An Open Letter to the one who I used to Love
My ex reached out to me last week. Not directly though, somehow indirectly. A mutual friend reached out to me, “Nars friends na pala kayo ulit?” I’m not entirely sure what to say. Yes, despite how verbose I get I could never quite put into words the crazy feeling in a few words. I recall this now, as my friends started talking about their love lives. My phone pings, he sent a reaction to a message I sent long ago. Perhaps he’s showing it off to his friends.
There are people who you pass by once, in a phase of your life. A more evangelical Christian friend called it “a season.” They come, they go. Each time, they are nothing more than a chapter in the ever-growing tome of your love story. Yes, love in all its many forms.
To the friends who you had to let go because you simply needed to. Because they were no longer growing and they refuse to see their mistakes. To the family who you used to be affectionate towards but have proven toxic — using you as nothing more than a scapegoat for their misgivings.
Yes, to the people who you loved the way the love songs used to. They leave the faint marks, remnants of ages past which reverberate to today. My passion for music was ignited by my first girlfriend. My first boyfriend’s remarks on my Filipino keep playing in my head like a broken record, especially when I would write for my Philosophy classes. My last love — the one to whom I promised we would listen to a Taylor Swift Album to. The reason why I avoided listening to it for two years. They all leave faint fingerprints, unnoticeable to all but us.
Yet I know I too leave fingerprints to them in places that I would never know. Only they would. That’s both terrifying, yet also incredibly freeing. How we are all composed of the many fingerprints of our past, the people who surround us and the experiences we shared. Yet in the same way, we too shape the environment around us, forming the way we think, feel and love.
Dani, a dear dear friend said in jest: “So kaninong kasalanan ba talaga?” I am a firm believer that people come for a reason. The reason why both the then present of loving him and the breakup feels so raw is because for once in a long time I felt loved the way I never knew I could be. He saw the me of before: anxious, raring for attention, and totally broken; yet loved me all the same. Him, with all his crazy jokes and funny drunken escapades, made me feel attractive. I can’t believe I’m saying this but the confidence that I have now, I owe it to him.
Yet, we broke up.
It was the first semester of our first year. We both were reeling with the sudden shifts all around us. The me of before knew only one way to deal with stress: run away. In that time, I neglected all my relationships. I neglected him. Because I thought that of all the people in my life, he was the one sure thing. I guess I didn’t know it at the time but I was also extremely tired. I was over-exerting myself, spreading myself thin in both academic and family matters. The last thing I needed was having to deal with the roughness of loving someone. Of loving someone like him. For all of his love, I would liken him to a needy dog. He loves deeply, showing it in ways that would surprise you. But he needed attention and validation in a way that I don’t think anyone could fill. In my attempt to send him all the love that I can, I found myself running dry.
He needed all the love, yes, but he first needed to love himself.
I saw him on my feed yesterday. He seems well and healthy. I wish him nothing more than the best in the world. For him to finally turn that love for others in. To validate himself the same way that he would others. I’m glad to have met him in the time that I did. If it were not, I wouldn’t have seen that I could love myself aggressively.
But I know that I do not need to be there with him to love him. I want him to be in a safe environment, to be loved and seen and protected, but I should not be the one doing it for him. I’m surprised to say that in the past three years, I’ve grown in a way that I would never have thought possible. I’m slowly becoming the person who he always knew I could become.
To the next boy who will fall in love with him, please take care of his heart. He’s a big clumsy impulsive goofball with the attention of a golden retriever. No one will be able to find the greatest things about you faster than he can. Few can make you feel as warm and as protected as his embrace.
And now, to you, the one who will hold my heart next. Please be gentle. I am no fragile art piece that will shatter at any point of pressure. Far from it, I am often sent hurtling down the highway of life at high speeds only to dust myself off and try again. That, I’m afraid, is my greatest weakness. By the time that you’ll read this, if we do become together, I would have already gone through all five stages of grief. I would have already imagined every worse possibility: rejection, dejection, ignorance, getting laughed at, getting left for someone closer or getting left for whatever. I know that. I prepared for every single circumstance. I like skimming to the end of movies for that reason. I’m afraid of the uncertainty. So please, be there when I’m at my worst and I’ll be there for yours. Listen to my dreams and help me find the passion within. I’ll love you as fiercely and as crazily as any boy would. Only now perhaps, mediated, with the sweetness of age.
I don’t know when I’ll fall in love again. All I know now is I’m falling in love with the person who I am turning out to be. This person, with all the scars of yesterday and all the promise of tomorrow.
Perhaps we’ll love for a little while longer.
