Over the past two years, I've had more dates with people I met onlineâmay it be through that infamous red app or its yellow currently-better-but-also-on-the-way-there siblingâthan with people I meet organically. That is not to say that I can't relate nor form relationships with people I hang out with. In fact, it's the opposite, I tend to befriend them too much that the thought of us being anything but is out of the question. It's not also because I don't meet people enough. My circle is an entangled interconnection of so many people that I constantly find myself surrounded by the nicest, warmest, and most talented people.
Anyway I've been thinking about these interesting matchesâso to speakâa lot lately. Probably 'cause I've resigned myself to deleting my accounts on both, indefinitely as of now and for good hopefully soon. Amidst these matches, two men particularly stood outâno, I don't mean physically, though maybe that's also part of it. It's in this cliche yet true defining feature we all look for: connection. And as cynical as I initially was with these dating apps, I'm glad I was able to define and experience connections in two distinct ways over the past two years.
Warning: quite a read
Part 1: Air Jordan
This boy was quick, eager, and straightforwardâthe type who knows what he wants and goes for it without hesitation. I realized this the moment he first said hi; he was flirtatious; I was anything but. We exchanged backgroundsâthe usualâbriefly, and the next thing we knew we were talking about our mutual love for John Mayer, work pains, and ended up exchanging numbers. He asked to see me the next day; surprisingly I was inclined to say yes, but I had work commitment. So we agreed to meet the day after.
I told him I was anxious. It was the first time I ever agreed to meet up with... a stranger I met online and warned him how awkward, quiet, and guarded I can be. He said I didn't need to worry; that he'd make sure I'd be comfortable. "I don't want to waste the momentum of our conversation. I don't want to be one of those guys you talked to and fade from after a few days. So let's go out." And with that, I was off to my first Tinder date!
We agreed to meet in BGCâmy safe space; in case he was a scammer, I knew my way out. I was 15 minutes late because my meeting extended. I remember the first thing I said to him was, "I'm so so sorry for being late." I hate not being on time and making people wait.
After that, it was a breeze, and 80% of how easy it was, I owed to him. He was a heck of a conversationalist; it didn't feel forced. I reacted and responded naturallyâno overthinking, a stark departure from my usual demeanor when first meeting up. And ten minutes into the date, I found myself thinking, "Damn, I'm gonna like this boy a lot."
And I did. It was a connection I knew in an instant. There was no way to pinpoint how or why; it just was. The first date turned to two, three, and more. When we talked, we never ran out of topics to talk about. We laughed like crazy. We drove around the city a lot; I told him I liked night drives 'cause I hated traffic in the day so nights were spent driving with no destination in mind. The silences were just as great. He knew I needed my me-time, and he was more than understanding to give it to me. He'd leave me voice messages on nights I can't sleep. He loved whiskey; I learned to love it because of him. An acquired taste.
But sometimes as great as a connection is, you reach your finish line. Our last night seemed like a normal nightâdinner at a Japanese restaurant, a couple of drinks and a pack of cigarettes from his bedroom's veranda, getting tangled in his bed and duvet. He dropped me off my house and we stayed for about an hour more in his car. There, we talked about what we were. And we arrived in different conclusions. He said he liked me, but wasn't ready. I said goodbye. This grand, instantaneous, and all-too-consuming ended with me gently closing the door of his car and walking back home. How unfair.
Part 2: Sweater
This next boy, too, was quick, straightforward, and confident. (See a pattern here?) From our first few exchanges, I could conclude that he's done this so many times before. He was good; too good sometimes. And it was a big warning sign I chose to ignore.
The night we met, I also inadvertently made him wait. (Again, see a pattern here?) I remember feeling really nervous, which was not at all surprising given that I'm quite an anxious person. This boy did a good job in getting me settled and calm. He didn't know this, but I was glad he had a lot of stories to share. I loved listening to every minute of it.
This wasn't like Part 1 where I was instantly relaxed. It wasn't a breeze, but it wasn't bad either. He made me laugh a lot and piqued my curiosity. When he talked, I listened intently. He was smart and could carry himself well and graciously. I found myself smiling because that's exactly how I like boysâconfident, smart, and beaming with manners and class. There were times during that night where I would just get lost listening to his stories and trivia. What an adorable boy.
I remember thinking, "Oh no, he might think he's boring me or, worse, that I'm a boring person." I initially attributed it to a lack of chemistry. But later on, I just knew that it wasn't a connection that happened in an instant, and that's okay too. It took more conversations and more work before we could find our pace. But when we did, it was a beautiful time. Who's to say a connection has to be instantaneous to be great? Some people have it in a snap; others took a while to find their rhythm. And this boy made me realize the latter, and that it still feels just as amazing no matter what.
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So why the hell am I writing this? Well, I'm in this two-hour flight, and I don't feel like sleeping. But I guess the whole point of this thought vomit is just for me to documentâto eternityâmy realization that no two connections are ever the same. I initially regarded Air Jordans as the standard, but Sweaters isn't so bad, either.
