Every passing moment feels like a slow demise, filled with pain, overwhelming sadness, and unbearable agony. It's as if the will to live has vanished from within me.
I somehow managed to endure nearly two weeks without losing my sanity, perhaps due to the support of my family. But it feels as if a part of me died when the very reason for my existence disappeared. Was my love for Sam the cause of my desire to cease living? Did I become selfish and push her away?
Since the night I last visited Sam at her place, I haven't seen her or heard her voice. The joyful sound of her laughter, that brought music to my ears whenever I made her laugh, is absent. My beloved Sam is gone, taking with her my dreams and the purpose of my life. The thought of someone else now holding her hands, embracing her, and kissing her lips fills me with jealousy. Accepting that what was once mine now belongs to another is unbearable.
Love is a choice, and I chose to love. In my vulnerability, I opened myself up to potential pain from others. They say when you love someone, you shouldn't expect anything in return, as love is not selfish. All I desired was to give and receive love. Was that too much to ask? My anxiety always intensifies when I think of Samantha. I know you have all experienced heartbreak and failure in love, so I believe you can understand me.
Omar told me that love comes with the risk of getting hurt. I chose to love, but I never chose to be hurt. Must love always lead to pain? Can't love bring happiness? Can't it create a lasting partnership and build a family until old age and beyond? Is it truly that simple? One moment, you're in love, and the next, the person you love announces they no longer want to be with you. It becomes clear that they never really loved you. We were not meant to be together. What an asshole!
I rose from my bed and made my way to the bathroom. When I looked at my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. My hair was a mess, and I hadn't bothered to shave or take care of my appearance. Dark circles formed under my eyes, and pimples resurfaced on my face. Damn! What am I doing to myself?
According to Omar, "Walter, she's just a girl. Move on, bro. You'll find someone who will love you even more." It's easy for him to say, isn't it? There are plenty of girls out there who would love me more than Samantha ever did. All I have to do is open my heart to someone else. Sounds simple, right? But they aren't in my shoes, and they don't understand what I'm going through.
I turned on the faucet and washed my face with facial foam. As I heard a knock on the door, I turned my head towards it.
"Walter, my son, Omar is here," my mother's gentle voice reached me clearly.
I quickly rinsed my face with water, grabbed a fresh towel, and began drying myself off.
"Walter, my child, Omar is waiting for you in the garden," Mama called out again.
"I'm coming, Mom! Just need to change my clothes!" I shouted back. Realizing that I smelled unpleasant, I realized I hadn't showered in a while. So, instead of leaving my room, I quickly took a shower to freshen up. My best friend, Omar, can wait in the garden.
After fifteen minutes, I finally left my room and passed by the living room. I noticed my younger sibling watching me as Mama prepared dinner.
When Mama saw me, she rushed over and embraced me tightly.
"Oh, Walter, I'm glad to see you're doing better," I saw tears forming in my mom's eyes as she hugged me tightly. "Your best friend has been waiting for you in the garden." She kissed my forehead and ran her fingers through my messy hair. I had forgotten to brush it earlier.
Why did she say I'm okay? Was it because I left my room? I hadn't left my room for almost two weeks. Or was it because I finally stopped crying over my ex-girlfriend's betrayal?
I took a deep breath and forced a smile. I wanted to show her that I was fine. I felt sorry for her. I looked into my mother's eyes, the woman who never abandoned me. I didn't want to see her cry because of me.
"Thank you, Mom," I whispered softly. I gently pulled away from her embrace and wiped away the tears forming in her eyes with my thumb.
"Please have dinner with Omar here. I cooked my special seafood paella for him to try," Mom said. I noticed that she seemed a bit down.
"Sure, Mom," I replied briefly and kissed her cheek, a gesture I often did. She returned it with a sweet smile that brought some comfort to my heart.
"I'll check on what I'm cooking; it might burn," she said, hurrying off to the kitchen.
"Why is Mom cooking now? Where's Manang?" I wondered to myself. Maybe our house helper had the day off today.
