Some friends have been asking what has happened to me and why haven’t they been hearing from me. I just tell them that I am “trying to live life” when what I really mean is “trying to forget.” But I’m really not sure if I want to forget the longest three days and two nights of my life.
We went to the coastal resort town of Puerto Galera in Oriental Mindoro the first week of July, thanks to our fairy godfather who sponsored our “honeymoon.” It was not the peak season so we had the resort all to ourselves. We stayed at Cottage 5 where the two beds seemed too big for one couple. In the morning, we would ascend the short flight of stairs to have our late breakfast, then descend back to our room. We always skipped lunch. By late afternoon, we would stroll along the beach then go to the city proper to have our dinner.
In the evenings, there was usually no power unless supplied by the resort’s generator. On our second night, the generator ran out of fuel. It was only then that I found out that he’s afraid of the dark. He was so afraid that he didn’t want us to go back to our room. So, I got the sarong and rolled it out on the sand. We stayed by the shore and hoped that the electricity would return or there would be fuel to run the generator. We just talked the night away until we both felt sleepy. There was still total darkness when we returned to our room. So he just held my hand and hugged me until he fell asleep, safe and sound in my arms.
It was not until the next morning that I felt uneasy. I was the one who’s afraid this time around — afraid that when we reach Manila and part ways, we would no longer be spending the day and night together. He was hoping to get an early afternoon trip while I was okay with the last trip. Since the weather was not that good, the other ports that had earlier trips had to cancel all their schedules. So we had no choice or… he had no choice.
It was the most romantic ferry ride and bus ride I ever had experienced. The rain had stopped when we reached Manila a couple of hours before midnight. And it was time to see him walk away from me to go home.
Now, I’m alone in my room with only pillows to keep me company. I think of him as I write this and yearn for his presence. But what else is new? I’ve always written for my imaginary beloved.
Now, we’re no longer together, as if we have ever been. Nevertheless, I still hope of us, for us. But it’s always the longing that kills, and the forgetting that’s long.
It is times like this that make me remember, that make me cry. We met through the power of the Internet, more so, the sheer power of the visual image. Eye meets eye. Desire begets desire. But love is fleeting just like happiness. It is only a visitor. One can only enjoy and cherish the moment as it arrives.
Sometimes I just want to hate memories. They make me reminisce the good things that I don’t have now. Other times, they remind me of the bad things that I wish never happened. Isn’t it disappointing? Regardless of whether a memory is good or bad, it makes one sad.
The last time I wrote a journal entry was years ago. It’s been a while. Writing immortalizes everything so I don’t write often for fear of remembering, because sometimes it’s just best to forget. But then again, writing heals me. So how have I been all this time? Still trying to write my love story.