I am slowly forgetting how your voice sounds like. Youâd shout my name, your voice deep and reverberating, undoubtedly yours. Iâd turn around and see your towering figure, grinning, holding a chocolate bar in my direction. Iâd run as quickly as I could; you reaching your arms for me, and then holding me in a tight embraceâyour broad shoulders, my rock. I burry my face on your white shirt, basking in your warmth and your favorite perfume.
I am slowly forgetting how your voice sounds like. How youâd call me as soon as I step off the school bus, sitting on your wooden chair in the balcony, waving your hands at me. Iâd walk in your direction, sit on your lap, rest my head on your chest feel your heartbeat on my ears, your pulse, your life line. I listen to your stories of the warâhow youâd fly your plane over enemies and destroy them. They were exaggerations, I knew that. But still, you were my hero.
I am slowly forgetting how your voice sounds like. How youâd say my name softly as I walk in the door. I wouldnât have heard it if I wasnât paying attention, but Iâve known your voice all too wellâwhether itâs a shout or a whisper. And hearing it has always been familiar and moving, making me feel home. You were on the couch, and Iâd sit beside you. Iâd describe my day in vivid detail while you smile and nod at me, encouraging me to go on. You always found joy in my stories. It didnât matter if it was the third, fifth, or tenth time you heard it. You didnât mind, and I didnât either. I just wanted so badly to share it with you, especially if it made you laugh. I loved making you laughâhow can I forget how this sounds?
I am slowly forgetting how your voice sounds like. How youâd call me out of the blue, ask me the same questions again and again. I knew youâve become forgetful, but I never grew tired of reminding you: âIâm okay.â Your stories of war that used to leave me in awe have been replaced by silences and understanding stares and light hugs that went on for far too long, a blanket of comfort between you and me. And a shared understanding that this, alone, is enough. Then you drift off to sleep like youâd always do by that time, and Iâll replace my hug with your sheets and leave you be, watch you sleep peacefully.
I am slowly forgetting how your voice sounds like. You hardly talked during your last days in the hospital. And when you did, youâd ask me your favorite question: âHow are you, darling? Howâs work?â Fighting my tears, Iâd always reply, âIâm good.â Youâd nod your head and give me your big smileâthe smile youâd give me when you would lure me with chocolates, when you would see me amazed by your war stories, your age-old jokes and my teenage rants, and the smile you had whenever I snuck you your favorite dessert. Your smileâit was as if saying that me being okay is all the matters, but I wanted you to be okay, too.
I am slowly forgetting how your voice sounds like. Itâs been almost a year, lolo. And it still hasnât gotten any better. Lifeâs been such a rollercoaster. I wish I can tell you all about it. My heart aches constantlyâdisappointments and heartbreaks. I have a new job now, and the people are okay. But arenât family, maybe not yet. I smoked for a time, but I quit. Sleep is still difficult; I still find myself awake at the wee hours of the night. I donât know if this will ever change. Iâve been crying a lot lately. I think itâs got to do with my unhealthy coping mechanisms. I want to see a therapist, but never got the courage to. Maybe if you were here I wouldnât need to. But donât worry Iâm trying to be better, eat healthier, take care of myself more. Itâs all I have. Not a day goes by when I donât wish that I could answer your questions over and over again. I have a lot of questions in my head, but none of them yours. I want to shut them off.
You see the sun in all its blazing glory
While I see the moon in its quiet beauty.
And while we donât see the same celestial bodies at any one time,
I find comfort in knowing that I can bask in the sun and the moon and the stars
Before they make their way towards you.
Take these as my everyday gift, darling.
I give you these wonders to marvel atâday and night.
The room was filled people who were drunk with alcohol, happiness, or maybe bothâplaying a game of Taboo, laughing at the silliness of their answers, dancing to old 90âs hits, and taking videos that would probably be a source of both happiness and embarrassment when theyâre sober later on.
Hearts heavyâthough itâs probably just mineânot from the alcohol we consumed, but from the realization that people come and go. The fact was easy to understand and accept until you have to come face to face with it.
But ironically even then it was utterly beautifulâhow we never really know when we must say goodbye until we have to. I guess what Iâm saying in all these ramblings is that accepting that people come and go reminds you to cherish every moment you can with them. Because when itâs time for them to go, the best you can do is send them off, bid them farewell, and wish them good luck.
If youâre reading this, you know who you guys are. All the love all ways, always.
Today was my first time stepping out of Marajo Tower knowing that in 30 days Iâll be saying goodbye to the building Iâve come to call home for the past year. No longer will I be seeing my favorite city on a daily basis, navigate its streets like the back of my hand, go for a midday walk just because, and spend late nights staring at the city below me from our 9th floor window.
From here on until my last day, I donât think Iâll be able to look at BGC the same way. It will instead be a series of mementos to commemorate the roller coaster ride that has been my advertising stintâmorning Uber rides spent trying to get to the office before my boss does; crossing to 7-Eleven for a piece of banana or a pack of cigarettes; walking to McDonaldâs, Burgos Circle, Fort Strip, or High Street whenever I have my food cravings; spending my evenings after-work at my favorite coffee shop down 32nd; late night Uber rides when the busy city is at its most peaceful state, and countless other moments I will surely miss.
