“Of course it hurt that we could never love each other in a physical way. We would have been far more happy if we had. But that was like the tides, the change of seasons–something immutable, an immovable destiny we could never alter. No matter how cleverly we might shelter it, our delicate friendship wasn’t going to last forever. We were bound to reach a dead end. That was painfully clear.”
― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart
I tend to shut people out when feelings propel me to cling on to them. Friends may tell me that I’m a coward, afraid to take the risk of loving, but honestly, it’s very hard for me to open up when it comes to relationships. I don’t even know why so don’t expect me to elaborate. Perhaps I never wanted to be in a relationship. I’m happy the way I am, being single that is. Yes, so no point of writing about love in this blog. None at all.
But I just have the need to vent this off. Just for the heck of it. Lately I’ve been “troubled” with this particular experience which has been lurking for weeks (or a month) now. Not that it has never happened to me before, but this time, it’s quite weird, queer even.
It all started with a message popping out of my chat box. Being an amiable guy that I am, I tend to welcome people who want to have a nice chat with me. Especially with netizens who share the same interest as mine. So it all started there, with convo about books and movies, and writing and all. Until it came to a point where this stranger asked me,
“Are you open for a date?”
“But you’re in an open relationship.”
“But your profile says you’re in an open relationship.”
“Uhm, what’s an open relationship?”
“It means that you’re with someone, but you are still free to go out with anyone.”
“Oh, okay. I’m single. Sorry, I didn’t know that. Honestly, I’m single.”
“Wanna go out for coffee?”
“Sure. Why not. Well, maybe one of these days. I have work. Got a cool cafe around Makati?”
“Starbucks, There’s one below our building.”
“Sure. Do you smoke?”
“NO, I don’t smoke.”
“Ok. Let’s go out on a movie date then.”
“Ok. What movie?”
“Captain America. How about this Sunday?”
“Sure. But I have work until evening.”
“So, are you up for it?”
“When I’m done. Why not after I left the office? It’ll be late though.”
“So you mean, last full show?”
And it ended with the chatmate giving the cellphone number and friend request.
Yes. From sweet nothings to intimate exchanges of text messages, we never failed to holler each other up even in the wee hours of the morning. And it went for weeks. Sometimes an invite to their house, but usually I would refuse. Not really my idea of intimacy. Cuddling is good, but I would immediately reason out, “There’s nothing cuddly about me.” And “Never mind.” The only reply I got. But the messages would go on and the invite persisted, but to no avail. We contented each other with hi’s and hello’s and telling each other where we are.
“I’m on my way home from work.”
“Are you going to Mega?”
“Andito na ako Mega.”
“Ok. Magsisimba ako.”
There were always possibilities that our paths can cross, but as weird as it gets, we have never actually met though we’re pretty much aware we’re in one place. Or probably none of us actually initiated the meet-up. For as long as we breathe the same air or dodge against the same crowd, that’s enough. We concluded the supposed “meet-up” with FB and Instagram likes. We just knew we were in the same mall. We never talked about meeting up again. Then, I found myself in limbo. That pesky and delightful feeling all at the same time. It felt so good that it had to end.
But then again, I tend to shut people out when feelings propel me to cling on to them.