Recently, this past few days, I have been browsing some old animated series and movies I've last watched a long time ago. Before, when I was still in college (and had heap upon heap of free time), I mostly spent my spare hours watching them.

One of those was about five friends - and all of them are in that strange yet nostalgic area between adolescence and adulthood. Weaving in and out of two seasons and thirty-six episodes was a bittersweet and wistful story about first love, the meaning of friendship, life-is-just-the-way-it-is humor, growing up, purpose, journeys, finding oneself, choices, and unrequited love. I thought after all these years, it would not affect me with the same intensity it did once - but it still tugged some strings, leaving me once again wondering to inexplicable depths.

Another was about a younger man falling for an older woman. Aside from being one of the funniest things I have ever watched, it was also one of the most heartwarming. Running at an astounding ninety-six episodes (none of which wasted), it was about how this naive, aimless boy grows into a man to prove himself worthy of the woman - who was an impenetrable lock herself, dealing with the loss of her first husband and the fact that she was giving up the memory of her love for her deceased spouse for a new one. They went through a lot: he finished school, took hits, dealt with more able suitors, lost self-respect, and then eventually - found it back; and turned his life around to be a productive, dependable person. The woman, on the other hand, took her time accepting being widowed, moving on, supported the guy with all her heart, and in the end, saw him as someone worthy of her - as she was for him.

It kind of hurts, though.

Seeing them again made me remember how genuinely dreamy and idealistic I was back then - how I was willing to be honest, love selflessly, and think about everything - and I considered life as this never-ending reflection of learning, regrets, and love; something which is still true. Although, one thing has changed: me. I don't consider it as much as I did once.

Aging could do some funny things to you. I once wore my heart up my sleeve - never holding back, always saying the right words, expressing emotions. But then, living would say things to you like, "Hey, this world isn't for people who are real. Build a wall around yourself before it's too late. People are going to hurt you."

So I did. Right now I feel like I'm concealing myself. I feel like I am in hiding - hidden from everyone around me. It even came to points wherein I think I am completely losing my former self. I could count by hand the number of times I have been completely honest for a long time.

And also, I am scared. I am scared that I could never find love again - the whimsical, unfeigned, beautiful kind of love. The thought that I would go on and on hiding and never letting anyone in terrifies me. What if this is how I would actually be? What if I wouldn't be able to experience the sincerity of loving and being loved in return? I wanted to be in one of those man-made stories that I watched and saw, where I can experience things like biking going on a journey by myself and finding meaning; or taking the long way proving myself worthy to a woman I'd give everything I have to.

In some ways, I want to return to who I was before I closed my eyes and moved with uncertainty.

There are two women in my life right now that I feel very attached to and I do not relish it.


***

The first one is someone you already know. I have talked about her in the past here.

Our first date was in that American-Italian restaurant, and it was a night to remember. We talked a lot, about ourselves and what happened to us for the past five or six years - the amount of time we haven't seen each other. The feeling was incredible, like an old loved book found again; although, like I said before, I wasn't quite sure yet as to how I felt about her. I thought the night would provide answers, but I guess one night together wouldn't be enough, right?

Ever since that first date, we have gone out quite a few times again (all of which I remember in intricate detail). I didn't think she would have wanted to go out with me again, but she then invited me to go explore Makati's variety of food. The second date's plans failed spectacularly - it rained hard the day we decided to meet again - therefore, we just ate at my office's premises and we walked around my workplace, talking and quivering oddly from the cold weather. Though, still, I didn't get any answers, which was frustrating.

The third time we went out, I was the one who invited her. We watched the third installment of the Before Sunrise series, Before Midnight. I guess it wasn't the kind of movie you'd watch if you weren't in an 'official' couple, but we did see it anyway (we were both lovers of the Before movies, especially Before Sunset). We didn't talk much that night, since it was kind of late and we were drowning in movie afterthoughts. The same scenario went when we met for the fourth time, to watch a movie entitled Sana Dati. Conversations weren't as deep and probing as our first and second encounter, although she did give me a wooden cup from Cebu which made me peculiarly happy.

