The Essence of Me

I was going through my cluttered stuff, looking for old documents that I need, when I found a familiar gray plastic bag. Its contents? 1 card, 4 poems, 2 letters (one I wrote), some old candy wrappers, and 3 pages of printed emails. I went through them one by one, and I was quite surprised that I got teary-eyed when I read his letter again. I remember the first time I read it, how I cried like there was no tomorrow. I remember the people who witnessed it (Glennds, Ria, and Mar), and who comforted me in the girls’ bathroom of my former workplace. I remember feeling sad and happy at the same time… sad because he didn’t love me, and happy because he was honest and he promised me his lifetime friendship.

That was seven years ago. I’ve grown up since, and learned things that can only be taught by experience. Seven years and we’re still friends, very close friends. No matter how many heartaches he gave me (unintentionally and perhaps unknowingly), I am grateful for his friendship. He’s a keeper, and I know that whatever happens we’ll stay good friends.

Seven years, and I guess a little part of me is still pining. Age does make one bolder, and sometimes I kid him about the past. I feel a little ashamed now, thinking that maybe I make him uncomfortable whenever I joke about my feelings for him. Maybe, if it was hard for me that he couldn’t love me back, it was also hard for him because he truly cares about me and he couldn’t give me what I wanted the most. But I’ve moved on, this I can say in all honesty. Seven years has a way of making you wiser and more accepting.

But I also realize that I am getting older, 27 years old next month to be exact. I feel lonely often, wishing that I have someone to be with through the good and bad… and wishing that I have my own child to love. I know now that taking care of my siblings doesn’t necessarily have to take the backseat if I get married. As long as I find a husband who understands my responsibilities and my commitment to my family, it can work. I wish I’ll find The One within the next year or so, because I’m afraid that if I’m not married by the time I turn 30, I’m going to be a spinster. I may be brave but I’m terribly scared of growing old alone. I remember sharing my fears to P, and he just laughed at me. He said I couldn’t be a spinster even if I tried. I remember his confidence that I’d find someone soon. I hope he’s right.

So I guess now that I’m getting older I need to start taking men seriously.