the waterloo

Today, after last night's editing, revising and then repeat again of a paper I should have done a week ago, I woke up at 8 30 that left enough time for idle lying around. Since I had nothing else to do, I looked at some old (relatively old) pictures in my computer.

I came across this person's pictures. This person, let’s name him WL (for Waterloo); WL has only 1 picture on my computer that I actually liked, the one in his solo. The rest of it has his hands up in the air in either the left and right direction with his head facing the same way as the hands, which to me is really, really stupid.

His solo picture represented him in the best way I wanted to remember him. His neck was bent in a 20 degree angle, enough to give his face a three quarter view but still a full access on his face. His back was slightly resting on the wall and he had his hands on his pants pocket. He has his gafas on that added meaning in his eyes (I always insist he should wear them). His mouth was half smiling and half frowning, in its perfect combination, enough to make them pout just a little and bring out the pink in the lips.

I always thought of him as my standard of beauty. His vanity would always marvel me, how he painstakingly shop for all his clothes spending hours and hours, nothing I can see with all my guy friends. He would always make sure everything in his outfit goes perfectly well, and that each them should follow, if it be sporty, casual, or formal. Don't get him wrong. I don’t think he’s not gay (although my mother says that he is). Every time he reaches for his bag, he would reach for his perfume and spray it all over himself. Not only that, he just had to have the perfect accessory to go with his clothes, or else, he would not go out of the house. (Wait! He is gay. :P)

He would always be my standard of love. Each time some guy approaches me, I would always think if this guy could come near what he did for me, or better yet, what he did not do for me. Every time I would feel he neglects me, I always approach some boy who in turn would gladly avenge my feelings and I would go laughing if he gets hurt about the whole matter. It’s the perfect revenge. It's hatred in its finest.

Somehow along the way, I got deceived by the many people around me, believing in things I should not have believed in, that I fell in love with WL. He is indeed Waterloo, my personal Waterloo. I believed he loved me, as my friends, his friends would tell me. I believed we looked good together. For me, we were the perfect couple. That trance that I thought was love shook me out of studying hard and dreaming all day of what could be in our future, our kids, our house, our life together. My grades were not failing, but I was not as good as before. Everyone saw the change. They pointed out the life in my eyes, but they never did point out my academic standing. In the role of high school in my life, academics took second to my love life.

All my dreams with him, as influenced by the people around me, soon grew bigger and bigger. My balloon of our future was the epitome of our perfect life; it was greater than anything I was doing at that time and I hardly gave attention to my studies. I was going out of my way to reach out to him and get him to tell me what he really felt. I was doing everything imaginable, both desperate and sly. Until such that time that my waterloo fell in love with somebody else and he flamboyantly showed it to everyone, something he never did for me. My balloon of him and myself together burst, like the gum of many cartoon characters. Everything was again back to the thoughts of the heavens.

I envied the girl as she could appreciate every little thing that he is. Every quirk, vanity and irk that I hated, she loved. She even allowed his gafas to be absent from him face, the way WL likes it. For her, the absence of the gafas showed his face more. For me, the absence of the gafas showed his face alright, along with his other facial problems. For her, his acnes were part of him, but for me it was something that should be zapped! Fast. His grammer I laugh behind his back, she patiently corrects him, his shortcomings I easily get mad at, she easily forgives them. He was not on the top of my priority list, hhe was on hers. After years of being with him through out our years together, I did not believe in his promises, she on the other hand, did.

The pain or forgetting all our dreams was one that I did not remember in any extent. It’s endorphins I guess. After the first time I cried, nothing more added up to it. It is only until now, finally, that I am able to write logically (was it?) about him, without the anguish anymore, without pointing all fingers to him, and accepting that part of it was my fault.

Looking again in his photograph, I zoomed in his face. It's still the same thing. No matter what she says, he looks bad without the gafas and good with it. Thinking about it, maybe they are indeed for each other. If she can accept him without the gafas on and I cannot, his must be a sign.