They say one of the hardest things to heal is a broken heart. It’s like cancer. Even after all the painful medication and the sickening chemotherapy, there’s still that possibility of it recurring. After it stripped you away of your energy, time with family, money, and life, it still finds a way to torture you continuously with every single memory of just how painful and sadistic it was. This thing that you call love—it’s your curse, your cancer; or worse, it’s my curse, my cancer.
Falling in love is a very common response. We’re humans after all. That wonderful feeling of having someone in your life—a person to cuddle with, to talk to, and to kiss; a shoulder to cry on; and a magnifier of your love and affection—makes one’s heart leap in every moment spent with him or her. It’s a concoction of the best euphoric feelings and nostalgic beginnings. It’s like a shot or a glass (if not a pitcher or, worse, a barrel) of your favorite alcoholic beverage. It may be a good forty year-old scotch burning your throat with perfection; a fine glass of pinot noir oozing with great aroma and titillating your senses; a tall shot of tequila waking you up and knocking you down all at the same time; or just a humble german beer warming your insides and making you feel good.
It’s a feeling that brings out the best and the worst in people, but it’s not all butterflies and flowers and giggling in the meadows. Falling in love comes with risks and a fair share of pain. After all, too much alcohol in your system would eventually knock you down.
More than just the casual dating-someone thing, falling in love entails a deep sense and understanding of yourself. I agree that falling in love is universal, but it still differs from person to person. Sometimes it even differs in every partner one gets.
Just recently, I had that feeling once again. It was unmistakably real and pure. Every single moment was just divine. I thought it was the right kind of relationship—the relationship I’ve always been waiting for. Days and weeks passed, the budding romance continued to grow into not only a beautiful and fragrant flower but a tall and proud oak tree with arms (or branches) stretched out wide and leaves dancing to the tune of birds singing and wind blowing. Yes, it’s really cheesy and overly idealistic, but it really was overwhelming and it felt right.
Until it didn’t.
The signs were there. I was just probably blind or I was just trying to avoid what was coming to me by ignoring it. Maybe I was hoping that I would be getting the same love and affection I was showing him. Like the ones we see in romantic comedies. At first, one doesn’t love the other, but eventually they end up together. However, mine turned out to be an unrequited love.
It all happened on a chilly December morning. The sun was shining brightly, the air was filled with Christmas cheer, and the anticipation of seeing him and spending the day with him was compelling. It was the perfect day. I went to his place. We saw a movie, talked, and soon after we did the deed for the first time. It was very intimate—his every touch, his every kiss, his every stroke made every single sensation that I felt before incomparable to what I felt that moment. It was the best feeling I’ve ever had in a very long time. After doing it, he stayed on top of me and we kissed passionately. I felt the love in every single kiss. Then something happened. A tear came out of my eye. And another tear followed. And another. Not too long after, I was crying. All of the emotions that I felt that time—passion, pain, joy, gratitude, guilt, and above all, love—broke me. As I sobbed, he looked at me with a mixture of worry and love. He asked why I was crying and I just replied “because I hate myself for being stupid”. He said I shouldn’t be because I’m amazing. That moment, I realized one thing—I was falling in love.
We cuddled some more. I didn’t want that moment to end. I didn’t want that day to end until he said something that totally broke my heart, something that totally broke me. He asked if we should stop seeing each other. I asked him why. He said that he’s afraid of commitments and he likes me too much. He likes me too much. HE. LIKES. ME. TOO. MUCH. He said it like it was a bad thing. If telling me that wasn’t sadistic enough, he said five words—probably the five most painful words I’ve ever heard in my life. I don’t fall in love. I. DON’T. FALL. IN. LOVE. I was insulted. I was angered. I was confused. But above all, I was brokenhearted.
I kept asking myself why it had to happen. Why all of a sudden he decided that it was better for both of us to stop seeing each other. Why he wanted to end our love that was just starting. Why he had to ruin that wonderful moment. I wanted to ask him a million questions. I wanted to punch, kick, and hurt him. I wanted him to feel the agony he suddenly put me through. I wanted to tell him I love him. I wanted him to go back kissing me and holding me tight in his arms. I wanted him. I wanted him so bad. But I guess, like all tragic love affairs, our short romance was bound to end. And not in a Shakespearean kind of tragedy, but in one involving me walking out of his apartment.
As I left, I hoped that he would follow after me and try to mend things. I hoped that he would tell me that he was just kidding like he always does. I hoped that he would tell me that he loved me too. It was wishful thinking.
While walking down the street, I felt the cold chill of the air across my face and my whole body. The cold December wind was even more magnified by the pain that I felt inside. The oak tree has been struck down by lightning. All its leaves have fallen and its branches burned. The alcohol has seethed within and its effects started to show. The world around began to turn and the nausea started. I felt an unexplainable pain within me. The cancer has recurred.