Category Archives: Love Notes

All about love. Sometimes, a little bit of hate.

What She’s Worth

This morning, I was talking to a girl who was a lot like me. And I said a lot of good things–things that I myself needed to hear.

I told her that she has wasted enough of her time for someone who doesn’t treat her like what she’s worth. Those years could have been the best years of her life, but she was stuck in a closet, like a skeleton in the dark, waiting for no one that could give her life. Her life was not hers.

She does not deserve that. No man is worth treating her like a skeleton in the closet.

She deserves only what she’s worth. And this is her worth: She is worth having as a girlfriend. She is worth letting the world know that she is a man’s love. She is worth fighting for.

She is hanging by a thin thread only waiting for it to snap. She has hoped and waited enough. She should not wait forever just to have a place in someone’s life.

Every day, I have to tell her this–no, a good girl does not deserve that.

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I’ve Stopped.

I’ve stopped anticipating movie marathons together or you going home to me.

I’ve stopped dreaming of spending more time with you.

I’ve stopped including you on my travel bucket list.

I’ve stopped craving for our next pig-out.

I’ve stopped waiting for that huge teddy bear you promised, or that ice cream.

It’s been a while since the last time we did everything.

To my kind of boy

Today, because I can think of nothing else to write, I will write about you. It’s not like it’s a very unusual thing to do. I always write about and because of you.

But I don’t know what to write first. I don’t know what to write about you because there are so many things. I can write about how special you make me feel or how special you are to me. I can write how you can make me cry. I can write about how you’ve broken my heart and how you’ve made me feel better. I can write about my dreams with you. I can write about how I miss you.

There’s nothing extraordinary about you. I think you’re quite ordinary. You are handsome but not the thrilling type. You are lean but not really sexy. You are sweet but most of the time corny. There are many things you can do but you are not exceptionally talented. You are smart but a lot of times you can be awkwardly clumsy.

But to me, you are special.

I don’t know when or how but I know you’ve been special to me for a long time and tomorrow you probably will still be.

You are definitely not as handsome as Hollywood actors or Korean pop stars but you are beautiful in a different way. A way that I love and adore so much. Your eyes and your smile draw me. Your face is small and tender. You are slightly slender and your biceps are not very firm, but I love how you can make me feel warm and secure whenever you hold me in your arms. I guess loving you makes me sexually attracted to you. Is that awkward?

You are sweet but sometimes you don’t seem to know how to be properly sweet. There’s a bit of awkwardness in your sweet acts and sometimes, you turn out to be a little too corny. And that’s funny. And I appreciate everything you do. You do normal things and make them seem special. They become special simply because you do them with good effort and honesty. You don’t exceptionally excel in anything, but you do extremely well in loving the person you love and that is, at least for me, enough.

You are like a puppy. Your innocence makes you beautiful. It’s okay when you sometimes seem naive or clumsy. I like how you strive to learn and do what you like. You have dreams and you hold on to them. I’d like to be there to see you grow and reach for your dreams. Maybe someday, you will reach them.

And everything else in you… Everything else that I’m unable to write now—maybe some other time—makes me love you.

To the one that got away

You were beautiful. You were very young and innocent. All you knew was how to purr when happy and how to shriek when scared. Your fur was naturally clean and smelled like fresh milk. I held you delicately and took you home for the first time. I was excited.

cat
A beautiful kitten outside of my flat. A picture of innocence, curiosity and tenderness.

You were a little scared. I know. Who was I to you, anyway? I was a stranger. I took you to a completely different place. I took you to a house where there were no other fellows like you. You probably felt alone. Worse, my house mates didn’t give you a very warm welcome. They disliked cats. So, I had to put you out. I had to put you out even when you cried. You cried for several minutes. Minutes counted to hours. You didn’t tire of crying. You begged for me, someone to let you in. It’s cold and scary outside. It’s a big world outside and you don’t have a bit of an idea what’s out there. You stayed close by the window. Your cry weakened but you refused to stop. You cried and cried. And I could do nothing. I did nothing.

I couldn’t let you cry for so long. I wanted to provide you a nice home. So, I thought I’d bring you home to my mom. I thought maybe she could take care of you better while I was away. I put you in a paper bag.

On the way home, I tried to hold you so you’d stop freaking out. I loved you and I held you so you’d feel warmer. And maybe you’d calm down. But you did not stop crying. You struggled to break free. It was so hard to commute with you struggling the whole time. I was still two hours away from my parents’ home.

I got impatient. I got irritated of you. You just wouldn’t stop. You kept trying to get out of the paper bag and where did you wanna go? Did you wanna escape? Did you want to be free? Fine, I thought. Maybe I’d just let you. Then, I wouldn’t have to bother my housemates or my mom anymore. Or myself. Maybe I wasn’t capable to take care of you. Maybe you were better off independent and free. You’re a cat, anyway.

So, I put down the paper bag. You got out and I didn’t stop you. I watched you. You traced a few paw prints at a time, examining the ground. It was sandy and dusty. I watched you and it was hard. I wanted to pick you up and hold you back in my arms and take you home. But I just stood there. Again, I did nothing.

I went home to my mom’s house—without you. I went home without you. And I just hated myself. I was so ashamed that I started to cry. I cried in my room. I cried and cried, just like how you cried outside the window. I couldn’t stop. I felt scared and alone just like how you felt. And I felt stupid. I was stupid. I know crying and suffering with guilt wasn’t enough to excuse my tactless action. It wasn’t going to bring you back. Crying wasn’t going to save you.

Days passed and my housemates said they might have seen you at the town square. They said you looked dirty and some loafers spared you crackers. It sounded pathetic. You could have been with me instead of the loafers. You could have chewed on more nutritious cat food than leftover crackers. You could have still smelled like fresh milk than of, maybe, garbage. Well, they said don’t worry. You’re a cat, anyway.

I was stupid and weak, and you were the one who suffered because of it. It wasn’t your fault. I took you away from your mother. And then, I deprived you of a home. I deprived you of the love that you deserved. I put you in a scary place you had no idea of. Alone.

And I’m very, very sorry.

mom and kittens
Youngs should not be taken away from their mother.

Cats are cunning and independent but they should not be thrown away as easily as disposing garbage. They should not be taken away from a family especially at a young age. They should not be wandering aimlessly on the streets. Not at all. They should have a home to come back to. They should not see the world as cruel and heedless of their existence. Instead, they should be taught that the world is beautiful and full of love so that they can also learn how to love in return.

A cat’s love is so sweet and tender as its fur and whoever experiences it…is lucky.

In five, ten years

I wonder what’s up for me in five, ten years? What’s up for us?

Are we still gonna be okay like this? Are we still gonna be this close? Am I going to be happy with you? Or with someone else?

I love you now. But do I still love you in five, ten years? Maybe, I’ll love someone else. I’ll love someone like how I love you now. Treat him special like how I treat you now. And I’ll just remember you, very seldom I’ll remember you, from the back of my memory. When I do, I’ll just remember you vaguely as someone who used to be special but not as special as the one I’m with.

But maybe you’ve been the most special.

Every new person who comes is going to be special. He will seem more special than the last. But I wouldn’t be able to tell for sure because the last one would’ve faded out of focus and into a vague memory. And I wouldn’t be able to recall how special he was to me.

If that happens—when I meet someone else—I want to be able to remind myself how special you are to me right now, right here. And how you’ve made me feel special. How you’ve made me want to be closer and closer to you and how it’s going to be worth it to spend days with you. How you’ve made me want to still see you in five, ten, twenty years.

I wonder what’s up for you in five, ten years?