I headed straight for the sliding door that led to the garden. I opened the glass door and saw Omar sitting on the metal chair inside the gazebo. It was his favorite spot whenever he visited our house. The surroundings were refreshing, with trees and a traditional Japanese-style landscape. The view of the pond with its vibrant Koi fish added to the serene atmosphere.
As Omar saw me, he smiled and came closer.
"Hey bro, what's up?" he asked, offering his hand for our customary fist bump. But this time, I didn't respond. He quickly withdrew his hand, sensing that I wasn't in the mood. I noticed his smile fade, replaced by concern.
"Bro, you look like a hermit, you know? The long beard doesn't suit you; you look ten years older," he said.
I took a deep breath before responding. "What brought you here, bro?" I asked, noting the seriousness in his face.
"Don't you want me to visit you?" his reply was sincere as he took a seat on one of the metal chairs.
"I didn't say that. I was just asking," I answered, seeing the disappointment on his face from my response.
"I'm your best friend, that's why I'm here. We've been inseparable since college. We've always been there for each other, especially during tough times. I'm not used to seeing you like this, bro," he said. I wasn't accustomed to seeing my friend so serious. He was usually the carefree one who didn't take things too seriously.
"I know, bro, and I appreciate you being my best friend. But there are some things I need to face alone. That's why I wanted some time to myself, to think. I had too many expectations that Sam truly loved me, and my world revolved around her. When she left me, it was incredibly painful, especially knowing she had someone else. She deceived me, and it hurt so much that I felt defeated," I said with sadness in my voice.
Omar tapped me on the shoulder. "I know how you feel, bro. Remember when Anna and I broke up? You even called me an idiot for crying over her. So, I'm here to help you through your heartbreak. Let's forget about the drama in your life, just like we used to. If there was an award for heartbroken men, you'd definitely win," Omar said jokingly.
"Idiot," was all I could say. But his mention of awards made me think. Was I overreacting to Samantha breaking up with me?
"What do you have in mind?" I asked him again.
"Well, I thought you could come with me later," he answered, smiling with his freshly shaved face.
"Where?" I asked, running my hand through my wet hair.
"You know, the place we used to go to unwind," he said, pulling out his comb from his back pocket and handing it to me. I took it and combed my hair, even though it didn't really need it.
"I'll pass, bro. I'm not ready for that right now," I declined, combing my hair in front of him.
"No, Walter, you're coming with me whether you like it or not. I even got permission from your mama," Omar insisted.
I sighed. I wanted some more time alone, but I knew Omar wouldn't give up.
"I'll try. I still have some things to do, though."
"You're not doing anything, bro. You're coming with me, no questions asked," he replied firmly.
"Okay, fine. But let's go for a short while. I have a headache and I want to sleep early tonight," I reasoned.
"Fine, just a short while. It's important for you to leave your room tidy. "Do you happen to notice the foul odor in your room? It's quite pungent, bro, likely due to the vomit you left to dry," Omar remarked, crinkling his nose in disgust. 
"What?" I asked, confused. "What smell are you talking about?" I continued, pretending not to know that my room had a bad odor. I handed him back the comb, which he brushed off on a chair.
"You think I don't know? I've been in your room while you were sleeping. You often sleep with a pillow stained with vomit because you got drunk. And you get angry when your maid tries to clean your room," he said with a smug smile as he put the comb back in his pocket.
I couldn't respond. Omar was right. Even my siblings couldn't enter my room without me getting angry. It made me realize why my mom cooked dinner earlier. Manang had left. She packed her bags and went back to her province because she was scared of me when she tried to clean my room. I felt guilty, realizing what I had done to her. I threw my alarm clock at her and it hit her head. I saw blood, but instead of helping, I yelled at her to leave. I was so stupid and selfish, not considering the feelings of those around me.
"You can't even answer, huh? You thought I didn't know. And Manang? She left because of what you did. Your mom took her to the hospital to get some minor stitches on her head. You should be grateful she is kind-hearted; she never filed complaints against you with the police," Omar stood up and smiled. "Anyway, I'm glad you finally left that room." He added.
