On Post-Breakup and the Perks of Living Alone

My ex is an asshole, and I don't even think he understands why. He would call or text me up to tell me about his recent date, and how he has a "gut feeling" that this guy's the "one". I have no qualms about talking to him every now and then, but for the life of me I can't understand what he wants me to say. Congrats? Get a room? How about, you're a fucking moron?

While on one hand, there might be a tiny part of me that feels a slight pang of jealousy, I can't help but want to ask him: tanga ka ba? How on earth can you believe that you're meant to be with a person you've only met for a little less than a month?? 

I just hate people who act beyond leaps and bounds of logic! I would think that our failed relationship would at least teach him something about taking everything slow and the disadvantages of a long distance relationship...but to me it seems as if he grew backwards. I would think someone with decent scholastic records would be able to think within the confines of reason. But no. 

That being said, I don't think he it's my problem any longer. If he wants to meet up with random "good-looking" people in some gay networking site, fine. I'm just not a fan of him calling me up to tell me the sordid details of his misadventures. 

Anyway, maybe this is the point where I should be saying that I'm sort of seeing someone. Sort of. There isn't an official record or something of it just yet....

I've just been so busy. Lawyers, upperclassmen, and law professors who said that sophomore year would be the easiest....well, they were lying. I've had to double my efforts, memorize everything, but still, there's no guarantee that I'll slip through unscathed! 

So yeah. I'm happy. I go to class, trying to prepare myself for all the cases and laws assigned. I join friends when they dine, whenever I want to. At night I go home, and either work or study. Sometimes I do the latter in coffee shops or the library. I'm as normal as a normal law student can be.

Don't get me wrong. There are random wtf moments when I would just dig a deep hole in a matter of seconds, and feel really depressed. Like a few moments ago. Why do I feel as if I'm the one who was left in the dark? Why do I want to take revenge? You know, the usual thoughts that pass through the broken-hearted. 

Through it all, I know that I'll rise from this. I trust myself enough to know that I'll see myself through this. A little bird told me all I needed was time :) 

The Real Comeback Entry

I've been trying to blog again, promise! But if you think I'm not writing enough, I'd be the first person to tell you that it's not because of the depression or anger, two apparent themes in my previous entry.

It's about time to revisit to the main purpose why this blog was set up in the first place: law school. I remember how much of a struggle it was to me--living away from my family, plunged into a strange and foreign environment, forced to mature beyond my years.. Okay. Maybe I'm not mature enough just yet. 


All factors and circumstances considered, I must say: what I underwent in the past year seriously changed a lot in me. I don't even think I should spell out what those changes are--res ipsa loquitur.

Second year into law school and here I am. Practically living all by myself and still struggling to make the dream come true. Some efforts of mine have paid off--I landed somewhere up there last year. But this, for sure, is never a guarantee of what will happen this coming year. I simply have to try harder under harder circumstances.

In fine, what I mean is that I'm in a generally better place. I may have lost love, but I realize: waiting for the person I can watch movies and television series with, be quiet with as we read books all night, and talk to about everything should be worth the wait. That's what I'm after. No more of the teenage rush that's sure to last for no more than a few lingering moments.

Now, back to my cases.

A Breakup Story

I'm in a dark room as I type this, mulling over the right things to say, roughly five months after I decided to end this blog on my own terms. I ended this blog, the same way I ended all my other relationships--upon my discretion, whenever I stopped having fun. I was always the one who called the shots. The guy who always got what he wanted.

I have been planning to write for a long time now, but I had my reservations. What would I write? How could I put the pain to intelligible words, if I could put it to words at all? How could I simulate the heavy, empty feeling of losing someone that meant so much to me? Would I choke back tears as I talked about the anguish and hopelessness?

To answer the last question, I didn't choke back the tears--because there weren't any to begin with. What was left after a seemingly decent closure (a word I am trying to reconcile my thoughts with, because it's a contradiction in itself; what's to close when both parties are no longer open to the possibility of real reconciliation, which in essence means getting back together?) is a curious feeling, betrayal, some sort of anger.... in me, at least.

But I guess, in some way, that's how I always felt. Betrayal, whenever he wouldn't keep a promise he thought I forgot. Sadness, whenever something happened that confirmed my suspicions. Anger, when I saw myself in him--the worst part of me, that is.

All the good and optimistic promises of love... I might've lost it much earlier than he did. I possibly lost it the moment I flirted with another guy for the first time, and the second, then the third...followed by a series of men, the memory of whom is already a murky vision in my head. I was merely holding on way before he pulled the plug. Much earlier than when he said that he'd fallen out. Was I still in love when I read all the conversations he had had with other guys? Or was it pride that drove me through the roof?

In the small cozy restaurant where we talked, as I looked at him with a significant amount of loathing, I can't help but wonder in retrospect: was I still in love with him then? Because all I can remember was wanting to punch him in the face, get the entire fiasco done and over with, send him off to the fuck hole where he came from.

Love is the primary controlling factor in every relationship, right? If it is, then I would say with certainty: I did love him. It was an interesting mix of shame and romance, and we both couldn't handle it. Could we? Even if we tried a bit harder? I guess not.

They say a break-up is never mutual, and it always ends up with one person feeling like complete crap. I'm owning up to that role, to the satisfaction of all the others I've broken up with on my own terms. Here I am, finally the person who was abandoned, not the person who left.

This is what I've been reduced to. Alone in a dark apartment room. Trying to make sense of what happened days before I'm writing this. For the very few people who know, and have asked, I am simply at a loss for words. What will I say? How do I explain the downfall of a relationship I seemed so sure of? Do I cry and grieve in public, like in the movies? Do I reply to his messages, allow him to leech off my emotional residue?

There were many questions--there still are, actually. But for now, I'm going to satisfy myself with a definite answer to a question I've been trying to shove aside these past few days: are we over?

Decidedly so.