Getting over my biggest heartbreak

4:50 AM, in my bedroom

April 26, 2010

I’ve always thought I would never get over him.

For more times than I could count, I pictured him realizing one day that he needed me and he will then run back into my loving arms. Four years after we said goodbye, there was no moment that I did not think of what went wrong and what we could have done to save what we had. 

Erick was my greatest love and he was my biggest heartbreak.

We eventually became friends, just like any other ex-couple who were friends before they became something else. It was a painful process of talking about our current love lives, catching up and reliving great memories. But we never talked about that day we stood in front of his favourite hangout: me crying and him trying to make me stop.

I guess exes can never really talk about break-ups that way. We might laugh at it at some point but we can never discuss who cried and who broke it off. It was awkward but it was in the very least, a healthier place for us.

I started hanging out with him again since my last birthday. It was one of those unplanned meetups. We did not know where to go and what to do. We drove around the city, laughed out loud and yes, kissed at one point. Sparks flew, at least for me. But we both knew we had to stop and think about our current relationships (I was with my then boyfriend Carlo and he was with his present love, Bea).

That was the start, and weeks after that kiss, we’re now what you can call best friends with benefits. The benefits being: we chat whenever we have nobody else to talk to, he can call me and ask me to come over when he cannot sleep (then we’d drive around again), I can call him anytime I want to have a drink and talk about my recent heart break and last, I have an on-call date whenever there’s no one else available.

We both agreed that we are so much better off as friends. It’s a perfect arrangement save for one minor glitch. I did not know whether I was over him or not.

Erick was my greatest heart break and no one can blame me if I fall a little for him again if we kissed or even touched. So one after-midnight drive with him, I leaned on his shoulder and looked at him. And boy, he looked great. But in that same moment, I saw someone else’s face, I felt someone else’s shoulder, I breathed in someone else’s scent. I saw K, I felt K and I breathed K in.

And that made me certain I was finally over Erick.

But I could not help but wonder: now that Erick has ceased to be my biggest heart break, will K be taking his place?

pickled penises over chicken barbecue and roast calf

We were in a party, all right. Roast calf, barbecue, lechon (K, the lechon was great!), sugba, overflowing beer and vodka. Party music, women clad in skimpy shorts, half-naked men (and pa-men).

Over dinner, while discussing Julian's winky (so gay) and  our suggestion to cut it off, Ana, our manager, blurted that when she was still married to her ex, she promised to cut of his manhood and put it in a jar by her bedside when he dies. Sick, eh?

That got me thinking, could one person be that attached to someone that he is willing to leave a part of himself with his wife when leaves this world?

Leaving something behind can not be that easy, let alone leaving your manhood over ground when you are six feet under. But seriously, when one leaves a part of himself somewhere, does it make him incomplete? Or would it make him feel more complete knowing that he has shared a part of himself with another? Would that person somehow come back one day and take it back? Or perhaps be with the new owner of that part to complete himself?

I would like to think that the answer to the last question is yes.

Dream Catcher

9:34 AM, April 17, 2010
In my bedroom

I finally managed to hang the dream catcher K gave me that dreamy afternoon. A good sign, I guess. It means that I am on the mend.

It says on the tag that it “allows the good dreams to pass through the web into the sleeper, but makes bad dreams become entangled in the web, where they perish at the first light of dawn”. It’s something he brought from his country, a part of him maybe that he wanted me to have.

It was a sweet gesture at that time. The stupid girl was “kilig to the bones” though I did not act too eager when he handed it across the table. The events after prevented me from taking it out of my drawer until two mornings ago.

After I found out that I had been crying in my sleep, I stopped downing the Decolgens. After all, what I was after was a dreamless sleep and not nightmares (daymares, in my case) that cause tears.

Instead, I read. And watched as many DVDs until I fell asleep on my laptop’s keyboard. I wrote poetry and it’s funny how artistic I get when I’m depressed. Thank you K for inducing this depression. I am writing again because you broke my heart.