I am consumed by a heightened sense of guilt for the harm I caused Manang. If only she had not returned to the province, I would have had the chance to offer her a sincere apology. My insensitivity was so profound that it inadvertently impacted others as well.
"Well, since Manang is no longer here, it's your turn to clean up your disgustingly filthy room," Omar jokingly said to me, followed by a loud laugh.
"Don't insult my room like that, you idiot. Don't push me, or I might just stay locked in my stinky room. Thanks, best friend." I said with sarcastic tone in my voice.
Omar burst into laughter. He laughed because he finally convinced me to go to the restaurant-bar we used to go to after work. It's Friday night, so there will be music playing inside. But I couldn't laugh along. I was still thinking about what I did to our house helper. I hope she's alright.
"Let's meet at the resto-bar at seven so we can leave early. I'll drive using my car. Is that okay with you, bro?" Omar proposed.
"Sure," I agreed to Omar's invite. Perhaps I need a break too, to forget about what happened with me and Sam. It won't be easy, but I need to prioritize my own well-being. Just like Omar said, I need to move forward and not make things more difficult for myself. But the thought of not seeing or being with Sam anymore weakens me.
I'm grateful to have a friend like Omar. He always goes out of his way to make sure I'm doing alright. He's been like a brother to me ever since we became friends in college.
"You know, your appearance doesn't seem human. You should consider shaving," Omar commented, even noticing my beard.
"Why do you have to interfere with my looks? What's wrong with my style?" I responded to Omar, playfully joining in his teasing.
I sensed Omar sigh. Maybe he's just trying to be patient with me.
"I'm not trying to meddle, bro. I just think you'll look more human if you shave. Have you seen yourself in the mirror?" He said seriously.
I nodded in response to his question. Earlier, I was surprised when I caught sight of my reflection.
"Omar, do you have to be involved in every aspect of my life? Can't I figure out how to improve on my own? I appreciate you being such a close and caring friend. It makes me happy to have someone who always looks out for me. But this time, I want you to trust me, okay?" I explained, although deep down, I've been feeling annoyed lately. I'm not accustomed to having others meddle in trivial matters concerning me.
"But, bro..."
"Why don't you just mind your own business? You're not my father, just a friend!" I suddenly snapped at him, frustrated. It's too late to realize that I shouldn't have said those words. I was taken aback by my own outburst.
I knew I had hurt him with those words. He simply nodded and remained silent. I don't know why, but I can be stubborn at times. I dislike being interfered with when it comes to problems I can handle on my own. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.
"I'm sorry," I apologized to him.
"No. You're right. Maybe I've been interfering too much in your life," he admitted.
"Omar, I..."
"You don't have to explain, Walter. You're right. I'm sorry for sometimes saying things that might make you feel worse instead of helping you."
"Omar, that's not what I meant," I said, attempting to clarify my intentions.
"Don't worry, bro. It's okay. You don't have to explain. Perhaps I've become too insensitive to your feelings. Let's end this discussion. What matters most is seeing you become okay."
"Omar?"
"I'm okay. Maybe it's time to eat. I can smell auntie's cooking," he said in a serious tone.
Omar stood up and headed towards the house. I stood there near the pond, watching him enter. I know he means well, wanting to help me move on, but I also feel overwhelmed by their excessive concern. I just want to mend myself and prove that I can stand on my own, even without Sam in my life.
Lately, I've been feeling weak. It's unbelievable how I've let myself become so vulnerable. That's the most painful part of my life. The wound Sam has inflicted upon my heart is still fresh. Yes, I'm angry. Angry at Sam, angry at my life, and even angrier at myself. I'm angry because I couldn't prevent him from leaving my life. I'm angry because I was foolish. Foolish for not realizing how he had deceived me for so long. Foolish for allowing myself to suffer and also causing pain to those around me.
I'm tired of shedding tears. Crying hasn't accomplished anything. So, I promise myself that I will never shed tears for love again. Never again.