Last Valentine’s Day, I worked till midnight. Then I collapsed in my bed, half-depressed.
That night, happy couples appeared in my dream, smiling, kissing. I envied them.
I’ve been seeing this girl for 6 months now. A charming entrepreneur (like me).
We don’t do anything intimate. Just talking about Eneo, Daphne and WORK.
We rarely talk about ourselves.
What are we? Lovers?
When I was younger, Disney movies taught me about love. An intangible yet prehensile force that could bind Beast and Beauty, blend their hearts into a delicious cocktail that would stun bystanders, creating admiration in some, and jealousy in others.
May be I dread blending and binding. Do I fear that part of my self will be destroyed by amalgamation?
I’ve once been in love – as per the definition above. At school.
Sometimes, I expect a perfect replica of that school love, like a kid longing for his late mom’s makala.
Is it why I find it hard to fall in love again?
My married friends ask me “Why are you single? You have hundreds of female admirers on facebook!” I shrug and say, “You know the marketing consultancy life… it’s eating my time up.”
But is it life that’s eating up my time? No. It’s time that’s eating my life up. If I keep working only, I’ll end up with no life and no love.
I ask myself too many questions. Is it why it’s not working?