welcome fans!

I have never written you a love letter, not that you deserve one, but I have been wanting to put you into words for a long, long time. Now that you’re gone, I find this unwavering need to document you lest all be gone in pain and bitterness and your existence will just be a far distant memory I never want to recall anymore.

And nobody will ever know that once, you have been so beautiful for me.

I never quite admitted that long before we became close, really close, I actually had a little crush on you. I think you are the coolest person in class (next to me, hah!). You drink a lot, smoke a lot, joke a lot. You had your immoral and dirty stories and twisted and overcompensating lovelife. I like the music in your Ipod. You make me belong in a bunch of young, diligent, overeager, and innocent kids who got lost with me in law school.

And boy, you look good, not so much of my type but appreciable nonetheless. Sometimes, you seem a little gay because of the way you talk, the way you wear your hair to a certain color, and the way your fair complexion aggravates the way you talk and your hair color to the point of reasonably doubting your masculinity.

Undeniably though, you are sexy. I love how naturally and unfairly your body looks like a Greek god’s—broad shoulders, Superman chest, and buttocks that would make even prudent girls stare. Later, when you gained a little weight and I always make fun of how “fat” you’ve become, your flabs have never really offset your assets. You’re still hot, I just don’t tell you.

Your physical beauty is just a fraction of the whole package though. You sing like a rockstar. You play basketball like a pro, and billiards too. Your cooking put my decent culinary skills to shame (and I love your adobo next to my mother’s, but your sinigang is still a hotly debated issue).

You charm people, all of them and all kinds of them, and anti-social me always envies how easily you do it. You talk to karinderya crews, MMDA officers, vendors, child beggars, security guards, etc. that after a while, you are on a smiling basis with them and they almost always give you favors.

You are a burst of sunshine and your energy is almost always contagious. You don’t mind making a fool of yourself as long as you are enjoying. You repeat jokes you heard over the radio or passed through text, and still they’re funny (or at least, I think they are). For some time, I never had a dull moment with you.

And then we became good friends, great friends, super friends, special friends. We were inseparable 24/7. The guards in your place actually think I live there

that rules for visitors don’t apply to me. My housemates have become so used to your presence that they actually miss you (even Marky, the rat). We had our “patangahan and pabingihan” jokes where we think of other words rhyming with the word actually spoken until it becomes so stupid. I always have a hard time comprehending the words you’re speaking because I assert that you’re so “bulol” and you keep insisting that I am “bingi.”

You changed me in a way, permanently.

You got me listening to FM radio and it became sort of a bonding moment, how we say in chorus, “ah, gusto ko yan…” when we hear a song we both like. And how we’ll sing with that song for weeks and how after some time, we move on to another song. I remember you staging a personal mini concert for me with you as the singer of course, with a live request and where I can sing along too (even if my singing is actually like poetry reading), as we lied down next to each other trying to sleep. I remembered how you went with me to Avril Lavigne’s concert and actually screamed like a real fan. And after that, how you downloaded Avril’s videos in your laptop just so you can show them off to me.

Funny, how you always used to ask me to pray and accompany you to Sunday mass when you knew I was an atheist. I actually utter a secret prayer for you every time you ask me to, something like “God, if you really exist, please grant this kid’s prayer because he really believes in you.” While my newfound faith was not really because of you, those funny moments when you asked me to pray actually helped me realize that I actually can.

And then the tears that we shared. How you saw me cry a river and throw my worst tantrums over a toothache and how you patiently insisted that I eat the pancit canton you cooked so the pain medicines would take effect. How I was shocked to see you shedding subtle tears in school because of some family conflict and I don’t know how to comfort you, that I made a very lame offer of buying you fruit shake and how you told me afterwards that you’d cry everyday so that you’d always get free fruit shake.

And then the real tears came. We’ve grown so close and familiar that contempt slowly crept up our solid bond. I like you just a little bit too much that everything about you and us now mattered and I suddenly had the stupid yearning to think of labels. You and the idea of you are now starting to hurt me.

Then suddenly, there are more than 10 things I hate about you.

I hate your flirting, your constant lying, your girlfriend, your textmates, your broken promises, your lame excuses, your habit of setting up things and changing them after, your walking ahead of me, your not carrying my heavy things, your twisted logic, your criticism of my assertive and argumentative attitude, your denials, your half-truths. There was a point when you represented the idea of hate to me and I know it was mutual.

And then, you were no longer beautiful for me.

But there was a time when I honestly accepted all the ugliness that I loathe in you, when I actually tried to be the best of whatever I am to you, when I said fuck to reason and logic and just followed my heart blindly. That was the time when the greatest wave of disappointment set in and I found myself hating you and pitying me.

But I held on just the same. Before everything we knew was falling, I thought that we were great friends. If only I could save that part until the worst is over. But the hating is endless that even my hardest best effort to control it is not enough.

And then you gave up. Now here I am writing my first and last love letter to you with a calm resignation that maybe, that was all we ever could be.