ago (I actually tried. Twice.). But, the biggest reason why I'm still here is the fact that I don't really know or want anything else. I'm not particularly good at anything. I graduated with a degree in IT and promptly forgot everything I learned within a week. In fact, the only things I know I'm good at are speaking fluent English without an accent, and seducing inappropriate men. Somebody told me I should do something that I was passionate about, but I didn't have a passion for anything, except for travel (too short to be a flight attendant), the beach (I can't fish!), men, and ugh, sex. So, short of becoming a commercial sex worker, I didn't really have much of a choice, hence, the high-powered (gag!) call center career. And I am so unhappy!

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. I wrote poetry as a child. As a teenager, I kept diaries so controversial that my mother read bits and pieces of my writing while flogging me with a broom handle. In college, I wrote in my journals, and for the past couple of years, I've been blogging. I've written passionate pieces about love, pain, tears, and heartbreak. I've written about broken dreams and broken promises. I've written about faith, hope, and my search for happy endings. I bare my soul shamelessly each time. I have been subjected to people's judgment, some of them downright hateful, but I'm not deterred. I have people telling me that I write beautifully, and that, really, is enough to spur me on. I write because I feel, because I cry, because I love. Writing has become second nature to me, and because of that, I have forgotten how passionate I was about it.

I want to be a writer. If I can be a writer, a real writer, I know I'll be perfectly happy for the rest of my life. How I can achieve that, I don't know. I've had no formal training in creative writing or journalism. I don't think it counts that I spent one semester as a Mass Communications major because I only took minor subjects (I was young and confused!). Most of the time I write about relationships and sex (yes, I do feel very Carrie Bradshaw-ish!) so, writing about current events and anything even remotely serious is out of the question. I want to be a writer, a professional, but I don't know how to be one. At least, not yet.

So for now, I write my blogs here in my little corner of cyberspace. This is actually just one of the many blogs that I'm keeping but I'm considering this my brainchild. I will be posting some old pieces that I've written, pieces that are close to my heart. Once again, I am baring my soul, and giving people a glimpse of my dysfunctional, if not screwed up, existence. Maybe here you'll be kinder.  After all, I'm just another girl blogging my way through the world.