An Ode to Valentine's

Because Valentine's is drawing closer. Nearer.

Some love it, pretend to love it, hate it, and pretend to hate it.

Those who love it are most probably in a relationship, married or dating happily. Others who "love" it and are not attached, committed or in-love, are probably in-love with the idea of love. Sappy love-struck-with-love type of people.

Then, there are those who hate the idea of a day devoted to love–romantic love, in particular. These may be the bitter ones. Bitterness may not always be a result of loneliness. You can be bitter because you don't care (yes, that's possible). Bitter because you don't see the significance. Or, you may be just naturally apathetic.

As for those who pretend to hate it, may do so simply because of the fact that they'd want to seem "cool" by not wanting to care. They try to treat it like any other day–only this one's candy-coated, rose-filled, balloon-swarmed, red-painted, flowery, and lovey-dovey. They won't wear red or pink on Valentine's, instead, they'll wear black. They won't send a million cheerful messages to their phonebook just to greet a Happy Hearts Day. They will do the same old things, only with a twist–maybe party with their single and fun friends or chill at home and read a good book.

Let's say they go for the first option. They will toast to single-hood and will constantly remind themselves, with glorious cheer, how lucky they are to be free, flirty, and fabulous. They won't worry about sending gifts to anyone special. They will expect nothing... to feel nothing.

However, underneath that thick layer of carefree sophistication, these people still want that mush. They do. They want to feel special, by someone potentially special. They want to feel wanted, especially on a day like this.

I know these people all too well, because I am one of them.

So why the need to pretend? Why do you have to hate it?

You hate it because you don't want to expect. There's no room for useless expectations. Pessimism, although discouraged, may be good, sometimes.

It'll save you, kid, from getting hurt once in a while.

I dread the coming of that day. The day that would only remind me of one thing:

I don't/won't have you.

I don't mind being alone, don't get me wrong. It's more of the idea that I don't and won't have you to make me feel that it's fine to like something as cheesy as Valentine's–even if I try so hard to convince myself that this... this... day is nothing but a product of malls and retailers, marketing and advertising folks.

Unfortunately, this day, no matter how hard I try to ignore it, will only haunt me with the thought of not having you.

I don't and won't have you to see me through my pretensions–that I don't believe in that crappy, eeky, mushy stuff. You'd see through me. Deep inside (even on the outside), you'd see this little girl, who believes in love and romance. She believes in it so much that you'd see how it makes her giggle and blush. How her eyes would well up to a sappy line or a cliché gesture in almost any given romantic movie. You'd see her and would know exactly what to do. You may not like it the same way that she does, but you will pretend anyway. You'll reach out your hand, flash that shy smile and say "Psst. Huy."

But... You won't be there.

I won't have you to look forward to. To have a reason to say "I love you. Happy Valentine's Day."–what I'd look forward to doing as soon as I wake up on that day. To have that excuse to send a million text messages to just one person in my phonebook. To stare into your eyes, at the end of the day, with only tenderness and warmth, that only leads to you asking me "What are you thinking about?". Most importantly, to be able to not celebrate or plan things with you, but be with you, nonetheless, would be the best thing a pretentious person would want for Valentine's.

So yes, I will dread that day, as much as I will dread the seasons or holidays that will come after that. 'Til I have you, of course.

However, I do have you now, as an inspiration and a perfect enough reason to write about this pretentious hatred I have for Valentine's.

Whoever you are.

And so it is. And so it goes.

And so it happened...

The moment I've been waiting for and, at the same time, dreading, finally happened. 

I didn't know where to start, how to start it... I just let it. My last and desperate attempt to save the little pieces of what's left of my heart. I asked you the question that has been tormenting me for quite some time now. The question that requires an answer that can only make or break my heart. The question that will bring silence to my wandering soul.

"Remember what you said before?"

"What did I say? I don't remember."

"First, you said the big, fat no... Then you said 'one day at a time'... And a big fat no again..."

"Okay, yeah. What about it?"

