Her Story

Once there was a girl who fell in love with her guy best friend.

They grew up together – same kindergarten, same neighborhood, same playground, and same school. She never confessed her feelings for the boy since she was afraid of losing him. For years since they got into high school, she endured seeing him with different girlfriends, even lied to his parents whenever he’d go mess up with them. She told nobody about it, not even her mom or her pet cat, because deep within she decided that she can never have a relationship with him beyond friendship.

When they reached college the girl finally had things to distract her from her feelings with the boy. She enrolled to different clubs and even got into the cheering squad. Her best friend kept on messing up with girls from the sorority but she stayed reserved, avoiding parties and the oozing-with-hotness jocks from the football team. Despite the loss of hope for the both of them, the girl stayed loyal to the boy.

But one day, before their graduation, the guy best friend took the girl into his dorm room and locked the both of them in. She was nervous. He looked very serious – sweating and trembling at the same time. She didn’t want to jump into conclusions – she had imagined this scene a thousand times in her head – hoping that maybe he wanted her too.

“I think Margaret is pregnant.” The boy almost choked on his words.

“Who’s Margaret?” The girl replied, breathlessly.

“My girlfriend!” The boy prompted as though this was the most obvious thing in the world.

The sky fell down on the girl. She was crying when she ran out of his dorm back to her own room. After they graduated, she heard that her best friend married “Margaret” and she soon gave birth to a baby boy. The girl, broken-hearted,  went on with her life, got a job as a flight attendant and had been roaming the world one country to another. She never forgot about her best friend whom she had loved secretly all her life – who got away and she never really owned.

When she got off the flight from Japan, she got a phone call from her mom.

“Nathan is gone, honey.” Was all she heard.

His Story

Once there was a boy who fell in love with his girl best friend.

They grew up together – same kindergarten, same neighborhood, same playground, and same school. He liked her ever since they met in the neighborhood’s McDonald’s and never forgot her face. He fought off anyone who tried to bully her in school and always shared his lunch with her whenever he can. But he was a coward deep within. Just confessing his feelings for her made him sick in the stomach. He can never do it. He had to pretend he doesn’t care whenever the girl would share her “crushes” on the other boys. He had to act indifferent when boys gave her cards for Valentines’ Day during their first year in high school. Eventually, he needed to distract himself and got other girlfriends. He knew they weren’t his best friend, but they were all he could have. He replaced girls the way he changed clothes. Shacked them every weekend hoping he could see some jealousy from the girl he really loves. But his best friend showed no interest. She even lied to his parents whenever he’d shack a girl in the cabin near the lake. He thought maybe she does feel nothing for him at all – aside from their friendship.

College arrived and his best friend became busy with her clubs and the cheering squad. He fell more in love with her. She looked so beautiful in her red cheerleader uniform. It pained his heart that he still can’t find the courage to confess to her. Instead, he busied himself with more girls and shacking. Until there was this girl he had a one-night-stand with that came out positive with HIV. Out of dread, the boy had a test just to ease up the anxiety he felt. Unfortunately, his result came back positive.

While the doctor explained his condition, he thought about his best friend and the future he had actually planned for them if ever he finally get to confess to her. But that future ended. The doctor gave him a year or more to live. What was worse, the girl with the HIV called him and said that she’s pregnant with his child. It was too much for him. He had no one to turn to but his best friend. He tried to ask help from her but from the moment he told her that he got his girlfriend pregnant, she ran out of the room and left him.

He never saw her since, even after graduation. Last thing he heard from her was that she became a flight attendant and had been traveling all around the world. He was happy for her, living a good life, while he endured the effects of his illness and saw it also on his wife. He pitied his son more, because the HIV virus was passed unto him. He blamed his wife, as well as himself, and felt that he was unfair to the woman he married. He never really loved her. He had always loved his best friend. Even on his death-bed, with his last breath, he called her name “Amanda” and then closed his eyes for the last time with her face in his mind, etched forever.


Who are the people you miss? What are the things that you miss doing together?

This will have to be the most dangerous post I will make – because I will expose myself as vulnerable.

I miss your tan skin, your sweet smile… so good to me, so right.”

-Back to December | Taylor Swift

I swear this will be the end of me. I am missing this person that I had decided not to miss. I decided never to think of him again, never linger on the memories, to forget his name, his touch and everything else about him. But I’m kidding myself, obviously. This will be the only time I’ll admit that I miss him.


