Young Blood
A beautiful heart
By: Jerard Ancel Deauna EusebioPhilippine Daily Inquirer
Last night I was in the largest lake in the region. The fine July breeze hit my face like a greeting of some sort, as if it were asking me how I was. The lights of the Metro twinkled at the end of the horizon, their reflections on the water dancing like the thoughts in my head. I stared at the star-laden sky and then closed my eyes. Right there, as I was standing by the dark placid waters, life was giving me another night to relish the sweet aroma of freedom. I had taken the chance. After all, who was I, in the grander scheme of things, to let the
opportunity pass by?
I knew that in order to fully savor my triumph, I should trace my steps back to the beginning, to the dirty and grimy past which I thought had the best of me.
* * *
It all started three years ago when I decided to give love a shot by being brave and confessing to my friend my true feelings. But just like in a heart-breaking movie, our story did not have a happy ending. To make the story short, I got rejected and had to erase from my mind all the dreams I had for the two of us. It ended as quickly as it started, but I did not foresee how it would affect my life for the next three years.
To be fair, maybe I had expectations that were too high and I just misread all the signs, but no matter what, I was to blame, and I acknowledge that. Maybe I have not seen too many friends-turned-lovers-turned-epic-failure movies to have forgotten that. I should have thought of what would happen to our friendship if things did not work out.
Constantly seeing that person around reminded me of how I felt the day I got rejected—inadequate and unwanted. And this happened often, for we were bound to see each other since ours is a small town.
Sometimes, I would trick my mind into feeling better by creating fantasies in my head that maybe I was just being tested, that later all of my feelings would be reciprocated—I only had to be patient. But “sometimes” turned to “always.” The problem was, through all of the vague fantasies, I was not able to see that I failed to let go.
* * *
I opened my eyes again and smiled. I knew there was no one there to see it, but this time I was smiling to myself. This may just be the most serene night I have experienced in a very long time, I thought.
* * *
I guess I realized that I was not letting go a year after the rejection, but I knew that I was one step into moving on. I acknowledged the fact and then I accepted it, but it took time. I had to write tons of blog entries and talk about it more than a couple of times with my family and friends. In fact, for more than a year it was the only thing my friends and I would talk about, whether we were on the road or nestled in our favorite coffee shop. How they were able to stand my repetitive rants and lamentations is beyond
comprehension.
It took me all this time to realize that my heart got broken, but it took me even longer to get rid of my fabricated fantasies. It got to a point where I thought I had this disease that made one incapable of not thinking about a certain person. So I decided to find distractions, and I found running in the process.
I hit the gym after I graduated from college to lose all the post-manuscript writing weight I had put on. I enjoyed being on the treadmill so much that I decided to hit the real pavement and hills of our university campus. It proved to be effective and I found myself losing weight, feeling better and sleeping better. It felt great to have control over my life.
Recently I placed third in a fun run event.
Continuing my lucky streak in finding distractions, I joined the Lectors and Commentators Ministry of our parish, serving as a reader of the Word every now and then. I also found it effective. It was about this time when I realized that the once No. 1 topic was no longer trending in my conversations with my friends, that I ran no longer to distract myself but because I enjoyed it, and that I read in Church because I loved serving and being a vessel of God’s message.
I have let go. The process sounds so easy now, but it never was. There was even a time when I thought I could never move on, but now that I look at everything from a different perspective, I am thankful I got rejected, because otherwise I would not be where I am today nor would I be who I am now. To someone else, those three years could easily be the worst years of his life, but to me they were the best yet.
* * *
The lights of the Metro grew numerous as the night passed on, multiplying like glass when it is shattered by a blunt object. Three years ago, my heart got broken just like that, pieces of it flying everywhere.
Where do broken hearts go? Well, in my case, some of them went to my family and friends who each took a fragile piece and mended it with hugs, comforting advice and listening ears. One large piece was lifted up to God who has been taking care of it since He formed it in my mother’s womb. The remaining pieces were left with me, taking time to mend on their own, awaiting the return of the other pieces, and when they did, they formed back into a heart which is now scarred—a reminder that it has loved—which makes it all the more beautiful.
Jerard Ancel Deauna Eusebio, 22, is a BS Agriculture student at the University of the Philippines Los Baños and also works as a science research assistant at ERDB-DENR, College, Laguna.
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