Prelude: Summer's End
She was the daughter of a minor media personality, exiled to the United States by a broken home and her parents' shattered marriage. She was in town on vacation, which is how we accidentally met. There was nothing too remarkable about her, nothing that would prod me into meeting with her, save for a very insistent mutual friend. I ended up giving in to my friend and agreed to meet with her. Alone, as I would find out to my dismay. A rendezvous with an almost total stranger whom I didn't really plan on seeing (I wanted to see my friend). Damage was already done, so I decided to make a night of it. We trolled the halls of the Ayala mall in that awkward way of strangers, so, what do you do, hey have you seen this movie, oh cool, you should see it and so on. Amidst the boring topical conversation, something did catch my interest. Her eyes were sadly, insistently smiling the whole time, like a bad actress getting into a one-dimenstional character. Curiosity suddenly held me between its fingers. I shook her hand as we parted, my silent way of begging for a glimpse behind the veil.
We were alone, sitting amongst the tacky lights of Manila Bay. It was our second meeting, and indeed the most cornball location we could have thought up of, but we did not bother too much about it. The only thing worth remembering was the full moon rising higher in the sky, then falling back into the waters as we gave ourselves away in conversation. We sought truths and compared scars, stopping only to sigh and squeeze each other's hands.
She returned to the US, and we swore we'd keep in touch. Over e-mail and long hours on the phone, she opened more of her stitches. She told me how she had just untangled herself from an abusive relationship, how she was forced to abort her baby, how her father was nothing more than a philanderer preoccupied with keeping his public image clean, and her deep love for art. Layer by layer, I peeled away at her secrets, and as I found out more about her, the more I felt the urge to save her. We grew ever closer in a month's time and I felt like there could be no other secrets between us, that we could be naked and feel no shame.
Then one day, exactly three years ago, she vanished. I can't think of any other way to put it. Right after she had revealed the secret of her abortion, she vanished. I was able to speak to her one last time. She just held her phone to her head, and tried to convince me that I was not speaking to the girl I was speaking to. Hurt and confused, I pleaded with her to speak to me, at least explain why she felt that she needed to go. I was not granted any such graces, and questions hung at my head like leaden weights. I learned later on from another friend that she was not being straight with me, that while we were grew closer over the distance, she was also flitting from guy to guy, testing the waters. And probably, finally, she decided I was no longer worth her time.
Two threads so intertwined with each other have no chance of being unraveled neatly. I was devastated, lost and disoriented in a sea of whispered secrets and puppy-dog promises. That lasted around two days, after which I figured that I had a whole life ahead of me and that agonizing over lost loves was for idiots. Those days, it was easy to forget such minor altercations. I was young and idealistic, full of impossible dreams and plans that I couldn't wait to carry out. I didn't need the baggage.
I had almost forgotten about this (admittedly, very bizarre) story. It was barely at the fringes of my consciousness, a distant view of a distant life. Recalling it now is like trying to grab at the faint wisps of a vivid dream upon awakening. But I was forced to remember, as this brief summer romance merely foreshadows the real trial.
My girlfriend is gone. One day, exactly one month ago, she decided I was no longer worth her time. She decided I was not worth the trouble. I was too broken to fix. Too painful to deal with. I have issues, I am far from perfect and will never claim to be. But the suddenness of the break, after all our days of promising each other the stars, throw my whole world into a panic. I couldn't stand seeing the walls tumble down. I made mad attempts to smooth over the earthquake, only to cause the rifts to swell and widen. I cursed myself for who I was and what I had done, and after all my kicking and screaming I left with nothing.
I've had time to think things over. In its wake, disaster leaves nothing but time. I can't not mention a well-worn cliche in this situation: What goes around, comes around. During the days of sunshine, as we were growing closer, I was replacing a summer romance of her own. Now, I am being replaced by another summer love. If you asked her, she would contest the details of this love. Yet the fact remains: I was replaced. It seemed to have come like a flash of lightning, in the blink of an eye. But I wandered the ruins of a once joyful union, and realized that we had been forever heading in that direction, even during the days of sunshine.
