*verdad

After eating four endorphin-filled chocolate bars, one funny realization occurred to me about love just as I was about to type in the first word for this post; that everyone (this is not an exaggeration for the sake of literature, it’s simply true) I know made, makes and will make such a deplorable big deal out of heartbreaks and triumphal relationships alike. I realized too, that while we (yes, I admit, I am one of ‘everyone I know’) make such a serious issue out of something that could readily be talked about, analyzed and eventually resolved, we grow unappreciative of the life God gave us to utilize for spreading and sharing love with the world. One should also remember that the world doesn’t revolve around one love life only; we may only have one life, but love is ceaseless, love is infinite. There are many love lives in one lifetime. What if we face our own demons of selfishness and narcissistic philosophies about love? Would it hurt to think that although each of us has such disparate love experiences, my experience, your experience or anyone’s experience for that matter is just another love story? Just another love story among six billion more.

Not very long ago in a consecutive order brewed either by fate or purely the innocence of chance, I was both lucky enough to have the yet happiest day of my life and unfortunate enough to come face to face with the loneliest day I’ve experienced to date. And what came out of it was Yin and Yang. That is what I am most confused about. I was happy and sad for those two days and now I am happy and sad because of the realizations that surfaced before me. One story will finally end in this blog post and another will begin.

Now that my high school life is on the verge of being slid into the pages of my memories, I’ve had a chance to reminisce some moments in the past years. And this is where the real love story truly begins.

A little more than four years ago, being only twelve, chubby and expecting nothing from high school which I thought was an empty word that meant nothing than another four years of education, I fell in love. She had long curly locks of hair, and twinkly eyes that no little boy like me could resist. She had the voice of an angel and she smelled of winter, spring, summer and autumn put together. She was as exciting as the first snow crystal to touch the ground, as calm as the waters of spring, as colorful as the flowers of summer and as graceful as the falling leaves of autumn. (I will call her Hershey for the sake of censorship.)

Without any hint of inhibition, I told her what I felt. And Hershey did not react negatively, for which I was happy, perhaps more than how I was supposed to be. For the rest of the year, because I did not find the courage to talk to her, we exchanged hundreds and hundreds of SMS messages; a reason for me to fall even more.

In the sophomore year, I finally brought the barrier down and told her I loved her, and asked permission for courtship. She approved and even told me that I’d get a ‘yes’ when we enter our third year. That Christmas, I came across a girl from school online. (I shall call her Toblerone.) I told her of how crazy in love I was for Hershey and we shared quite a lucrative conversation. I always looked for her in the web and she was always there, ready to be talked to. When January came, after many nights in front of the computer talking to a girl I didn’t personally know, I forgot all about Toblerone.

I was eager to finally be in junior high as I was at last going to hear the ‘yes’ I’ve been waiting for. That year, Hershey refused to give her yes to me yet. It made my heart implode and my mind wandered off my senses. But it was okay because we had a special kind of relationship where feelings were exclusive and mutual. We spent the hours after classes in the backyard of our classroom, where I would usually serenade her with her favorite song that I especially learned to play for her; ‘Torete’. We would often talk about trivial things and worry about nothing at all. There were also times when there was nothing to talk about; there I was, sitting on that log beside her, staring at her, smiling and savoring our togetherness, while the afternoon breeze would make her hair sway. I was happy even though we weren’t together, that we were together. This may not be enough for other guys, but her presence alone was enough for me.

I thought nothing would go wrong, until everything went wrong. The twist of fate inverted our short-lived happiness. From out of the blue, a problem conjured up itself. Something drove her away from me, and that something was successful. I was like a helpless child deprived of his lollipop. It hurt me that she would rather be away from me, following something which should not even be given importance to in the first place if it tried to divest her of one of her sources of joy. I did everything to win her back. I even wrote a song for her, the first I ever made, but nothing ever worked. I never found out what the reason was. All I know is that I did nothing wrong apart from loving just a little too much.

I cried for such a long time. I had been immersed under a blanket of a seemingly endless sorrow, but when it actually ended, a feeling of anger infested my soul, my heart. It was an anger devoted to that something which drove my love away from me, which pushed me away from my love like a useless piece of crumpled paper. The anger never ceased to infest my mind. It even compelled me to hate the one I loved. After all, if she really cared for me, for the very least sense of the word, she would fight for my existence in her life. But she found that far too unconventional, so she didn’t, she resorted to giving up on me.

