Note: This was originally posted on my blog.

Because it’s throwback Thursday.

That, plus the fact that I’ve finally opened up to three of my college friends about this and they have not stopped bugging me about the subject ever since I showed them that family photo. Who knew that “Aren’t they cute?” would lead to several follow-up questions; Who is it, What happened, Why did you do that? Not to mention the multiple side-comments like Ang tanga mo girl! Pasapak nga ng isa.

Though it still hurts, I’m proud to say I’ve made progress. It’s been years and not making any would only mean that yours truly is one of the most idiotic persons out there. I may not be grinning whilst discussing it nor am I crying, but at least the intervals between sniffles has gotten quite lengthy. After all, who doesn’t tear up when they lose someone? Platonic or not, the process will always feel the same. They leave, along with the delicate part of you that allowed you to care, give and be completely vulnerable. The worst part is, you can’t just stop these people from taking it with them; once you’ve granted them access, it’s considered sold. No return policy, eh?

 

So what transpired me to write this? Man, I don’t know. Maybe that time when I was scanning my gallery and found that photo, showed it to my friends, blah blah and the rest is history.  By discussing what was, I didn’t think it would affect what is. And hell, by browsing through my gallery, I didn’t know I was also browsing through the past. It would’ve been a cute story. Sadly, the first thing that came to mind by the mention of that name wasn’t the mosaic of happy moments. I had a better recollection of how we parted vs. how we met.

Isn’t that scary though? How sometimes the mind voluntarily erases the good memories and ironically, chooses to leave the tragic ones. The same goes with emotions; whatever pleasant feelings you have towards the person may dissolve the minute they walk out that door. What’s even scarier, is if it happens to you. I’d very much rather be forgotten than have to deal with any unpleasantry.

But then, I may already have been. I’ve been receiving notifications for the past year but not for the reasons one may think. It is only when I say corny jokes, make fun of myself and complain & whine about my tiring student life, that I get a reply, a haha or even the notorious like. I shouldn’t be complaining. In spite of what happened, I should even be thankful. At least, I’m not getting the cold treatment right? No choice but to acknowledge our unspoken agreement to stay civil.

And there goes my friends who had to strain themselves from pulling out my hair for my katangahan and had all the advises they could give; shut up and be contented or do something to make it right while the clock ain’t ticking that fast yet. And because the latter seemed so tempting, I considered it.. for a while.

I recalled old conversations, constantly repeated every word in my head until a hidden message can be unraveled. I went through the stupid reasons I forced myself to believe why it didn’t work out; I was young, I didn’t know what was right, I chose what the eyes favored instead of what really mattered.  Though it all seemed appealing and a subtle sense of solace can be found in reminiscing good times, it can never be enough. Time has changed and shaped us all, it led to different views and priorities. Dwelling in the past won’t take back every element of a certain time. The pictures may be there, but there isn’t a guarantee that the feelings will be.

I resorted to blame, shifted to regret and covered my face with a huge pillow whilst lecturing myself. Laughed and cried at the same time, called my friends to tell awful jokes and tweet senseless tweets (frustrated or not, I do this). I made a playlist consisting of songs that hits close to home, said hugot lines during class lessons and of course, cry myself to sleep.

But it wasn’t long until I finally accepted it. I have purged. I may have felt all kinds of pain because of wanting to care, give and love, at least I can now affirm that that part of me exists. Like hey, I’m human after all. Although it may take a while to regain that part of me that cared, I am now prepared and no longer clueless of what it’s like. Heck I still am afraid to go through it again in the future, but life’s a cycle. You’ll always find yourself in a similar situation. You can’t change it, but you certainly can change what you can do about it.

Despite the stings and stabs, I find myself surprisingly optimistic. Though I still have my doubts, I am now a lot more willing to take risks and leave my protective armor behind. It’s the real world after all, far different from the movies and fairy tales. Something at the back of my head says stop welcoming new people into my life as I’m only going to lose them in the end. But how could you deprive yourself from the excitement and joy of doing so? After all, the only way to move on with life is accept what it has in store for us. The past and its nostalgia brings so much comfort, but life isn’t made for that.

I still have yet to thank that person for giving me one of the greatest gifts — a reminder that I am capable of loving someone and vice versa. In another life, perhaps?