The story of us: A synopsis
The moment you said “hi,” I knew that doomsday was approaching. Okay, well maybe that was a slight exaggeration. It wasn’t more of the world’s doomsday…but mine. I could easily see how it will end—most likely in a pool of my heart’s broken shards. I will say this once: I fuck things up.
It was the first day of school again, and you still had your girlfriend. She could answer things in a snap, and no one would give a damn about her being a geek since she’s that bubbly. Everyone would always do a double-take since looking at her sparkling eyes wasn’t enough. Oh, and did I talk about how active she was in everything? Maybe it’s just me, but that girl was everywhere. Anyway, the moment I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were just going to be a crush—just another boy who would ignore me the moment they knew how I felt. It was funny how near your names both were, and as much as I would rather not ever think about you, I still admire it. Fast forward to a nearer past, I saw you crying about her leaving. She was with her friends, probably saying their goodbyes, maybe even talking about how they will keep their contact with each other. And you were there crying. Never had I ever wanted to hug someone I barely knew before. So she flew to the city of angels, and you guys probably kept your word of talking at this time or whatnot.
When you were my seatmate, my stomach would release that same old jar of butterflies just sitting next to you. You were that wonderful ray of sunshine that instantly made me feel warm, and I felt so…great. I loved hearing your stories and fighting about little things. Sometimes you would yank my hair, and it would unleash hell in my face, but I always felt those same butterflies. It was amazing how something so childish still makes me smile to this day. Those were the days that I started to like you. Those days have now faded into a blur. But I remember this one day when I was crying when I was writing my seven last words in that religion class, and you were so curious as to why I was crying, and that stamped on my brain how insensitive you can still be. Nevertheless, I found myself getting stuck in that pit I dug for myself.
Summer went by with our daily conversations. I was almost always at home, doing probably nothing, and you were either out with your parents, or playing GTA. I will never forget the day you went to Baguio, and you were feeling dizzy, and I told you to barf on a tree…and that somehow led to you calling me your Orange Tree. And you may not have even meant it at that time, but that was the first time the pixels spelling “I love you,” ever typed out on my screen from you.
Our junior year was filled with kisses and the most intense case of puppy love. Both our wallets were filled with notes dripping with honey. Every night was filled with anticipation of seeing you the next day, and it felt like it would never end. You engulfed my dreams, and all I could ever see was you. This time I felt you mean every “I love you,” and all those promises seemed like they would all come true, and we would even plan out our future then and there. Your voice was that sweet sound of honey that melted into my soul. On the 28th day of the first month of 2014, I agreed to being yours because you proposed being mine. After that, even more kisses were shared and even more honey-covered notes filled our pockets. And never was I happier.
At last, our senior year. Our eyes sparkled through the meadows, as if we knew what the outside world was going to be. We took our tests, chose our schools, snuck in a few kisses, and made our plans. I was on my way to that extremely-lacking-of-water-despite-being-the-‘blue’-university up north, and you were settled on that school where tigers roar. Our senior year was your busiest, with gigs everywhere, but I would never slip off your mind. But this was the year we fought most. This was the year you strayed off to court another. It was her. That young, but, I admit, beautiful and talented her. You blew off dates, and you went through nights talking with her, while I was on your be right back list. There were days that passed that I was just another soul you would rather not talk to. On prom night, we fought, and mended, but then fought again. On April fools, you left. And it shook me. And in those desperate times, I took desperate measures. I talked to our friends to talk to you, and I always tried to annoy you into going back. On my birthday 27 days later, your hand snaked into mine in the movie theatre, and I thought we were back. But we weren’t. Apparently, that was nothing to you. Just another Saturday afternoon. Weeks went by, and I managed to get you back. But in between those days, I left my dream school to be nearer yours.
Our five-month summer before university went on with fights, but with a finale of a substantial amount of our lips touching. A few weeks before my university classes started, yours had already opened its doors. And with you going to me every so and so, I became optimistic—I knew we could conquer anything. Then September came. And you left for good. And whenever I tried to reach out, you seemed uninterested, but I never stopped tackling angles I still had not gone through. I would beg, or cry, or act nonchalant, but nothing worked. We would see each other, too. But you would never come back.
And then the reasons came. Your inflow of girls, exceeded what I could have imagined. When you told me you left me because I was being a burden to your studies, I begged for another chance so I could still be yours—so I can still fulfill the promises we made. But you had fallen out of love, and I could see what I had anticipated, my doomsday.
I was broken, and dark days went by. I started failing exams because my tears would always be in the way of my notes entering this mushy brain of mine. I was at war with myself—torn between wanting to spend my nights asking for your return and telling myself to pack up and move on. You were someone I never wanted to lose, until one December day, you completely left. I was blocked everywhere—and yes, I was used to being that way when you would break up with me during those summer fights—but it was different. You were farther and I could not beg you to return the way I used to. This time, you were definitely gone.
And I still find myself thinking about you, even if I know I’m finally packing away what we had into the pit I dug for myself. I’m a little bit better now, and I am absolutely sick of you throwing me away to give way for someone new. But I wouldn’t change that experience for the world, despite all the heartache it left me. Despite this heart being too used, and this soul being too broken, I can say this: doomsday isn’t so bad. It’s probably just a way of destiny paving its way for something better. And who knows? Maybe this havoc is better than how our love ever was. Maybe, this end of the world paved its way so I find a better one. Maybe this isn’t the end. But no matter what, I can say, I survived this doomsday. After all, it is the day after a tomorrow.
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