So now, now I will write about it from the beginning. Partially as a warning flag to others such as I. Partially as a portrait for those who are seeking. Partially to forget. Partially to remember also, how good things were. I am not merely consigning these memories to the flames. I am not just dredging up hurts without reason. I want to reassure myself that even though I am staggering and reeling from the heartache, that there were, and still are, things from this relationship that I am grateful for.
We were alone, sitting amongst the tacky lights of Manila Bay. It was our second meeting, and indeed the most cornball location we could have thought up of, but we did not bother too much about it. The only thing worth remembering was the full moon rising higher in the sky, then falling back into the waters as we gave ourselves away in conversation. We sought truths and compared scars, stopping only to sigh and squeeze each other's hands.
She returned to the US, and we swore we'd keep in touch. Over e-mail and long hours on the phone, she opened more of her stitches. She told me how she had just untangled herself from an abusive relationship, how she was forced to abort her baby, how her father was nothing more than a philanderer preoccupied with keeping his public image clean, and her deep love for art. Layer by layer, I peeled away at her secrets, and as I found out more about her, the more I felt the urge to save her. We grew ever closer in a month's time and I felt like there could be no other secrets between us, that we could be naked and feel no shame.
Then one day, exactly three years ago, she vanished. I can't think of any other way to put it. Right after she had revealed the secret of her abortion, she vanished. I was able to speak to her one last time. She just held her phone to her head, and tried to convince me that I was not speaking to the girl I was speaking to. Hurt and confused, I pleaded with her to speak to me, at least explain why she felt that she needed to go. I was not granted any such graces, and questions hung at my head like leaden weights. I learned later on from another friend that she was not being straight with me, that while we were grew closer over the distance, she was also flitting from guy to guy, testing the waters. And probably, finally, she decided I was no longer worth her time.
Two threads so intertwined with each other have no chance of being unraveled neatly. I was devastated, lost and disoriented in a sea of whispered secrets and puppy-dog promises. That lasted around two days, after which I figured that I had a whole life ahead of me and that agonizing over lost loves was for idiots. Those days, it was easy to forget such minor altercations. I was young and idealistic, full of impossible dreams and plans that I couldn't wait to carry out. I didn't need the baggage.
I had almost forgotten about this (admittedly, very bizarre) story. It was barely at the fringes of my consciousness, a distant view of a distant life. Recalling it now is like trying to grab at the faint wisps of a vivid dream upon awakening. But I was forced to remember, as this brief summer romance merely foreshadows the real trial.
My girlfriend is gone. One day, exactly one month ago, she decided I was no longer worth her time. She decided I was not worth the trouble. I was too broken to fix. Too painful to deal with. I have issues, I am far from perfect and will never claim to be. But the suddenness of the break, after all our days of promising each other the stars, throw my whole world into a panic. I couldn't stand seeing the walls tumble down. I made mad attempts to smooth over the earthquake, only to cause the rifts to swell and widen. I cursed myself for who I was and what I had done, and after all my kicking and screaming I left with nothing.
I've had time to think things over. In its wake, disaster leaves nothing but time. I can't not mention a well-worn cliche in this situation: What goes around, comes around. During the days of sunshine, as we were growing closer, I was replacing a summer romance of her own. Now, I am being replaced by another summer love. If you asked her, she would contest the details of this love. Yet the fact remains: I was replaced. It seemed to have come like a flash of lightning, in the blink of an eye. But I wandered the ruins of a once joyful union, and realized that we had been forever heading in that direction, even during the days of sunshine.
So now, now I will write about it from the beginning. Partially as a warning flag to others such as I. Partially as a portrait for those who are seeking. Partially to forget. Partially to remember also, how good things were. I am not merely consigning these memories to the flames. I am not just dredging up hurts without reason. I want to reassure myself that even though I am staggering and reeling from the heartache, that there were, and still are, things from this relationship that I am grateful for.