A couple of weeks back, you had to spend the night over at the apartment because of the terrible, terrible weather; it would be best, you decided, to just go with me to the MRT station the following morning when I would be on my way to work. You were planning on heading over to Ayala anyway to get some things for school, and I, on the other hand, will be going to Cubao, work-bound. Now, the Boni MRT station is different from the other stations as both the northbound and southbound platforms are shared, so the sunny, electric blue-skied Monday morning found us sitting on the same bench, talking about nothing in particular while waiting for our respective trains.
As what is expected of any self-respecting slacker, I was tossing around the idea of going with you to Ayala in my head instead of reporting for work that day. It was all very simple, really. Call in sick, and I’d have the whole day to myself. I was due for another sick day anyway. I was feeling like a high school student. I told you about it, and, as what is expected of any self-respecting kunsintidor, you said quite casually, “Why not?”
Why not, indeed? Why pass up the chance to be with you a few hours longer, and not have to think about work for the rest of the day?
A rumbling sound and a draft of wind heralded the arrival of your train. We both stood up and walked to a yellow arrow on the floor. “Sige na,” you said with a smirk. I smiled back, bit my lip, but said nothing. The train halted, and the sliding doors opened. You stepped in, looked back at me, and pointed to a space beside you. Two seconds, and I took one step back. I felt a shuddering in my soul, not unlike the feeling when someone walks over your grave. Three seconds, and there was a long beep. The doors closed, and the train jolted back to life again. Behind the transparent glass, you looked like a vagabond memory, recently escaped from my fantasies. You smiled, and waved. I barely noticed my train arriving behind me, wrenching me away from my reverie and sucking me back to where I was -- facing a worn-out yet vaguely familiar path, like a child waking up from a dream.
I felt it, when my life split in two paths. The one where I jumped into the train with you, and the one where I didn't -- the one that actually transpired. Of course I could not help but think of what could have happened, had I gone with you that day. No, not what could have happened immediately after (because I know I would have had a blast), but its long-term consequences. The Butterfly Effect. Would it have been a right -- rather, better -- decision?
A few nights ago we had a conversation online. It was a rather relatively ordinary conversation, really. School, work, nothing too heavy... that is, until about towards the end. You said something about meeting up soon, and proceeded on to list your schedule for the following days. I responded simply by saying I can free up any schedule for you. That must have opened the floodgates though, because all of a sudden, everything was laid out in the open -- everything, namely, my feelings for you, and how you feel about them. As your words started scrolling up line by leadened line, I was feeling... fascinated. Like a psychiatrist who's been told a particularly interesting detail. Although I knew that you knew how I feel for you, I never really thought you would acknowledge it. Eventually you would, of course, but at this stage in our friendship, I didn't think it would be brought up. So I sat there in frozen fascination, reading all you had to say about me and how I feel about you.
You said it made you feel awkward whenever I do sweet things for you -- like surprising you with a copy of Jose Garcia Villa's Collected Poems when we were at the Book Fair for instance, or saying little things, like, "I can free up my schedule for you." You said you were trying to shake it off, that feeling of being awkward, because you wouldn't want to feel weird whenever we're together. You said that sometimes, you wanted to be sweet to me, too, like how you are with your other friends, but you're afraid I might misinterpret your gestures -- which you would not want to happen because (and this you insisted on strongly) you value our friendship a lot. I was taking everything in, in rapt attention.
Margaret Atwood was saying the truth. "If you knew what was going to happen, if you knew everything that was going to happen next -- if you knew in advance the consequences of your own actions -- you'd be doomed. You'd be as ruined as God. You'd be a stone. You'd never eat or drink or laugh or get out of bed in the morning. You'd never love anyone, ever again. You'd never dare to." Because although you caught me off-guard, I knew -- I understood everything already. Most people would claim it as arrogance, but I can say it with nary a shred of pretension or assumption. I understand how you feel. I lived with it, slept with it, woke up with it, had dinner with it, walked unfamiliar streets with it, watched fireworks with it, laughed and cried and got mad with it... everything. Completely. I felt such familiarity with it, it became ME.
I understand that even if my life split in different paths, even if the Universe were to lay down all the crossroads and sliding doors it can offer, I can never be with you, R. And no decision, no choice I make from here on out can be better than the other. And that is my truth; and that is my ruin.