I asked Karla if I had been crying in my sleep again. She checked the medicine drawer and finding out that I did not take anything from her last count, she said “no”.

So the dream catcher worked. It kept frightening dreams at bay. No more dark circles, no more tear stains on my face.

Thanks again, K. Funny you had to give me that dream catcher to keep yourself out. 

Decolgen knocks me out

7:24 PM, April 15, 2010

In my bedroom

“Whatever it is that you are taking, you have to stop.”

That was my sister. She’s practically gone crazy over me for the past three weeks. Protective as she is of her elder sister, she never said anything. Until this afternoon.

This morning when I came home from work, I started working on the scrapbook for the trip. But seeing pictures of how happy life was three weeks ago did not help me one bit. So I gave up, and decided to watch one of my favourite movies on DVD.

Practical Magic. I’ve always loved the film. It reminds me of my childhood when I wished for a knight in shining armour who will sweep me off my feet. I imagined him to be tall and dark, none of those blonde hunks they take for Prince Charming.

I relived that childhood dream in the last three weeks. I was overwhelmed, intoxicated, infatuated. I thought I had finally found my knight. I believed I was starting to live my own fairy tale. But the knight rode away without me.

I did not finish the movie. I downed two tablets of Decolgen (how pathetic) and fell into bed. Since sleeping pills are banned in the house (my fault, of course), I had to resort to cold meds to knock me out. Sick, eh?

Karla knows me too well to tell that there is something wrong. I always finish a movie no matter how sleepy I am; and she saw me going to the medicine drawer when I came in.

So there she was lecturing me about what I have been doing to my body. She stood with me in front of the full-length mirror and got a weighing scale. I practically lost 10 kilos since I came home from Boracay (yehey?).

She forced me to look at myself: dark circles around my eyes, pallid complexion, dry lips, tear marks all over my face.

“Have I been crying in my sleep again?” I asked.

She just replied, “For two days now” and walked away.

When I was a kid, my parents would always know when something’s bothering me. I cry in my sleep when I’m hurt, anxious or in the past years, feeling suicidal.

So that was why Karla was so angry that I took the Decolgens. She knew that I was forcing myself to sleep, that I was in pain.

I guess I could not hide my emotions from the people around me. I wear it now, more than ever, like a neon sign on my forehead.

So much for pretending I’m OK. What the hell, even with drugs that are supposed to induce a dreamless state, I still cry in my sleep.

I love you, goodbye

7:24 PM, April 13, 2010-04-13

In my bedroom

I realized that I got so drunk last night because I needed the courage to do a lot of things. Most of all, I needed the courage to tell K how much I love him.

The original plan was to do it with flair. I got the idea from Cosmo’s V who fessed up to loving Matt through a blog she slaved on. But time was my enemy and in between work, hanging out with him, and trying to compress a whole universe of emotion into a single blog, I did not have much choice.

So there, in that dark corner of our favourite café, I composed a text message to K apologizing for what I did and putting into words, finally, that I fell for him in the five incomplete days we spent together.

And then I wrote him quite a lengthy email spilling out what the text message cannot express. I knew it was the most stupid thing to do when you know that there’s nothing more you can get out of it. But I was already there, I already crossed the line and there was no turning back.

I gave him the book I was reading. In so many ways, I related what we had to what Maria and Ralf Hart had in Eleven Minutes by Paulo Coello. I had no face to show so I just took a cab to his hotel at 4AM and dropped it off on the front desk asking the guy there to give it to him and to no one else.

I may never know whether he received the book or the email I sent him. Maybe he did but since he did not send me any message through text, email or Facebook, I now put two and two together. He does not want anything to do with  it or with me anymore.

K may have liked me while it lasted. He may even have loved me at some point. He may have been the only man who was able to really sweep me off my feet.

But then again, he dropped me on my cute sexy ass.

