The Color of Heartache

If you had known what it was like to fall in love for the very first time and have had your heart broken so badly, I just want you to know that you are not alone. Even if you can't help but feel lonely as you are trying your best to survive through the pain, the truth remains that such an experience happens to other people, too. Not always, yes, but nonetheless common.

Fairy tales always turn out to be overwrought novels requiring several chapters of heartbreak prior to reaching that sought-after ending: "And they lived happily ever after." Unfortunately for some of us, we are only alerted of how tedious our individual fairy tales is once we are already immersed in it. Mine has been stretching on for soooo long that I have lost count of the many nights I've spent lamenting my loneliness and wallowing in my pain. Again, for some of us, the fairy tales of our lives turn out to be as thick as encyclopedias--marked by so many chapters, some of which will find us getting killed over and over again before we could finally reach the blissful conclusion we so deserve.

But of the many pitfalls I've had, none could probably be as memorable and/or unforgettable as the very first time...Perfection incarnate in beauty he was sublime.

When I first saw Francois, his shirt was the one that immediately arrested my attention.

Standing in front of the infirmary by himself, he stood out among the other freshman students milling about him in their civilian clothing simply because he had chosen to wear the most horrid of all colors: apple green. Tucked neatly in loose fitting denims, the brightness of his top was almost iridescent under the midday sun. Not that I have anything against green or it was an unflattering color for him to start with, but I found it especially unusual for a guy to wear a particular shade of green as lurid as that.

Most of the other guys passing him by wore typical blues, browns, whites, blacks, beiges, or even hunter greens. Usually dark, sober,typical male colors, if anything, but nowhere near the confusingly tinged(with what?) cheeriness of the shade he was donning. I guess if I had known he borrowed it from his sister, I wouldn't have been the least bit surprised, let alone disgusted. There was something about apple green that I find striking and repulsive at the same time. A pretentious cheeriness tinged by something...Something I still can't put a finger on that is both awkwardly sweet and cryptically mad at once.

As he stood next to the post of the covered walk leading to the infirmary, he shifted from one leg to another while fanning himself with a manila envelope. He turned his attention to anyone and everything that passed by, darting his gaze back and forth, as though he was on the verge of losing his patience after waiting for someone for so long. Even if we were distanced from each other by a narrow street, I could clearly see how emotionally transparent those large, puppy-dog eyes were. Sweating profusely with bushy brows knotted at the center of his forehead, something about him uncannily reminded me of a lost child.

Despite the crabby expression etched all over his already reddened face, there was no denying that soft vulnerable spot lurking beneath that fair 17-year-old body. I don't know how I'm able to sense these things in people. The only thing I am sure of is that powerful sense of viability(gut feelings?)when they hit me. Though purely abstract, they are beyond questioning or reason. Thus, for me they are just as real and undeniable as anything tangible.

Having this kind of sensitivity did not spare me from the pain though. Heck, it did not even give me so much as the slightest notice that as I was sitting there across from the infirmary with my attention on the guy wearing that disgusting apple green shirt, I was already being inducted to the insane world of hopeless romantic love. The latest addition to the throng of pathetic hopeless romantics who would play the role of always-the-broken-hearted one with utmost grace, dignity, and perfection.

The Beginning of Insensibility

If there is one thing about love I could claim to know very well, it would have to be my never-ending pursuit of it. Being only five ages away from hitting 40, I have fallen in and out of love with many different men for several fractions of an eternity, spanning more than two decades of my quiet, albeit emotionally tumultuous existence. With each of them, I have toyed with the fantasy that I've finally found the “one.” And, as fate would have it, not one of them turned out to be that knight in shining armor who would brave tempestuous seas to rescue me from my misery.

So, I decided to rescue myself instead.

I really did not have much of a choice, did I? Since it was foolhardy to throw my life away just because of my oh-so-many frustrations, no other recourse was available save to salvage my own sorry ass. And thus I braved those tempestuous seas despite my fear and depression, trudging onwards without so much as a final glance at the lonesome fortress I have inhabited for as long as I could remember.

Upon starting life anew(for the nth time), I can't claim that I came out of the ordeal unscathed. Tempestuous seas are merciless. Riddled with depression and other adverse nagging emotions, I forced myself to turn a blind eye to the pain as I gradually made it across to safety. By the blessing of God, I survived and lived to tell the tale. Very much alive, yes, but not without the multitude of scars that still bleed every once so often up to this very day.

But through it all, I still adamantly refuse to succumb to death. Powerful though my emotions are, I would never go down. I would fight viciously to keep my sanity and my life no matter what the cost. My life is my responsibility; my emotions are mine to control. They may bother me time and time again, yet there is no way my feelings could shove me hard enough to make me lose my footing. Nope. Not today. Never ever tomorrow.

Desperate to go on living, I came up with this poignant memoir chronicling each romance-filled dream that burst and burned to nothingness, marking my deplorable so-called love life as yet another one of them composed-on-the-outside-but-troubled-on-the-inside females. This is my way of embracing my pain as the only means to freeing myself of my past. In becoming insensible, I have to pick through the sensibilities and details of every romantic rendezvous, both real and imagined, and explore the meaning buried beneath each emotional rubble. In fairness to all the buttholes and dreamboats who have graced my life, I can't deny that despite all the hurt they put me through, each remains the uniquely beautiful person whose presence would forever be etched in my life story.

Whether I like it or not, the brief eternity I shared with each one of them had molded me into the woman I am today(As though this is something I can be proud of. Eeewww!!!). Crazy - no doubt about it. But definitely stronger despite the still-bleeding wounds. And way wiser that I have come to realize that the only way to fully exist is to share myself with others. Even if this means having my heart broken and shattered to bits in the process.

To deny my past is to deny my present and future. If my search for honesty and affection were the causes of my troubles, they are also the only ways through which I could finally find peace and redemption.

Through other people's eyes, my experiences may have been no more than ordinary. But for me, they meant so much more for they have taken up a good deal of my time, life, and emotions.

Enjoy the ride while it lasts.

I hope you learn something from all my pitfalls and misgivings.

Revel in the sensibilities of my insensible love life.

Peace brother...