Silent farewell

After weeks of messaging each other consistently, I woke up without hearing the chime of my phone blessing me with the usual “good morning” notification. From then on, I knew.

I knew that I would no longer receive your good morning and good nights, your corny jokes, your rants, your pick-up lines, and your every single message that made me feel butterflies in my stomach for a short time. I knew that from that day forward, you’re no longer a part of my routine.

As much as I hate to admit it, I remember telling myself that maybe it was I who was the problem because since then, it was always you who would greet first—from the hallways of the campus, the streets of our barangay, and to the first-ever “hi.”

And me? I was always the first one to bid goodbye.

I was always good at goodbyes. I do my best to leave first before I’m left behind. And even though I suffer on the sidelines from my goodbyes, I can always manage. I always did without it haunting me—until you happened. Receiving your message while I was in my most mundane part of the day made my heart skip a beat (don’t judge me, I liked you from way before our first online conversation). It was unexpected, yes, but the second time you messaged me, I was sure you liked me. And I wasn’t wrong because that same day, you confessed. That was the start of our whirlwind situation.

The day you confessed was the same day we set our boundaries. I remember telling you that all I could give you was nothing beyond friendship. Romance and commitment were out of the question and that was funny because we exchanged playful messages as if we were something “more than friends but less than lovers”—and that, we actually were; at least from the way I saw it.

Still, we both knew that that’s all that we could give to each other. We were still so young, and my goals were different from yours. And although I like you, I am sure that I never did and never will love you. It was a mere puppy love.

During those days, you amazed me a lot because more than the well-constructed messages that made me blush (a lot of times, you flirt) even though I expected it, you made me see through the smiles. From the laughter, the cheerfulness, the pain, the heartaches, and the grief, I saw it all. Your concealed thoughts were mine to dig and read, and you peeked into mine.

For the very first time, I felt comfortable enough to share my most embarrassing memories with someone. Those memories had been concealed for so long and they were all shared only with you. It’s as if I finally dared to let someone see me from every side.

“Us” became our routine. And even though you slowly became my mundane reality, your impact on me was a driving force for my growth and learning. Because after you made me get used to your presence and left, a lot has changed.

Weeks after I wiped you out of my mental routine list, you did not cross my mind—not until the moment I remembered a funny memory and stopped composing a message after I realized that I could no longer share it with you … because you left so suddenly and your goodbye was in the form of silence.

I was left with no choice but to stay by the sidelines and watch as I understood why goodbyes actually torment the people who are left behind.

But still, our farewell was fair—for me and the both of you. She was your ex and I was the temporary replacement to fill the gaps of the holes she left. And now that she’s back, it’s fair for me to let you go because she was your home. From the start, I was already aware. We made it clear that all I wanted was to fly and see the world, and yours was to reach her and be embraced by her wings again.

I always feel in awe whenever I write about you. After all, I grew up as a happy child; pampered, loved, and taken care of—and then there was the after-you. You made me write my deepest and most beautiful scar in full detail. From wound to scar, it was all marked yours. Your mark was etched in me so beautifully to the point that the pain was buried within.

Until there came the day that the pain no longer hurt. Not even one bit.

The pain turned to a seedling. The seedling then grew its roots. And now, it has me. The pain was both my seed and my sun; Constantly feeding through each other, making the most beautiful forest that has become the habitat of my hope, passion, lessons, and growth.

Looking back, even though it would be easier to lose you as a lover (which you weren’t), rather than losing you as a friend, I would change and regret nothing because my young heart was at its peak when it was yours to grow.

Hannah Marvia Salvan, 17, is a student of humanities and social sciences. An indecisive woman who aspires to be everything she can think of.