So that’s the end of it. The end of K.

I crossed the line

1:47 AM, April 13, 2010
Still in my cube

I walked quite a distance and ended up in a coffee shop a block away from K’s hotel. Yes, I walked in a circle and no, I did not realize my feet were taking me there.

In that cold café with hard-backed mahogany chairs, I sat alone sipping our favorite Café Mocha. I was not really thinking of anything. I felt numb and when he pleaded (through text) that I take care, I just told him that I can and will be ok.

I guess I was just making myself believe that I was a strong young woman who can take on any heartache. But I was already screaming inside, I was slowly tearing apart and there was nothing I could think of doing.

I called Mellow, funny she’s becoming a regular fixture of my day, especially during my emo moments. We drove back to that compound a block away from his hotel for a drink. I started to rant while she listened and uttered the occasional “puta”, “what the fuck” and “what the hell”.

But fate was not done tormenting me. He came into the same bar with his sister. Well, it was the sister who stepped in but when she saw me, she drew back but not before I realized who was there. I signaled K to come in but he just shrugged and followed his sister to the other bar.

Already tipsy from one bottle to Gilbey’s Premium (you wouldn’t believe how easy it is to get me drunk with beer), I asked him (thru text) to tag his sister along and join us. As I expected, he did not reply. But minutes after and while some guys were buying us more beer, he stood by the bar’s door arguing (or so it seemed) with his sister. I could see that he wanted to come in. Or maybe it was just me hoping that he would make up for the insult he slapped on my naked face earlier.

But he just disappeared. And I got drunker and drunker. Perhaps it was the lack of sleep since the Boracay weekend and the heart break nibbling at my sanity. Mellow forced me to move my ass to her car. I called him, asking or practically begging him to come to me and leave his sister with the other guys. He said no, he was baby-sitting the 23-year-old bitch.

I said a lot of things I am ashamed of now. I made such a cheap pussy out of myself. K may have made me feel like a prostitute. But I turned myself into a slut hungry for his attention.

I know that was the last straw. I don't know if I can still show my face to him again.

I seriously crossed the line.

Another drizzle

11:45 PM, April 12, 2010
In my cube again



Another sleepless night (salba-quota) and another sleepless day (waiting for a miracle). I came home at 5AM and since it was too dark out to sleep, I started cleaning my room. Accompanied by Rihanna, Katy Perry, and the Black-Eyed Peas, stayed up a good four hours removing cobwebs, unwanted pictures and old clothes from my prison cell.

The whole time I was holding a basahan and walis, changing curtains and arranging magazines, I was praying for a miracle. But I guess I had to initiate the miracle; and it came at 3PM , two hours after my two-hour nap.

We met at the mall again. He got a tattoo while I watched and fantasized that he would remember me whenever he looked at it. He might, I guess, unless he bumps his gorgeous head and forgets where he got the Alibata inked on his right well-sculpted bicep.

We did not have much time; he was supposed to meet his family for supper. At this point, he was hinting that we go to his hotel room. When we got in a cab though, he changed his mind and said it was probably not a good idea since it’s going to make things a lot harder.

Part of me wanted to just flee because I know the inevitable was now here. He offered to get off the cab but curiosity (and longing?) got the better of me and I insisted on going with him. He said we will just hang out in the bar in the lobby to avoid the inevitable. I just nodded, not sure myself whether I want to go up or not.

But he needed to use the bathroom and I went with him.

We talked for a few minutes, I turned to go and we hugged.

And there, in his arms, I snuggled close to the chest I might not feel again. I placed my arms around the body I might not hold again. I breathed him in, all of him. I memorized his dark face, his brown eyes, his full lips, even the graying hair on his side burns. I drank him in, all of him and I knew that I will forever thirst for his presence, his caress, his stare, his embrace, the feel of him consuming me, burning me and taking me to deeper waters.

