ISKRIBOL (Mga Suka ng Isang Bored na Otistik)

Suka #5

MELODRAMATIC RANT | That February

(Konting Author's Note: Ang nasa ibaba na mababasa niyo ay isa sa mga entry ko sa aking diary. Dahil sa ang "Suka #5" ang parang "Soup #5" kapag napakinggan niyo, espesyal ang entry na ito dahil, yes, nag-e-English na'ko! Shit, ang OA ko dito.)

February 14, 2014

Valentine’s Day

Love isn’t for me—that was what I realized today. And I guess I’m self-pitying, crushing my self-esteem, and self-inflicting pain. I know it sounds ridiculous and selfish but that is what I’m feeling right now. I’m too stupid to believe that someone out there would love me. I have my family, I know. I love them grand. But let’s try to focus on this side of love, the romantic side.

So I was standing in front of the guy who was proposing to a girl earlier inside the campus. I’m in the audience, but too near. I could see the guy’s shaking hands and the girl’s reddened face. I could hear shouts and jitters and endless “Awwww” everywhere. It was sweet a scene, rare and romantic. But it was too sweet for me—because it brought back memories I am not supposed to remember... yet. The next thing I knew, I was running out of school. I decided to go home and sleep it all down. But I failed to do so. So I’m writing this.

No one loves a guy who wears glasses—unless you’re good-looking. In my case, I zeroed in chances. I heard that same words from my Religion class seatmate. No one loves a guy who wears glasses, unless you’re good-looking. And before she knew that she was sitting right next to the person who could take that hit, I’m already devastated. I know for myself that fact. But it still tinges.

Now, I’m giving up. Yes, I’m now waving the white flag of utter surrender to the majestic truth of me zeroing on the chance of being in a romantic relationship. I’m done. I’m not going to be a hopeless romantic; I’m just done with it. Romantic love isn’t for dorks, I guess. Though I dreamt of exchanging pick-up lines about quarks and subatomic particles and nuclear energy to someone in a romantic way, I’m now discarding all that stupid ideas.

It is not jealousy, to disclaim. It is what I call as self-enlightenment—embracing the painful truth like its spikes aren’t that sharp enough to shatter me into pieces. I’m happy for them, lovebirds and all. They should relish and celebrate the love they’d shared for like every second. Almost everything is fleeting, even memories. But these memories last longer, if they are good ones. So they should make good memories out of their times together. And I guess I’m talking to myself, too.

So let’s go back to me ranting about why I’m disqualified from romantic relationships. Though there is a part of me that is desperate enough to do everything just to win a girl’s heart, there is also this part that controls it. And this part says, “You don’t go winning any girl’s heart, you little Shakespeare. You’re protecting them.” That’s what is keeping me to move forward. This part also tells me to shut up and don’t be involved.

I’m in the full course of doing that now, shutting up and locking myself from everyone. Surviving a year of solitude, this is a piece of cake. It almost feels like I don’t need anyone anymore. And I’m afraid of it. I need to need anyone. But every day of being alone pulls me away from that.

This day inside the school, I felt like I don’t belong. They’re all in an upbeat for flowers and chocolates and surprises. Maybe I should go home now, I thought. But I failed to do it, too. So I managed to read a book and warm my ass inside the library for hours. No one loves anyone who reads books. But I’m wiling to disqualify myself for that. Books aren’t just stacks of papers put together with ink on it. Books are my escape. Books let me borrow a bit of life in fantasy where the world has no limits. Books are my friends, and they do love me though I wear glasses. They don’t see the worst in me and not all the best, too. They embrace both. They see my imperfections fit enough for them to let me wander off in worlds with no boundaries.

But I need to have a tight grip on reality, too. Even if it’s too painful, I need to grip it tight enough. And in this reality, my world is a small box—small enough for anyone to notice it. In this world, I am no one. I’m a strand of hair useless enough that if someone cuts me, nothing will change. But this is where I belong, and I don’t belong. See? It isn’t that easy.

Girls love good-looking guys. They love the rebellious, good-looking guys. They love the phony, rebellious, good-looking guys. And I’m literally behind that phony, rebellious, good-looking guy one time a week before today. We walked the same path. And every time he passed through girls, they went wild crazy. And I’m just a shadow of that good-looking guy for them. Shadow, is an understatement if they do noticed me. So, basically, no one loves the guy who is literally behind a good-looking other guy. I should avoid walking behind them from now on, just to avoid any further damage to my fragile self-esteem.

But I’m greeting anyone who’s reading this a sweet Valentine’s Day. I’m thinking of screwing that first line of this entry. But I’m too hungry for it, so, yeah, whatever.

—Nerdy Madman