Remembrance, part two

The memory of a first heartache.

Three years down and it still hurts as though it just happened yesterday. I was never a believer of fairy tales, although I would always weep in hearing a story of one. I have convinced myself that I had a bad case of overproductive tear glands, although I suddenly disputed myself when I cried watching a badly made Dolphy movie. I am mushy like that.

J was everything I never wanted in a man. I dreamt of falling in-love with a guy in khakis and plays golf at the Club, not to a rugged, lives pay day to pay day Red Horse junkie. But then, love is funny like that. You want something palatable to the eyes, instead gives you something worthy to listen to. We would talk about politics, the depressing state of the world, the 2008 Beijing Olympics, life, and how it ought to be lived. Most of the time, we would just sit quietly under the magnitude of stars over head.

But it was a happiness short-lived. As every good thing in this world, it must come to an end. He told me he was sorry, but there was somebody else. And that they had been together for one million years. He's sorry he didn't tell me. But he's still glad to have met me and that he enjoyed being with me yadi yadi yada. His voice trailed into my unconsciousness.

I wept to my sleep most nights, and silently cried inside when I couldn't bear to close my eyes. I never told anyone about us, not even my friends. I do not know why. I just wanted to be alone in my languor. It was true what they say, when you are heartbroken and depressed, you would think that all the songs you hear on the radio were made for this moment alone. I even cried to the sound of Yeah by Usher. Nobody told me it was going to be that painful. I felt like I starred in a cheap production of a radio drama, the ones you hear when your labandera is doing her chores at one in the afternoon.

Sometimes when I'm alone, I think of him and I don't like it. Because it is the pain that I feel, not the elation of being once in-love with him. Back then, whenever I thought of him, my heart races and gallops like a wild horse. But now, it is just pain and anger to which I haven't come to terms with. I have come to realize I am having some form of dysfunctional grieving.

I think I need therapy for the rest of my life. That jerk.

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