I did not understand his actions though. We were in in each other's arms when he suddenly stopped. Just like that, saying that he was so worried. I felt insulted. I felt used. I felt betrayed. My senses numbed, I lay there for a minute, trying to dissect what just happened but nothing came to me.

Just like the prostitute Maria that Paulo Coello wrote of, I stood up, cleaned myself and put my clothes on. He opened the door for me and walked me to the lobby and then to the sidewalk to wait for a cab I never took.

All my dreams of K and I started to crumble under my feet as I walked the Ilustre perimeter under the soft drizzle much like the one we walked in together that dreamy afternoon. I wanted to cry but no tears came out. My heart has hardened, I was aware of that.

But I also realized one thing: I was in love with K. And there was no running away from it.

Not the end

1:03 AM, April 12, 2010

In my cube

“Hey,” he said. He was telling me that true to our hunch, he was setup for another date and he was very angry about it.

And I thought, he was certainly being pushed to marry and he will eventually find a desirable wife among the candidates. He said he was not looking for one.

Here’s an excerpt from K’s message sent through Facebook:

I am not a good guy. You have so much potential, so beautiful in many ways. You deserve better.
Knowing you was the best experience I've had in a long time.
Please be assured that there is no one else in my life. You have been great to me, and I of course have not.
You know I am not here for long.
This is not the end....


How cryptic can he get, right? Nevertheless, I felt warm all over and my mind raced ahead of me. I imagined us communicating in the next few months, trying to know each other more and struggling to keep the embers burning.

“Please be assured that there is no one else in my life”. Did that mean that there is someone and that it was me? “This is not the end”. Not the end of what?

So many questions formed in my mind and I spent the whole day (sleepless again), trying to decipher his meaning and composing a suitable reply.

I spent my rest day mulling over a Facebook message and I knew that it was not a good sign. At 10PM , I finally gave up. Being a writer (or an ex-writer) did not help at all. For the first time in my 13-year writing experience, I got stuck on a simple reply to a simple (but oh-so-cryptic) message. So I called Mellow and we went out for a gab session in our now-favorite coffee shop near my ex’s crib.

After a lot of “what the hells” and “just send a three-liner” and more than five drafts, I finally sent K this reply:


I honestly don’t know what to say. There’s one thing I know though, I am not looking for a good guy coz I’m not a good girl either.

What we had was one of the things I would remember for a lifetime and I’m pretty sure that I will think of you whenever I pass by places we went to.

There’s so much more I want to say but I could not find the right words. You are in so many ways, the best guy who walked into my life and it’s too bad that you’d have to walk out of it too soon.

But as you said, this is not the end. All I could do is keep my fingers crossed.


It was, for me, a perfect reply. Six short sentences that expressed pretty much how I felt without giving too much away. It should have been a great way to end the charade and just wait for the next events to unfold after he leaves.

But he replied saying that he has already checked into his hotel. He asked if he can see me again.

And just like a junkie hungry for her next dose, I immediately asked when.

Dream Sequence

5:46 AM, April 11, 2010
In my bedroom

The three-night stand and three-day standoff would have been enough. It should have been enough to tell me where to cut the rope before it gets too tangled. But it was not.

We met again last Saturday. I do not remember who texted who but we agreed to meet up at Gaisano Mall. I did not mind that I did not have enough sleep from writing the previous night and that I have to work at 10PM that night.

We just sat in that dimly-lit café waiting for his pancakes and spring rolls. It was the usual tirade, the occasional Visayan banter wherein I laughed a lot because he sounded so much like Sam Milby. We talked about everything but the topic I knew both of us wanted to discuss. We never got to that; instead we just held hands, played with each others’ fingers just like any other normal couple.

I tried to be aloof; I tried not to look so eager to be in his presence. At first I succeeded: I did not kiss him on the mouth when I arrived but just like a drug that I could not live without for too long, I succumbed to his caress, his touch that electrified me to the core.

