When I was 19, I
fell in love. I fell in love with someone I barely knew. He was nice, good
looking and he made me feel good about myself. It was July and I clearly
remembered how he wrote in a piece of recycled paper that I was one of his
favorites among us friends. I wasn’t hoping or at the least thinking that we
could be together because that time I didn’t see him that way nor did I ever
think he’d see me that way, too. But we ended up being always together, but not
that way. He’d talk to me about how his day was and asked me what I did. We’d
eat lunch together, sometimes dinner. On my birthday, I came late for an event
and when I opened the door, he hugged me in front of our friends whose faces
seemed to suggest that something’s going on between us. But really, there was nothing,
I guess. He introduced me to his friends and I introduced him to mine. I was
happy knowing that he gets along well with them. Once, he got really sick and
even if our friends cared, no one was actually taking care of him. When I
checked his temperature, I had to rush to buy him some medicine even if that
day I had just enough money to last me a week. One late afternoon, we were just
hanging out with our friends and he seemed tired and he laid on my lap and just
watched me while we both kept silent. He tucked my hair behind my ears and we
both just smiled. That late afternoon. One rainy day, while waiting at the
shed, he told me about his past and I felt a deep stab inside but I didn’t show
it. He asked me to come with him that day but I refused. I had to stop. But
then, on Valentines day, he asked if I could come with him for a project he
needed to do. There were a lot of people and the place was just crowded and as
noisy as the flee market on a Sunday. He played darts and I bet he’ll never
have a career on that. He gave me a piece of chocolate he’d won anyways. I
bought him a hippy bracelet he’d chosen himself. I hated him for a while that night because he
wouldn’t ride the ferris wheel with me. He said it’d make him nauseous. What a
bore! Before dawn, he walked me home. By the end of the school year, we had a
house party and aside from darts, he should also be away from alcohol. He was
drunk like a gangster and I took care of him. We slept beside each other. It
was the shortest night that ever passed. Before he left for law school, he told
me he loved me. And I was speechless, not because I didn’t know what to say or
how to say it but because I didn’t know what he meant. And I never found the courage
to ask. And I was left, alone, confused, but still in love.
When I was 20, I
tried to move on, tried to forget about him and everything I’ve always wanted
to remember. I never knew it was that hard but I tried. I tried, but in vain.
It was October and
my guard was up but I felt I was falling again, this time with someone I’ve
known and someone who trusted me. But unlike me, I found him in a state I was
in a year ago, in love. I had to listen to his every story about her. And maybe
it’s crazy but I kept listening, but without any hopes or thoughts just like
before. I was more careful this time. Not even remembering things about us or
caring for him like I did before. I thought that if I do this, I’d stay away
from the feelings and more importantly, from the hurt. We were close, closer
than I ever thought we’d be, but not enough. We spent nights on beer and
stories of our lives; what we did, why we did it and why we are still doing it.
I had to stay away from him, I realized, but I couldn’t. Maybe I was trying to
find something I didn’t find before. There I was hoping again. The only
difference is, he didn’t care as much. And I kept hoping, and hoping and
hoping. Until finally, the end of the road for him and her came. I didn’t know
what to feel because he was getting hurt everyday and I couldn’t do anything
about it, not that I can but really hoped I could. It went on for months and
the nights we spent together with our friends strengthened the trust we had and
worse, the hope I had. I didn’t remember the dates, or what I did for him or
what he did for me. I was just there, beside him, happy. I thought I was
happier with him because I still had my guard up. But those nights turned into
months and a few weeks before my birthday, I told him everything. I thought
that it was what I had to do since I never got to do it before with all these
feelings drowning inside of me. But it was also the start of the end of
something I couldn’t even explain. I stopped talking to him and never went to
places where we could see each other. I tried to forget again. I tried, harder
this time. But it was more difficult because we were good friends and I missed
him so bad. Our friends would invite me to hang out and no matter how much I’d
wanted to go to be with them, I refused because I knew he would be there and
the scar would be scratched open again and I didn’t want to hurt anymore.
Nobody wants to hurt. Suddenly, a month or so after, he told me he missed me.
And there I was, wearing that crown of hope again, being stupid again. When I
saw him, I had no choice but to look back on everything and I ended up saying
sorry for the things I’ve said, which were actually meant but won’t be
reciprocated. I often asked myself why I had to go through this. Why did it
have to be this way again. But we can never choose the ones we fall for. We can
only fall and hope someone would be there and if no one comes, you’ll just have
to wipe the dirt off and stand up. But I couldn’t do that easily. Nothing is as
easy as having to go through this all over again; worse I gave myself a warning
but I never actually minded the red light and kept going. I had to leave and he
had to be left behind. But I still have him inside and it was as hard as
before. I couldn’t let him go.
When I was 22, I
learned that he’ll never see me that way and guess what, I accepted that. He
never could. He was gay.
