I never thought I would be writing this. Some people would probably say I shouldn’t. More importantly, I never, ever thought I would reach this point. But I believe it’s necessary for me to get it out of my system to have a sense of “closure” (it’s probably the closest word I’d like to associate with it) so I can finally have that transition in spite of everything else I’ve been dealing with. So as early as now, let me say this: I don’t give a fuck what or how negatively you may think of this entry. This one will be far different from the usual stuff I’ve written, yet I am still covered by freedom of speech. Please carry that thought if you wish to proceed with reading this entry. If not, you can always close the tab or browser. With that being out of the way, let me begin.

If I were to look at myself from five years ago at the most up to probably two years at the latest, I wouldn’t recognize the person staring back at me. Back then, I was a cheesy, poem-writing, love-induced, wear-my-heart-on-my-sleeve hopeless romantic who would readily move heaven and earth just to do anything for the one girl who captured and enslaved my heart and soul. Yet despite being turned down, kicked to the curb, and repeatedly used only to be taken for granted time and again over the course of almost five years, I continued to pine and believe in what fate will bring… if I continued to fight the good fight, thinking positive and always hoping that the universe would eventually smile down on me for the efforts I’ve made. Only to reach this point.

I have written several entries about her on previous occasions; more than any other subject on my blog. But this will be–with finality and without the usual romantic cheesiness–the very last one. It’s unfortunate that a person’s repeated actions (and lack thereof at the same time) would slowly chip away at the emotional side of me. No matter how numerous kinds of conversations and arguments we’ve had about equal treatment (as “friends” according to her), nothing ever changed. And slowly, that wake-the-fuck-up realization started to manifest about who I really am to her: a go-to guy who she can just discard when my usefulness has worn out. I won’t bore you with all the details here (though you can always ask me in person and I’ll gladly tell ALL that went down), but as that moment started to grow, I decided to drastically lessen my communication with her. Not just the replies to messages, but the manner in which I replied back.

Elaborate or normal replies became one-word messages. Immediacy turned to four, five, sometimes 12 hours or more before I would send one back. “Seen-zoned” (on my part) sometimes became the norm in our chats (if you could still call it that). For sure she would’ve noticed it, but never brought it up. I suppose the final act that broke the camel’s back happened four weeks ago. But as I looked back at our chat history, the more I did that, I suppose the more it hardened me. Not just to her, but to everything else that is relationship-related at the same time. This is the girl who I yearned for and promised to love no matter what happens. This is the girl I gave everything to. And I do mean EVERYTHING. One close friend of mine can attest to that. Heck, not even having a five-month serious relationship with another woman stopped me from completely forgetting about her. And from the looks of it, because of the huge scar she left on me, I won’t be able to. Come to think of it, I suppose it’s better that way so it’ll be a constant reminder for me not to fall for anyone else again.

Romantic lines don’t elicit that warm feeling in me anymore. Love songs don’t sound the same way anymore whenever I listen to them (and I still do; I mean, a good ballad is always worth listening to). And romantic movies past, present, and future are not as inviting to watch anymore. I’ve even unfollowed users in Twitter and Instagram that post quotes (romantic or even inspirational ones) because it became useless feed on my timeline (I’m still on Facebook hiatus though, but will be back soon; when I feel and know that the time is right). You’re probably thinking that I should do those just to focus on myself and heal up until such time I can be ready to love again. And you’re right… only on the first half of that sentence. I’d rather just focus on myself and my closest of friends. No healing up, and definitely no need for cupid to come flying back in my general area (at this time I’d want to give everyone a gentle reminder: please refer to the third sentence of my opening paragraph). The last two of this five-year endeavor even had my belief in religion put into question. But that’s a different story for a different time.

A few weeks ago, I started watching “How I Met Your Mother” after the entire series became available on Netflix. For some reason, I never saw the series during its original run; and I have always been told good things about it. Now truth be told, if I had followed the series back then, I would definitely relate with Ted’s character. Oh man, hands down I would. I’d even be eagerly anticipating what comes next between him and Robin. But since I started with the very first episode, I actually saw Ted as a whining loser who oftentimes can’t get his shit together. Even with what he feels for Robin (I now actually have a crush on Cobie Smulders, but not her character). I would still see the series through until the very last episode; only because I am amazed by Barney’s character. I see him as the more realistic person among the group despite his shenanigans (Marshall and Lily to me are a conventional couple). What I’m really looking forward to are the two remaining slaps Marshall has to give him. Now that’s a glaring difference between me back then, and how I am right now which I never thought I’d be able to come to terms with.

Regardless of whether she personally reads this or not, though I am not that proud to say it, but thank you for breaking me. Thank you for finally silencing my emotional throes permanently. Thank you for removing the romantic in me. You have set the bar so high that no other woman can ever reach. Thank you for living the kind of life I help provide you for, and in the process, leaving me empty. Thank you for your words that added up to a staggering amount of… nothing. Thank you for all of your empty actions that gave birth to an “improved” version of myself: cynical, oblivious, and just settling for what’s barely good enough. Things I never thought I’d turn into. By somehow finally treating you the last few months in the way I did, it’s a fruition from a long and obvious realization of how I really am to you: a “friend” who you’d want at your beck and call to provide your material needs. And nothing in the world can make you see otherwise, or to make you see how pure and sincere my intentions for you were, or how I risked and did everything just to make you feel good about yourself. So go and flirt, take advantage, and ride all the guys you can take. You can get any guy you want at any time because hey, you have your “needs” after all, right? They’d be putty in your hands. Believe me, I know all about your “needs;” more than you think I do. You have done anything and everything you can–and I do mean anything AND everything–to get to where you are now, so you deserve whatever things that are coming your way. I sincerely mean that in the most positive way. Who knows, maybe someday you can be able to literally fuck me too by sheer happenstance. And that may probably, probably somehow be enough for you to give back or make up for everything I’ve done for you. Maybe. Maybe not. I guess we’ll never know. I could continue to go on saying what’s on my mind, but knowing you, you’re not even close to being prepared to hear everything else I have to say. And I think you won’t ever be. This will be the very last time I would talk about you or make you the subject of my blog entries. So again, I say thank you. Pat yourself on the back or give yourself a round of applause. You must be extremely proud.

With that having finally gotten out of my system, this is now me. Broken, yet somehow reborn. Surviving, yet scarred. The person who now settles instead of having hopes. Remnants or fragments of my old self may appear in the way I talk from time to time, but only for conversational purposes. Yet the only thing that I carry from the old me is that I keep my word. Whatever statements and promises I made before, I will stand by them no matter what. I will be redesigning my blog in a few days to reflect the changes in me. It’ll be a reboot of some sorts. I again invoke the disclaimer at the beginning of this entry for those not keeping tabs. All entries moving forward will now be more on social, political, or anything else except having to do with emotions or romantic relationships. I’ve dealt with that in the equivalent of two lifetimes already. So I think it’s now the perfect time to permanently step away from it.

Markie’s Journal version 5.0. Soon.