Getting Over You Getting Over Me
Will I ever get over you? Five years ago, I made a decision that I knew would change my life forever. Back then, I thought that it would make my life better because I was embarking on an entirely new journey. Well, it has enriched me with all the experiences it has provided. But, it has also given me unbelievable pain and sorrow. If I had known back then that this is what would happen to me, would I have made the same decision? Would I have deluded myself into thinking that the choice I was making would be the last of its kind and the first of a different array of choices that I’ve never encountered before? If I say no, that would mean that I regret every single moment that I have spent these past years. If I say yes, then it means I’m accepting the fact that this pain was meant to be; that I had just fooled myself into thinking that there will never be this kind of pain in my life. If that’s the case, then I guess I’m a fool. I’m a fool to have believed that what we had was the lasting kind; the kind that most people only dream of; the kind that you can only find in songs. I’m a fool twice to have given you all the trust that I had, because I thought that you would take care of me the way that I wanted to take care of you. I’m a fool thrice in thinking that you would rather hurt yourself than hurt me, which is what I felt for you. Aaah, but that’s where the irony lies. I would never have felt this deep if I didn’t believe, if I didn’t trust, or if I didn’t have faith. I guess it’s true what they say: you love deeply and hurt just as deeply. A year ago from today, I was probably in one of the happiest moments in my life. I was with you, and we were having the time of our lives in a beautiful place that we traveled to for the first time. We were exploring new places and marveled at the sights before us. You even gave me a gift then, something that I’ll always cherish. But now, we are so far apart that it’s hard to imagine that just a year ago, we were as close as we could ever be. What had happened? What had gone wrong? Is it possible that what we actually had back then was just an illusion, something that couldn’t withstand what life brought to it? Am I that much of an innocent that I wouldn’t know when something was real or not? I was so sure that what we felt was so real that, now that it’s gone, my sense of reality has floundered, because my mind and my heart can’t accept that reality. But I have to accept it eventually, because if I don’t, God knows how I’ll ever survive. Not many people seem to care if I do survive, really. Surprisingly enough, not a single one from the original barkada even wondered if I was ok. Even worse, they kept saying and doing things that made me hurt more, much like rubbing salt to an open wound. It made me realize how little they actually knew me, how our friendship was so superficial. The only ones who noticed are those who I’ve made friends recently, and they cared enough to ask. Whatever scrap of faith I have left is holding on mostly because of hope. Hope that whatever happens, everything will turn out great, or better than I actually wish for. I've always thought of myself as an optimistic person, but this sure has tested myself in ways I never imagined. I can still smile sometimes. The only things that do make me smile are the classes that I teach and my students. It's because when I'm in class, I have no choice but to leave my melancholy behind and put up a brave face. If I don't, my mood will spread like wildfire and my students will never learn anything, and I don't want that. I do not want them to be affected by something that is not of their own doing. It works during the time I have to teach, but of course reality intrudes the moment I step out of the class and I'm back to my introspective mood. Oh well.