"Well... well... I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trap you into answering this question right now, like this. I just don't know how else I'm going to ask it..."

You listened attentively, knowing what was about to come. As I inched my way to telling or asking you what I've been meaning to ask for so long, the feeling of anxiety was slowly fading away. The anxiety of what you might say -- yes or no? Through your vibe, I greatly felt what you've probably been itching to sa. It definitely wasn't the news I was hoping for.

You wanted to talk to me about this tonight, as well. Only, I beat you to it. After my long litany, which you were kind enough to let me finish, I listened to what you were bound to say. 

After stuttering, breaking my voice, losing the will to think straight, I was able to manage to let my feelings be known and be clear to you. It was hard. It was like breaking up with someone, only there was never a fight, no one cheated on anyone, and no one fell out of love. It was more of losing the battle that was only one sided. I raised my white flag. I let you know my concerns, and the pain of being with or without you was evident through my actions. 

Rejection is never easy... 

"I hope you know I'm enjoying spending time with you and getting to know you more. Because I am. I didn't know that you were struggling and it was hard for you...

But... thank you. 

I would totally understand if you wouldn't want to talk to me for now. It would be unfortunate, but I understand."

But I had to. And I'm sure you felt the same way, at least in this part of the equation. Apparently, the only mutual thing we've felt. It might hurt you to somehow lose the consistency of our friendship, or lose me as "that" person, for now. But you felt it was only proper to suffer that bit, so that I wouldn't suffer the prolonged agony of being the "friend" who is deeply infatuated by you. 

I want to make you happy, for sure. That's why I'd want to give you what you want. But giving you what you want entails that I lose a major part of me... the part that wants you.

We said both our pieces, met halfway and came to a close... I bade farewell and made sure that you believed me when I said "I'm okay". 

"I'll let you know when I'm good, already." 

"Please do..."

It wasn't anything unexpected. It was. You gave me a peck on the cheek as you left for your car. My mind went blank and just thought of one thing –– rock music. Turned on my iPod, chose the rock playlist and pumped up the volume. It was over. It is over. The screeching instruments, heavy bass, angry lyrics just soothed my soul. I had this delusional theory that only rock music can slowly drain my rage into this deep well of emotions. 

I drove off, alone and in the dark. Staring blankly at the streets, the cars, the lights, was when I realized I needed to get some money. I thought of going back to where we said our goodbyes. Going back only made me think the unthinkable – that you'd still be there, sitting in the darkness of your car, staring blankly out your windshield the same way I did. 

No, you weren't there. Of course. It ain't wishful thinking if it isn't far from possible to happen. 

I did everything in silence, with only the unique noises of the environment playing in the background – the original soundtrack of this so-called night. 

I was thinking of what you said, "Text me when you get home, at least," when I stalled some more before reaching the bank. I arrived home, greeted my mother, who was more than glad to see me home that early. Only I was neither in the mood to chat nor to watch American Idol with her, so I walked on to my room, placed everything away in silence. I could only hear my countless brushstrokes as I was thinking of you and what just happened.  

Finally, I picked up my phone, typed in what I'd usually text you, topped with an usual cherry. 

"Am home already. Good night, (your name here). :) Thanks for everything."

You replied. 

"Good night, (my name here). Thank you, too. :) " 

 

The Text I'm Glad I Didn't Send You...

No use in telling you this now...

Wrote some time ago... Can't remember exactly when.

Each day without you is pain.

Slowly losing your touch, the sound of your voice, the taste of your lips, the warmth of your body, the tenderness of your words... the beat of my heart, make every day unbearable.

I try to reach for your hands as you slowly, but surely, slip away.

The fear of losing you completely and the fear of showing you too much of my feelings counter each other.

I wait. Patiently, yet, painfully, I wait for you here. Come back. Stay with me. Make me feel the only kind of bliss I've known since I met you...

'Tis only you who have made me truly believe that complete contentment does exist.


.....

Hello?

Are you still there?