1. Higher education is no guarantee that one will be afforded discernment. My early adult life is one
characterized by dichotomy – the talent to distinguish illusion from reality, a child from a grown-up,
dreams from nightmares, play from work, and hopefully, infatuation from love. It’s like overlooking a whole
field and fully knowing where the fine line between the wheat and the tare is.
The more obvious occurrences of life need not much explanation to make sense of them. Our
expectations or how we are taught to expect things to behave make such drawing up of a demarcation
line possible. As for me, I thought I had it going for me, armed with ten years of sectarian education and
four years of “enlightened” college experience enough to see life and its concomitant ambiguities for what
they are. I was wrong. Suddenly I figure that what defines life or what it makes it worth living and
struggling is not permanence but rather the lack of it, not contentment but the lack of it, not order but
chaos. Part of fully coming to terms with one’s existence requires recognition of this fact and sometimes
being forced down one’s throat. That the black-and-white scheme of things is just one big attempt to put
some stability and degree of certainty to this rather uncertain living. Wise men say that the litmus test of
one’s maturity is in the grit and tenacity by which one handles life’s usual and not-so-usual grinds which
also includes knowing where one stands in the categorical state of things: black or white, yes or no, to act
or not to act. Anything less that is indecision or reflection of one’s lack of firmness.
Recent developments in my life proved that mine is much more complicated than choosing between two
evils, or lesser evils. In actuality, the real struggle lies not in the process of choosing but rather in the act
of compromising. The circumstances I was presented day in and day out may be unique from the
previous ones I had that swift and often hasty decisions cannot be readily sorted out. All these, after
tethering between the question of noble intentions and morality the answer still lies in the big realm of
gray areas of life.
How does one make sense of a relationship gone haywire or a committed person seeing other people?
Conventional moral wisdom says both are 1) a good case of relationship itch or 2) a classic form of
personality mismatch. This is on the premise that committed people are supposed to stay committed.
Somehow, somewhere, destiny teases you just when you want to play it smart and invincible on the field.
For a while, the thought of having to take care of someone’s emotional need, much less burden myself
with someone’s angst is far off from my mind. At one point, I got fed-up with the roundabout ways of
attraction, the roller coaster emotions that follow after one’s sensibilities have been picked, and the
anticipation of the blossoming of another romance ahead. Also at one point, one would just want to live
and let live, quite detached but not so, and divest oneself from the conscious search for that elusive love.
Until I stopped looking and hoping altogether.
I have just gotten so comfortable with myself but by half-chance somebody came along unexpectedly, got
together because of some mutual professional inclinations. All the while, I was in complete denial as to
the possibility, however remote, of a special friendship and I would dismiss such attempts as one of those
too-good-too-soon dalliances. Phone calls, text messages, play of words, light and innocent flirtations,
intellectual discussions and personal revelations are all part of the game of dissecting the other person,
hoping that you will like what lurks inside. A game I know I would fade somewhere in the thick of things,
leaving the dice upturned and the game half-done. We are at our best fronts. Sparks were flying my way.
The rest was half-choice. Just when I was starting to master the mechanics of the game and complying
with the rules, half-guessing where the pawn would be placed next when she recognized my growing
attraction. I wonder how she planned to say this to me. Priorities, she said, caused the indifference
between her and her boyfriend and so technically she was committed but emotionally unattached. And I
listened there, incredulous at the situation I was in without any single idea how the game would be played
next.
That was not the end of it. Being emphatic that I am, I decided not to totally cut-off my communication
with her, hopeful that I would help this lady get her acts back and probably pick up what’s left of their
relationship. Turn of events had it though that I was not only not of help, I muddled the whole thing. We
walk down Laguna Blvd. at three in the morning while the rest of the world slept. Our laughter echoed
through the desolate thoroughfare. Platonic. Until one led to longer walks and finally to highways, all the

2. while I wanted to make myself believe that I was taking the same route, that indeed, romantic attraction
can be pressed in a platonic matter. I fear that if I return her gaze, I’d melt under it. If I show any sign of
affection, I am captured. And if she comes any nearer, she may sense my fear and somehow fill my need.
I was willing to deny myself the pleasure of being with her if only to put some justification to our
togetherness. I was afraid of myself, of the vulnerability behind the assertive man she thinks I am;
because deep inside I was cowering every inch uninitiated into the insanity of infatuation. I decided that
before I lose my moral ground, I thought it would be best for us to see less of each other, cool down first
and figure out myself how I badly wanted her.
Our conversations were becoming more and more infrequent and functional, calls short and exchange of
text messages less. I was worrying about a lot of things – her boyfriend, her standards, and the
consistency of my feelings. I wanted to look into her eyes and tell her that I have grown attracted to her, to
squeeze her hands and clasp her fingers against mine. I know she’s not at liberty to do so for if she or
both of us go any farther than our platonic ways we’ll fall into the abyss and God knows if I’ll ever recover.
There are nights I’d wake up from a deep sleep with thoughts of her. I wanted to hold what little that’s left
of us, to tell her that I wanted to be the man she loved and set things right for both of us. I wish I could say
those words without feeling anything. It is only in this way that I can gain ground; free myself of the frills of
such an emotion.
One evening when we were waiting for the last shuttle service pick us out of the office I found an
opportunity to pull through my last act in this aching game we both willingly played; there she was
standing temptingly close to me. It took me a hundred thousand courage to tell her that what I felt was
really nothing. I wanted to clear that I didn’t give meaning to our togetherness; that our flirtations are not
grand consequences of her dissatisfaction to her relationship and my boredom. She pressed her palms
against my check. My expression was blank. My body froze. I wanted to retract what I said. But it was the
only way.