The first time I felt love, it was with my best friend from grade school.

He was the person who understood me and had been so much like me, we considered each other like twins. We shared similar interests, but most especially in music tastes and TV shows. Through him, I learned that one of the ways you can channel your love for someone is through music. Whether it’s through a song recommendation or your own composition, so long as your heart dedicates it to that certain someone. He once told me that listening to the same song as someone is like sharing the same emotions.

I wondered then, if he could feel my heart lurch every time we shared earphones to listen to a new, recommended song, or when our fingers sometimes brushed against one another.

But my heart realized what those emotions meant too late, and so did I. Only seeing him as more than a best friend fully registered in my mind when news arrived about him leaving, and us being separated for good.

Maybe it would have been a good idea to not just channel my love through music anymore. Maybe it would have been better if I gained courage to spill my heart out.

But I chose to wallow in silence, and ran away.

The second time that I felt something that could possibly turn into love, it was for someone new in my life. Someone I instantly vibed with, someone I found interesting enough for me to be curious about what they had to say or what went on in their head. It was infatuation that drew me in, but fascinating conversations that kept me close. Through those conversations I found comfort, but as fate would have it, my feelings managed to make their way through.

It was during the time when I was starting to set my priorities straight. Deep down, I knew I couldn’t control my emotions or actions that would take place after, suppose I decided to pursue and act on my feelings.

I decided to tell him about them, not because I wanted to be something more, but because I wanted them to die down instead, and for us to remain friends. Moreover, I couldn’t see myself being with him like that for a long time, because I knew that it would only distract me. Looking back on it now, I think it wouldn’t have ended well if I allowed for that to happen. When I told him, he tried to convince me that it would be okay as the feeling was mutual; he had feelings for me, as well. That I would be okay, that we could try and manage it well. But nevertheless, in the series of me asking for a rejection, I ended up rejecting him, ultimately choosing the fate of friendship.

The third time I thought I could love was secretly acts of betrayal and dishonesty. It was through the form of sweet words, exchanged silent smiles, and flirty banter. I have to admit that those drew me in, but the one thing that I couldn’t find - no matter how hard I tried—was comfort. A sense of assurance. I felt like what he wanted was just the shallow acts of love—the grand gestures, the little public displays of affection; the tip of the iceberg, if you will. But I’m not like that. I realized, too, that there are so many layers to me that there are difficulties buried underneath each. Ones I couldn’t address properly. I didn’t need someone to solve or address these, however. Rather, I needed someone who could stand to hold my hand as I’d try to overcome each and every one of such. But it wasn’t him. He made the mistake of worsening and even adding more to them-- he lied and played with my emotions when I thought I could trust him. Instead of clarity, I was only met with mixed signals, hurting me in the process.

Although I had been sailing on uncharted waters, I came to a conclusion that would save me for the following years: that I was worth so much more than that.

After everything else that happened, I never expected that there would be a time I wasn’t going to run away from love. The last time I didn't, I had been hurt so much that I didn’t think it was possible for me to see someone in that light again. See, life surprises you. I looked for love in all the wrong places and did all sorts of inane, unnecessary actions that resulted in open wounds and scars. I was hesitant, I was afraid, I was confused. I still am.

Yet here I am, lingering around this love that refused to leave my side.

This love takes the form of a stranger, but she wears a familiar friendly face. I never bothered to spare her a single glance until she stubbornly entered my heart, not even bothering to take off her shoes. Without realizing it, my heart had welcomed her with open arms anyway, as if I had been waiting for her to come home all this time.

As if she had been the missing piece I wasn’t even aware of.

When I took a good look at her, the realization had come slow, late, but clear. She possesses the same wounds and scars as me. I stared at my- our torn-up vessel. It is hesitant, it is afraid, it is confused. This is the love that managed to get through the tough exterior. The love that decided to stay.

And for the first time, I’m glad I didn’t run away.

If I had known that was the last time, there is no doubt that I would have done so much more with you.

