On The First Time I Got Engaged

borrowed from blog.apartmentsearch.com

It was my 4th boyfriend whom first asked me to marry him. It was late in the evening and we were walking in Legaspi Village, in Makati, crossing Salcedo Street, if I recall. I crossed first and was surprised that he was still on the other side. He asked me if I would marry him, and I said yes. It was the first time a boyfriend had asked me if I wanted to get married. And I was happy.

It was a long engagement. Partly because gay marriage wasn't a highly discussed issue at the time. It's not a topic that people are open about, unlike now. Pretty soon, the Philippines will have divorce, and it's a small step but it will bring us closer to same sex marriage here. But then again, nowadays, you can just fly abroad and get married; it won't be recognized here, though, but the commitment will be solidified.

It was a long engagement and it ended not on the best of terms.

We lived together, for 3 years. And I just needed to be going home to my family at that time, leaving him temporarily in our apartment in Makati. So I've been shuttling from our apartment, to my parents' home, to work for several weeks. On our last weekend together, we were supposed to attend a wedding scheduled on that Saturday. We didn't go, because I had just arrived at our apartment, and we decided to just spend time together. I had planned on staying with him that night, but unfortunately, according to him, he had to go to work. Too bad for me, I had to go home to my parents if that were the case.

Sunday, I spent with my family, but during the evening, when I was going through what I wanted to wear for work for Monday, I realized the pair of shoes I wanted to wear was in our Makati apartment. Since it was late, I didn't text him anymore that I was going to pass by early in the morning to get my shoes.

Come Monday, I had woken up early, so I decided to bring the car that was banned for the day, since I knew that I had so much work to do, I would probably end up leaving the office past 7:00PM. I got to our apartment at 5:30AM. I went up with my keys, and I tried opening our apartment but it was double locked from the inside. I tried knocking, because if it were double locked inside it means he's inside asleep. He wasn't answering. I tried calling the landline of the apartment, and I could hear the cordless phone ringing from inside. He wasn't answering. Now, I was worried. What if something had happened? What if he was dead inside, and I wasn't there for him?

The door opened. He opened it. And behind him was someone. A guy. A guy shorter than me. Looks like he was educated in a lesser-school. He had slightly long disheveled hair. And he was obviously gay.

My world was about to crash, because I knew what it meant. But I tried to keep things together. The guy left, even said hi to me. I went in our apartment, and proceeded to look for that damn shoe.

He was asking me what was wrong, but I wasn't even saying anything so how could he know that there was something wrong. I just said, I needed my shoe. I found it, put it on, carried my Birkenstock's in my hand, and left. I got into the Pajero, and drove off.

The drive from that apartment to my office takes only 7 minutes without traffic. It was the longest 7 minutes of my life. I was fighting back tears. I didn't want to cry while I was on the road, because I knew my eyes would fog up, and I might get into a car accident. By the time I reached the corner of Ayala Avenue and Buendia Ave., my eyes were so moist and red I was praying to God already because I knew I was going to die. I knew I was going to get into an accident, and I would lose consciousness, and since I had an SUV with me, people wouldn't help me, they'd take the car, and I would be left on the sidewalk with nobody to call, because I had caught my boyfriend cheating on me.

I didn't get into an accident. I reached the driveway of my office building. I got down, and my assistant saw me because she was in the lobby, and approached me. The moment she touched me, as I had just opened the back of the Pajero to bring down my things, I broke down. I broke down and fell to the curb, and cried. She brought me inside the car, and I started to drive up the ramp to my parking slot, where I continued to cried.

I was brought to my office, and I was still crying. I didn't go home to our apartment after that. I went home to my parents' house. I asked him to pack my clothes, and later that week, I picked them up and left. When I was on my way to pick up my clothes, I called him to confirm if these were ready, and I could tell that he was crying.

I told him not to cry because he was the one who did this. He was the one who broke us. I told him whatever insecurities he had had in the relationship could've been solved if he just talked to me. I told him that his previous boyfriend, whom he was with for 4 years, did this to him also. He walked in on his ex and another guy having sex, so why could he have done this to me when he knew exactly what it would feel like.

I picked my things up and left, and he texted me that he just stood at the sidewalk as I drove off, and he realized that it was the last time he was going to see me, and that it had dawned on him that we are finally over... for real.

I have had so many pains and hurts that I need to be moving on from. This is one of them. I would sometimes catch myself remembering random things about my life with him. Life with him was hard. And there were times when we'd be financially strapped, and didn't have money, but we were okay. We were happy. At least I thought we were. I am more comfortable now that I am not with him.

I loved him. It was the first time someone asked me to marry him, and I thought that was it. I loved him, and he hurt me. And now, I need to start healing from him. I need to start healing. I thought he might've been the one. But now I know he wasn't.