I'm posting this blog for a sense of relief, to tell someone, anyone of these thoughts that have lingered for far longer than they should have. Writing an open letter of sorts is a way I figured I could air out these thoughts. I also enjoyed writing a bit when I was younger, but found creating whole stories difficult. I originally wrote this out in May this year, regarding a relationship of sorts that began in September 2014 and I ended in February 2016. 

Some people would assume you are my First of many.

My first love. My first kiss. My first relationship. My first break-up.

You aren’t.

You aren’t my first love. I didn’t realise at the time, but I’m pretty sure I was in love with someone else before you. He was kind, protective, happy. A goofball, but also my knight in shining armour when I allowed him to be. I rarely let him aid me because I was trying to be independent, a smart little girl who could hold her own surrounded by annoying little boys. When I finally did allow him to save me, I was already crushing on someone else (I definitely didn’t love that guy), and he was really someone else’s knight. If anything, I just borrowed him for that short moment. An act that probably didn’t mean anything to him, but felt like a weight off my shoulders for me. I continued to crush on that other guy, and he continued to date that other girl--until we both stopped. We both moved on. Then I wandered my way back to him and realised. I loved him. And not in the brotherly way I considered him in at the time. I missed my chance to be a princess with a knight. My distress came too late for him to save me from it.

You aren’t my first kiss. Other boys have kissed me on the cheek as dares. (I don’t remember doing it myself.) No boy has kissed me on the lips. Including you. I admit, I had moments when I wanted to kiss you--but only on the cheek. I was too shy to hold your hand, too scared to even try to kiss you on the cheek. There was no way in hell I would kiss you on the lips before you did anything first. I am someone who expresses love physically. You didn’t seem like a very touchy person, so I held back. I never held your hand when we walked the streets alone like I wanted to. I settled for tugging your sleeve or elbow, and dragging you in the direction I wanted to go. I didn’t hold you close and laugh into your chest after you scared me at the bus stop that one time like I wanted to. I settled for pretending you didn’t shock me as much as you did. I pretended my heart didn’t flutter when I heard your voice sound above my head. I didn’t kiss you on the cheek the day before you left for your holiday like I wanted to. Instead I let you go to your basketball training, because you were as busy as I was shy. I didn’t kiss you in apology for an awkward ball like I wanted to. Instead, your dad called to pick you up and I took a step back, realising I was probably crowding your space. I didn’t kiss you when you struggled to braid my hair. I settled for trying to sneak a selfie while you were concentrating (I failed) and laughing at your poor attempts. I also pulled out your braids because we both admitted they were bad. (I pretended my heart didn’t flutter again when you made some small protest, but by then I had already started pulling out the hairtie.) I don’t know when we could’ve kissed. In the end, it never happened.

You aren’t my first relationship. You never asked me out. You barely got around to telling me you couldn’t ask me out because I had to ask you first. (I always found it ironic that I, the one Filipino girl I knew in my neighborhood who was allowed to date, was the one to find the only boy she’d ever met that wasn’t allowed.)

“What am I to you?”

I settled for being the girl you would ask out if you could.

You aren’t my first break-up. How could I break up with someone I was never with? I settled for being ‘just friends’. I cut you off before you could answer me.

“Am I still someone you would ask out if you could?”

“Uh.”

“Because I have no idea what’s going on anymore.”

It’s true. I had no idea. Why don’t you talk to me anymore? Do you not like me as much now? Do you still like me at all? At this point, some people would assume their significant other is cheating. That was impossible. You couldn’t even date me, so how could you two-time with someone else? Hell, I was your first ever crush and we were almost 16 when we first ‘got together.’ I’d be surprised if you found another crush in the year and a half we were ‘together.’ So did I become boring to you? Was I just not good enough anymore? I always had so many questions revolving around you, questions I could never bring myself to ask you. So I’m asking them now.

Were you happy? Were you happy with me? Happy with my sudden call to be ‘just friends’? Happy that we were never really anything more than just friends, but at least we almost were?

I was not.

I was almost happy. I thought I could be happy.

But I wasn’t.

I am not, and never will be happy with almost.

You are my first (and hopefully last)

Almost.

(Ariana Grande was right. Almost is never enough.)

Dear reader,

Find people who talk to you, who tell you what they’re thinking and feeling and ask about yourself. Find people who make time for you--don’t constantly wait around until they feel they are available enough to see you. Find people who will tell you when they are genuinely and simply too busy too see or even message you.

Find people who really make you happy.

This is something that year and a half taught me.