Imagine this sweet nothing scrawled over a crumpled piece of yellow paper—almost invisible and unattractive—never wanting to be written in the first place nor be read by the person concerned. Because by the mere fact that I couldn’t stop myself from the painful intensity of words that are overflowing, never knowing where they came from—from the desolate abyss of the mind that longed for someone so desperately or from the painstaking fact that my heart dictates: I’m feeling that feeling again. And yes, I am feeling it for you. For you. Can you even imagine it? No. And by immortalizing these words through this letter, I know I’m opening myself up again to the excruciating world of rose-tinted glasses. Make that another unrequited world of rose-tinted glasses. Include MYMP’s version of “Emotions” lurking at the background.
Dear Bebe Boy (because apparently, that’s what I call you; since when did we have pet names again?),
Let’s skip the part where I have to re-tell my history with guys and the tale that I use to justify my behaviour towards the opposite sex species. You knew everything. And that could be my biggest mistake. Ever. I allowed you to know everything about me. Or, at least everything that I wanted you to know about me. But there’s one thing I have forgotten to tell you. Or maybe, suppressed from you. I’ve always wanted a gay for a best friend. Someone like you.
Maybe because I didn’t have to worry that I might use my cruel wonderwall against you simply because I knew I will never cross the clichéd thin line from platonic to romantic zone. Maybe because it seems that I would never feel so insecure about my unripe esteem or the lack thereof whenever I’m with you. Maybe because when I’m with you, I am secretly allowed to look at “certain situations” and substitute your presence to a member of the opposite sex and learn things in a very deceiving manner. Maybe because people like you would make me realize my own what-ifs and supposed-to-be’s in a less painful way. Maybe because you can put it this way: you’re the lesser evil since I find all guys to be evil and since you still have your own set of biological make-up which makes you still, yes, a man.
I couldn’t remember how we became this close and this, for the lack of better terms, intimate. That scene when you “convinced” me to come with you to Mindpro and buy some sweet stuffs i.e. lollipops, chocolates, and Tic Tacs? That scene where we sat at one of the blue logs quiescently lying at the backfield and talked about anything under the sun? That scene where you invited me to my favourite place on earth i.e. Tsokolate and let me discover that you’re a regular there? That scene when I poured my personal sentiments with you for the first time over my favourite table toppings on earth i.e. a cup of coffee and a slice of Chocolate Genoise Cake? Yes. I couldn’t remember, really.
I just woke up one day and realize that I already have someone whom I can be makulit and actually convince to take me to any branch of Banapple simply because I am dying to eat their cakes for the second time. I already have someone to pick me up from the airport and who can actually make me take the MRT with all my huge luggages. I already have someone who can hold my hand so tight as if the time to let go will never come simply because I couldn’t afford to lose sight of him amidst the sardinas-like MRT ride. I already have someone who will take the LRT ride from Katipunan and fetch me, even though I’m just in Cubao, and then go back because yes, our destination is at Katipunan. I already have someone whom I can freely mention, since you retain a man’s name, whenever I make kwento with my mom simply because I knew I don’t have to explain why a certain guy is constantly a part of my everyday episodes. I already have someone who I can call and talk about anything at the wee hours of the night whenever I avail TM’s 100-minute call promo. I already have someone who I allow to tease me like it would be the end of the world if he wouldn’t do so not because it doesn’t hurt me but because I just want him to notice me somehow (now, take note of the discrepancy). I already have someone whom I can sweetly pose with in a photo, sweet enough for me to actually make it my cellphone wallpaper AND Facebook profile pic. I already have someone who I desperately look for a peace offering i.e. buy him a box of Sansrival while I’m on vacation with my friends, and make an effort to make lambing not just because I don’t want him to be mad at me anymore but I don’t want him to do to me those things he does to his enemies. I already have someone whom I’m comfortable cuddling with as we welcome the first few rays of the morning sunshine. Yes. I already have someone. But no. He’s not my boyfriend. You are not my boyfriend. You were supposed to be my gay best friend.
Honestly, it took a while for me to realize that you’re everybody’s best friend. You have a lot of circles and cliques. And most of them, I couldn’t imagine being a part of. Until now, I couldn’t still fathom the notion that I have become one of your “everybody’s”.
You’re everybody’s someone. And that I’m not the only one you do those things for. Because no matter how you claim that you’re evil (good thing you knew), somewhere deep down your emo world, you’re one hell of a good person. No matter how you tell me that you could be the worsest friend I’ll ever have, the truth is, you may be the bestest friend I would ever know.
And then rethinking the maybe-because points, let’s focus on what went wrong. Go back to the first sentence of the second paragraph. Which part of the “never cross the clichéd thin line from platonic to romantic zone” is not clear? Well, everything. Every word. Every word took me by surprise. I just woke up one day and did not only realize that I already have someone, a best friend, a gay best friend. I woke up one day and realize that I have already crossed the clichéd thin line from platonic to romantic zone. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to undo this. I wouldn’t be able to look at you as just my gay best friend. I wouldn’t be able to handle the fact that I’m just one of your “everybody’s”. And that, I don’t even know what to call this situation anymore. A straight girl falling in love with her gay best friend. I’m giving you a both eyebrows up and a blank look in the eyes right now. To be honest, I really have no idea. Blank. Empty. But then again, maybe love isn’t about the gender or the sex. Maybe love is simply about two people. Period.
And then again… I don’t really have a point here anymore. I have lost it the moment I have immortalized my feelings through this letter. I know I’m opening myself up again to the excruciating world of rose-tinted glasses. Make that another unrequited world of rose-tinted glasses. But I do have something to tell you.
I know you have another mushroom-like someone in your life right now. And this is supposed to be nothing new to me. But I want you to know that I don’t want you to be a coward anymore. And that I sincerely don’t want you to get hurt anymore. I am talking as the bestest friend you’ll ever have.
You deserve that kind of genuine happiness you thought you don’t deserve. If his every text message paints a smile on your face, if his presence reverses your bad day, if each of his touch allows you to acknowledge not only his company but most especially yourself as well, if the way he manifests his love for you does not take yourself away from yourself completely, if he brings out the best in you, if he allows you to be the worst version of yourself and still accepts you, if he devoid your dream of being lonely for the rest of your life, and if you have these same effects on him as well, then don’t ever let him slip away the way you did with mushroom. Mushroom may have been the love of your thirty years of existence in this mundane world, but this new mushroom-like man in your life right now might just be your someone, your “the one”. And if he will not make you change your role in my life as my worsest friend ever, then I might as well give him my points of approval. Not that I have that right. But I do secretly have that right.
Anyway, I am writing this letter just to acknowledge the funny fact that I don’t want you to see me fall apart. And, in the words of a broken heart, I know it’s just emotion that’s taking me over. That I’m caught up in sorrow, lost in this song. In this cliché that I just want you to be happy. I’ll be fine. Yes. I will. Don’t worry. Trust me. I’m used to this. Don’t mind me.
Your Bebe Girl.