Broken.

I woke up with a dull ache in my chest. It’s finally over.

I urged myself to get up but no amount of goading worked. The ceiling was staring at me with a cold blankness that made it difficult to look away. I felt the hot trail of tears making its way to an already soaked pillow.

Something inside me died that day.

I’m starting to think that the problem might be deeply rooted and just manifest itself that way. He has become a serial offender. Without remorse or guilt. I was horrified to learn that he did the exact same thing the following day. After promising me that he won’t do it anymore. I wanted to run, as far away as I could. But he stopped me.

“I don’t want to lose you. I’m sorry. Please. Please. Please don't go.”

And I believed him.

Dumb, fucking idiot.

People have been amazed at how I’m handling it. I too, have been surprised by my resilience.

I wish I were really that brave. In the four corners of my bedroom wall, I feel small and afraid. The heaviness threatens to envelop me into hopelessness.

I thought I knew him. And maybe I did. Because I saw right through what’s eating him. He said that I forced him to look at himself and he didn’t like what he saw.

What pains me is that he knows that he’s giving up something that will probably never happen in both our lifetimes again. We were friends, lovers, partners-in-crime. We found both comfort and challenge in each other. He inspired me to be better. With him, I felt that there was nothing I couldn’t do. And his friends noticed the same thing about him. It was a profound happiness that I never thought possible.

When something’s bothering him, I felt it even when we’re not together. It seemed irrational at first, but we soon discovered that we had an unexplainable bond with each other. Sending messages at the exact same time, placing calls just because we happened to be thinking about each other at the very same moment. It was uncanny. And I knew then that what we had was the real thing.

It was, unfortunately, the same connection that gave me that gnawing feeling that he wasn’t being completely honest with me. Paranoia comes from mistrust. I didn’t want to be caught up in that.

One night, while we were laying out all our cards, I shared my anxieties with him. I just had to ask.

What I learned disgusted me. I wanted to know why he did those things. Why it had to happen over and over. Why us? Why me?

Nothing is hopeless. People can change. Everyone deserves a second chance. And I gave it.

“No more lies. No more secrets.” He said, holding me close.

I believed him.

In the end, he let his demons consume him.


Somewhere in Manila. November 3, 2005.