A Love Letter to Boof

I love you, and there’s only one reason why.

To my love,
I love you, and there’s only one reason why.

I love you. You hear these words a lot from me, and you know that whenever I tell you these words I mean them. I love you. Three words that are powerful individually but are more powerful altogether. I love you.

I love you. I love you not because of the way you bite my lip whenever we kiss. It’s not because of the way your fingers tremble whenever they trace the outlines of my face. It’s not because of the way your palms sweat whenever we hold hands (especially in public). It’s not because of the way your eyes twinkle whenever they gaze into mine. Nor is it because of the way you flash a crooked smile and stare at me with love whenever we run out of things to talk about.

I love you. It’s not because of the way your voice cracks whenever you’re trying to make a confession. It’s not because of the way you suddenly turn 600 times sexier when you sing me a love song. It’s not because of the way you calm my nerves whenever I feel tense. It’s definitely not because of the way your words are filled with optimism and love.

I love you. It’s not because of the way you send me cute little text messages to remind me that you’re always in my life. It’s not because of the way you call 5 minutes every day just to check up on me. It’s not because of the way you whisper sweet nothings whenever we’re alone. It’s not because of the way it sounds so sweet whenever you call me “boof”. It surely is not because of the way you scribble weird stuff on my notes.

I love you. It’s not because of the way you know my favorites. It’s not because of the way you order my favorite Starbucks drink 10 minutes before I arrive (coz you know that it takes 5 minutes for it to brew). It’s not because of the way you ask for spare change whenever we ride a cab or buy groceries coz you’re almost always a few bucks short. It’s not because of the way you make coffee and tell me that it’s “our” coffee. It’s not because of the way you ask me to go with you when you’re gonna get a glass of water from the water dispenser. It’s not because of the way we share our food (although I wouldn’t call it sharing coz you eat 3/4 of it). It’s most certainly not because of the way you steal my fries.

I love you. It’s not because of the way you tell me to fix my life without sounding bossy and insulting. It’s not because of the way you tell me that staying up late is bad for my health. It’s not because of the way you try to make me see things in a lighter perspective whenever I have problems (which is pretty much all the time). It’s not because of the way you tell me that you’ll punch anyone who did or will do me wrong (but I SRSLY doubt you’d do that coz you’ve never punched or slapped or laid a hand on anyone in your entire life). It’s not because of the way you suddenly turn all protective when you feel like my guard is down. It’s not because of the way you’re exerting a lot of effort in making this long distance relationship work.

I love you. I love you because of one thing. I love you because despite all the things that I did to you, all the pain I caused you, and all the headaches I gave you, you still accepted me. I love you because of that. You gave me chances—not just one but many chances to prove myself worthy of someone like you.

I’ve treated you badly. I’ve been unfaithful. I’ve been a complete pain in the ass. Totally undeserving of your love. Totally. But despite all my shortcomings, you still forgave me. Your eyes still twinkle whenever they gaze into mine like the first time they ever did. You still turn 600 times sexier whenever you sing me a song just like the first time you sang me one. You still whisper sweet nothings like you used to. You still bite my lip whenever we kiss. You still make “our” coffee when we’re together. You still try to make our relationship work.

You stayed with me despite all my imperfections, failures, drawbacks, and faults. That’s love. At least for me. That’s the reason why I love you. And I would never stop loving you even if time and space or whatever separates us.

With all my heart,
Your boof

Note: Boof was the term of endearment that we used (much like babe, honey or sweetheart). It’s a wordplay on ‘boyfriend’. Boyfriend —> boyfie —> boofie —> boof

Love and Metaphors

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.

Love and Pain

Crying does not mean that you’re weak. It’s a normal coping mechanism especially after a loss of a loved one, after a heartbreak. It’s a manifestation of the pain that we feel. 

 

[Pain.] (n.) highly unpleasant physical sensation caused by illness or injury (or in my case, caused by love or the lack thereof). We try to avoid pain. It’s that one sensation that most (considering that there are sadists and masochists and people who just love pain) refuse to experience. It’s the feeling that traces its roots from negative experiences we’ve had. It’s a reminder of how we were emotionally tortured and hurt.

 

I don’t like pain. In fact, I hate it. Not the physical type of pain. I’m talking about the emotional type. You can treat physical pain. Just dab some ointment or take some painkillers, and you’re good to go. Emotional pain, on the other hand, is much harder to heal. It lingers and haunts you more than the body sore that you feel from playing volleyball or practicing karate. Yet it is something that comes to people a lot of times and in a very unexpected manner. It’s like a visit of the Hilton sisters in a party they were not invited to. It’s like a mystery box—not the good-stuff-filled kind but the shit- and grief-filled one.

 

Pain is like a very potent bottle of poison. You start by experiencing extreme difficulty in swallowing and a burning sensation in your throat. Then an unbearable stomach aches follow. Soon after, you’ll be vomiting. If that’s not enough suffering yet, you’d start getting vertigo and your blood pressure and pulse decreases. Your limbs would hurt like they’re being torn from your body. You’d also start getting more depressed and you’d think about your death. And after all these sufferings, you’d die. That’s what pain feels like. Not that I’ve experienced being poisoned, but I’m pretty sure you’d understand and get a picture of what pain feels like (if the description wasn’t vivid enough).

 

Just before the holiday season, I experienced pain once more. My boyfriend (who said he was not really boyfriend) broke up with me. It was poison. It was an unexplainable mixture of emotions—rage, fear, depression, guilt, loss, grief, and above all, pain that was exponentially multiplied.

 

It was totally unexpected. We were very happy together. Then we weren’t. Or at least he wasn’t. I know that he could be very unpredictable. He does things that surprise me (both in good and bad ways). What happened that day was a bad kind of surprise. I didn’t see it coming. Come to think of it, we had great, intimate sex before he broke up with me. After all those sweet kisses and long cuddles, he said he wants to stop seeing me. He said he doesn’t want commitments. He said he doesn’t really fall in love.

 

It was so painful and insulting. Have you ever experienced being used for or dumped after sex? If you haven’t, then you’re lucky and I hope you don’t get to try it. For those people like me who’ve tried it, you know the amount of pain I’m going through. 

 

I was shattered after hearing all those words. At first, I didn’t want to believe any of it. I kept thinking that it was just a bad dream or a ridiculous joke. It felt so unreal. I was in shock—a charged shock. I wanted to ask him why he stopped loving me (if he actually loved me). I didn’t know what to do. There it was, I was poisoned.

 

It was very hard for me, but I had to face reality. He doesn’t want me anymore. He wants freedom. He wants his life back. And even if I wanted to stop him, I couldn’t. I’m not someone who comes in the way of what people want. I’m not the kind of person who controls the relationship or a person. I’m the kind of person who lets the other person enjoy his life and live it the way he wants. You can say that I’m a modern day martyr, and I got a taste of my own poison.