I would have stayed later than I usually did. I would have stayed longer in the library, maybe even chat with the librarian even though she scolded us on a daily basis for using the place to play and hang out rather than to study. I would have asked for more of those stupid, invented games, such as Dodge Rock. Whenever we played, your boisterous laughter would always accompany our games. It was infectious, I believe, because entering the hallways, I’d see others laughing along. Remember when we’d chase each other down the hallway no matter how many times a student council officer told on us, and whenever we were in the air-conditioned music room, singing enthusiastically to another song from our music teacher who had a priceless smile on her face?

I think I would have asked for more day-to-day moments like that. I would have been more selfish and asked for more time with you.

Perhaps I would have watched the sunset, too. I never thought sunsets were a big deal until now. I wonder how they would have looked in your eyes. Me? I probably wouldn’t have been able to take my eyes off of you.

But you’re no longer here, are you? You haven’t been for a while now.

Forgive me. I might be romanticizing the past, as they would say. But what are we teenagers for if not to romanticize our own experiences and memories, right?

Without any warning, your existence was replaced by a windowless urban, now often crowded and even proudly presented by businessmen in suits. But to me, they were just people who had no regard for your beauty. They didn’t see you as anything but something to demolish, something that had to go. I wonder what I would have really done, had I known this would become your fate eventually.

Today, I am still here. You aren’t. Someone could say you still are, but I no longer recognize you—if it really is you. You’re different and confusing and unfamiliar and overall a complete stranger. I don’t see how anyone could look at you and say that you are still here. But today, I put their lenses on and attempt to see for myself. Hesitantly, though. You’ve always known me for being a skeptic. After all, you were the one who taught me to be one, weren’t you?

When I walk through the quadrangle, I don’t see that familiar, stupid game of Dodge Rock. No—instead, there are students grouped together, sitting on the stone benches. Most of the benches aren’t actually occupied by that many students, but by bags that take up the seats instead.

I look around, scanning for something that could give me a sense of familiarity. Still, no sign of you. Not surprised. I sigh and almost give up… until an odd-eyed cat with white fur comes up to me. I squat down to her from a distance, not expecting anything to happen, until she rubs against my leg.

My heart feels warm.

I hear a noise from the quadrangle, and sure enough, it’s from students yelling—throwing and running around over a disc. I try to hold back a grimace because the image becomes clearer now, but I don’t see it. I don’t see you.

Then, one person falls on their butt to save the disc from touching the ground. Everyone laughs and calls their friend dumb nicknames. Soft laughter erupts somewhere else, catching my attention. It reminds me of you, somehow.

I look back at the cat, who is already looking back at me, and I notice that her eyes bore combinations of blue and green respectively in each eye. She gives me a look, as if to say, Well? I sigh and smile at her, bidding her a goodbye before getting up and entering the academic building.

There is no boisterous laughter that immediately greets me the way you did before. Instead, I am met with a teacher’s gaze, accompanied with a smile almost instantly. I return the smile a few seconds late, unable to process whatever my heart is starting to feel again.

Before I can even comprehend whatever it is, a group of students grab some guitars lying around and sit on the floor. As they strum, I recognize a few familiar songs, varying from the latest OPM to timeless, popular songs that almost everyone knows by heart. I stay nearby, in front of the Science department, as they sing loudly, some perfecting the notes and some hopelessly failing, yet all smiling at one another like they share a secret. Unconsciously, my face starts to copy theirs and a smile appears on mine, too. As if I were part of a big theatrical act, the hallway starts to fill up with another type of noise, when more students are dismissed from their classes. Their silly anecdotes from the previous classes and whatever they had watched last night join the melodies and harmonies of those sitting on the floor. Laughter—more laughter and more tunes take up the background, until there’s little room left for silence.

Ah. There you are.

There aren’t any students chasing each other down the hallway, though, nor are we in the library being nuisances to the librarians. The music room is different, too. It’s on the fourth floor now, but I think they were right. You are still here. Different, though. Good different.

In the faces of teachers who willingly give out friendly smiles, in the eyes of friendly stray cats, in the melodies and harmonies of students, and in everything else in between—there is no doubt about it. You have been here all along.

You are still here. You always have been.