THE LITANIES OF THE HOPELESS ROMANTIC

THE LITANIES OF THE HOPELESS ROMANTIC

"do i have a choice?"

Darn! I don't even know how to start this madness that I am writing. Last week we just saw each other in an event, which I thought would be "the" event. Then nothing! It was just one of your once-in-a-blue-moon session with your psychiatrist.

1998. I realized that I am gay because of you. You knew that. (Until now, you still know that I do.) I told you that I love you. What was your reaction? None. You detached yourself from our friendship and seek solitude with another guy. And yes you were straight.

1999. I was so madly in love with you. Nothing from you. You even hated my guts. I reciprocated. You hated me. You experienced the consequences of hurting me. Was it my fault?

2000. Nothing. Nothing. We had a mutual understanding. We hate one another. But I still love you. You knew that. We said our goodbyes, indirectly. We parted ways. So was that goodbye? That is what I thought.

2001. I was in a blackhole. I was still longing for you to be mine. Nothing. What could I do? You were miles away. I lived my life. Met a couple of guys, which I thought would lead me in forgetting all about you. I was wrong. Nobody could compare to you.

2002. I discovered you went "out". Not just out but you were like having the time of your life. Having three boyfriends at a time. Should I name each? Nah. It's not worth my tendon strain. You said sorry and explained. I committed myself on becoming your fairy gay mother, if not your lover. What's better?

2003. You were having problems with your lover. Why were you telling me that? So that I could sympathize? No. Deep inside I laughed my guts out. I even wanted to sponsor a feast. That was what I felt. But then no, I felt sorry for you. When your heart bleeds, mine feels twice the pain. I told you it's not worth the tears. (Hey! I'm still here for crying out loud) Then, we went out a couple of times. I thought those days would make you realize how much you were missing. But again, I knew, you don't have nerves. You're paralyzed. You're insensitive! Or maybe perhaps, I am just a nothing to you. Your fairy gay mother.

2004. I still keep your picture in my wallet. For six years now. Can I do anything about it? None! I’m still hoping that Barry Manilow's words would come into reality – "Somewhere down the road". I hate love! The word itself makes me want to throw up. I hate mushy things! I hate romantic people, I want to plunge a pencil through their nostrils. I hate love so much I have launched a smear campaign against it. I hate you so much that I still love you. I still love you, yes! After six grueling years! That's why I hate you. Why? I dunno. Do I deserve a slap on the face? Yes. Even so, thousand slaps may numb my cheeks, but it would never numb my heart. I love you. I really do. I still do.

Last week. We met. You texted me. Asking if I am free that night. I said I am. You knew that, I will never ever say no to you. You knew that, I still love you. That makes me free forever.

That night. I braced myself for the inevitable. I even thought of injecting sedatives into my system so my hormones wouldn't come kicking in. That night, you told me you were hurt, devastated. You were in love. How I wished it was me you were complaining about. You were in love with this person who stole your virginity. You should have stolen mine long ago. You know I wouldn't mind. You were sad because you know that that person doesn't feel the same way towards you. Now, I hope you knew how I felt and how I still feel. You're hurt and devastated. And so am I. I am more hurt and devastated. I told you that you should not invest your emotions to this person that you know would not love you. You should not clamor for a thing you would not have. Same words that my friends were telling me long ago. About you.

That was it. Then there was goodbye once again. And I am still here waiting for another event. Patiently, waiting when our roads would meet again. Hoping that when our roads meet, your head is no longer turned on a different direction rather, I hope, that it is turned towards mine.