November 6, 2005

“It’s not you. It’s me” and other Half-truths and Lies…

Talk about clichés... In the midst of my oft-repeated latest break-up(s) (translation: 4? Or was it 5 times with the same guy?!?), I must have heard all the well-worn clichés anyone in a break-up could either say or hear. It was heart-breaking (to say the least) and I promised myself I would never utter the same lines to anyone. But life, it seems has other plans for me.

It's not you. It's me. I don't really know if this line was meant to assuage the hurt and the pain of the break-up. I suppose the guy who told me this thought he was doing me a favor by making me think that all the problems we had was all because of him-- the way he couldn't settle with me, defend his choosing me to friends and family, the way he was ping-ponging between another girl and me, remembering I existed and was very willing to stroke his ego when things were going downhill on the other camp. I really don't know. I suppose it's a half-truth. After all, it certainly was NOT me he wanted. In the end, it didn't really help. Despite this statement and after all this time, I cannot seem to unburden myself of this immense guilt I feel thinking that all I did was ruin his life, his friendships and relationships and bring him sorrow while I at least had fleeting moments of indescribable bliss.

Sadly, I now find myself in this strange position where I feel like uttering the same words to someone else. But I guess I have to at least explain how it all came to this. Let me call him "John" (as in "John Doe")

First off, NO WE ARE NOT A COUPLE. We were (and I'd like to think, "are still") friends. We cried on each other's shoulders at each heartbreak... shared the joy of each reunion with our special someones. Somehow, a few weeks after his own disastrous break-up with this girl, John woke up and suddenly all that occupied his mind (or so he said) was me and how he had, for the longest time, wanted to ask me out and would I? It was earth-shattering to say the least. He was one of the few guy friends I kept. For the selfish reason that I knew they wouldn't have any romantic notions about me. I have too many issues, too little self-worth, and nothing to offer that it would be the height of injustice. I am not even beautiful or intelligent. Yet somehow this guy tells me he thinks the world of me. All I could think of was how tragic it was that he seems to have fallen for someone who does not exist. I am not the confident, charming, sweet, and skilled doctor he thinks I am. Hence the words "It's not you. It's me." He deserves so much more than I could possibly ever offer.

I want us to be friends like we were before. The first time I heard this, my first thought was to scream "I don't want to be just friends with you! I love you! Can't you understand that? How do you expect me to be friends with you?!?" In the end, we weren't even that. Despite my overtures, reaching out to maintain a thread of-- well, friendship, he never really bothered to do the same. This evil part of me wants to scream at him for not even saying thanks that I remembered him enough to send him his misdirected mail or "pasalubongs" etc when everyone else just left the envelopes lying around, about to be thrown into the trash. But a larger part of me understands that is probably better this way. So that the girl he truly loves won't doubt him anymore. So that I don't remember him with fondness anymore. Plus, I am not exactly an important part of his life so the time he would spend doing small thing like saying "thanks" wouldn't be worth the trouble.

And yes right now, that's exactly what I want to tell John. That I want us to be friends. To be comfortable with each other. To laugh. To cry. Together and at each other. I don't want to change the comfortable way we work together. Or lose the person I joke around with when things are light or the person I can count on when there are too many things that need to be done. I don't want to get to the point when I become jealous each time he speaks to a pretty girl. I want him to be there when I need a friend. But I can't be more than that with him. I need his friendship too much that if I lose it, I would certainly lose a lot. Even if it were to turn into something more that friendship. More so if it doesn't work out.

You made me feel special. Reading these words in a letter explaining our break-up made the evil me wonder if these were just token words said so that I wouldn't feel that my efforts at keeping the relationship alive were unappreciated. All I am truly sure of is that he was special to me. In many ways, he still is, for reasons I prefer to keep to myself. But can you blame me for wondering about the truth of this statement when each and every time I tried to make him feel special always seemed to warrant a sermon from him? Sermons about how I shouldn't be spending so much on him or how the things I did embarrassed him or how they were the realization of his worst nightmares but that he enjoyed it. Talk about mixed signals! All I wanted to do was show the world he was a special guy and that I loved him.

And yes, John made me feel special in his own little way. It takes a lot of courage to bare one's heart when you're unsure about how the other person feels for you. This may sound vain but the girl in me took immense pleasure in hearing a member of the male species say that he couldn't wait to be with me. If you aren't special to the guy who tells you that, I don't know what else to call it.

I really don't know how to tell John that I want things to remain the way they were for the simple reason that I am afraid. I've been hurt too many times before that I have lost my faith in love and men. I need my friends and nothing more. I have just relearned how it is to be independent. It was just recently that I rebuilt my dreams and ambitions. All my goals right now pertain to myself and how I will get what I want for myself by myself. I don't need the complication. If I feel the least bit mopey, all I have to do is tinker with my palm or fool around with my ipod and things are alright. I don't want to feel anything more than the numbness I have grown accustomed to. I need my space. And I need to be alone-- to heal and regroup. But I also need the knowledge that if I stumble or trip in my journey, there are people I can joke around with and cry with.

It's not you. It's me. I want us to be friends like we were before. You made me feel special.

Sad. But heartfelt and true.