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*SOB* Chronicles III: The Final Chapter

by Meg R <>

"Running away from the places / From things that make me think of you / But I guess there's just no letting go /Of this feeling I have inside / Running away I've been trying / So hard to keep away from you / Now forgetting you is all I have to do / That's why I'm running away from you..." -- AMO, Running Away

Life goes on for the bottom-dweller.

While everything seems to have come to a stop in mine.

Every time the telephone rings, I still can't will my heart to stop wishing it were the long-awaited call from him...only to be disappointed again and again.

Every time I get a "new mail" alert I still can't stop wishing it were from him...only to feel let down again and again.

Every time I turn around the corner I keep expecting him to turn up... only to feel like a fool again and again.

A friend once suggested, "maybe the reason he broke up with you was because he didn't like your hair cropped short."

Inwardly I added on to the list --

...Maybe he didn't like my new lipstick's shade - he must have found it a tad darker for his taste.

...Maybe he didn't like the little black dress I'm particularly fond of wearing, with its wide slit in front and all (come to think of it, he once said he would never understand why women liked wearing revealing clothes, only to fly off the handle when some guy had the effrontery to ogle).

Etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

I'd go over the last time we were ever together a thousand times in my mind, hoping to find the answer as to why our love had to end. Alas, no answers were to be found there, too.

I'd go from black rage to pitiful misery.

One minute I'd be so relieved I've been rid of the wuss; the next I'd be bawling like a baby, pining away for the love I so badly want to have back.

Sometimes, In my immensely woebegone state I'd wish for some guy, any guy to come along and completely obliterate IC's memory from my heart and mind.

Other times, I'd swear off men forever - thinking they're all the same, that I'd be better off without them - lest they turn out to be just like IC, or if I'm really out of luck, they turn out to be worse versions of IC.

Feeling martyr at times, I'd even wish for IC's friendship - better to have that than nothing at all, I said.

And still there are times when I'd think up a thousand one-liners with which to put him in his place, in the event that he comes crawling back for a second chance. I'd imagine myself as the girl with whom nobody gets a second chance - hah!

Worse, after all this time, there's still this lingering hope inside me that refuses to die -- that one day IC would show up in my doorstep, think up a magical explanation for his shortcomings, beg me from the bottom of his heart to forgive him. And for an answer I'd throw my arms around him and hold him forever.

I used to be the staunchest Girl Power advocate alive - "Your boyfriend doesn't love you the way you deserve to be loved? Dump him! You deserve someone better!" "Don't even contemplate begging your sorry excuse for a boyfriend to come back -- have a little pride for Chrissakes!" "Forget your crummy boyfriend - I know you can do it! Girl Power, remember?" "Don't forgive your stupid boyfriend just yet -- make him suffer as you have suffered! Nyahahahaha!"

Funny, but none of these Girl Power stuff came to my rescue in my darkest hours of despair. Sitting in a cab on my way to work, the opening bars of "Before I Let You Go" would play on the radio, and I'd feel as if my heart was being forcefully wrenched away from my chest. At office meetings I'd stare off into empty space, not hearing a single word my boss said. Walking along Makati Ave., I'd see a lovey-dovey couple, I'd remember the feel of IC's arms around me, and I'd die a little.

This column is reserved for the exhibition of every Gen-Xer's angsts, views, opinions, and such, on things, stuff or issues worth writing about, whether they be experienced in real life or here on cyberspace. Views and opinions on this column are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views and opinions of the editors of WIRED! Philippines (although we might find ourselves nodding occasionally).


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