Red.

“Look, look! It’s the sun! It’s the sun and it’s red! Holy shit the sun’s red!” he exclaims, pointing to the big circular shape rising up from the clouds that night, much to everyone’s dismay. The driver next to him is so startled he almost swerved the car a teeny bit to the right. He is not amused. The boy continues to point and stare in awe at the big red thing in the sky. 

His face falls into a frown as he realizes it was the moon. 

In other news

I received an email from my dad this morning and he’s allowing me to backpack across six countries after I graduate next year! I think I spazzed for a while when I read it. I mean, I had to read it three times to make sure there wasn’t a “just kidding” or even a “loljk” (not that my dad ever uses those) after the message. Backpacking across countries has always been my dream! Originally, he told me he was (finally) buying me my own car, but this news is better. 

I don’t want to jinx it by obsessively talking about it.

But what the hell, I’ve never felt this happy and giddy about someone before. I’m not known for being articulate, and I’m not one to use and write words that are filled with depth, but I’ll tell you this: you make me happy. You give my stomach butterflies. You are the apple of my eye. You are my daily dose of happiness. You told me you want to grow old with me. I just laughed it off. But deep inside, I my intestines were blushing.

You are my romantic cliché.

Thanks, but no thanks.

I can’t believe how screwed up you really are. You actually had the audacity to ask for my friendship, after everything that you’ve put me through. I mean, really? Take a look at yourself. Take a long, hard, look. At yourself, and everything you’ve done. Do you really think you deserve to be my “friend”? We weren’t friends before, you know. I guess you’re one of those people who I can’t be “just friends” with. Maybe you’re that person that I’ll always pine for, the one I know I’ll never have. I’m sorry, but I still don’t forgive you. I don’t know when I will. I’m not even sure if I should, much less if I will. That’s just asking for too much. You can’t expect me to just forget every single thing, every broken promise, in a blink of an eye.

It doesn’t quite work that way, you know.

So..

I just burned one major bridge tonight. I still have no idea if that was the right thing to do. I sure hope so, since there’s no turning back now. 

I’m not really sorry, though.

Dear 2011.

Quite frankly, you were a bitch. You put me through a lot of shit this year, for reasons I don’t know yet (and hopefully I will, soon). Nonetheless, I’m thankful for you. I got reunited with one of my passions: theatre. I met some people who I never would’ve thought I’d click with, but I did. I retied quite a number of knots of friendship with different people, and it wouldn’t have been possible without your shitty twists to my life story. I maintained the friendships that needed to be maintained. I was also able to burn the bridges that needed to be burned, some a little later than I was supposed to, but still, I managed. 

Ah, yes. My sister passed away, too. I guess life really is a bitch sometimes, huh? I still don’t know why she had to be the one, though. We’d be spending our first New Year without her. Hell, we celebrated our first Christmas without her. It’s still really sad and depressing to think about, but there’s nothing else I can do about it. What happened has happened. I thank the higher being for giving me and my family even just the slightest ounce of strength to hold on. We’re still a family, and that’s what counts. 

In a few short hours, you would be over. I have no idea what the next year has planned for me, so I guess I’ll just have to find out for myself along the way.

It’s a bittersweet ending, so here’s a big fuck you and also a big thank you coming from me.

The Truth.

I still remember clearly the first time you left. How could I forget? You were the first guy I admittedly (as do all of my friends tell me) fell for. I remember that day you took me to Tagaytay, how we talked about ourselves, because it was the first time we actually got to spend time together. How we found out we had the same taste for music. Not too mainstream, but not to indie either. Snow Patrol was my favorite band; Coldplay was yours. I remember playing Snow Patrol all the way to Tagaytay, and you making me listen to Coldplay on the way back. 

I remember you lending me your jacked and rubbing my arms because I said I was cold. There weren’t too many people around, so it was okay. As long as people didn’t see you acting all queer, it was okay. And for a while, it was okay for me, too. I remember our first kiss that same night, and how it was all awkward because you said you’ve wanted to steal a kiss since that morning, but you didn’t have the guts to do so. I laughed really hard at this, because you had your puppy eyes on, and you were blushing like some little boy who got caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing. You were so fucking adorable. 

I remember you getting drunk and sending me messages about how much you like me, just so I know, and that I was better than any of the girls you dated before, and how I kept on replying things like, “I know, I know. You don’t have to tell me!” You didn’t have to tell me because I knew. I felt it. I kept my cool, but deep inside, I felt like I was the luckiest guy in the world. Someone like you finally likes me. Who would’ve thought, right? The mere thought of you liking me all seemed so far-fetched when we first met. But alas, it wasn’t. At least not for the months that we spent together.

I remember you leaving. No words, no goodbyes, no nothing. Nada. Zilch. You were gone, just like that. I tried everything I could: calling you, sending you messages, leaving you IMs, everything. You never replied. Not one word.

