-exclusively anonymous-
"There is a superficial concept of romance amongst today’s youth: where passion, desire, and euphoria, coupled with the recurrent saline tears flow, there is romantic love. It’s as if we teens do not think of love as a commitment and a time wherein intimacy is felt for the thought of an everlasting bond, but rather as a period wherein two people, joined by equity, share their days only because of the intense, overflowing emotion which brims their being. There is commitment here, yes, but there is no promise and no seriousness about a nuptial.”
While I was typing these thoughts unto the online journal I am handling, I was fighting the strange feeling creeping in my chest. Weird because it was only the second time I have experienced such, and it has been two long years since I have last felt it. It seemed new to me: the sensation was a mixture of emotional pain, of longing, of desire, and of disturbing thoughts, all rolled down into one package, thrown right smack unto the heart.
It was heavy. A few more of it could subject me into hallucinations and, eventually, mental impairment, and forgetting the feeling wouldn’t make me emollient, but rather more disturbed. It was too intense, and I came up with the conclusion that punching a concrete wall or shouting my deep secret out would well be the best medicine. Unfortunately, I haven’t done either, because in the back of my mind, I knew that my solutions wouldn’t release me from the demons occupying the organ being protected by my rib cage.
Four days ago, the day before Halloween, I invited her to join me in the evening on going to an event attraction, which was the haunted house. She agreed to it, and the whole afternoon, I was nervous and excited. Nervous as I was afraid that I would bore her, and excited for I would get the chance to spend time with her. I thought of ways on how to impress her, like treating her to ice cream and holding her wrist whenever she were afraid, so that I would please not only myself, but her as well.
That night, we watched a Filipino horror movie that is about cursed marriages instead of going in the haunted house, because we, admittedly, were both cowardly. She was beside me, and we locked arms whenever a frightening scene appears.
By the end of the night, I was deaf. She didn’t exactly watch the movie, as she covered her eyes at certain, climaxed scenes, but she kept screaming her high-pitched scream. My ears kept ringing until they have gone temporarily deaf, but it was fine with me. All I cared about was her presence, and all I wanted to see was her smile. It sounds corny, yes, but it is true.
“Love isn’t about the public displays of affection, of the emotional outbursts, of the desire to be with a certain someone. Love doesn’t come to all ages, as only those wise enough to understand and fully muster its true meaning and essence invite it. Those who have learned, who have matured, who have a clear perspective of their future are only those who experience romance, as love comes to the rightful; infatuation goes to the others.”
Over the next two days, the demons at my chest multiplied. I was disturbed and I felt the emotion swelling from within me. Since the day before Halloween, she was all I thought about, or rather; she was all I could think about. The heavy feeling in my heart won’t go away, causing me to have only the thoughts of her in my mind.
I wanted to prevent myself from developing a more intense emotion for her, so I talked it over with my most trusted friends. And, as upsetting as it may sound, they all said the same thing: you cannot command your heart to feel certain emotions.
I stared unto the computer screen, thinking of logical sentences. Every word, every explanation, didn’t seem to blend with what I was, and what I am, truly feeling. There is a border between the truths and to what the heart seems to speak, and I began to understand why most people couldn’t appear to differentiate romantic love from infatuation.
The moment I have resolved to restrain my affection, my wise-guy uncle told me to invite her to his birthday party, which was on All Souls Day. I, being obedient, and at the same time exuberant for his inviting her, followed his orders and asked her, by text, to come to his natal day celebration. Her reply, which I read with dejection over my resolution, was a yes.
I wanted her to come, but at the same time, I didn’t. This is because I wanted to see her again, however, I also wanted to keep my self-help promise of not encouraging the growth of certain, unwanted emotions.
“In truth or lie alike, each could well relate to Shakespeare’s Sonnet 129: ‘A bliss in proof and proved, the very woe; before, a joy proposed; behind a dream. All this the world well knows, yet none know well to shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.’ And as one may say, confusion bounds, and there is the reason of many to be vague of their true feelings. This is one of the major reasons of why the youth see love in their current affair.”
All Souls Day, 6:35 in the evening: I received a text message from her. She told me that she’d be at the party in about 15 minutes. And so, I went outside the house, and under the moonlight, waited for a car or a tricycle to stop by the house. I waited patiently for 15 minutes, and there still wasn’t a vehicle in sight. 20, 25, 30 minutes. Nothing.
Just as I was about to get a drink, my father called me and told me that she was looking for me. Overjoyed, I went outside, and there, I saw her. She wore a pair of skinny jeans, a white tank top, and a loose jacket. Her hair, long and wavy, was put in a tight ponytail. And I, obviously, found her beautiful.
The party was overflowing with booze. There were five of us at a table, and each of us had a drink. I was tipsy at the end of my first bottle, having a light shade of red all over my face. At the start of our second round, she began going to the loo often, and I always accompanied her. Call me sick, but hey - she requested that I come along with her.
I had enough at the end of my third drink. I was too dizzy; I wanted to throw up. She, however, was still composed, and she was in her old, normal state. I was saying nonsense, and I was red all over, especially in my ears. She was laughing at me. I laughed with her.
Though I am drunk, I made sure that I wouldn’t blurt something that might make me regret inviting her. So I restrained myself and gathered all the control and consciousness I had left. I wanted to tell her badly, but I was confused with what I really felt. I wanted to make sure of my emotions and not hurry with confessions, with the intention of not hurting anyone, especially myself.
Everything’s a blur. Everything’s perplexing. And up to now, I still do not know the kind of affection I have for her. I prefer this not to continue, as I know that I’ll only break my heart. She’s ubiquitous, and the hallucinations continue. Disgusting? No. You simply do not understand.
If she is reading this, let me tell her: do not worry. I will be careful. It is a fact that you do not feel the same way, but I hope that someday, you may be able to comprehend this mess I am in. I want to say that I am just infatuated, but the Border avoids me from doing so. So, here it is… I love you. I really, honestly do.
“I am young. I am part of this. I am disturbed. Please help.”
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I remember making that story/whatever you call it last November 2006. Ah well. I was inspired.
You have to read it. I'm not bragging, but I really enjoyed going through the story. It was supposed to be published for Blue Heights; Macky, the literary editor then, told me that the piece is really beautiful. But for some reason ("Indicates romance," Mrs. Patrocinio said), the article wan't made public. Darn, I really wanted to share it then.
So here it is, From Chris: Nobody but her will know me, in all its glory!Ü I edited the last part though; originally the ending was quite heroic, but I found it too intangible if it were in real life, so I just deleted a few words, and voila.
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BTW, I'm the highest in our Psychology prelims!!!Ü But still, I got a low score: 32/40. Darn. I mean, what matters is your score, right? Not your ranking.
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