Despite this complication—him liking the person that I am, him being surprised at the amount of effort I put in just to win him over, the comfort he feels in my presence, but him not seeing himself in a relationship with me—as I see the dust settling in, a part of me is in clash between praying that things could have been different and just giving it all up.
Meeting him was this: smelling the intoxicating scent of the morning dew, seeing the rare blossoming of the jasmine buds, seeing the brightest gleam of the sun after the rain, experiencing an intense euphoria atop the highest peak of the mountain as the sun breaks out of the cloud banks. It’s me tasting a wine I promised not to taste. A whole new experience I am willing to take. Continue reading “This Is What Loving You Meant To Me”
I remember the small white room, glazed in yellow streaks of light from the bulbs that hum silently and the smell of espresso and caramel and mocha mixing and intoxicating the air in perfect chemistry. We were strangers then—trying to unlock the mystery behind the brew we love.
So you mean I am strong and sweet? You asked, a hint of curiosity in your eyes.
You said your favorite and I tried to interpret it, like how I’ve interpreted my feelings for you before this day.
Mocha is sweet and has a strong after-taste. I’ve never tasted pure Americano before so I can’t really tell. I answered.
We sighed. I toyed with the bag of sugar left in disposal. We were trying to feel the moment, trying to figure out the next words to say. I don’t want the air to be left damp and empty and so I managed to say:
I would love to taste that Americano one day and see what brew we’ll make and share. We smiled.
The night grew old and we bid our goodbyes. My heart sunk and poignancy but I waived nonetheless. Before I turned, before our connection’s lost, I asked:
Can I see you again some other time?
You answered. Yes. When we’re both free. I’d love to know what that Americano taste will be.
The most painful goodbyes are the ones that were never said or left unexplained.
I want this to be my goodbye—the sun had already set for us and the morning star can’t light our way out of the dark night. The senseless crashing of the waves against the shore echoes the rage deep within me but I have nothing left to fight about and the horizon is draped in red and orange and yellow, a tapestry of a perfect illusion, something that we can’t replicate anymore. We have carelessly threw the words out and left each other beaten and hurt beyond repair; destroyed each other beyond recognition.
I understand we are still in the process of growing up, fixing ourselves with the broken pieces that our previous affairs left us with. But growing up means we are going to loss people whom we thought will stay, people whom we thought will accept the series of good and bad in us, people whom we thought will catch us when we fall. And no books or American TV series or Antoinette Jadaone movies can prepare us for those crashing moments. Continue reading “Now Let This Be My Goodbye”
Do you remember the very first time it felt normal—home—like we’ve already met some other life time before? I was wearing my Red Shirt. You watched me with curious eyes that hinted a ghost of fascination and admiration; a kaleidoscope of wonder playing like our favorite Taylor Swift song.
Do you wanna get a cup of coffee? I asked.
You smiled inwardly at the close familiarity and commonality we have.
I’d rather it be a brewed coffee. Four creamer, four sugar. You replied.
I felt the connection solidified beyond destruction. A solid fortress that can’t be sledgehammered.
I held you dear since then, like I would hold my treasured shirt so close. I embraced the sweet scent of your honey brown hair and the weird way your brush it that way. I’ve accepted all the series of past—good or bad—and I just keep on falling on every step we take together.
And that was the moment that made us feel at home. That was the moment I knew.