I tried my best to move on but I couldn’t even get as far as one step away. When that year was finally coming to a close, I decided to cut all media of communication I had with her. I deleted her cell phone number and acted as if she wasn’t even my classmate. I swept all the dirt under the rug, and hoped no one would notice. For five months, I had a steady life or maybe a neutral life, no worries and no excitement. That was until I got in touch of Toblerone from back in second year whom I talked to ever so eagerly every night that Christmas season. She helped me forget and she helped me forgive and I thank her for that. So, as soon as senior year dawned upon us, I got a hold of Hershey’s number and tried to reconcile with her. Unknowingly, as I conversed with her again, the feelings that I thought had withered out were awakened. Foolish as I was, I fell in love once more. This was when I found out that she loved me too, my love wasn’t unrequited; it was equally returned. By this time, I found myself very close to Toblerone and having an immense liking for her, but I ignored this, because the one I loved was finally with me once more but yet again, I was happy even though we still weren’t in an official yes-answered relationship; as Paulo Coelho would say, loving is not owning. If one owned the other, it would merely be power over possession which is wholly different from love.

I loved it when I kissed her cheeks and hugged her tight as if never letting go. I loved it when she would lean against me while I felt her warmth. I loved it when our hands were intertwined as if they were originally one. Finally I expressed my love for her in a mode other than words. However happy I was, I felt something was wrong. Although I was there with her, my mind frolicked upon the thought of losing her again, knowing that some people disapproved of us being together. The thought of those people thinking badly of me again haunted me. In turn, being with Hershey did not mean happiness alone, but fear, worry, and a heavy heart as well.

One weekend, I was with Toblerone and spent one whole afternoon talking about trifling things like Hershey and I did in the past, we’d both sometimes inject petty jokes and we shared barrels of laughs for hours. We went to a beach and sat on the sand. I followed the peaceful waves of the sea with my eyes as I stole occasional glances from Toblerone. I felt the roughness of the sand and the smooth, porcelain-like texture of her hand brushing into mine. I came to think about certain things. I realized that it was really the first time that I spent a day with someone who made me happy, just happy, not worried nor fearful of things that might happen, or might not happen. With her I felt as light as a feather, as carefree as a globe of dandelion. For the first time, I had felt something I hadn’t felt for a long time or perhaps something that I had never felt at all. It was the happiest day of my life.

The next day, Hershey was supposed to come over to our house and watch movies with me over scoops of ice cream but to my surprise, she suddenly cancelled our meeting and said “I am not going to bother you anymore. You deserve to be happy and I deserve to have a peace of mind.” Like what she did in the past, she gave up on me once again. For days, I pondered upon what she meant by happy, or peace of mind. It saddened me to think that what happened is happening again. It hit me harder this time around, I hoped again, but my hopes went nowhere but down the drain. It was the loneliest day of my life. She’s gone now. She’s never coming back. The four years of loving her and proving it to her is now shut in the previous chapter, fading into dust.

I was conversing with Toblerone when it all flashed before me.

I was lonely but then I realized, I wasn’t happy with Hershey anymore, I was merely desperately trying to save four years of loving her unconditionally. I realized, yes, I was in love but now, that so much has happened already, maybe I am just in love with the idea of being in love, which is unfair for me and for Hershey, especially that I was starting to develop a deeper feeling for Toblerone. Come to think of it, I experienced a greater deal of sorrow than happiness when I was with Hershey. I was caged in something that I thought was love, but was actually an obsession for love although it was love nonetheless, a love for love.

Now, Hershey and I are not sharing anything anymore. No SMS messages, no serenades, no conversations, no passionate hugs, nothing. In contrast to other stories, mine may not have a happy ending, but it doesn’t mean that I will not open a new book. After all, Hershey and I shared just another love story, and I have the rest of my life for more love stories, just waiting for the perfect one.

This is where my story with Toblerone begins; it might not be just another love story, but the story of true love. I just have to eat enough bars of chocolate so that I produce enough endorphin and love once more. Maybe I was just eating the wrong kind of chocolate, maybe, just maybe, Toblerone is the right one.