What Is It, Really?

*Of how the break-up happened. I guess I just wrote it so as not to forget, because my relationship with him is not worth forgetting, good times and bad times alike. Also, I passed this for my Creative Writing 10 Character Sketch assignment, and I wrote this in class, the day of the deadline. I was forced to, 'cause it was the easiest thing to write about. Haha! It was vivid as it can be though it's one year after it all happened.

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I looked away from him, and stared at nothing in particular. I knew this wasn't going to be good when he told me we had to talk the next day, and left me alone without even saying goodbye. The moment was awkward, I don't even know if I was going to be happy or sad when he started to speak.

“I know you don't want to, but you have to let me go,” he said quietly. I stood there for a moment as I tried to digest the weight of that sentence. Could it be that easy? This time, I looked at him, at his eyes that usually softened when he sees me. There was nothing in there, or maybe a hint of painful indifference.

“Why?” I stammered. I had nothing to say except that, because it all came so suddenly.

“You wouldn't understand me if I told you.”

“Why do you always say that? You always think people won't understand you. I'm here. I may not know you as much as you know me, but I can understand you.”

“Let's just end this, okay?”

“No. What is it, really? Am I being so predictable now?”

“I just... I don't want you and your mom to fight anymore because of me. I don't want people judging me because of this relationship. It's getting wrong. We've isolated ourselves already. We're not growing.”

And then he walked away. Just like that. Starting that day, it was so easy for him to ignore me, to walk around the same halls as if I didn't exist, as if he hadn't heard of my name before. I knew life wouldn't stop just because we broke up, but self-pity got the best of me. I cried and made sure everyone knew I was depressed. While he went on with his life as if nothing happened, laughing and cracking up jokes more frequently. But I’ve seen his weary face when he comes home and have known his quietness when he’s with his family. Everyone thought he was happy and fine. Only both of us knew that he was not.

They judged him for breaking my heart. They judged him for all the wrong reasons I made them see. Weeks passed before he finally talked to me. Maybe because of the countless assumptions I've posted on my Facebook wall. My assumptions killed him. I couldn’t understand him so I generated my own conclusion as to why he suddenly broke up with me.

“I don't know if you're numb or just plain stupid.” he said. It was the first time I've ever received an insult from him.

“Excuse me?”

“I don't understand why there are weak people like you. Can't you just stop looking at the rear view mirror and fix your gaze straight ahead?”

“Now you're calling me weak. At least I'm not afraid of people judging me when I cry. At least I’m not pretending to have forgotten everything so quickly. At least I’m not locked up with the masculine norms you’re limiting yourself to.”

“You still don’t understand, do you?”

“What don’t I understand? Why don’t you just tell me?”

“You think you know everything. Now you’re hurt, you make assumptions and excuses just so you can say you know what I’m going through. Are you really insensitive? Can’t you see that your assumptions hurt me? Can’t you see how much it hurts when people judge me because of it? Can’t you trust that I can and I’m willing to wait for the right time? But now I’m hurt, and I don’t feel anything towards you but hatred.”

For the second time, I stood there beside him, speechless. I did digest everything he said immediately. I tried to find more excuses. He should’ve told me that long ago so I wouldn’t judge him, I thought to myself. I couldn’t understand how that transition happened. We had been so happy, and he had never shown pain. I tried saying sorry so many times, but I knew he thought I only wanted to bring him back.

I knew how his mind worked some times, but more often than not, I don’t. And I felt I had to run away. So I turned my back on him, because I knew my pride and his pride were holding us back. He never told me the real reasons; he kept me hanging and expected that I would understand in time. I never did, though. Maybe I really didn’t understand him after all, and maybe he was right to think that explanations are useless. We’ve only agreed to our faults; his fault was not providing me an explanation and mine was not trusting him.

But that was a long time ago, when I would rather have him hate me, than be apathetic towards me. I guess you could call us friends now. But I still couldn’t read him after everything we’ve been through. He remains a mystery. Even when we’re together, I’m not really sure if all the smile and laughter he’s showing is just another front he’s making.