The Romanticism of A Love That Was Lost

I would like to start this article by throwing caution at the wind and saying that of all topics of conversation, it is about LOVE that trumps everything else.

And when we talk about love, it’s almost always either of these three: the First, the Great, and The One That Got Away.

The First is always a reminder of our fresh brush at love. Everything’s sweet, everything feels right, but not even this innocent feeling can help us overcome the obstacles of our adulthood. And so, we part.

The Great is always a reminder of how powerful of a feeling love really is. Where The First is all about the highs, The Great has the lows, too. A sort of conflict is involved and this, along with the euphoric feeling of passionately loving and being passionately loved in return, contributes to its flair.. its drama. Overtime, the drama gets too much of the love that we decide to just let go. And so, we part.

The One That Got Way is always a reminder of how capable we are to love but equally incapable to fight for it and commit to it. If you look back, there really is nothing wrong about the relationship. At least, nothing wrong that we can’t really fix. But why did we let go? Why did we part? Because our internal conflict was too much at that time that it ate up whatever fight we have to continue loving. And so, we part.

But why then do we tend to look back at our could haves and would haves as if they’re the best chapters of our lives? So much so that we tend to miss enjoying our current chapter to the fullest. Or worse, tend to undermine it.

If you put our past romances in a microscope and just be totally objective about it, you’ll realize (and hopefully accept) the cracks and nuances of what you have put in a pedestal.¬†The relationship was stuck on the honeymoon phase before it even really hits reality. Reality like waking up to their morning breaths, sleeping through their snores, navigating through your personal messes… and helping each other get out of them. Him fighting for you, and you fighting back for him; with the rest of the people who matter rooting for you two to win against the hurdles of life.

Everything happens for a reason, they say. And this is true about our past heartbreaks, too. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation why we never ended up with The First, The Great, and The One That Got Away — they are not The Right for us.

The Right is that one love that could and should make you stop thinking of and pining on the other three.

I know that our past experiences, including relationships, should give us lessons in life to make us prepare for the future. But they shouldn’t be totally defining and dictating our present.

Who knows? Your current chapter could be very well your epilogue, too.

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On Dates and Memories

As a kid, I felt the need to memorize my family’s birth dates because how could I not? They’re family. My father’s, my mother’s, my brother’s and later on, my kid sister’s.

As I grew a little older birthdate memorization extended to Lolos and Lolas, Titos and Titas, cousins, and close friends.

And much later on, the range extended not just on birthdates but on other life milestones, too — monthsaries, anniversaries, the day you first met, your pet’s birthday…

Dates are always associated with memories and with it comes the good and the bad. It can get too overwhelming, too, that sometimes, we feel the need to downplay it. Monthsary celebrations are limited to anniversaries, even your couple anniversary become overshadowed by your wedding anniversary, because one just can’t have that many of a celebration!

But my current question is this:

When it comes to babies and losses, which date do you keep?

The day you found out you were pregnant, the expected delivery date, or the day that you lost your baby?

Do you reminisce the happiness, be nostalgic at the feeling of anticipation, or commemorate the loss?

It’s a little tricky is it not? But amidst this confusion, I hope that I find clarity…

The Pains of Being Lonely

I cry.

You say, “Be strong”.

I cry some more because you don’t seem to understand.

You say, “Be strong for him”.

I cry even more because you really don’t get it.

I cry because I’m lonely, not because I’m weak.

I cry because I’ve been trying to be strong. Not for anyone, not for him, but for me. Because first and foremost, I need me to survive — every day, every hour, every minute.

I cry because sometimes the loneliness just creeps in and some days, you really don’t have full control over it.

I cry because I will never get over it.

I cry not because I’m weak, but because I’m lonely.

And it’s sad that you can’t seem to understand.

It’s sad that you might never get it.