Of Love and Heartaches
Monday, April 09, 2012 @ 5:30 PM | 0 comment(s)

“Of Love and Heartaches” – not my typical choice of words to serve as title for an entry, words that are so out of my taste and league that I’m now having urges to change them. But I can’t find any other words to suit for this entry, since it is really about love and heartaches.

To start off, I don’t feel quite confident about this entry because I will be talking about myself again. Sometimes I wonder if the “me” part is too much, too much that it already sounds egotistic. But then, I always remind myself that: 1) this is my blog; and 2) it’s a personal blog; where 3) I can talk about myself; so 4) what the hell. Here I will blog everything about me: my life, my problems, my success, my studies, my love life.


My love life. To honestly tell you, I would like to believe that I haven’t really been passionately in love yet – the feeling that I couldn’t live happily anymore once I lose the guy I love, or worse, I’d end my life once he ended our relationship. I haven’t gotten into that intensity of loving someone (outside my large group of family and friends). And maybe I’m not ready to go there yet, I’m not ready to be madly in love with someone and feel like my world revolves around him, and that this world would stop revolving once our love peters out. That’s too much to handle. So I try to not go there as much as possible because, okay, I’m still scared.


But I’ve already loved someone (a couple of guys I held hands with and a couple more that I wished I held hands with). If the true measure of love is the heartache, well then I can say that I have loved. I’ve cried for him also – when we had a fight, when we went cold, when we called it quits. It was heartbreaking, all right, but it was okay. I didn’t have nightmares showing how I constantly lost him and have regrets following me around. I didn’t have the aching desire to go crawling back into him and try to win him over again. It wasn’t that desperate; I wasn’t that desperate. I learned to accept and taught myself that it wasn’t the end of the world, that everything will be okay. And it did. Everything was okay. As how one song goes, “there is life even after broken heart”.

I haven’t got an idea how I managed. Some say that maybe I didn’t really love him like how he loved me so it wasn’t hard for me, that it was easier for me than how it was for him. But it wasn’t easy. It also hurt. There was also sadness. And endless, tear soaked pillows every night. And diary entries. And awfully long days. It was okay, but it wasn’t easy. It looked easy on the outside, with my deadpans and far eyes, but inside my head there were ideas that weren’t acceptable to be given voices to, and in my heart there was an ache that nobody knew. I also felt that way: a sadness that time can only soothe. But I managed. I always managed. It was the only thing I can do to make my life less miserable.


There’s this guy whom forever I will love, although I’m not sure what kind of love it is. Care? Friendship? Civility? True love? He’s my typical dream guy: the height, eye color, hair color, smile, sarcasm. He’s the perfect match for a perfectly finicky girl. But we can’t be together because he loves someone else. And he’s happy with her, so who am I to cease that love and break their hearts just so I could mend mine? I know I’m not the perfect girl for him anyway. He’s perfect for me, but I’m not perfect for him. But it’s okay. I can manage.

I was supposed to confess everything to him that holiday, tell him that sometimes I still miss him and yearn for his presence. Tell him that sometimes I still have the same feelings I had for him before, the same spark when he put his hand on my shoulder for a millisecond, the same electricity when the smallest fraction of our skin touched, the same butterflies when we hugged the shortest of hugs. But thank God that moment never came. Although those words have been jumping off my heart for a long time, thrashing around for them to be said, I’m glad it didn’t happen. Maybe the words are better left unsaid.

Maybe this is love: you love someone but you don’t push it because you know there’s no room in his heart for your pushing anymore, and you just accept for him to be happy. You can say that I’m a martyr, but I will keep loving this guy without him knowing about it.


But also there’s this other guy whom forever I will have a crush on. I wouldn’t want to believe that I’m already in love with him, because it will cause another quiver in my freshly mended heart, which I can’t ever afford. I can’t afford to gamble my fragile heart to a game of love that I haven’t any probability of winning. It’s very risky. Maybe I really like him because he’s always been in my dreams. And this fondness for him grows stronger every Facebook conversations we share. I haven’t seen him for almost a year, and this fact is made less painful because these tête-à-têtes. It’s a miracle how I get so comfortable joking around and composing weird songs with him on Facebook, when all the ten months I spent in his school, I had never said any lucid word to him.

I know he’s always very friendly and sweet with everyone, so I try not to form malicious ideas in my head. I push away the budding hope in me, keen on killing them right away so they won’t grow into an expectation and turn out to be false. I’ve learned from my false hopes, so I always guard my heart and mind every time a potential, shimmering hope comes drifting toward. I try not to think of second meanings when he says that he misses me, or that I’m his favorite tribute, or that he thinks our song is his lucky charm. Geez, he’s just being funny, that’s all.

Maybe this is fear of love and heartache: you like someone but you don’t expect for that feeling to be requited because you believe that the two of you together is impossible, so you just act cool to keep the awkwardness level low, but deep inside you’re dying that you two are just friends. You can say that I’m a scared cat, but I will just keep liking this guy and not tell him about it.


Maybe this is how love and heartaches work for me: I will forever be a martyr and a scared cat, and consistently, I will say “It’s okay, I can manage.”

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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409