My Turf

[A computer's memory] is better than real memory because real memory, at the cost of much effort, learns to remember but not to forget…

- Umberto Eco’s Foucault’s Pendulum

It was not planned at all. What idiot would make the confession of a lifetime in a three-way phone call? They were just supposed to comfort a friend who was going through a heartbreak. To this day, he does not know what the hell possessed him and what led to the blunder, but he just heard himself blurting out, “Actually, crush nga kita ngayon eh.”

Unbearable silence followed. The wheels in his brain were turning at frightening speed. "Fuck, did I just say that? Really, did I just say that?!"

Then he began an entirely confused, rambling explanation—thus making it even more apparent that ‘crush’ was but a futile euphemism for what he more deeply felt. After what seemed like an eternity of him haplessly trying to justify the unexpected (and doggone unneeded!) confession came the flurry of exchanges that still comes clearly to him now as if it was only yesterday, and not six years ago, that it happened.

“I did not want you to hear it from someone else.” Yeah, baby, let it come from the horse’s mouth.

“I see…”

“I just wanted to be honest.” I feel iffy about keeping something from you, you know.

“Thanks for being honest.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not expecting anything naman eh.” Liar. The only reason you said what you did is because you were hopeful something would come out of it.

After which came her classic, timeless reply:

“I’m glad–not because you’re not expecting anything. I’m glad because at least you know where you stand.”

Said ever so gently, perhaps in an effort to sugarcoat the rejection or make it appear less horrible. But regardless of packaging, there is no concealing what it is. Rejection is rejection: harsh, pungent, and difficult to swallow.

As if to add insult to injury, she softly added, “This is not rejection ha.” It’s not? What is it then? The reality–no, confirmation–that she simply, plainly, did not love him back at all flooded him. She cannot be blamed, true. But that knowledge did not make it any less agonizing.

Without need for further prodding, the tears fell. Interesting how, as the eyes cried and the heart twisted and squirmed in pain, the lips could manage to smile and roll out words ever so nonchalantly. You have to give it to him: he let off not even the slightest hint of a sniff or a grunt, even though he felt just about ready to explode.

"Of course,” he said reassuringly. As if what she just said had no effect. Like it didn’t matter. Like it didn’t hurt. Lordy, if she could only see him…

It did not take a while before they finally hung up; forced casual talks could only stretch so long. The friend who they were supposed to comfort was jolted out of her own misery. In seconds, she was back on the line with him. Shaken with worry about what he just did, she asked with sickening pity, “Are you okay?”

Sheesh, I only meant to help you get over your broken heart, not cause my own. Tearfully, in between sobs, he could only mutter a weak, “Putangina, ang sakit ah!”