Hello, goodbye
After a number of heartbreaks and failed almost-relationships last year, I set two rules for myself to follow on falling in love this year: 1) Never aspire for anyone who is above my level, and (2) never act on something that will not be reciprocated.
Sorry for sounding like Jamie Sullivan here, but I was getting along fine and then you happened.
You came at a time when I wasn’t looking for anything or anyone. I think this is what they meant when they say, “It comes when you least expect it.” You are a clear violation of Rule #1 because you are clearly above my level. How can someone so gorgeous and charming be as intelligent at the same time? A clear example that we are not created equal. As for Rule #2, well, I thought there was reciprocation then.
We met in one of our company’s weekly badminton sessions. Like the site employees, it was my first time to join. You’re this audit supervisor from one of our sites. You excelled in a sport that I’m never good at.
Seeing you from afar, I thought you’re this straight guy with chicks on the side. Apparently not. One smile from you that day and you made me think of a happy ending (and it’s also the smile that will later break me over and over again). It’s really true that sometimes, we encounter people, even perfect strangers, who interest us all at once, before a word is even spoken. It was not love at first sight, but I found myself falling bit by bit each time we talked, and the more I got to know you.
I can’t remember when I fell in love. Was it when you told me the time will come when we won’t feel too awkward with each other? Or when you asked me to play doubles with you? Was it when I asked for a photo with you during our company’s anniversary, and you asked your office mate to take a photo of us, too, on his phone? Or was it when you said I should’ve gone home with you that night? I can’t exactly remember. I just knew it was love by then.
But I will always remember the time I told you how much I really liked you, and you replied with an apology instead. You asked if you had been sending wrong signals, and finally said you liked someone else. I had to exert my best effort to show you that I was okay, when in fact I was breaking badly at that moment.
Looking back, I think what you had shown me was a little extra sweet kind of friendship but this exaggerating heart of mine imagined it as my happily-ever-after story. I was too absorbed in what I was feeling that I failed to recognize that the feeling wasn’t mutual, that it would just be another case of unrequited love, another addition to my I’ve-never-had-much-luck-in-relationships list. It all boils down to me not being good enough for anyone else—my usual tragedy.
Because as trite as it may sound, you’re my biggest what-if. There are endless possibilities on what we could have become. I didn’t imagine it would end like this. Maybe the timing just wasn’t right. It’s just that I lost you without ever having you. You were gone from this love story before I could even say “I love you.” I still want to write about us, but there is nothing more to write. How do we end something that didn’t even begin? Maybe Junot Diaz was right when he said, “Sometimes a start is all we ever get.”
Last week, I was in your audit site, exactly where your office is situated, but fate did not let us cross paths that day, did not even allow me a glimpse of you. That day, I learned that proximity is not always indirectly proportional to distance. Some things can be so near and yet so far. It took me that moment to realize that I was fighting a losing battle, a battle I’d never win.
So after months of trying hard, it’s time to kiss this story goodbye and focus on more realistic things. I’ve realized that this is not meant for me this time. But I want to say thanks for giving me the opportunity to learn a great lesson: that in loving, being loved back is never the point. With less, some people find enough, sometimes even more. Maybe I’m one of them.
You made me think of a happy ending. But tonight and for the first time, I’ll settle for an ending.
Mark John Oriola, 23, is a certified public accountant.