I remember having waited outside your condo in Taft with one of my best friends, Anne, for five straight hours, hoping I could at least talk to you and get the reason why you left. Maybe have some sort of closure, you know? Because that’s me. I like having closures. And then what? I thought I just needed to hear your voice, you reason. I didn’t know what was supposed to come next after that. Still nothing.

I remember having to wake up every morning with tears in my eyes, and having this sinking feeling in my chest which I thought would be stuck with me forever. I felt lost. I didn’t know what to do. It was the first time this has ever happened to me. I’ve gone through heartbreaks before, sure, but none as devastating as this. What have I done wrong? Did I say something stupid? Was it because of something I didn’t say? I felt like these questions were never going to be answered. Needless to say, I felt like I would die. For the first time, I felt really weak. I realized I wasn’t strong at all.

I remember the text message you sent me during the first week of school this year. You apologized for everything. You said you got confused about everything. You isolated yourself, and after a long period of thinking, you realized you really can’t be with a guy. Man, those were my darkest times. I begged for you. Looking back now, I still can’t believe I did that. Begging’s not my thing, you see. Begging should never be anyone’s thing. But, God, I didn’t know what else to do. So I begged for you. You didn’t want to talk personally. You didn’t want to talk over the phone. I told myself that was it. Fine. Okay. You win. Ta-ta.

No, you still kept on sending me text messages after that. You kept telling me I should take care of myself. That I shouldn’t stay up too late. You know, things that normal people don’t usually do. I kept replying, because I was stupid. You stopped replying after that. I didn’t know why, but you did. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t make myself get mad at you. Coming from me, that’s something. I usually get pissed and angry by even the most trivial of things, but with you, I just can’t. I guess I just accepted the fact that we can never be the way we were, and that I was fine being friends.

I’m an idiot. What the actual fuck was I thinking? Friends? We can never be just friends. We weren’t friends before we started going out. Oh well, as long as you were in my life, I guess, no matter what form of relationship it may be. I wasn’t ready to let you go, just yet. So we continued talking. It came to a point wherein we actually started flirting again. I told myself that what was going on was really nothing. We were just being playful. Really, we were just friends. Nothing more, nothing less. You kept asking me if I was dating someone new, though, and that caught my attention. Why would you want to know? You kept saying you were just asking. Okay. Fine. Whatever.

November this year, you confessed that you never really got over me. There were a number of guys who came on to you, but you turned them all down, because I was better, and I had more substance. Your words, not mine. You have no idea how giddy that made me feel. It felt like my heart would burst. I was literally blushing as you told me this exciting piece of news. But of course, I still kept my cool. I had to be cautious this time, because you don’t really have a good track record with me. I told you about the Taft incident that I did last May, and you said you felt so guilty about it. I also told you that I didn’t want a rehash of what happened last summer, because that really hurt the fuck out of me. You said you were sorry. You sounded so sincere. You wanted to date—no, court—me again. Again, your words, not mine. Naturally, I said yes. Despite everything that my friends said, I still decided to let you court me.

But then you left. Again. With no goodbye, no last words, no nothing. Again.

Strangely, I didn’t feel as much hurt as I thought I would feel. It certainly hurt a lot less than it did back then. I wasn’t even surprised that you did it, actually. I don’t know why, though. Maybe it’s because I was really over you. Maybe because all I needed was my closure, and your bailing on me again was enough. I don’t feel sad now. You don’t cloud up my thoughts as much as you used to. Strangely enough, I feel more mature. Like what I went through with you made me stronger. And I guess it did. Ironically, I’m even thankful that you put me through all of that shit.

The truth is, I’m okay.

Wow.

It’s been an exact whole year since I started smoking. I don’t really know what prompted me to start smoking. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those pretentious smoker types, the ones who are in it just because they think it’s cool. I don’t think smoking is cool. It’s not. I’m also not one of the people who smoke because they’re trying to rebel against their parents, seeing as almost everyone in my family smokes, including my mom. Mostly I do it to relax, I guess. There’s something about smoking that helps calm my nerves. It’s soothing. For some reason, smoking also helps me concentrate. It helps me remember, and boy, do I remember a lot when I smoke. I’m not even kidding here.

A lot of momentous events that happened in my life last year happened while I was smoking, so I guess it kind of stuck to me. Smoking, I mean. Maybe I subconsciously hope that something big would happen every time I decide to light a stick. Or that the memories I was afraid I’d forgotten—and the ones I don’t want to remember anymore—would come back, and they almost always do. Whenever I smoke by myself, I usually feel like I’m in a trance. Away from the world, away from everything. It’s just me, in a place no one knows exists. I’m free to think, to analyze, to reflect. It helps me escape.