Our most recent adventure was in a Book Fair. We tired ourselves out walking back and forth cascades of books, buying some, and giving us less time to talk. It's not that I didn't like the pleasure of seeking nameless but priceless books (I love books, as a matter of fact), but I would've liked it more if we spent the evening somewhere tranquil and talked the night away. Dinner didn't provide that luxury as well, since we were both exhausted.


***

The second one: somewhere in between those, the second girl came.

She is from the office. I first met her when she was recruited for our project, along with a few others. It wasn't attraction at first sight; although she did remind me of how the first girl I truly loved looked like.

Over time, we eventually talked. It was awkward at first, since I do not know her completely and therefore had no idea what her quirks are, but we had some time and I got to know her more.

We have been talking, nonstop, for some time now. I guess this is what I like about her. I can talk to her about virtually anything. We first connected over our overbearing boss, and then when that stranger barrier was out, we didn't stop. We played games in the office, completely content in our quiet companionship. We played music; she sang, I sang - all the while smiling like complete morons. We discussed Harry Potter and she didn't even flinch at the topic - she even brightened up. I tell her about my everyday worries, from work, and she'd listen to all of it. We would often share random stuff and not even once did I find her boring me away.

She bids me goodnight and wakes me up with a pleasant good morning - almost everyday. She brightens up my mood whenever I feel stressed out in the office. She was there throughout the whole time I was sick. She would tell me everything will be fine. She shows genuine concern for me even though considering the overall time we had knowing each other, we were still strangers by definition.

I guess we aren't anymore. I feel very close to her as if I had known her for years. Although we still hadn't pried on each others' past (intimate feelings and such), we're now two different souls with an exceptional connection. And - I have to let this out here again - she reminds me of the first woman I have ever truly loved. The one I had to let go out of unselfish reasons I cannot avoid. Then, I got a stabbing pain in my insides when she told me that she'd be leaving our project in a few weeks and I'm not sure why. It's likely because I consider her to be a part of me already.


***

This is unpleasant. I feel like I'm betraying the first woman, the woman I have invested feelings for for a long time. Still, until now, I am not sure of how I feel about her. If I could honestly describe it, it's like I'm seeking something beyond - something more, and I'm not certain if I could find it in her, with her. The problem I think is - I knew then in the past how to differentiate friendship and amorous love, but when the friendship in question is a decade long, I guess I would still be at a loss. Also, the fact that we talk just once a week (literally, and it is over the phone) - and without the deepness of the conversations I had once used to have with her - doesn't help with all the uncertainty.

As for the second woman, yes - what we have is something special and something that is rare to find, a walking mirror of your self; but, the truth is, it is too fast and too early to be definite about anything. Given that we'd have more time, maybe we could find out more - but what about the first woman? She has the foundation, and I know her more than I do the second one. Then again, when I think of losing the possibility of discovering something really precious with the second woman, it bothers me to depths I am not supposed to dive into.


I thought I was over this? It's at these moments when I loathe my self for having no concrete answers. Am I being a coward once again? Why am I like this? 

After all this time, I still have problems with opening up.

Writing this again - I want to keep people close. I want to tell them how much they mean to me. I want them to know what I think, what I feel, how I see them. I want to show them the world, I want to share myself, I want to open up. I want to be able to, you know, just take someone in my arms all of sudden and give an embrace and whisper secrets I do not share with anybody else. I want to say more, I want to know more, I want to hear more.

Apparently, I can't. Or, for a better word, I struggle to. I'm not really sure how and when it started; but every time I try to remember the last time I have been really open, well - I can't recall. I'm not supposed to be this way - but I am. Even just writing about this with 'opening up' in mind, I'm finding it difficult to let it out. I promised myself I would always be completely honest when I write here; but even with that, I still doubt myself sometimes if I really am.

Whenever I use my mouth to talk, I frequently feel uncomfortable. I often feel that if I continue to talk on and on, I might say something ridiculous - or something mean, even if I never meant to. I might end up blurting out lies, or things I never intended to, or wordy sentences that would make me incomprehensible. I might spill out things I never expected to say. Worse, I'd make things up and convince myself to actually believe they are true.

