Earlier, I posed several questions here as to how to write about love. Several times have I tried writing about it but I just ended up having countless drafts. My piece would either sound so bitter or corny or sometimes it feels like the Russian winter.
Sir Caps said Uminom ka muna ng Sprite…, Wannie said Try mu ilagay yung sarili mu sa sitwasyon ng iba and Sir Plaridel said subukan mo lang. kami mga fans mo ang magsasabi kung ok o hindi. I did try to follow the suggestions except the first one 😛
So I told myself, maybe I have to start writing down my own experiences and see how far I can go. And so here is the saga of Aysabaw’s not so romantic love life (who cares about my boring love life anyway? duh?).
Love didn’t come easily to Plain Janes like me. It was like waiting for a train that will never come. It was like trying to see the end of the horizon.
When I was in high school, I envied my friends and classmates who experienced young love. I envied those who received love letters and flowers and chocolates and stuff toys during special occasions or even on any random dates.
During school fairs which usually falls on the week of Valentines, the prettiest girl in school gets the most number of roses, the most number of dance invitations and the most number of wedding ceremonies in the marriage booth while I was always standing afar, amusing myself at the events unfolding before me, feeling excited for friends chased by the crew of the marriage booth and thrilled by seeing them getting married.
Back then, I hoped that someone would also appreciate me. Send me love letters, sing a song for me, invite me for a dance or at least walk me home. But none of these ever happened.
I used to follow my high school crush on his way home, at least half way. I would walk a few meters behind him while drinking the two peso-worth palamig, chew the red and green sago and imagine that we are chatting while he’s walking me home. But the moment he crosses the narrow street leading to their house, all my fascinations are gone in an instant and I’ll have to continue walking myself home.
When I was in college, I thought of following the cliché, the best way to a man’s heart is through his stomach so I gave my college crush the very first cake that my group baked. Well, I gave him my part of the cake and realized it was a bad idea. The cake was as tough as a cold bread.
At this time, majority of my college friends and classmates already have partners. They all head to SM Sta. Mesa after the classes and hang out at the food court till after the sun sets. As for me, I belong to the Single Since Birth group who immediately heads home as soon as the class ends.
Back then, my love life was like infinity and beyond multiplied by zero.
I have undergone several fake love and real heartaches during my mid-twenties, but after that I became in demand. My heart fluttered at the thought of getting a lot of attention because I yearned for it for so long. ‘So this is how it feels,’ I told myself. I looked at the mirror several times to check if something changed but except for some weight loss, I saw the same girl that I have always seen, the one with the thick eyebrows, short eyelashes, kinky hair, flat nose, protruding bugs bunny teeth and pale skin.
So, this is not the case of the ugly duckling turned into a beautiful swan. Life is no fairy tale. It’s just that there was a big demand of single women of my age at that time, at least within 40 kilometer radius of the demarcated area.
I started receiving notes, a shorter, much modern version of love letters and these notes were on my desk every morning. It felt like an achievement. As if receiving love notes was an accomplishment that I worked hard for.
I felt happy that at least, before my age surpasses the days in the calendar, I experienced how it is to be chased rather than to chase. I felt that my existence mattered and it did matter a lot to some people.
The sensation of getting sought after thrilled me at first. But then later on I realized it wasn’t as fun as I thought it would be.
Sometimes fate has a way of playing with us. It gives you what you wished for only for you to realize that it wasn’t really what you want.
I closed my door for a while and pondered.
But then after closing my door someone came and started knocking.
He came late on our first date, if that dinner can be considered a legit date. He did not send me letters or flowers or stuff toys. He did not ask me for a dance.
He wasn’t very romantic and he hated surprises. He did not like going to fancy restaurants, he preferred simpler ones.
At first I was sad for the unromanticicity of the relationship but later on I thought maybe this is just how it should be.
So I accepted my fate and spent our days of togetherness as simple and as common as it could be.
We sat and drank the bitter coffee in McDonald’s and watched the passersby on cold winter nights and bought fresh mango juice in the Shawarma shop on summer evenings.
We were both poisoned by the stale shrimp on the palabok that we ate one night. We both felt dizzy and our stomachs were so upset.
We went to a theme park and spent a stupid amount just to get photos of ourselves wearing Mafia attire and headed to Magic Planet and shot zombies dead.
We went to the jewelry shop and bought our engagement rings. There was no flash mob proposal, no candlelight dinner. There was no violinist nor guitarist nor singer to serenade me, there were no flowers or chocolates and he did not kneel down to ask ‘Will you marry me?” Instead he put the ring to my finger, held my hand and smiled. We started walking. Our walk was initially an outburst of laughter at the thought of the casualty of the engagement then later on it became a walk of silence.
In the silence I thought, ‘he might not be the most romantic person on Earth but I’m sure he’s the one that I could spend the rest of my life with.’
We walked and walked and walked that night until we reached home.
P.S. unromanticicity is a word that is not available in the dictionary. I just thought its cute. 😛