Category : Blogs

Sub Category : Relationships

Love is something that all of us need. It is a necessity for without it, life is just empty. But like everything else, love comes with no guarantee. Yes, love can be beautiful, but it can also be painful. I recently sat with a friend of mine who had just found out that the guy that she was madly in love with was actually involved with someone else, and through some twist of fate, the other woman found out about my friend too. Needless to say, my friend was devastated. She talked, I listened, she cried, I let her. At the end of it, she told me that she felt guilty for being the woman he was seeing on the sly, she felt guilty for being the reason he cheated on his girlfriend, even though she had no idea that he was involved with anyone when they first hooked up. And to have peace with herself, she asked for my help to write a letter to the other woman.

"Long time has come and gone but I admit it's still haunting me. It's still haunting me because I know I fucked up. And love is so cruel you thought there's always a right cliff to jump. So when we both uncovered the truth, both parties were hurt and we decided to shut every wooden door until forgiveness became a weird noise outside we never trusted to figure out where it came from. And I hope now, where time is the only cure, you'll get to hear my side of story. It took me a long time and in between that period, I was never happy. I hope you'll have the heart to know what happened behind your back. I hope you'll believe me. 

It was on a rainy day where we were seeking shelter under the porch of a mall when we both started from a spark of a match; a 'Hello' after his 'Hi', a smile that turned into outlandish laughter, and next thing we knew, we were exchanging phone numbers. 

He was so nice to me and gave me all the attention I never imagined someone would give me. He would ask me if I took my dinner on time, asked if I was busy, asked if he could insert himself on my short rest, he was sweet and thoughtful and he made me feel special, or maybe he was just being nice. Maybe I was desperate for love I began interpreting his simple gestures into an elaboration. Each time we got together, he was very attentive; always willing to listen on how bad my day was or he would wait for me to tell him how many compliments I got at work. He would call me on my phone before I sleep, and say his goodnights with assurance that when I wake up the next day, I still got him. His affections drove me to lose my sanity and all of a sudden, I began wanting him so bad. I began picturing him meeting my parents, playing sports with my brother, having deep talks with my sisters. I imagined him fetching me at work, spending the dawn breaks with the touch of his hands, I imagined him occupying a vacant chair at our dining table, or laying on the sofa while fighting his boredom to finish a monotonous movie. I imagined him being there on my birthday, or even Christmas eve. I imagined his Mom being friends with my Mom, his Dad being friends with my Dad. I imagined him being there in every special event and meeting my friends, and sharing drinks with my cousins. I imagined him undressing me with love and covering me with skin that smelled like forever. Suddenly, I imagined my future in the way my hands were squeezed in his grip and how I love catching my breath everytime he embraced me so tightly.

In a split second, I stopped minding about what other people will think. And if ever he was a mistake, I would gladly pick him in a crowd and commit to him over and over again until he began sounding right. He somehow looked like the man I wanted to end up with so I gave him every heartbeat, I gave him my body, my soul, my everything. I thought that by giving him my body, it could make him crave for me, I thought it could make him look for me and will want me to be around him all the fucking time. And it had been my choice all along. It had always been mine. That's the thing that I took so long to digest but now, I knew it was my choice. 

Loving him made me selfish because I could smell a stink in his promises, I felt a twist in his words, and I sensed a secret in the way he avoided my eyes. I felt his panting during the times he showed up late. I somehow heard a whisper of someone else's name in his sleep and I felt him not being completely honest with me. I could feel that a part of him had always been isolated like there's a restriction that I was not allowed to step foot in. I felt it but I ignored it. I neglected it because I was afraid that maybe if I followed my instinct, it would only lead me to the exit door. And I didn't want to lose him. That was the exact moment of my life where I let my heart do its job. 

I loved him so much I thought everything that might dart me with pain would turn into pity, and that pity would one day make him realize that I don't deserve whatever there was that was intangibly unfair and just simply love me. 

But the truth always knows how to come out, always knows where it must arrive, and always knows when's the time to reveal itself. And during the moment when I was desperately in love with him, I heard about you. You suddenly became a narrative I regret hearing from a television when I was pretending to be asleep. You suddenly became a hidden love letter that was peeking on his notes. You became the truth that erased my fantasy background and woke me up. 

The moment I found out about you, I saw my walls break in front of me. I was shaking on my bed, and I felt my lips calling myself stupid thirty five times in an hour. I realized I was never allowed to just love and dream about the same person that was stitched perfectly even though how much I wanted it. 

I spent several nights pondering about it. I was thinking about holding on and letting go, both on the same measuring scale. I could never love someone the way I loved him and at the same time I knew I could never love so hard and just watch him go. After I found out about you, I could never enjoy spending my time with him and I knew if I chose to go on, it'll only be wasted. 

And then, I imagined myself in your shoes. I imagined being the woman who was also the victim for loving someone unconditionally. I imagined you kissing him, holding him, laughing with him, spending your nights on his bed without knowing that he had crawled on my body, that he was once a friction on my skin, that he was facing you like a sinner repenting from his sins but doing the same evilness the next day. I realized it was worse being in your part because you love him more than I do as you're willing to forgive him and start all over again. I realized you're still willing to cleanse his flesh with your love, and that you would never leave him in times of trouble. I realized that when I was so willing to write him poems, you already had a novel for him. 

Maybe a sick portion of me silently hoped for you to give up, hoped for you to let go, hoped for you to give way. But you were brave enough to fight for the love you already had in the first place, to fight for the love you owned, to fight for the love you almost lost, to bandage yourself from pain while loving him, for staying when you had the choice of seeking for something better.

And I hope you would learn to forgive me when I never had the courage to verbally ask you that. I am glad you fought for him and I am glad he chose you over me. I am glad he changed. I am sorry for almost ruining you. I am sorry for loving him. Maybe he was my sort of wrong thing. Maybe he was your error too. But he made a good choice. He's still my mistake and he will be forever stay as that. 

Maybe some things need some corrections and healing and second chances. And I guess, you're his right decision."

To bare her soul and show her complete vulnerability to the other woman was very courageous. It takes a lot to do something like that but she has had time to think and process, and she had proven enough to herself that he was everything that was not meant for her. He was all the errors, all the flaws, and all the dark corners. He was definitely everything that was not right for her. However, she doesn't regret writing him poems, and she doesn't regret reading them out loud to him. She doesn't regret exchanging metaphors for kisses, doesn't regret walking barefooted on his stanzas with broken pieces of glasses. She doesn't even regret thinking about him and planning their tomorrows in her journal. She doesn't regret anything, not a day, not a minute, not a microsecond, but she knows she can't force what's not meant to be, she can't force what's meant to end, and she can't hold what's slipping. 

Sometimes, love can blind us. Love can make it look like happiness will still swirl inside our bedroom tomorrow that we always believe there are still 'next days'. Sometimes, the happiness does stay and sometimes, it just fades away.