Romantic Baboy

“So, can we unsingle ourselves?” he asked.

“Why not?” I replied.

His smile grew wider. “Does that mean…?”

“Give me three days,” I said.

I’ll be honest. This was never in my plans. This was never how I imagined it would be.

But random and impulsive chapters have always found their way into my life. Funny, because I’ve always seen myself as a passionate planner. Old school. By the book. Follow the rules. And yet, doing something out of the ordinary gives me a thrill.

The random long drives. The biglang liko into a less-traveled path. The impromptu encounters. Call it rebelling against my goody-goody image. After a well-planned week, I crave a breath of fresh air. I crave variety.

It was meant to be a joke.

Three days? Anyone who truly knows me knows how long I take to think things through. I prepare. I mull things over. I contemplate. Big time. I lose sleep before arriving at a single conclusion.

My being single is a mystery in itself.

I once met someone for the first time, and she asked, “Why have you been single for a long time?”

I went quiet. For years, I’ve laughed that question off. Friends know how high my standards are, so I never feel the need to explain. Family members have slowly stopped asking. But a near stranger asking me so casually caught me off guard.

It baffled me more than I expected.

Modesty aside, I’ve always been surrounded by boys, then men, who liked me. Some confessed. Others gave up after realizing how hard it is to woo me. I’m a hopeless case.

Her question sparked something deeper. Bakit nga ba?

First, I believe in love. It’s not as if I’ve been badly hurt. In fact, I’ve never felt that intense, shattering pain from a failed relationship. Second, I’ve had good role models. The kind that make you believe in lasting love, and also quietly fear not finding the same. Lastly, I have requirements. Yes, requirements. Non-negotiable.

But how do you compress all that into one neat answer?

She waited, eager and curious. I smiled, a little confused. I couldn’t brush it off with a laugh the way I do with friends. They know me. This woman barely did, yet she genuinely wanted to.

So I settled on the least complicated truth. “I just haven’t found him yet.”

“But are you dating?” she asked.

Fair question.

To be fair, I’ve had my share of dates and getting-to-know-yous. Are they enough? In that department, I can hardly convince myself. I’d love to shout “Yes!” for dramatic effect, but who am I kidding? Sometimes I go on dates simply because I want company, because I feel social. Does that even count?

Lately I’ve been asking myself, when I go out on dates, is my heart fully in it? Or am I only giving half of myself?

I’m still figuring that out.

The most fascinating part of self-discovery is actually spending time with yourself. These days, I play golf on weekends, meet friends, or take myself out on solo dates. The more time I spend alone, the more convinced I am that I am capable. I can hold my own. I can entertain myself. I don’t get bored being alone.

That scares me. LOL.

Who needs a man when you can take care of yourself? Scary, right?

And yet, my greatest dream, one I repeat over and over, is to settle down and have a little family of my own. How does that dream come true when I’m so good at being me, myself, and I?

Why is it so hard for me to open up to someone who might be a real partner?

Why do I feel like one slightly disastrous date is already a sign of failure? If he’s late. If he has one trait I don’t like. Why does it feel so final?

But then again, if we’re talking about self-discovery, maybe part of it is allowing opportunities in. Maybe it’s letting someone be brave enough to ask.

So when someone says, “Can we unsingle ourselves?”

I thought, how can I cross the bridge if I refuse to step onto it?

Bahala na si Batman.

Breakdown, let's break it down

Two days after my parents left for the Philippines after a five-month visit, I got a text from a friend,

“I’m meeting X’s friend.”

It seems harmless and unsuspecting at first. I even laughed. I was not sure who X was, so I asked, Who’s X? And she replied, X, our friend. (Well, technically, X is my long-time friend from school whom I introduced to her.)    

When she clarified what was happening, I felt unsettled. I realized that while others seem to move forward, I am the friend who stays the same. The force of this realization was overwhelming.

If there is some metamorphosis to be had, I would have taken it gladly. But I didn’t. I was thrown back in time, where I just grew complacent. With my relationships, my behaviours, and my sense of happiness.

The realization shook me. The question echoed in my mind: 'How do you take space?' 

I wondered if it meant living boldly or shrinking to stay safe. I began to see that these choices defined how I interact with others and with myself.

For the longest time, I was doing the latter. I was afraid to hold so much space and left myself in a box. I welcomed people, supported them, gave them all the love I could, yet I gave little to myself. It made me feel small. I held space for people to be themselves, which eventually held me back from being mine.

It’s a sunny September. The sun glaring brightly outside was a bitter contrast to how I was feeling. 

For the first time in my life, I got a complete breakdown. 

I cried countless tears for the times I let myself down. For the times I’ve chosen other people’s needs before mine. For the times I may have a shot at happiness, but choose to be just okay. For those times that I ruined bridges because I was completely focused on an alley. I wailed at the thought that I could never blame anyone for feeling this way, because I brought it upon myself.

I’m no stranger to uprooting and rerouting. For fudge’s sake, it’s my second! And yet, I’m still doing the same things I’ve always wanted to break free from. Friends would tell me, “You’re so brave,” yet “Am I really?” When I hang with the same people, drift to the same habits, and limit myself to preconceived notions?

“What’s your greatest fear?”

My response always changes with time. But what seems to be more poignant is this: being alone. I always wondered what makes me fear being alone. Is it really feeling lonely, or is it the idea that I’m always with someone? And being alone somehow feels strange?

It is a given that we fear the inevitable, the unknown, the variable that comes in the in-between, but more than that, I fear for the familiar. I feared losing people I love, relationships going sour, love turning to indifference, because when you think about it, what makes you happy right now is what you have. And what makes you sad is losing a bit of this familiarity.

Crashing like that woke me. 

The reason I’ve wanted to move abroad has got to do with economics, but more than that, it’s about freedom. Of attempting to attain the impossible. But by the looks of it, I am nowhere near my goal. If I keep this up, I may never truly have the chance to change my path.

I no longer want to be trapped by my old patterns. I want to honor my own needs and rebuild myself into someone I aspire to be. My breakdown became a chance to start again.

Free from guilt this time.