DEAR YOU, LOVE...ME : Part I

Part I

It’s been difficult trying to stay away from this place. It’s been years, but it still looked as breath taking as it did the last time Leila set foot here. The last thing she expected was the peacefulness she felt the moment she hopped off the bus. It was quite unsettling. After all, how could a place that has so much…history make her feel like she was where she’s supposed to be?

She breathed in as much of the sea air as she could. The sun is finally rising and the sky is tinged with hues of yellow and orange. It was going to be a day with clear skies. She could tell. She just hoped that the weather could somehow help clear her head.

The day went on as Leila expected. The sky was blue and the sun was shining brightly. The day could only last so long though. Eventually night came with a sky filled with stars. The place was as beautiful in the dark as it was in the light of day. The tranquility of the place should have helped her calm down. The rhythmic crashing of the sea to the shore should have lulled her to sleep. Instead she was wide awake in the middle of the night.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Leila said, deciding to break her reverie by calling a friend that she hasn’t seen for some time. She didn’t want to be swallowed by the silence.

“I think you’re not the only one,” she replied.

Leila laughed at this. It’s uncanny how they didn’t have to start conversations with niceties. The laugh was short lived though as the feeling of dread came again. “You don’t understand. It’s like every day I wake up disoriented, like I’m supposed to be somewhere else and I’m left confused thinking that this isn’t supposed to be what my life is like. Do you know how frustrating it is to feel that way every fucking day?” Leila said exasperatingly.

“Sweetheart, maybe you’re just exhausted. You need to get away for a while. Where are you anyway? Let’s go out.” Her friend told her.

“Batangas. With friends from the office. They’re all sleeping. Your timing is impeccable. I was about to do the one thing I swore I’d never do.” Leila laughed to herself, making sure she wasn’t too loud.

“What?” her friend asked.

“Finally show up with my appointment with the bathroom floor in the middle of the night. You see, I thought that if I ever came to that then that means I have probably hit rock bottom. It sounds crazy. I know. I’m crazy. Here I am, talking about me – again – at two in the morning with you while trying not to wake everyone up. Damn, I’d kill for a smoke right now.” She ranted.

“You don’t smoke.” Her friend reminded her.

“I know. But sometimes I get so tempted, I have to literally keep myself busy just so I wouldn’t reach for a cigarette or a bottle of liquor. It’s so embarrassing.” She explained.

There was a long silence but it wasn’t awkward. They both understood what each other’s silence meant. She drank more of the merlot she brought while staring out the window.

“What are you doing?” her friend asked.

“Drinking.” She answered. Her friend laughed. “Tonight I couldn’t resist.” She explained.

“You have good people there, why don’t you talk to them?” her friend asked again.

“Wake them up? Nah. Not worth it. This weekend getaway was a chance for everyone to have fun. I wouldn’t want to bring the mood down because I’m depressed about nothing in particular and about everything. Sometimes I think I should see a psychiatrist. Maybe I am too empathic. Maybe I’m fucked in the head or something. I don’t know. I just don’t know who I am or what I’m doing anymore. Don’t even ask me what I want to do. I wouldn’t know the answer if my life depended on it. I… I am exhausted of waking up every day and having to drag myself out of bed to get to work. I am exhausted of being offended by the littlest of things. I’m just tired of it all.”

“Oh Leila,” her friend sighed on the other end of the line. “Goodnight babe,” Leila said, ending the phone call.

It wasn’t until noon when any of her friends noticed her missing from the bedroom. They tried her phone but it was on the nightstand where she left it last night. They found her a little while later in the bath room with a tear stained face, an empty bottle of Merlot, and the floor stained red.

DEAR YOU, LOVE...ME

Foreword (a.k.a Introduction a.k.a Prologue a.ka The Part Where I Answer The Question: What the hell was I thinking?)

Dear you,

I am not the first person to do this. Many have come before me and were probably more successful at pulling off something like this. Heck, I’m doing it anyway.

I have never been good with words. At least not the spoken kind. I’ve often claimed that I am more eloquent in writing. Which is how I found myself writing my first ever letter when I was maybe six or seven years old telling my parents to give all my things to my baby sister. I don’t remember why I wrote that letter much less the rest of its contents. It was years after that little incident when I started writing again. Apart from the necessary school work that is.

When I was in first year high school, our school paper held this sort of audition for freshmen that they can add to their staff. Everyone was required to write something. I wasn’t one of the chosen four but I continued writing anyway. It wasn’t until I was a senior that one of my poems was published. Yup. I started with poems. The first ever “Dear you” letter that I wrote though, well that didn’t exist until after a fight I had with a very good friend. We haven’t spoken for some time and I had all of these things that I wanted to say and I couldn’t because we were miles apart. Calling didn’t seem to be enough. She wouldn’t pick up the phone anyway. So I wrote her a letter instead. There were several others that I wrote for her. None of them saw the light of day. She doesn’t have any idea and she never will unless she finds out and reads this.

So, what’s the big point you ask? There’s none, really. There would probably be a few entries here that would spew words of wisdom but mostly, these are words that I never really had any courage to say in-person. Like what I told another friend, at the end of the day, I am all just bravado. I’m just as scared of rejection and being misunderstood and taken out of context as much as the next person.

Which brings us to your next question: doesn’t this set me up for all that? Probably. But someone once told me that if I don’t do this, then how would “writing for a living” ever happen? He was right. I can’t be scared forever.

Which brings us here, to now and you and me. This is my heart and soul as I have never bared it to anyone before and I am scared to death. Like I said, many have come before me and many more will come who will probably be more successful at this than I would ever be. I must be crazy but here we are anyway.

Dear you who are probably reading this. If you see yourself in one of these pages than I am glad to have found a kindred spirit and I hope this makes you realize that you are not alone. I’m right there with you.

Me