the fine line

It doesn’t make sense to like someone this quickly. She’s fascinating (maybe because she is new). She’s unbelievably kind (especially when compared to my past). She’s amazingly real and honest (which is refreshing). It’s only been six days since I met this girl.

I really may just be projecting some unresolved feelings onto her. I may be redirecting the pervading sense of loneliness into a gravitational pull towards her and her novelty. I may be just being emotionally reckless with her and my heart at the moment.

It’s only been six days, but I’ve been daydreaming for more. I want to meet her in person. I want to hang out with her. I want to listen to her sing and play the guitar live. I want to taste her cooking. I want to drive her around and just listen to her tell me all about her. It’s like I’ve met someone who seems to be a perfect placeholder in the empty space in my life that once held my ex-girlfriend.

That isn’t right.

I have to calm the fuck down. I don’t even know if she sees me as romantic potential or a friendly stranger. First things first, we just have to nurture the friendship. Talk more, get to know each other more, see if we really do get along.

But a strange part of me is already dreaming — probably the hopeless romantic in me that my ex-girlfriend apparently didn’t manage to kill after all.



That would be the best way to describe what I feel these days: “a hodgepodge of emotions”.

I feel like I’m standing in the middle of a race. I see the goal; it’s still so far away but I want to get there. Suddenly, the ground around me crumbles, and I am left standing on a stone pillar with a number of vague trails around me. Should I jump that way? Or maybe the other way? Then the goal seems even farther away out of my reach.

I want to move on.

One thing I admittedly really want is closure, but I don’t think I’ll be getting that anytime soon. This relationship was rather abruptly tossed out with the bathwater.

Hence, there are other options: be grateful, list down all the negative things and express, or just feel my way along.

I’ve mostly been doing that last option: feeling my way along. Some days, it’s easy to just lean back and think, “I should be grateful. For the end of a relationship and this new beginning. I should also be grateful for having even been in that relationship in the first place. It all happened for a reason.” Then, I get days when I just feel like a galaxy with the center ripped out and I’m spinning into myself.

what matters?

Three years didn’t matter.

Almost a year of being okay didn’t matter.

I’m left wondering what really does matter in the world. They, the rest of the world, always seemed to describe love as the epitome of all that is good. Perfect and worthwhile, but fragile. Painfully fragile. Once it’s gone, I’m left holding the shards and I realize that love is empty.

Love holds nothing inside. In its absence, nothing remains.

I feel like I’m searching for some meaning. I’m desperate to hope that the last three years of my life did not amount to nothing. All my soul-searching dives are coming up short. There is nothing there. It is not that I don’t believe that she cares. Whether she does or does not isn’t significant. What hurts is the realization that love and happiness really does have no guarantee.

As a human, I am essentially drawn toward the idea of permanence, anything to defy the concept of limited time. In the end, nothing is permanent. In the end, does anything matter?

Depressing meme of the day:




I feel like that’s the most apt description of what I’m feeling.

Disenchanted with what exactly?

Most probably, love. Falling in love that last time was a disenchanting experience.

Love is always perceived as an enchanting phenomenon. Waking up in the morning as the first thought, going to sleep at night as the last. Constant wondering and daydreams during the day, with ache of longing at night. The rose-colored glasses, the spine-tingling kisses, the legs that threaten to topple you over and spill you into the concrete, just so that you can effervesce into the cracks of the sidewalk. You know that view of love, I’m sure.

But this love — this last love — was a disenchantment. Freedom from the illusion of love, I suppose. This may sound nihilist and painfully bitter, but it is the one by-product from that past relationship that feels crystal clear to me at the moment. I feel ultimately disenchanted by the idea of love.

Love is work, they always warned us. Love takes a lot of hard work. I never realized how much until this one. People change drastically, and so do our feelings toward them. I had never experienced such a wide gamut of emotions toward one person: affection, desire, pride, contentment, anger, resentment, melancholy, disappointment, and so many conflicting emotions, often in one day. There were really days when I questioned why I stayed. There were days when I could barely remember who we used to be.

I guess we disenchanted each other.

In the end, wasn’t this a service of sorts? To disenchant means to disillusion, to reveal the truth, to undeceive. I no longer feel like love could possibly have any more surprises for me in the future. I have seen the true face of love. Though I truly did love, I don’t think I’m in a rush to go looking for it again.

Perhaps, more than being disenchanted with love, I feel disenchanted with myself.

I am not the idealistic romantic I may have once been or once imagined myself to be. I know myself better now. I guess now I just have to figure out if I like this true self of mine, and what to do about it.