I was always a fiercely independent person. I am the only child of my parents. Their son who, eventually, turns out to be a daughter; by heart. My parents had been separated for almost thirteen years. So my mom raised me all by herself.
She raised me well; my mom taught me how to aim high—how to keep my grades and my future intact. She made sure I was self-sufficient, and thanks to her, I never depended on anyone. Those struggles honestly turned my heart into stone.
Growing up I have had a lot of boy crushes . I discovered that I’m into boys when I was a second grader. The initials of their first names were predominantly “J” or “M” and that was purely coincidental. I didn’t tell anything about my crushes to my mom. (Everybody in my family knows that I’m gay and they accepted me for who I am because my grandma would always tell me that whatever makes me happy they just go along with it.) Not because I am afraid, or I am shy. But mostly because I don’t like them to know who my crushes are.
The time I come out as a gay to my family, my mom already fed me with the harsh realities. To make me strong, she said.
Since then I was practical enough to avoid toxic guys—those guys who mocks you in the street, guys that always asks for something and sooner or later will made you wait for nothing. Though my mom didn’t tell me about boys like you. I don’t blame her for that. I don’t blame her for not warning me that sometimes, the good-looking guys are most of the time the guys that won’t do me no good—that’s the kind of thing I learned as I grew up. And if it weren’t for this guy, I never would have known the truth, that I could be broken. So thank you for the lesson.
You weren’t a bad boy, but ironically, that was the problem. You were such a great guy—kind and intelligent and so…different from all the other guys I’ve met who were spoiled and self-entitled. Thank you for teaching me to be less cynical on the aspect of love. Thank you for showing me that not all guys were selfishly shallow. But most importantly, thank you for restoring my faith in love; the love I told you that I was kinda hoping for so long, that a guy like you will come into my life.
Perhaps you knew how I felt. Perhaps you didn’t. Even to this day, I’m still not sure if you ever liked me like I liked you. We would talk about every single thing when we’re eating together on our favorite go-to fast food chains, no matter how small, how solemn, or how shocking our topic is. We discussed everything together, whether it was something as austere as political matters or something as hilarious as punny memes. We shared our dreams with each other, and laughed about over our big plans for the future. Finally, I had met someone who was as passionately driven as I was, and you felt the same way, too.
Basically, we became each other’s person, the one who we could always talk to—that person we thought would never leave. Most especially for you to talk to in times you were not you, in times you were someone else. For indeed, just for a moment, what we had felt like it would last forever.
That night after we ate at a food chain located near 9th Avenue, I wasn’t aware what you were thinking that exact moment when I was talking about my plans for the coming schooldays. I didn’t know that you were leaving your hometown and wandering round the nearest province in South. The night after you left, our classmates begun talking about your disappearance. They told me about you, that you were unconscious that’s why you were rushed in the hospital, make no mistake: I was not surprised. After all, even before meeting you, I was a person whose living my whole life spontaneously. Though I am really concerned about you.
I’m beginning to lose my mind. I am hearing not a single melody in the air, just the sound of the wind and the leaves it touches. And that sound isn’t enough to comfort me. I need to hear your voice whispering in my ear saying you’re okay.
Days passed by, finally you went to school, after much observation with your change—it’s sad how you went from being that guy who’s eager to share all of his stories with me to a mere stranger—I realized: You were broken. I am shattered. After all we were all shards of glass scattered on the ground that can’t be fix by anybody.
I thought that you had begun pulling away little by little. Until now, I don’t know what is your reason. Maybe there is really something that bothers you in your head, that there is a lot happening in your mind that you can’t explain. Maybe you were really tired of yourself, or maybe sick and tired of life, itself. That would have been cruel, yet highly unlikely—because I see how determined you are even though you felt like the world is against you.
In the end, you broke me, but only for a little while. You showed me more about life and love than I ever imagined. My old self shattered but I learned how to pick up the pieces again. You were a lesson learned—that love with someone was possible, after all, as long as I learned to love myself first. One day, my new self emerged, stronger and wiser than ever. I never would have improved without you.
Please, know that I am always here for you no matter what life throws at you. I hope you know I have always and will always be here for you. One day things will be better and not as hard as they are now. I hope you always remember how much I always want to be there for you.
So to the boy who broke me temporarily but who allowed me to fix myself permanently: From the bottom of my heart, thank you.