Perfect Love Story

This is my perfect love story.

We meet while I am having a summer vacation in Puerto Princesa. Or maybe Boracay. Or Pagudpud. Or Baler. You are visiting your family. Or maybe you are taking a break with your friends. Or colleagues. We are in a restaurant, a cafe, and I am ordering a drink or a meal, and you are doing the same. We catch a glimpse at each other, and at that instantaneous moment, we both know. We are meant to be.

The world stops spinning. But only in our heads, because everyone around us continue moving. Yet, we don't care. Time stands still, and all I see is you. I smile, and you catch yourself smiling back. You break your stare and blush. Time starts moving again.

From that moment on, I couldn't stop looking your way. Yet you keep avoiding my eyes. Of course you will. You are a proud woman, you're not cheap, you're not easy to get. You stand up and excuse yourself. You say you are not feeling well and you start walking back to your cottage. I stand up and walk behind you.

I catch your arm as you are walking. Or maybe I call you out. You look behind and you see me, and you feel butterflies in your stomach. But of course you hide it with a poker face. I greet at you, you greet me back. I ask for your name, and you ask why. I tell you that you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, and I ask if is it OK for you that we become friends. You blush and you turn away.

And then you turn back again. You face me, and you tell me your name. Cristina. Katherine. Or is it Christine? Or maybe Catherine with a 'C'. Or Kathryn. You say, sure, we can be friends. I smile again, with the happiest grin I can conjure.

We spend the rest of the weekend hanging out. At the beach. At the marina. We would buy fruits from a vendor. And some souvenirs. You tell me you work for a TelCo back in Makati. Or BGC. You're in I.T., I tell you I am too. We share stories about our line of work. About our frustrations with our bosses. About our dreams, our goals. You tell me you want to work abroad, I tell you I want to study further. Or maybe teach. We both say we don't know what the future holds, but whatever that is, we will welcome it with open arms.

We exchange numbers. Or Facebook accounts. Or Twitter. We promise each other we keep in touch when we return to Manila. You say goodbye, I say see you soon. We part ways.

And then I text you once I get back. Or send you a private message. I ask you how are you doing, you say fine. I ask you out for  dinner. You say you'll look into it. I insist. You say yes.

Then we start dating. And after a few weeks, or maybe a month, maybe two months, I tell you the words I've been meaning to say since the day we met. The words I kept to myself because I know you wouldn't believe me. I know I have to prove myself to you. I know that action should come first before the words, and now that I've done my part, I am ready to tell you what I feel.

I say I love you. You say you love me too.

This is my perfect love story.

But it's not true. It's fantasy.

The real love story is less romantic.

We worked together in an I.T. company. I came from a five-year hiatus on love, and you were in a rocky relationship. You would always cry and rant about your ass-hole of a boyfriend, and I would always listen. One, because we are friends; and two, because I like you more than as a friend. I asked you out for a couple of drinks, you agreed. We went to a bar somewhere in Burgos, and you drank your problems away.

We didn't know what we were doing. Or maybe we did. Maybe I did, and I manipulated you into it. Or maybe it was you who manipulated me. I really don't know. But one thing's for sure, we shared a moment of sin that night afterwards, and our relationship was never the same again.

You grew afraid. Of course you did. You told me you love your boyfriend, that it was him you wanted to spend the rest of your life with. But you cheated on him. With me. I told you you don't deserve him. That you should pick me. I told you I love you. You said you don't know what you feel about me. You said we should stop seeing each other.

But we never did.

We kept on it. We were enjoying it. Every time, we promised ourselves that would be the last. And every time we saw each other again we break that promise. But no secret lives forever. Eventually your boyfriend found out, he dumped you and I got a black-eye and a broken nose.

And so begun us.

What I thought to be love, turned out to be something else. What we thought was happy, turned out to be misery. You turned to hate me. You would rant about every little thing I do, and I would be jealous with every man you hang out with. Why wouldn't I? You cheated with your previous boyfriend, how can I be sure you wouldn't do the same with me?

But we grew dependent. No matter how much we loathe one another, how much I hated your voice, or how much you hated my cooking, we learned to tolerate each other. We were so different, how could I not see that before. You hate the things I love and I hate the things you enjoy. We would talk about something, and that talk will turn into an argument, and that argument will turn to shouting, to cursing, and to tossing our phones onto the walls.

We should have ended it. I knew I should have, you knew you should have. But you were afraid you would never find someone who could tolerate you, and I was afraid of being alone. So we ignore all our friend's advice. And now here we are.

I look at you as you walk down the aisle. You are crying, I can see that beneath the veil. I am close to tears too. We both don't want to do this, but we already told each other we have no choice. This is a mistake, but we both agreed to commit to it. Not because we love each other, but because there is nothing more we can do.

This is not a perfect love story. Those kind are rare, and most only happen in the pages of a romantic novel or a chick-flick. This is not a perfect love story, this is not even a love story. We resigned ourselves to whatever this is we're doing, because we'd rather be miserable with each other, than be miserable by ourselves.