Written April 2016. To the girl who wore a dress and a backpack during a fake Beatles concert. Buti na lang, wala akong sinabi.
Sit down. I’ll tell you a story.
It was New Year’s Eve of ’15—I was smoking stick after stick after stick of Marlboro Black menthols by the departure lounge of the Taipei airport. You were two hours and forty minutes away by plane, probably getting drunk.
I wanted to dial—because that time I was ready to vomit months worth of vagaries, which I’m sure would scare the baby fats out of you. Because, uh-huh, I’m creepy like that. Nothing will be said. Not that day. I held back.
I’m a publicist. I say that both with pride and a shade of self-mockery. I eat my feelings for breakfast and once Olivia Poped the shit out of a bomb threat. I can make belts out of people’s spines and soap out of their enzymes.
But I don’t know what to make of your heart.
You see, I’d like to think of it as just meat. Fine—beer-fed, Grade A—but just meat. You are the really shy but smart girl who’s too afraid to comment. You don’t have abs, you may be slightly outgoing, but your demeanor says “lame duck who will die immediately in a zombie apocalypse.”
I don’t know that to make of you.
And every time we sit across each other discussing matters of great importance, a.k.a whining about people, I’d pause for a couple of seconds and wonder how we’d do in life as partners.
We are so going to suck. But I’ll take that any day, every day.
What I’m worried about is how you’d deal with the inconveniences of being with me. For example: I usually have the car washed and vacuumed once every month, when the forgotten longganisa smell is too strong to ignore. I love my armpit hair and you’d have to love it too. I have a filthy mouth. I forget and ignore important dates like birthdays and anniversaries. I will disappear and not call for days.
I don’t have abs, so that makes us even.
You don’t deserve that.
I want you and you can have all 108 pounds of me, but no matter how light that seems, you will feel my weight pulling you down in time. Trust me, I’ve seen this.
So I made a simple resolution. Nothing will be said. Not today.
Listen. Everyday, since the New Year’s Eve, I look at life like it’s a shit storm—then send my hopes flying on a paper plane.
Nothing will be said.
But a lot has been written. For close to a year, I have fought this battle with just paper and never have I wanted so badly to lose. I dread it and I want it.
If I sum up the consequences of ‘you and me,’ that would summon a blizzard that would puncture the Earth. We are miles and miles apart, you and I. But I’ll send my paper plane anyway. Listen, I apologize for the trouble and for all for the mixed metaphors.
I will fail you.
You can’t depend on me.
So today, I’ll make the same resolution—nothing will be said.
Post note: Okay na ko, friends. Hahaha!