It's hard to believe that it's almost been a year since it all started.

This time last year, I was still trying to get his attention. Wait. Scratch that. This time last year, I've gotten his attention, but I was still trying to feel him out.... see if I actually had a chance. I was still neck-deep in effed up emotions, licking my wounds from what I can only describe as not-at-all amicable separation from a boy I entrusted myself with for four years. After so many fuck-ups with the opposite sex, just from that summer alone, I never thought I could recover from it.

But here I am. Here we are.

Eleven months together. Living under the same room for ten. And we're great. No fights. No jealousy. Not once in the whole time we've known each other. I've never felt more free than I do now with him.

And there's a future. I see it with him. And it doesn't scare me. I'm finally not scared to imagine that future. And it's because of him.

Time's going by so fast now. And the past just seems like a big mad blur.

I'm happy.

How do you react when you wake up in the middle of the night being choked out by your sleeping boyfriend? And when you ask him for an explanation when he actually wakes up, he has none to offer because he can't remember anything.

How am I suppose to sleep next to him now?

And suddenly, out of nowhere, it hit me.

You're not really there anymore.

After all those talks about how it would be like when it's all over, the reality is... they were all just talks. Just words. Empty promises we made ourselves believe to relieve the pain of the end.

And it was a rush. An overwhelming rush that came in the middle of the night while I was wrapped up in someone else's arms.

The pain of knowing I can't run to you anymore whenever I don't know what to do or how to calm down. Of knowing you're with someone else. Of knowing I gave so much of myself to you that I don't know who or what I am anymore.

And the fear. That fear that no one might ever be able to replace you. Of knowing I've put you up on this pedestal and that even I can't take you down. Of knowing no matter how much I may love who I'm with right now, it can never match the love I had for you. That I can say it to him a thousand times over and I may mean it... no, I do mean it... but yet it feels empty when i say it because you still have my heart.

The fear of knowing I that I am completely capable and may even possibly end up hurting him in the end because I'm really just a selfish bitch that doesn't deserve him and all the love he has ever showered me.

And I broke down. For the first time since summer. I cried. And cried. Quietly.

It still hurts. And I don't know what to do about it.

I've never been a big fan of small, confined spaces. Small dark rooms? Not a fan. Having a blanket completely over my head? Not a fan. Elevators? Tolerable, unless it gets stuck then absofuckinglutely not a fan.

Being smothered profusely? Not. A. Fan.

You know, I get it. Relationships and the whole living together thing. I get it. I love it. I love waking up to someone in the morning. I love being catered with the menial things I can't take care of myself when I'm stressed out about school. I love having someone there.

I just can't... deal with... being confined in his tiny room. And having to be constantly a foot away from him, maximum.

Yes, I could go home. Be at my house. In my room. Using my computer. My desk. Having my own closet space. With all my clothes and shoes. Having more than just two spots to sit at. Watching my mindless tv shows. Or my non-serious movies.

But no. I choose to live with him, at his apartment. Scratch that. We actually really just live in his room, which is literally half the size of my bedroom.

And he doesn't get it. And I can't find a way to explain it to him in a way that wouldn't offend him because no matter how I put it, it ends up sounding like I'm wanting space from him which is not really the case... I think.

At least he's moving out in a few months? ...I don't know how optimistic I can be knowing it's going to be a bachelors pad he's moving into.

But then again, who am I to complain anyway?

The problem with starting a new relationship really isn't in the relationship itself. Problems arise when it comes to meeting with the family.

He tried. Knowing full well how important my family is to me, he tried to mingle with them. But he got nothing back. I understand their reluctance considering the mess that happened in the last relationship. I understand if they want to be protective. I understand that they would still rather see me with someone who has more of an understanding of our culture and whatever. In my defense, I tried. It wasn't like I didn't meet filipino guys. I gave it a try and it ended up being a waste of my time.

But D tried, and they barely looked his way. Like he wasn't even there. I'm almost embarrassed.

Do they think I would bring just anyone around the family? If I didn't actually care about Dave and he was just some random who didn't matter, would I really be dumb enogh to have him meet the family? I thought well and hard before even taking him there.

But maybe I shouldn't have. If they're just going to keep ignoring him when he's there, then why should I bother? They can't be bothered, so why ask of that from D.

We met when we were 21. The last four years of my life has been about him. I shifted everything I was to better accomodate his needs. But everything was constant. It never moved forward. It moved backwards many times but we never grew up. We didn't move along with our age.

We met when we were 21. Twenty-fucking-one. My cousin's 21. E and I met when we were my cousin's age. I look at my cousin and, as much as I know he's not, I still see him as my young naive little cousin. How could he understand the dynamics of relationships? How could he possibly know the intense labour needed to make a relationship functional?

If at 25 I still don't get it, what made me think at 21 that I understood it all then already?

We were 21 when we met. Naive and stupid. If I had known then what I know now, then maybe this whole thing could've turned out completely different.

We all learned something from it though, right? When to forgive. When to let things go. When to be more giving. When to say fuck it, forget it. When it's best to just be insensitive. All pretty generic lessons. More so the last two for me than the rest, I think. What's that thing they always say? If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it's yours forever. If it doesn't then it never was. They forgot the other part to it though... Don't come back unless you intend to stay.

I'm not 21 anymore. Life finally broke the rose-coloured glasses I had on from having a childhood saturated with impossible fairytales. There's no knights in shining armor, no princesses, no prince charming, no fairy godmothers to make it all right in the end. Just a false sense of hope we tell ourselves so we would have a reason to wake up every morning. Am I jaded? Yeah, I think I finally made it there. At least I'm honest.

I do feel sorry for the next guy/s; I just don't really give a shit anymore. I've already had three guys call me out on being "insensitive" with "complete disregard of the possibility that [they] could actually have feelings" towards me. Meh. I never asked to be liked. I was pretty unavailable majority of the time. Am I at fault when they're such masochists and they keep wanting to come back? But I digress.

Everything's changing. Every single aspect of my life is changing.

I left one job.
I'm starting school, again.
The clinic's going to run a lot differently starting next week.
I lost my best friend.
I have to get used to a quiet house, again.
No more doing anything because money's going to be tight.
[No more cigs. Damn]


As small or trivial as they may seem, it's those little changes on these small and trivial things that can fuck up the mind of someone who lives and thrives for routine.

It's how I've been getting by without snapping. Routines. Every single thing was a routine. Now... I have to start a new routine.

It's like being spun round and round and round again, and then being let go. It's that crashing-into-god-knows-what feeling.

Wow. I think I'm actually having an anxiety attack. Huh.