I would've liked to ask people out more often. Friends, to accompany me to places found on tourists' handbooks. Certain souls, to let them know how much they mean to me. I don't know what's the matter but I tend to place weight on them more than I should. What if they're busy I don't want to disturb someone who's busy. I want to go to this place but I should respect their time and schedule. Would you come with me but maybe you don't want to. I would love to spend some time with you but I don't know if I'll be good enough for a company. Why can't I just, you know, jump off my unneeded thoughts and go?

I don't know - maybe because I automatically and almost always instinctively think that not sharing anything will guarantee me escape from things like baggage, or flashes of broken fragments of myself, or people going into places inside me that I wouldn't want them to come to. I've heard once that people who wear their hearts up their sleeve are the ones who continuously gets damaged the worst - maybe I just don't want to be one of those people. Again. Still, this never works for me. Even if I try to think about why I am like this, I (and I am really being honest here) genuinely am not sure of the reason. I could guess, but that's all I could do.

Despite that, don't worry. I am trying to be more open. Trying really hard.

I am going on a date this coming Saturday evening. A dinner. On an American-Italian fine-dining place. My first date in years, I think.

The lady - she's been my friend for over a decade, counting. We've grown up over time - learned things, graduated from college, worked, been heartbroken repeatedly. And yet here we are, perhaps still unsure on some things - but a little wiser, now.

I'm not really sure what to say about her. She's this strong, independent woman - kind, funny, and oh dear God, intelligent and very witty. She is not someone who you would call "stereotypically pretty", but she has something about her that makes her beautiful. Endearingly, beautiful. She talks with sense, write passionately, insightfully; and just like me, she gets lost in the wonders of books, movies, and prose.

 

Of all the girls that I became friends with when I was young, she was the only one who I watched turn into a woman right in front of my eyes. I didn't keep any female friends I've had back then - only her. I find peace when I talk to her; I can tell her things I know my other mundanely juvenile friends will not understand. She knows how to keep a conversation alive and lets you know and feel that she really is connecting with you and speaking to you - and listening, like she's clinging on to dear life for it. She gives me this curious impression that she could see through me, see my soul in all its fragility and resilience; and the wonderfully surprising thing is, I let her.

To tell you the truth, I wanted to be with her from time to time. I remember having been attracted to her a lot of times in high school, and college years (even though we haven't seen each other and got together ever since, what, high school graduation?). There was even a point - wait, were even points - that I got so close to admitting to her those feelings and see for myself what will happen next. But, I don't know if that was love, in the past - and I don't think so, considering I was young and always, always stupid ages before.

Then again, when I talk to her now, read her written thoughts, see her still-life images captured strikingly and with her face smiling impeccably with her eyes, I keep saying to myself: I don't want her to belong to any other man. I oftentimes wonder why no chap up until this moment asked her to be his girlfriend, considering she's a catch, but I constantly say to myself let her be with someone worthy of her. At this point in my life, unforeseen - the thought comes again: I like her, and I don't think I'd want to see her with another man - why don't I myself give it a try, to see where it goes?

I think the reason I didn't invite her out in the past is because I don't think of myself as man enough to, you know, treat her someplace away. But this time, I think I am. Still not good enough, but acceptable enough. I could stand in front of her brimming with self-worth now.

I know I am not in love with her - but I am extremely, extremely drawn to her. Maybe this dinner we'd be having will bring an answer to a question I have. After all, who would be sure of what they think and feel of another person when they haven't seen each other in years.




Come whatever happens that imminent night, I know I'll be glad we're having that dinner. It's been years, we'll never run out of things to say.

Be a reliable, steadfast man who, for the future, would set earnings aside to prepare; or, on the other hand, be a penniless traveler with the joys of random experiences and tales to share?


My father is a very stable individual - always calm, an intelligent person, a thinker; very caring and engaging, while keeping his cool and funny-ness. Some years ago, he decided to work out of the country, in a foreign place, to give us more. He worked hard to achieve what he has now. That flight was a selfless decision, but maybe all dads come to the same fork and choose; in one way or another. As for my father, it was when he was 50 years old and had three offsprings who were all in college at the same time.

