Two biggest things were:
- I had a baby.
- I had an appendectomy.
But I'm gonna save those for another time.
After my surgery, I had to go home to Cainta to recover. I couldn't do shit, so I, reluctantly, agreed to go home for a week (or until I can move around more freely). I didn't have any of my stuff. All I had was the clothes on my back, my laptop without the charger (I would normally use the term 'notebook' but people might think I actually had a literal notebook when the last time I carried a notebook was back in 3rd yr. high school), and my phone without its charger. I couldn't tell anyone from my family to get stuff from my apartment, but my whereabouts is still a secret to them (so, if anyone meets my mother, please don't tell her where I live. I'll tell her myself; I'm just not ready).
So you could just imagine the boredom I went through that week. I had to sit through Showtime and Eat Bulaga! I felt like a tougher man after that week. Like nothing could faze me anymore. I could be a TSA agent now. Or a graveyard shift security guard.
Anyway, in one of the most mundane moments of my stay there, my dad asks me, out of the blue:
Dad: Nagba-blog ka ba?
Me: (Wow, my dad's trying to connect with me. This is new) Oo, dati. Bakit? (I realise I rarely use po and opo to my dad anymore)
Dad: Di ka ba nagpapabayad?
Me: Ay, haha. Hindi. Di ko kaya. Baka maging trabaho siya. Hobby na lang.
Cross that with Jane the Virgin and you get a person wants to write again. So here I am.
What I'm gonna tell you about today, has been a lingering problem since my ex broke up with me almost two years ago now.
I was having drinks with a new friend (who I will not name at the moment) who I was, uncharacteristically (as evidenced by the last ellipsis, I don't just say things to people. More on this later), telling all my problems to. Somewhere along the conversation, this friend told me that I was just perhaps being protective of myself. From being hurt again. That's why I couldn't hold a relationship together since my last major break up.
And I do. My heart's always on the defence. Walls are high. I'm scared as shit. I'm terrified of what's beyond the fence. I might get hurt again. And because of this, I continue to be afraid I may never feel that feeling again.
It sucks. It really does. But then somebody comes along and you think, maybe it's worth risking it again.