8/13/2019 Young Blood, Philippine Daily Inquirer

1/3

8/13/2019 Young Blood, Philippine Daily Inquirer

2/3

When I decided to go to UP and he went to Ateneo, we celebrated by partying. When I lost my

mom in a car accident, he took care of everything. When my dad followed my mom less than a

year later after a heart attack, he was there again. By this time he was an appendage of my life.He used to check out the guys I came to know. Nobody dared to get serious with menot when

Oliver had a black belt. I didnt know how to define our relationship.

I didnt know what we were.We definitely were more than friends, better even than best friends.

It was like we were a couple, but formally not one.

We did all the things that couple did like hang out and neck but always stopped when things got

too hot. Since we never defined what we meant to each other we never said I love you or

whatever serious couple told each other.

As a result, I remained a chaste princess while my prince caroused and sowed wild oats, but still

had the energy to monitor my movements. I didnt mind. After all,I was so sure wed end uptogether. I always thought that in the end, it would be us. I loved him. I managed to convince

myself that he loved me (what else could it be?). Little did I know that love doesnt conquer all,it only conquers the weak.

I didntthink hed be so stupid as to get a girl pregnant on the same night they met at a party. I

didnt think hed be so stupid as to forget to use some form of contraception. After all, he hadgiven me a lecture on safe sex. And I didnt think hed be so stupid as to marry the girl. Butmaybe I forgot that after all he was a man, and men have been known to be stupid about these

things. Their brain is located in a region other than between the ears.

What could I do? Kicking him in the groin and punching him in the eye seemed like a good idea

then. Dont blame me; he was the one who enrolled me in a self-defense course. But I did not

feel better. Seeing him bent over in pain only made me angrier. I wasted my life for this lousyexcuse of a man? I could not believe it! I wanted nothing more than to run to him and beg him to

wake me up from the stupid dream. I wanted him to take me some place where we didnt know

anybody.

No pain, no memory, no humiliation. I wanted to just forget it ever happened but since I flunked

in the School for Martyrs, I couldnt, for the life of me pretend, it didnt happen. I couldntpretend he didnt hurt me.

I couldnt pretend everything was fine and dandy and exactly the way it was before. We didnttalk for a month. For both of us who were practically inseparable, that was like an eternity. I

ducked into corners whenever I would see him. I wouldnt take his calls. I wouldnt see him.

And for some time hate was my reason for getting up in the morning, for breathing, for living.

Hate and I became good friends.

God brings men into deep waters, not to drown them but to cleanse them, somebody once

wrote. I didnt want to be cleansed. I just wanted to drown in pain and misery and utter

desolation. I wanted to wallow in the dark and deep pit of despair. I know a thousand and one

8/13/2019 Young Blood, Philippine Daily Inquirer

3/3

clichs that say this can be a blessing and that I should be thankful. But thankful is the last thing

Im feeling right now. Ive always thought that there are three kinds of women: those who break,

those who mend and those who are broken themselves.

Before this hit me, I assumed that I belonged to the first or second category. Now I know Im in

the thirdso hurt and broken up inside. My grandmother used to say that there is nothing you cando about pain when it gives you a silly grin except grin right back. All I could manage was a wry

smile, a killer headache and the worst hangover the day before his wedding.

Evidence of that is the disgusting sight of mashed potatoes and barbecue, thrown up not three

meters away from where I was lying prostrate on the floor and the awful stench of cigarette on

my hair. Frankly I dont want to go. I want to wallow in misery in my messy room, crying,

retching and stinking, surrounded with Michael Learns to Rock (whose songs are dedicated tothe broken-hearted) CDs. But I have to go and attend the wedding. I have to bathe and prepare

and put on that atrocious peach (its not even my color!) gown.

Im not doing it for the groom, my one true friend and love, Oliver. Neither am I doing it for thebride, my younger sister, Sandra who needs me. Im doing it for my unborn niece who has the

great fortune of having me as her aunt. Call me stupid, but Ive always known my place. If itisnt beside the man I was destined to marry, if it isnt behind my sister, who will take his name,

wear his ring and bear him a child, then it must be with my niece, cradled close to my heart so

that she will know both of our love.