When I think about it, one of the things I really admire of him is how he was always prepared, had been prepared; come whatever problems find his way. Especially, financially. How he (with some help from my mother) could live for more than twenty years married - with three children - and support himself and his family without any disappointment still continue to astound me up to this day. How did he do it? Was he always this able? I'd be happy to hear some answers, but I've always been too reluctant to ask. Maybe it's because I want him to see me as someone who was growing up to become an equal, his equal; not in terms of hierarchy, but in becoming a man.

I would like to be the same. The day will come when I will have to turn to nobody in order to keep myself alive. I will have a family, kids, a home. When that era of my life comes, I want to be able to tell myself it will be alright, you're prepared for this. I want to be able to tell my wife, go on, rest, take it easy, I can handle everything.

Line, line, line.

Just the other day I was looking through some Italian restaurants online, because I asked a woman I really, really like out for a dinner. I was browsing food places and again, feeling this weird sense of not being able to enjoy my life to the fullest. A simple idea of me not being able to go to all those fascinating restaurants with their atypical cuisines gave me a sensation of wanting more.

I'm in a permanent state of wanderlust - I've always been. I have always pictured my future house in mind with one of its walls covered with the map of the world - and then I'd fill it with pins and small mementos of the places I've been, marked properly on their respective geographical location. A wonderful thought, isn't it? Then, whenever I'd look towards the map, my soul will be filled with the memories, places, and people I've met and known through all those voyage.

Then again, I need to face the horrible fact that having a lot of cash is essential if I wanted to do that. People say money can't buy happiness, but it can surely bring you to many different places where you can find those happiness-thing stuff. Sure, I can spend everything, and be broke at times; nonetheless, in exchange, what do I get? Stories, wanderings, all the things that once upon a time I had only read of and imagined about. With it comes mesmerizing sunsets, old-books-smelling bookshops, night lights, warm sand, Spanish music. I could then die a fulfilled bloke, destitute in royalty but wealthy with everything else.





So, the mindset of the young or the outlook of an adult?

The Solitude of Prime Numbers. I have just finished this book last night. It tells the story of Mattia and Alice - both scarred, unhealthy loners: Alice because of a skiing accident snowballed with her controlling father and low self-esteem, and Mattia due to a tragic incident involving his twin sister, Michela. He carried the ugly truth that it might have been his fault his sister is now gone. This burden caused him to reject any kind of sympathy and honest intentions. When the two finally meet, they recognize each other in a kindred, damaged way.

I'm really not sure how I feel now that I have ended the book. The two characters grew (or at least I think they did), but they never really got over their respective 'personal space'. There it was - invisible to both of them; in one way or another, they were keeping each other at a distance. I realized (more than I did before) that there really were some things that could happen to you, and with that, it could change how you live your life, forever. Mattia and Alice found solitude in each other: they knew that despite the growing number of the people that surround them, only the other one understood how the other truly felt. They always came back to each others' reach. Though, they never fully knew how to be together themselves. I guess some things held them back intensely.

They tried. They really did. But in the end being alone is what they were meant to become, and both of them came to terms with that. They had one another but that's all there is - they didn't need anything more than that.

I wonder - what would become of me if I end up the same as Mattia or Alice? I know I enjoy the solitude of being on my own, but the time will come and someday there would be someone who would be willing to come into my world and stay for good. That person would understand my quiet resolves, the reasons why I deprive myself of words; and she might even be able to stay still and enjoy the tender tranquil pauses I frequently resort to. I'm not completely silent every time - I can talk if I want to and if I needed to - but I am most of the time. If she comes, would I be able to keep her?

I find peace in being alone, yes. Then again, there is one thing that I am sure is different between me and the grown characters of the book - that whenever the time comes and I needed to make a choice, I'd choose to hold on, to grasp onto chances. There is no assurance, but if everyone were afraid and rejected the world - and the people who wanted to be part of theirs - in the same way that Alice and Mattia did, then we would all be just 'prime numbers': as it says, can never fit with another; isolated and lost.

Even though I might be a prime, I would be grateful to be found someday. I really will be.

The Solitude of Prime Numbers, Paolo Giordano