I’m not much of a good person—it’s not hard to figure that out. I’ve laid it all on the table before in the form of a letter dating back to late 2008. You don’t need to tell me that I am selfish, ungrateful, insensitive, neglectful, negative, and generally disappointing. I have lived long enough—24 years, 6 months, 4 days to be exact—to know these things by heart and actually confirm their validity. You see, these things come with a low EQ.
We’ve been together for almost five years, give or take a few months when we broke up because we couldn’t stand each other or because some rogue variable suddenly came into the equation. The assumption is that we both wanted to be happy. So on the 20th of December 2008, you said ‘yes’ and it shot me up to cloud nine, where I dreamt of two dogs, a nice library, in a little house amidst a vineyard, to be shared by you and me until the twilight of our lives.
Until, of course, the honeymoon season ended and our petty fights began.
You hated me when it’s raining and we couldn’t get a cab, when I don’t get to text or call because of a busy day, when I say stupid things you used to find cute, when I don’t speak if I’m mad, when I don’t say sorry (it really takes time), when I ‘pressure’ you to work faster (back in the GM days when I still go to Makati everyday so we can see each other), when I am working too late and you are too tired to wait, when I don’t tell stories to keep a conversation going, when I (used to) say ‘I love you’ way too much, when I am too clingy, when I don’t greet you on your birthday or prepare a nice big surprise on our anniversary, when I used to go out with my advertising friends, when I couldn’t control the dog during our evening / late afternoon strolls, when I fail to tell my parents that you are coming over, when I say yes for the sake of ending an argument, when I couldn’t help but cry sometimes, when I am jealous, when I look and dress like shit, when I feel bad because I couldn’t spend the night in your house because your parents might get suspicious, when I fail to reason properly.
When I drop the articulate side and just be the shabby, despicable, rotten me. Eighty percent of the time I make you angry. We argue five out of seven days in a week for reasons I don’t remember anymore.
Often, I try to recount our happier days but they seem so remote—few and far between. And fading.
You know, I might be selfish, ungrateful, insensitive, neglectful, negative, and generally disappointing, but sometimes, SOMETIMES, I can also be kind. After listing down some of these adjectives that you have called me in various occasions, the good vs. the bad (the only good being ‘smart’ and you asked if there is really something more that we could add to it), I can’t help but wonder if I could be worth something, anything, to the next person I would love, aside from being a constant liability.
But let me tell you this, I know I’m loyal, committed, and I will never lay a hand on you, never out of anger, not even when I found out you were cheating. I’m persistent and hardworking. I mingled with your friends and worked hard to be accepted by them. I am patient—it takes a while before something can set me off.
And most of all, I am tough. Tough enough to swallow your sharp words, if doing so meant getting cut and bleeding from the inside.
I don’t expect important people in my life to jump off a bridge, or take a bullet for me. I will never ask that from anyone. No, I don’t even expect them to be loyal because, heck, I considered infidelity the biggest deal breaker then, but here I am now. My dreams were too rosy, I thought you would treat me better after we decided to give it another try.
I am unhappy.
I told you that way before and you got mad. I am telling it to you again and if it makes you mad, I am sorry.
But you make me so unhappy.
All I need from the universe is a dribble of kind words once in a while. It’s been raining daggers for a very long time and it won’t seem to stop. I don’t know how long I could keep going.