That afternoon was like a film shot in dream-sequence. We looked like the happiest couple walking in the drizzle along the streets of Ilustre. I took him to the park he wanted to visit (“to show how Davao is like back home”, he said). We laughed some more, held hands and embraced. We had sketches made in a mall arcade and finally had massages while holding hands.

It was the best afternoon I’ve ever spent with someone but of course I did not tell him that. I decided to say proper goodbye in case I don’t get to see him again and he said he hated goodbyes. For a moment, I thought I saw tears brimming his dark brown eyes as I stared at him, trying to memorize his face.

I was ready to close the K chapter. I know I was already in too deep and if I went in further, I won’t be able to turn back. I changed my desktop background that night when I went to work. And I changed the source folder of my laptop’s screensaver. I was determined to get it over with and rip it off like a band-aid.

Just when I was halfway into it though, my PC pinged signaling a new message: FACEBOOK: K (last names deleted) sent you a message. I read the message with my heart threatening to pump its way to my throat. When I was done, tears were in my eyes.

No drop fell but in that exact moment, I wanted to cry.

the three-night stand before the stand-off

3:18 AM, April 10, 2010

Let's just call him K. He's pretty eccentric being an enlisted officer patrolling waters of a distant country out west. He's not a "puti" but he might as well be, spending the last 21 years of his life in the land of milk and honey.

We met on the third night of our vacation in Boracay last March. Intoxicated by the Margaritas and GPS and the insanely good music Club Paraw was playing, I was sitting there on one of the bean bags trying out a stick I knew I'm not supposed to smoke.

He went over and asked for a light. I told him I didn't have one (I forgot if the stick was lit or not) and he asked if he can just sit with us instead. Boy, he was smooth but it was nothing new to me. The previous nights I spent in Boracay was of the same old scene: someone comes over, asks you for a light, or the time or whatever and then he either sits with you or starts to do the bump and grind.

So I let him share my bean bag and chatted him up. I do not remember exactly what we talked about but the conversation eventually led to where we come from and how long we are staying. We told them (he was with a cousin) that we hail from Davao City and they said they come from the same city. K said he's flying to Davao after Boracay and asked if he could contact me. I gave him my number. Big mistake.

(photo credits: OAP)

We talked some more and after a lot of I-want-to-but-I'm-scared arguments about taking a dip, I agreed to tread the dark waters with him. I was really tipsy then but I dared myself and went for a swim. After all, it's our second to the last night in paradise.

And there in the ice-cold waters of Boracay, I clung to him for dear life while he lead me to deeper waters and as predictable as clock-work, he kissed me. We talked some more about him being an accident and how he came to the west and everything and we kissed again. Needless to say, one thing led to another.

The morning after, he walked me back to our hotel and he stayed for a bit. We talked some more and agreed to meet at the same bar on our last night. A good two hours after he went off to have breakfast with his family, I was still blissed out and spent from what we did. And then I couldn't wait for the sun to set.

We hooked up again that night but not before a lot of disappointments. Jessica and I came early to reserve seats while Mellow nursed her fresh tattoo. We waited for almost four hours, dancing with some very good-looking guys. I even remembered myself speculating what K might think if he saw me doing my thing with a younger guy and that was when I realized I was in trouble big time. I was not supposed to care what he would think. We just had a one-night-stand for chrissake.

I already knew I was in big trouble when we parted ways the morning after. I knew I gave too much of myself away. I could not stop kissing him and when I did, I closed my eyes. I know it's never bad to close my eyes when kissing but it was too personal for me. I only close my eyes while kissing when I trust the person I was locking lips with.

I left Boracay with a heavy heart. An hour before we checked out of the hotel, I walked a good way to Station 2 hoping I would bump into him. Of course I did not, and I was thankful I was smart enough not to ask for his number. I knew that if I did, I would have found all the excuses in the world to text him.

He called the day he arrived in Manila. He said he's going to be in Davao that night and will be staying with his mother. He was meeting families after all. He sent me an email asking me about my schedule and whether we can meet for a movie, a date or supper.