I miss him because once there was a time that I did fell in love with him.

But loving him is so wrong in so many ways. I knew from the start that falling for him will only cause me trouble – but who can actually stop themselves from falling in love? How can I stop myself from loving him when he made me feel alive – heart beating fast, Goosebumps all over and blushing cheeks?

How can I forget the way he’d take my hand and plant brief kisses on it? Or when he kissed me on the forehead that night when he fell asleep and I fixed the blanket over him? How can I forget the warmth emanating from his body when we touched, embraced or just sat beside each other? Do I have the capability of erasing memories like the time when he said “There is something about your kiss…”?

From the start, I knew that I will never be the best for him – and that he will never be the perfect choice for me. I break whenever these memories would spill from its vial and spread all over my mind. It’s like poison to my soul. I shatter to pieces. I long for his touch but I will never admit it… not to myself, not to everyone else, and especially not to him. How can I?

Spur of the moment.

I want him so bad. Pain stabs my heart every time I see his face. The distance is like living a torture every day. I knew that I never should have fallen in love with him… but it just happened. His kisses and his touch from long ago burned fiercely in my mind. Just his existence made me fall in love. The small things he did to me sank me deeper into adoration for him. None can compare. He was like the spark that ignited the life in my soul. His laughter ringing in my ear was like music. His whisper was unforgettable. How could I ever forget about him?

“I am not in love with him. I don’t care about him. I don’t think about him. I don’t miss him.” Can you see how I keep on deluding myself? It is for my own good. I know that if I let myself linger to his memories – I will stay in love with him and his absence will crush me.



But he will never know. I will never say this to him. If he find out about this – he will gloat. He will have his bragging right and inflate his head because of this. And I don’t want to give him that satisfaction. I am a fool for falling for him – it was a huge mistake. But if I’m going to be honest to myself – it will be this time. I miss him because I was in love with him. But he doesn’t need to know. He wouldn’t care anyway – one way or another.

This will be the end of me.



Share a generous act that you did to a complete stranger.


It was a rest day from work when my friend and I went to the nearest mall to just chill out and enjoy the day. We were strolling, admiring dresses we’re never gonna be able to afford and gawking over guys, when I noticed this old lady almost inching with her steps carrying a tray full of food. She looked aged, with a head-full of white hair and trembling hands. At once, by instinct, I rushed to her and gently took the tray from her grip.

“Please let me take this for you.” I boldly said, no chance of refusal available.

The old lady looked surprised then thankful. She led me back to her table and there I saw what seemed to be her daughter, probably in her forties, sitting comfortably on her chair playing Candy Crush Saga on her iPhone. She looked surprised as well when she looked up, wondering who I might be. The first thing that came into my mind was this:

Why did you let your sixty year old mom carry your food while you’re just sitting there looking healthy and well?

But who am I to judge, I reprimanded. So instead of giving a menacing look to the daughter, I placed the tray properly on the table and faced the old woman. She thanked me repeatedly and I brushed it off with a sincere smile.

“It’s nothing, grandma. You’re welcome.” And with a nod, I rejoined my friend.

It pains me to see an elderly struggling with a tray full of food while her daughter, who’s years younger than she is, just sat there playing a game on her phone. It seemed to be like love taken advantage from – but I couldn’t be too sure. Maybe the old lady insisted on doing it, but it doesn’t mean that the daughter should have gave in to that. Anyway, helping grandma sure made me feel so good about myself. The feeling of helping someone you don’t know can bring a kind of joy beyond any word you can utter. It’s just indescribable.




For starters, I DO NOT INTEND TO PUBLISH THIS POST. But for the sake of a good read, I will. This is my point of view of the generation today, which may or may not change for the next couple of years. I am not aware when this kind of trend started but I bet it had been going on for a long time now. Who started it – probably our ancestors? When did it started – ages ago? Where? EVERYWHERE.

I am talking about what everyone are so fond of doing – SEX.

For this post I am going to use the experience from one of my friends who will not be named for the sake of her well-being and so-called reputation. This post is based on the culture of our country and our current lifestyle. Any similarity to anyone you know is purely coincidental – or it may not be, whatever.

“Love is so overrated.”


