CEBU, Philippines - For a long time, I have been seeking the radiance that could enlighten my bemused thought about love.
When I was younger, I have seen life as something created out of man’s personal encounters. Everything could be transitory; everything could be subliminal. Thus, at times, I pondered how and what I knew about love. Could it be that I have learned about it from the relationships of my friends? Or, did I discover it thru the romantic novels that I’ve read? Whatever rationale there was, one thing was certain – I have never known love.
However, life is full of uncertainties. You will never know what is approaching. And without warning, I accidentally fell in an excruciating incident of loving. And although my story about love has never seemed to pass the mesmerizing prerequisites of an all time romantic saga, my heart overflows with oozing desire to recount, to the best of my ability, this memoir of a great love.
June 7, 2005 was the date. It was the first day of the school year’s first semester, a chaotic day for all the students and teachers. Winding lines shaped the university’s main lobby as the students made the final adjustments to their class schedules. The noise was mostly caused by those who untiringly blabbered about their two-month vacation. Unfortunately, my first class was at twelve noon, but surprisingly, I was already in school at eleven. I was always enthusiastic to go to school on the first day of classes, but admittedly, I actually felt another kind of excitement during that day.
Room 30, where my Niponggo class was to be, did not look like a classroom. It was dusty and not well ventilated. I was not interested with the subject; it would have been a lot better if we studied French. Good thing, one of my girl friends was there. Unlike me, she was so eager to learn Niponggo as she was very fond of animes. I never expected that I will soon be interested in the class.
While our professor was half way discussing the course’s outline, somebody came in; apparently, the student was late. I usually do not mind late comers. I don’t even look at them so as to not make them feel embarrassed, because I, too, sometimes, am a late comer. But the scenario that time was entirely different. I don’t know what force there was that suddenly shifted everything into a very lethargic and slow paced movement. Everything was still. Everything was silent. Everything vanished. There was only me and the late comer.
That moment in the Niponggo class initiated a series of sleepless nights, lots of used pages of my journal and long essays and poems on themes of attraction, then infatuation and later on love. The contemplation about how I felt was an ordeal. It made me come to class early (which is so unusual of me), participate in every class discussion (just to impress), being mindful all the time by the way I glanced, moved about and even talked. All movements were designed; every breath seemed premeditated. A mere quick look from that student denoted a low one in my rap sheet. Plain meetings at the hallway spelled rapture. More so, a simple chance conversation made me speechless. I cherished every moment or fact that relates me to that student – and those occasions went on for years.
But the sad reality soon dawned on me. I realized that I knew about it way before but I just didn’t admit the truth. The happiness that I felt ended with a night of silent cries. Every feeling of euphoria turned to sadness and despair. Every encounter with that student would rub in the fact that we can never be.
And so, we go on pondering why there are people who die for love? Why there are people who keep on hoping for an elusive love? The answer is quite simple — because a life without love is not a life at all.
Having experienced an emotion that was not reciprocated does not make you less of a person. To me, that painful experience would make one understand fully the unfathomable dogma of love. Many books, essays and manuscripts suggest that unrequited love is no love at all. But I daresay that these people are the ones who have never known love at all.
If one truly loves somebody, he or she does not expect being loved in return. Those who truly glorify love should be happy for the person they love, though the person’s happiness lies in being with another. You can spend some time in silence, and feel the waves of sadness building up inside you. As they crash against you, you feel the pain slowly going away. Accepting that bittersweet fact frees you from the burdens and pains of unrequited love.
My friend once asked me: when will you end your insanity over that person? Tearfully, I answered her with a question: Does love actually stop? Perhaps, I have been cruel to myself but yet, certainly, you can never direct your heart on how to feel. I may be miserable and may be hurting forever. But what can I do? At least, for some time in my life, I could say that, I have learned to love.