Saturday, October 31, 2009

Remembering Black

Today, I pay the graveyard where the fragments of my badly shattered and already deadened heart lies. I am still warm, breathing, and very much alive. My passions for my art and writing stay intact. So does my affection for the important people in my life. But my hopes for renewing that lovelorn heart has long gone to oblivion. For more than a year now, I have turned my eyes away from romance, thinking that there is no hope or whatsoever good that would come out of it. And up to this moment, I stand by my decision. 

Last week, my aunt sent me a message asking if I was interested in being set up for a blind date. I gregariously complied despite the half-hearted willingness and disgust that rose in my throat. I've been on a blind date only once, and that  happened more than a decade ago. I and the creep that I dated hit it off eventually. It wasn't much of a relationship to begin with. All the while we were together I was wondering why I agreed to get serious with him in the first place. As it turned out, he was no different from the other despicable creatures posing as human beings who crashed into my life and messed it all up. 

The split-up was inevitable. Like the others, I caught him red-handed as he was cheating on me. It came as no surprise actually. The minute the truth assaulted me, my mind screamed silently, "I knew it!" And that was just about it. 

After driving the knife into that space he occupied in my heart, I bowed my head for a couple of seconds to grieve over the loss of yet another important piece of my being. Then without so much as a sniffle, I proceeded to brace myself for my dead heart's funeral. 

It was hard to tell how long the funeral took. As I sat in that emptiness left behind by yet another deadened piece of my heart, I let the blackness take over my thoughts. Thinking of nothing and feeling totally numbed, I wallowed in limbo, not caring nor bothering with what was, is, or would be. I sat there and waited it out. Just waiting and waiting until the blackness has completely obliterated his image from my mind, like it did the others. Only when the memories were reduced to an incoherent blur did I finally stand up, turned around, and moved on with my life. I never dared look back.

But when my aunt had brought up the topic of dating, the memories came flooding back in. The love has long gone, but the memory of the pain and the fear that ensued were as strong as it had been on those days I got my heart killed, piece by piece. Worse still, she even had the gall to tell me how she had jokingly pushed him to "marry me right away." 

She passed it off as a joke. Her telling a complete stranger, whose identity and life I could only care less about, to marry her niece was just a silly, lighthearted, innocuous joke. Wow. 

I don't know what to think. 

I cannot even tell if my heart has managed to heal and grow back the deadened parts I lost to those creeps. Now here comes an exceedingly sympathetic aunt who gives a total stranger the impression that her niece is a lonely tramp desperate to catch the last train to wedded bliss. Heck, she knows nothing of what I've been through. She doesn't have the slightest idea what kind of a person I am behind my usual respectful, amiable smile. 

I've just realized: If there is one thing much worse than lamenting the death of your own heart, it is swallowing the insensitivity of the rest of the world that is mocking your loss. 

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