'You should stop talking about he-who-must-not-be-named', my sister says, her eyes gravely addressing mine like a child reprimanded for breaking the living room vase.
'Are you trying to tell me that I'm an annoying-ass-person?' I ask, even if I know that the answer is yes. I've gotten too many eye rolls from friends, 'wasting-your-time-on-him' advice from my mom every time I bring him up. I can't blame them. He is the political unrest in Syria of international news, and the bombings in Mindanao of national news - nothing but negative and retrogressive.
'It's not for us, it's for you. This is so unhealthy. You're living in the past,' she asserts. I look at her and think to myself that she's more the adult than myself.
I told her, 'I'm not in love with him. I'm in love with the idea of him. Actually no. He is this fortress I've built around myself, like a turtle shell. I conveniently hide under my shell for fear of what is to come. The downside of it is that I've successfully tricked myself into thinking that I'm in love with my shell when logically, it can't feel, it can't love me back.
With a clear mind now, I ponder at the reason of why I liked him in the first place. He does not seem interested in what I have to say. He talks about other women in front of me, he even went to mention 'beauty and brains' women that he is interested in and he does it nonchalantly too, as if I'm not there.
Then I realized, there are plenty of people who are genuinely interested in what I have to say, I know of someone who sweetly asked me about my blog. The idea that someone is interested in my thoughts, my ideas help me in chiseling the sturdy fortress I've been suffocating in.
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