cynicism

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.