Communicating with him was crappy. He would text and stop doing it all of a sudden, leaving questions unanswered. But I did understand that he was not used to the phone and the whole concept of being around. He became so caught up with meeting families and when we finally met up on a Monday, he looked too exhausted I did not want him to spend too much time running around with crazy me.

But it did not stop me from swimming in the thoughts that this can be the start of something good. We had such a great connection: our hands entwine perfectly, my head fits just right on his shoulder, and he said I was a good height for him. I was tingly all over my body the whole time I was with him. We kissed whenever we felt like it, even when going up the mall escalator or in the middle of ordering our cafe mochas. He even let me tidy him up and said he's comfortable with me doing it despite his being independent.

Before I realized what I was doing, I was singing a A Thousand Miles for him. "Coz you know I'd walk a thousand miles if I can just see you tonight." I already walked a good mile for him in Boracay and I was willing to do another to be with him.

I was in too deep and I had to admit to myself that no matter how wrong it felt and no matter how illogical, stupid and crazy it seemed, I fell for K. Hard.

And now he's brushing me off like some dust accumulated on his sleeve for the past two weeks.

"It always seemed so wrong and I don't belong living in your precious memory."

Damn.

on love and wasting my time

April 9, 2010

9:00 PM, In my bedroom

I have read so much good reviews about Avenue Q and more than ever, I wish that Davao City is more inclined to the theater arts. You see, we don't get to watch musicals anytime we want to. This is not Makati for chrissake.

But there was one line in the musical I heard about  that struck me most as true: "there is a fine, fine line between love and wasting your time". The moment I read the line, I realized the rut that I am currently in.

I started asking myself: has love become that overrated that it is now considered close to being a waste of time? Whatever happened to the good old cheesy "love is blind" and "love makes the world go round" stuff? Have we all become so cynical about it all of a sudden?

I used to be in love with love. Attached or unattached, I was an avid fan of mushy lines, romantic dates, red roses, chocolates and the whole she-bang. But as I got older, I learned that love is not just about lovey-dovey, baby talk and cheesy lines. It's also about cry-your-lungs-and-heart-out pain and scream-til-you're-dead fights that end up making you miserable and drained.

This isn't what I signed up for when I started dating at a very young age. And now 10 years into the game, I am exhausted and almost ready to raise the white flag.

You see, loving someone has become more a task than a pleasure for me. Sure, I still get that tingly warm sensation down my spine when I see the person but it all boils down to what you feel after the tingling has subsided.

I met this guy in Boracay two weeks ago and it seemed to me like for a moment, the sky lit up with fireworks for us. I knew then that it was just one of those exciting things one can't wait to sample when given the chance.

It was there, and I tasted it, buried myself into it, indulged and let myself go in too deep. I hooked up with him twice and one more time when he arrived in Davao. Stupid, eh? Stupid is an understatement.

For a while there, I lost myself in his arms, I drowned myself in his kisses in the ocean, on the shore, under the pillows and sheets. I created a dreamworld with him as my knight and before I realized it, I fell in love.

It was not just the kind where you fall and smile about it. It was the worse kind: i could not wipe the smile off my face when he texts or calls but I also could not function like a normal person.

Emotion ran me over like a Mack truck and before I knew it, I swore I was willing to endure the pain (and dryspell) of an LDR for him. We had such a great connection from the start until he started his MIA spree for three days.

I just called him a minute ago because I could not take the torture of waiting for a text anymore. He explained that he had been busy and then he dropped the bomb.

He explained that he is leaving soon and he's getting freaked by my Facebook status (reality check: it's been more than 48 hours). Damn him for reading between the lines. Or maybe I was too obvious. That's one of my problems, I wear my heart like a neon sign right smack on my forehead.

So much for the dreamboat. Yes, I may have loved him for a moment but he might just be a total waste of time.