I hate Madonna.

So there I was, thinking I was okay. I thought I’ve convinced myself that I’ve moved on. It was hard, especially with her constantly in the background, but I forced myself to be indifferent, and I managed. For a while it worked, but like every passionate emotion, the feeling that I tried so hard to repress, to forget, came flooding back, and it was just as intense. I thought that the previous blog entry will be the last about him, but I guess I was wrong.

Our prelim exams finished a week ago. I like to believe I did well, fantastic even, but answering those questions wasn’t an easy task. So to blow off some steam, my friends and I decided to celebrate the end of the torturous week by buying a lot of beer and heading to Bob’s house. It was the typical night out with friends. Lots of drinking, lots of smoking, and lots of unruly conversation. Some of the guys brought weed but I didn’t mind, thinking nothing would happen anyway. But then I got drunk, which would later cloud my judgment, and worse, my memory. When I woke up the next day, I thought everything went well. I must admit he and I got touchy, but only to a certain extent. I had my arm on his thigh, but it was more of a friendly gesture, like the time when I fell asleep on his arm and he played with my hair. Friendly. Right.

Usually, after a night of shameless drinking, I text my friends and ask what happened. But Bob beat me to it, since he was in a worse state because of the weed. He asked if he did anything foolish around Miko [the girl he’s crazy for], to which I answered no. I then asked the same question, and he commented that Paolo and I were too friendly that night. I assumed it was the time when I had my arm on his thigh or when I drew happy faces on his leg, but he told me that we were already holding hands and we even had a quick kiss. The kiss I remember. It was the time when he was about to leave and we hugged and not being able to resist [blaming the alcohol can be very convenient, mind you], I gave him a kiss on the cheek. But the hand holding I don’t remember. I just. Cannot. Remember. Holding his hand. Or him holding mine.

Honestly, I’m having second thoughts about what Bob said. Bob is a great friend. I have high respect for him, and he is one of the few people I can talk to when I want to talk about serious things, things I know not many people would understand. I trust Bob with my heart, but he was high as a kite that night, and I don’t know if it was the marijuana’s effect that made him see us holding hands. I guess he suspected that that was what I thought and he said he was wasted, not hallucinating. Good point.

You guys were too friendly last night. You were holding hands and you even had a quick smack.

Two short sentences, that when taken apart means nothing. It’s not even romantic. But it had a disconcerting effect on me. I thought I had moved on. I thought I was okay. I thought that seeing her name saved as hun hun would finally slap me till next week, but it didn’t. It failed miserably. And then I knew it. If seeing something as painful as that can’t make me get over what I feel, then it must mean something. Could it be? Am I in love? Or am I just stupid?

I don’t even know why I’m so into him. He’s not even my type. Given the fact that he’s goodlooking and his smile can make my knees crumble, he doesn’t really have the qualities I want in a man. I’m a big fan of intelligent, witty, and clever guys, and frankly, he doesn’t fit the bill. So to think that I’m head over heels over this guy is pretty odd. I guess my feelings “deepened” when he admitted to me he had a thing for me and he wanted to court me. Naturally, I asked him why he didn’t and he said it was because he made a promise to the girl that he’d wait. I was annoyed, but I can’t really blame him. He had feelings for me, but his feelings for the girl is deeper.

I know perfectly well that he’s madly in love with his girl, so why am I wasting so much time waiting for him? I’ve come up with a somewhat plausible theory on why I’m going bananas. Here it goes: It’s a fact that I got irritated when he admitted to me he wanted to court me but didn’t because of his promise of undying love. Who wouldn’t be? Let’s compare what is happening to a train station. I am a commuter patiently waiting for the train to come to bring me to my fabulous job. And then it comes. We were both there. We were both there at the same time, but he left without me. He and I, at some point, were into each other. I think the reason why I’m still hanging on is that the guy I like likes me back, and since he admitted he had feelings for me, I’m subconsciously hoping that it will come back, and we will live happily ever after. The question is, will that happily ever after come? Leave it to a romantic psychology student like me to come up with the most farfetched and idiotic ideas. I read a past entry, and I realized that I should have done last Thursday what I did almost a month ago:

Granting the premature end, drinking at Bob’s was fantastic. Paolo sang me a song, “Every time I see you, I hear there’s something that’ll make you smile. So kiss me if you want to, don’t you worry if we’re apart, I hope this season will be a reason enough to make you smile”. Instead of taking a suicidal leap into the abyss of unrequited love [he dedicated this song to me, but I knew he didn’t mean anything by it], I chose to ignore it and gulped down my glass of beer.

He will never be mine. Neither do I think that he will leave the girl for me. So why wait? And then it hit me. Yes, I am in love with him. I love him. And I have made the difficult decision to wait for him.

The other night, the folks and I visited my mom’s boyfriend for their annual christmas party, and on the way, I was listening to my iPod. What better song to listen to than Madonna’s No Substitute For Love, whose lyrics go something like this: Face the truth, I will wait for you, no substitute for love, no substitute for love.

I hate Madonna. She’s always right.

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