Losing My Virginity to Love

It’s been quite a long time since I was last emotionally afflicted with what they call as love. I cannot quite remember now how it exactly felt the moment I had it…yes, it has been that long.

I rarely fall in love. Probably because my genes dictate that I attach myself to somebody who is close or superior to my DNA. Unluckily that wasn’t the case with my first and so far only love.

What happened wasn’t love at first sight. To my dismay, there was no slow-motion moment, no sparks flew, no electricity raced through my veins. Hell, none of the minimum standards were even met.  Yet this one proved to me that indeed, love, given time, can grow and slowly creep into you until you realize you are besotted, fully gripped in the neck, powerless to even make the slightest resistance. It took a great deal of time before I finally reciprocated, but the point is it happened. Love happened- and I had to admit it while scratching my head, chuckling still out of disbelief.

Love made me a little bit less cynical. Mine wasn’t really an I-wake-up-now-every-morning-and-all-I-see-are-rainbows-and-butterflies, greeting every mortal I meet with a high-pitched, “good morning” as I prance my way with a smile reaching both ears. However I started waking up every morning with a crooked smile in my face, peeking outside the window and staring at the sky for a moment before releasing a sigh, then looking forward to another beautiful day.

Our relationship had an extra subtlety to it. I wouldn’t say it was not normal. We also did what normal couples do— in a way more modest way. We were probably just more comfortable being in the sidelines.  Ours wasn’t really about walking in the park and smooching while holding hands (doing those three at the same time must truly require a bit of practice or just talent), or saying I love you to each other every twenty seconds, or having candle lit dinners, or hugging one another like leeches until one needs to detach oneself from the other either due to call of nature or to the need to go home because it is already way past the curfew. Nevertheless I felt good. I was inspired, I was clearly very happy.

And there comes my first and so far my only break-up which did not involve a lot of drama by the way. I was, too, kind of expecting scenes from my sister’s soap opera to happen… but there was no throwing of one-liners, no breakdown, no crying even. It was just a calm conversation followed by an awkward silence, then a more awkward attempt to casually say goodbye with a smile.  But the end of my relationship became a silent pain I had to bear for months. I was not the type who would find the nearest listener and do an all-out bawling to win sympathy. “Awww.. poor, poor you… everything’s going to be ok” was the last thing I would want to hear since I was not scammed to begin with and it is obviously NOT  ok. I swear not a single tear fell—which made things worse. Without being a bitter drama queen, I still needed somehow to do some emergency measures to protect my sanity from getting damaged. And I am pretty much proud that in the end I was able to do the hardest thing about the whole break-up: to pretend it never happened until I myself was convinced it never did. Until reached the point where I can already stop pretending… Until I realized it is not that painful anymore…

I rarely fall in love. It has been quite some time now since the last and it remains as is. Is it still my genes waiting finally for its most compatible match? I beg to differ this time— I believe it is simply because the right time is not yet now and I am  work in progress,  to become worthy when love passes by the second time around.


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