Archive for March, 2011

Untitled- For A

Everyone of us had a first love, right?

But you do know what usually happens with that kind of love. You mature and realize that there are other better things to do in the world than to blindly adore someone and walk around with a bleeding heart. You move on but there’s a small part of you that never forgets how much you’ve loved and lost.

This story is about my first love. I wrote about him because he’s been bothering me in my dreams lately. I’ve not seen him for 7 years and I don’t know why I keep dreaming about him all of a sudden.

So, I thought I should write about me and him. And about our future encounter where I get to make him fall down on his knees. Teehee.

To that person, please do not roll your eyes once you get to read this. It’s your fault anyways.

Why are you constantly in my dreams? It’s been 7 years, for heaven’s sake!

You are as frustrating even in my dreams! Gaaaah, ok I’ll stop ranting.


You stare at him with wide eyes; completely disbelieving the fact that he’s just a good two meters away from you. Your mind is telling you to close that gaping mouth before you lose any more dignity, but you can’t. Because let’s face it, he was that one. The first big love of your life.

You did not expect to see him here, in your favorite place, where rows and rows of books of various kinds surround you. To be more precise, you did not expect anything at all.

You have stopped expecting ever since the moment he told you that he did not feel the same way and that he liked another. You had tried to keep the tears at bay while he was saying words that were quick to throw daggers at your weak and young heart. So, you had chosen to accept his decision and tried to move on. It had taken quite a while before you could smile the same way again…before you could start believing in happily ever afters again. You managed to get over the pain, wrote one last entry about him in your tear-stained diary, and finally, finally learned that you cannot get everything you want in life.

It’s been years since you have last seen him and yet at this moment, you are staring at him foolishly. In that same foolish way that you looked at him when you were much younger, much naïve, and a bit more fragile.

You instantly compose yourself by fixing him a small, bored smile that conveys something like, “Oh, hey it’s you.” You try to be an image of complete calm, clutching the book you’re holding a little more tightly. It’s Cecilia Ahern’s If You Could See Me Now. You mentally chide yourself for not picking up a much more serious book, one that could prove that you are an intelligent reader. You find yourself wishing that he does not see the book and discover that there’s still one thing about you that hasn’t changed. You’re still the sappy and hopelessly romantic girl (more so on rainy days and certain holidays) that he knew.

You have no such luck. He sees it and smiles, revealing those dimples that you’ve spent much of your adolescent life staring at.

His gaze goes back on your face. You feel your heart doing that weird flippy thing that you know so much. Later, you ask yourself why you’re still not as immune to him as you expect to be.

You notice that he’s looking at you in that certain way like…okay, like he’s liking what he’s seeing. And for whatever reason, his stare kinds of unnerves you. True, you have undergone such big changes in your life. Not only did you improve yourself in some aspects, but you also managed to grow pleasantly. Gone were the extra pounds, oily skin with a bad case of blemishes, and short hair that you had back then. You are now limber with wavy, shoulder-length tresses and smooth skin.

You look nice in your red shirt and white skirt ensemble, but you can’t help but feel like the little girl that you once were in his presence…in his beautiful brown eyes.

You manage to croak out a simple hey for real this time. He smiles some more and his friendly eyes continues to look at you.

“Hi. How have you been?” You hear him ask.

You have seen this moment play in your head and in your dreams for countless times in the last couple of years. This one too important scenario where you get to show how you’ve been better and that you survived the awful heartbreak he had caused you. You imagine him looking at you with sad eyes that kind of tells you he likes you too but realized it too late. And you finally tell him he had lost his chance. You have prepared for this.

But in reality, you find yourself inhaling some air and trying to tame the erratic beating of your heart.

“I’m good.” You answer.

God, where did all those nonchalant rehearsed replies that you stuck in your head go? You give yourself a mental face palm for the awkwardness that you’re not supposed to be showing in front of him.

“I did not know you go to this kind of place,” was your attempt at small talk.

He chuckles. Adorably.

You realize that your train of thought does not help in any way in your confident I’m-so-freaking-over-you vibe.

“What? I’m not allergic to books.” He replies, his eyes twinkling.

You consider for a moment if this is the part where you brisk walk out of the bookstore. But you do no such thing.

“N-no. What I mean is this bookstore is kind of not frequented by a lot of people, you know.”

It’s the truth anyways. Your favorite bookstore is located near the village of old people, not in the usual malls or in nearby universities. You have always loved that it is situated in a quiet neighborhood and it has a cozy appeal, complete with brown couches and a cup of freshly-brewed coffee to drink. It has become your weekend habit to go here and drown in books for hours.

“Still the bookworm. Some things never change.” He tells you in an amused voice.

You smile pensively. But most of them do. My feelings did. You wanted to say.

“Yeah. Still am.” You say with a sheepish smile instead.

“This is a nice place. No wonder why she loves it here.” He looks around appreciatively.

Of course, you tell yourself. He’s with someone. That’s expected. But what surprises you is the presence of that sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach.

You finally notice the thick book he’s holding. Asian Culinary. Your eyebrows furrow. Last time you checked, he was studying architecture.

He sees your fixed gaze on the book. “I got this for her. She can’t find this book anywhere.”

Handsome, intelligent, and a good boyfriend who’s willing to do errands.

“Oh,” you cringe at your needless disappointment.

“It’s for my sister.” He explains.

“Okay.” You try to answer casually. The weird flippy thing in your heart is back again. Only now, it is not just doing some flips, but somersaults as well.

This is bad, you think.

You awkwardly stare at each other for a few moments until you see a kid shove him to get a coloring book. He holds your arm while he tries to steady himself. You ignore the smell of his clean aftershave and you take a step back as if burned by his sudden proximity.

You clumsily fix your hair and clear your throat; a habit when you’re nervous.

“Ummm, I have to make this purchase,” You wave the book you’re holding. “It was nice seeing you. But I have to go.” You turn your back at him at once.

So totally uncool at all.

It is a total surprise when you see him appear beside you again.

“I was…I was thinking if you could join me for dinner. I would just like to catch up.” You have never seen him this awkward towards you. Truthfully, it kind of pleases you to see him all flustered like that.

He gives you a hopeful smile and you decide to torment him a little.

What to say anyway?

This is the one chance where you can prove to him that you are long over the deep infatuation that you had for him. The proper option is easy to pick.

And yet you find yourself considering the other. You consider the repercussions the other choice may cause. And all the ways it can hurt.

You look at him wordlessly while trying to ignore the fact that your breath is kind of stuck in your throat.

You find yourself saying yes.





March 2011
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