That’s what she taught me – yes taught, because she insisted firmly that it’s a lesson to be learned. My friend – let’s call her Iron Maiden – had once loved so much before. “Those with iron hearts once loved purely long ago.” She used to say to me. I used to shrug it off since Iron Maiden is very fond of her one-liners. Long story short – she was hurt by the man she loved and made her the Iron Maiden she is now. If I will describe my friend the Iron Maiden – she loves “the game”.

What game, you might ask?

“The Game of Lust” Iron Maiden would say with her crooked smile. She’s the kind of person who’s very open with “sex talks” and us – her friends – just got used to it over time. We’re actually open-minded about it, since none of us are minors. “Learn to play the game. No man will take you seriously anymore, so why take them seriously at all? If they’re playing you, then why not play them too? It’s all a silly game. It’s whether you win or lose. If you fall for them, you lose. Play with them and you win.”


At first I couldn’t believe this kind of mindset, since I grew up from a small city in the province. People aren’t used of this kind of liberation, though we are aware that it’s already the norm for other countries where high school or college students can have premarital sex during parties without parental supervision. But it’s different here in our country… years ago, I guess. Now, if you go to our capital, you can see that sex is such an easy thing to do nowadays – with anyone you like and anywhere you like.

And that’s the kind of generation I see in us today.

Go to a bar, get drunk, dance with a guy you totally don’t know, start making out and end up having sex in the nearby motel. When you wake up in the morning, you don’t exchange numbers (depending on the situations or mutual attraction, I guess) and then leave like nothing happened. And if the night come again, do the exact same thing. THIS, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IS A FACT NO ONE CAN DENY FROM ANYBODY. In the US, Asia, Europe and everywhere else – this kind of trend is at its peak.

“Fall in love when you’re thirty. Fuck while you’re still up for it.” Iron Maiden would tell us. But when I look at her and see beneath that mask of invincibility – what I see is someone who is afraid to fall in love again. Love breaks even the strongest people. People who are basically afraid to get hurt again would put up this bravado that they don’t know how to care anymore or that they’re only up for fun and nothing else. This is kind of sad, because I had witnessed a lot of great people crumble after heart-break. There’s this girl who I’ll call Miss Corn-Head – young, smart and pretty – that got played by the boy she’s terribly in love with. And now all she wants to do is sulk, walk and do things alone. I always urged her to move on, help herself and live life to the fullest – but she refused many times.

Heart-break made this kind of generation? Let me ask you if it’s true, though.

Is it because that too many heart-breaks happened that people, even teens, these days prefer to play and fuck around rather than maintain serious relationships? Is it because that they are afraid that love will only break them that they’d turn to lust instead? Will this generation be saved?

With divorce here and there – who could answer with assurance?

This is just sad.

I know lust and sex existed ages ago, but they cannot compare to pure love. I know I might sound so old-fashioned or stupid or naïve or innocent to you guys, but I actually am not. I am also a child of this generation. But is it wrong to hope for something from the past?

I’d be terrified if I find out someday that my future daughter will have her first sex at the age of 15, or that my son can get someone pregnant without even graduating from high school. Both of these are possible, since teens are given way more freedom than they ought to have. I am not going as a psycho disciplinarian here, I know you parents or young adults do understand.

I just wish that this generation could have been molded in a much better way – a way that could never have made someone like the Iron Maiden. I hope for a generation with less pornography, rape, abortion, premarital sex and underage pregnancies. I know it’s too much to ask, but hoping is free. I hope that my son can grow up in a community where he doesn’t have the privilege to fuck every girl he likes in every party he get himself into. I hope that this generation can teach him the value of purity and saving yourself for the right person. I, too, made this kind of mistake, I am not a hypocrite nor virgin. But is it wrong to ask a better life or future for your children? Is it wrong to aim for a better lifestyle for the coming generation that we will eventually leave?

Changing this generation is as hard as a diamond, like waiting for the tallest and grandest of mountains to crumble into dust. This is me expressing my disappointment. I had made these mistakes before too, and I do not intend to do it again. I am revolted to how easily sex can be gained – recklessly and irresponsibly. I do hope for the better days, when dignity and purity and sanity can be taught back to the children. I do hope – with all I am – that one day I will still be able to see that “Game of Lust” all forgotten and a generation at the right track, leaving the filthy past behind.