The Girlfriends I had (an old journal entry)

Looking at the stuff I wrote these past few years, I noticed that I mostly talked about the girls I wished for but never had, and not about the girls I actually had. For the record, I really didn’t know why, but I find it easier to talk about not possessing something rather than actually possessing it. The void that non-possession leaves inside me wakes this cathartic appetite in me, fueling my desire to share such experience.
But of course, the preceding statement collapses on itself, since my possession of a girlfriend eventually ended, and got somewhere behind me. That’s the way it is for so many things: there’s a beginning, and there’s an end. How many times it happens with everything and to everyone goes beyond metaphysical scales. This led me to ask myself: how many beginnings and ends with some of my past girlfriends have I seen and felt?
Some of the stories about the girlfriends I had I have told before in my other works, whether in fiction, or CNFs. So for now, I’ll poke on those I haven’t told before.
The girl that got close to being my first girlfriend I met when I was attending the Sunday school of Born-Again Christians. I was then fresh from my Elementary days and still suffering from High School culture-shock. A desire to escape from the sheer cage of boredom led me to accept a friend’s offer to attend their Sunday activities. So, I’m in that church, singing along the songs I hardly recalled the tunes, closed my eyes and pretended to pray, and dozed off to whatever biblical blabber of the pastor. At first I thought it would just be an extension of my boredom, until I saw her.
We managed to talk after the session, and exchanged contact numbers. Our texts were all childish, and I could say we got to know each other. As it turns out, Christian Girl wasn’t that religiously inclined, like me, and she was only going to church because her parents forced her to. I didn’t actually fell in love with her, nor did she to me, but one time during church, she brought the idea of us being “boyfriend” and “girlfriend”. And I didn’t know why, even while writing this, but I accepted her offer.
We went to SM Bacoor one Saturday, and there she held my hand for the first time. I bought two Baby Z Zagus, the first time I bought something for a girl.
But both of us were sure: we both didn’t love each other. Just what the hell our “relationship” meant, I have no idea.

The next girl I will tell was someone I knew a long time ago, and I never cared about her, never noticed her, until I turned sixteen and we stumbled upon each other again. And man, she changed a lot! All at once it reminded me of the cliché phrase: People grow up so fast. I remember back in the old days she was wide-eyed and her hair was always locked in a bun. When I saw her again, her eyes were shielded with black-framed glasses and she wore her hair all-out, its ends stretching to the back of her knees; it was so because of her esoteric religion.
So when we saw each other again on a party, we talked a lot: the old days, about our high school lives (we were both high school students at the time) and we even talked about our broken love lives (I shared her the story about my first love [READ: H.H.W.W from my book Bitter] and she relayed to me her recent break-up). We talked and talked until the party ran out of booze and the black sky was creeping toward blueness.
After that night, we texted, went out, until it led to courtship, and us becoming together. My most unforgettable moment with her was when we went swimming with the rest of our old friends. Aside from those solitary moments of ours in the pool, there were a lot of reminiscences about the so many things in the eternal past that led to our present—which was if not for now, we thought, forever. And truly, looking back and recalling how deep and sincere her eyes stared at me, I never knew I would be recalling it like this, embedding it not only in my memory, but in this paper as well. We made vows that night in the pool. That we’d stay together no matter what happens. That we’d sing songs with the wind and recite poems to the mountains. Long-Haired Girl, back then, was everything to me. I wanted her to be the mother of my children; I wanted to be with her under one roof, forever. We had dreams. We planned to move North, to live where the mountains lie, and plant a garden there; to live a simple life.
We were young. And yes, a lot of things just don’t turn simple.

The last girl I’ll tell you about was this girlfriend I had in my early years in college. We both belonged to the same block section during freshman year. She was a provinciana, skinny, but somewhat smart and brainy if not for the fact that her intellect oftentimes haywire to immense disproportions. Freshman that time, I was still adapting to the harsh environment that was college. It seemed different and at the same time overwhelming because I met a lot of people, most of whom are friendly and coming from different parts of the country. I was also surprised by how easy it is to talk and face these college people, unlike during my high school days when I’m usually the silent boy in the corner who speaks only when spoken to.
Skinny Girl wanted to major in Physical Science, while I was going for Social Science. We both belonged to the circle of friends in our block section—going out, hanging out, eating out, and making out—and I don’t know why but I fell for her. That’s the way for some things sometimes. There really was something in her that tends to make people drawn to her, despite her immaturity and inability to differentiate awkwardness from proper actions. She said yes to me while we were alone, perched atop the walls of Intramuros. It was fun for a while. We went out, had our share of romantic moments, and we stayed up late talking about things at the phone. I was happy, actually. And I know for a fact that she had been happy too.
And just like many other people and relationships, we encountered trials. The purpose of these trials was to challenge just how much we loved each other, how much we could hold on.
Yes, maybe it’s fun thinking about it that way.

Christian Girl and I suddenly stopped seeing each other, especially when I ceased attending their church. I found it inconvenient that their church claims themselves as the right church and the rest of the churches in the country are mere blasphemers. A few years later, I got the news that the pastor of their church got jailed for raping his own daughter.
And like what I said, Christian-Girl wasn’t really my girlfriend, but she was the first girl who made me feel that some other member of the opposite sex aside from my female relatives can be with me and see me in some new perspective.
As of this writing, she’s happily living in Batangas, still unmarried, living with his two sons who don’t look alike. I had no idea if that’s what they teach on her church. From time to time, I’d check her Facebook timeline and read her status updates, which were all Bible verses. I doubt that she remembers me, nor will she do upon reading this.
Long-Haired Girl and I eventually broke up. It was her who invoked it. She said that we’ve been running in circles and that we have built this wall around us, disabling our chances of grabbing hold to the many more opportunities that may still arrive. I argued that this may be the chance to forever (I was young, so please forgive my highly melodramatic statement) but her decision was as firm as a noose on a depressed man’s neck. Her love ended, and there was nothing I could do to mend it.
A few months after we broke up, I got news and that she and her family would be migrating to Canada. I was on my third year in college majoring in Social Science when I saw the life event on FB Timeline that she got married to some Canadian dude. I sent her a message of congrats, and then I received a reply: “Who are you and how did we meet?” To which, I didn’t answer.
Maybe I should have told her more, explaining that I’m her ex-boyfriend back in the Philippines. But I felt that it wouldn’t matter anymore. Her hair is short now, its ends reaching her neck.
Skinny Girl and I were together for four months, coping with our differences, overlooking the qualities that we both didn’t like with each other, minding only the fact that we were together. And it ate us. It was a truth that slapped us in our faces, a sucker-punch that turned our differences and the things we overlooked against us. Those differences became mild concerns, until it evolved to personal differences.
Last thing I heard, she moved back to her province in Pangasinan, still keeping in mind how much liberated a girl she is while still possessing an immature mind. I don’t know when she’ll ever learn, or if she would ever learn. Things like that happen to some people.
And me?
I’ve lived my years meeting so many people, got to know them, went out with them, and somehow engaged in a romantic relationship with them, and what have I learned? Perhaps it’s nothing but this cyclical cliché: In so many things in this life, there’s a beginning and there’s an end, and that end at times is a new beginning.
There are always so many doors in this life that we can open and close, and close permanently. And in it, so many people will come. Some you’d approach and treat as your best friend, while some you’d want to spend the rest of your life with. The rest will appear, and then move on. And few would remember you, few would actually care.
As for me, my doors are always open. People are the ones who close it when they leave.