For the longest time, this has been home, my comfort zone, but thatâs all about to change. Counting down the days until I say goodbye to 26th corner 4th.
It was a little over midnight in the red-bricked and rustic-themed bar.
Two peopleâwho spent the last three hours just drinking cocktails, taking shots, laughing at one anotherâs drunk stories, and talking about lifeâs complexities and crueltiesâdecided it was time to leave the quiet and cozy bar and head somewhere else. Where that somewhere else was, neither of them knew at first. They just mindlessly walked around the cityâtaking in the lights and the cold breeze and watching people, mostly night-shift office workers, go on about their lives.
Even without saying a word, both knew that neither of them wanted to go home just yet. The night was young and with alcohol speeding their heartbeats, they were hungry for more adventures. After talking about their frustrations, their pains, what-ifs, and their hopes and dreams and yelling these to the city thatâs too busy to even hear or notice them, they decided that they should find a different and more entertaining way to vent out their emotions.
So they drove to the neighboring city and found themselves in a karaoke bar. Both were cracking themselves up at the sheer idea of going all the way to Makati to sing inside a small room with a machine that feeds you lyrics and scores you for your singing prowessâor lack thereof. But it was 1AM and they were drunk. And it felt like a good idea to sing their hearts out when no one else was listening, but one another.
And they found comfort in that, in having someone to listen to them, to console them when they cried, and to remind them that though they may feel as if itâs an ongoing battle with the universe, it was a battle that need not be fought alone.
Music had always been their escape. When they didnât know what else to say or how to explain what they were feeling, they turned to music. And that night, it only seemed fitting to sing their favorite songs, with a mic on one hand and a bottle of beer on the other. Before starting each song, both would tell their âstoryâ or what the song meant to them. Sometimes theyâd mull over it. Others theyâd curse the people or the universe that made them feel that way. And off they belt out.
Who knew that singing tacky songs could be so therapeutic? Neither of them did, but there they wereâenjoying themselves, laughing at each other, and forgetting the heaviness of the worlds they both carry on their backs.
They sang and drank and sang some more. The next thing they knew it was 5AM, and their throats were sore. The place was about to close; they were the last ones standing. The sun was about to paint the sky the prettiest hues of oranges, purples, and pinks in a few minutes. They watched this happen from their carâs windows as they drove home.
In a parallel universeâ version of this story, the boy and the girl probably ended up kissing each other or whatnot. But not in this one. Here, they drove in silence, smiling, knowing that they ended and started a new day with music, albeit in a funny and downright tacky way. But hey, it was nice to get those heaviness off their chests and to have someone to do it with. And the innocent forehead kiss and genuine âthank youâ were great, too.
The scariest part about a fall happens not when youâre freefalling to the force of gravity in the air nor when youâre a few feet away from the landing. Rather, itâs in the milliseconds before you plunge in, before you let yourself go â whilst seeing the magnanimity of it allâhow vast and wide and endlessâyet altogether vague, unsure, and uncertain.
Itâs in the uncertainty of the outcome that we tend to cower and crawl back in fear. Fear chains us away from all the wonderful things we can have. Tells us that everything will be destructive even before we get the chance to build it. Blinds us away from all that we could be. Tricks us into thinking that doing the same thing and staying in our comfort zone is the way to go. Fear paralyzes us from our goals, dreams, the people we could be, and the love we could have.
Astronomers say that as they revolve, planets constantly âfallâ towards the sun. The same goes with meâI constantly fall towards you. And the planets revolve around the sun just as my thoughts revolve around you.
Make lists. Make lists of who you want to be. Itâs not trying to be somebody else, but rather making yourself better. Remind yourself of the kind of person you want to becomeâwork towards that. Ask yourself: Is your present self the future self of your past self?
Itâs equally sad and scary how weâre at that point in our lives where we drift apart from people as if the bonds formed were made of nothing but a thin thread. Weâre at that point in our lives where we receive the first blow of the all-too-familiar saying, âPeople come and go.â Weâre at the point where friends turn into acquaintances and where long conversations turn into mere waves and smiles as we walk by each other around the block.Â
 Itâs scary because it feels like just a few years ago that we were having the time of our lives in high school and telling each other that âweâll be friends âtill the very end.â But now I feel like Iâm looking at a stranger. I feel like Iâm looking at you through a glass door from an observation room, not recognizing who you are. I feel like Iâm looking over the window of a moving train staring at you as your image fades and the train picks up its speed.Â
 Itâs sad because I am further reminded of how easy it is to loose people. Even those youâve known for a very long time. Even those who you survived times with. And the saddest of all, even those who you call friends.Â
 Itâs all part of growing up, I know. We lose people. We drift apart. We change. Itâs part of the cycle that is life. But that doesnât make it any less scary, sad, and painful.
