testosterone boy

sad, beautiful, tragic.

Tag: breakup

It’s hard not to find it all a little bittersweet.

When you read this, I know you’re going to raise an eyebrow because I had written yet another blog entry about you. I know how much you hate it when I “drag” you into my ~sad, bitter~ posts. So before you start scrolling down to read anyway, let me warn you start by saying I am sorry. Really, I am.

I’m sorry for sharing a little too much of our relationship in my previous blog entries. You never truly listened to what I had to say and I didn’t want to constantly bother my closest friends about what was going on at the time so I had to turn to my blog for company. I’m sorry for putting my emotions and feelings out in the open ‘cause you were not always there to appreciate them.

I’m sorry if I didn’t commit to gaining weight and building muscles. To be “masculine” or “toned” is never my thing but yours. Maybe that’s one of the reasons you kept hooking up with other people. You were never completely attracted to me, physically.

For that, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I am very much happy and satisfied with the way I look.

I’m sorry if I had to write about all of your shortcomings. If in any way these blog entries made you feel like a bad boyfriend, know that it was never my intention. I never wanted for my readers to see that you were never contented.

I’m also sorry that you had to constantly lie about almost everything because you thought I could never handle the truth. I’m sorry for wearing my heart on my sleeves, that’s why you thought I’m too emotional to take the hard truth in.

I’m sorry if you were never satisfied with just me. I’m sorry that my not being enough made you the lying, cheating boyfriend that all my friends hate. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry if you think I’m crazy and psycho because I am way too smart and clever for you too fool. I’m sorry if I always knew when you’re lying. I’m Nancy fcking Drew, deal with it.

I’m sorry if I had become a different person. I’m sorry if I was no longer the person you loved. I’m sorry if I had become more bitchy and shady and mean. I didn’t intend to become one. But after years of keeping it all in and sweeping things under the rug, you soon realize that in your attempt to not lose someone, you end up losing yourself in the process. I didn’t want that to happen any further. So I’m truly sorry.

Most of all, I’m very sorry if I honestly believed in everything that we had. I had imagined we were going to last.

Now that you have reached the last two paragraphs of this long and boring blog entry, I want you to remember the next one.

In spite of the secrets and lies, I am more than happy that somehow I was able to make you feel genuinely loved in a way nobody else can and probably nobody else could. And I am happy for the fact that it was my only part in your life.


You’re just a lost boy. 

I have lost count how many times you have messed up just as how many times I shrugged it off and forgave you. Nobody is counting, but we both know there had been countless occasions. It got too exhausting now.

It was a risk when you offered me the “boyfriend” label but you made it so convincing that I fell with it. Both my heart and mind trusted that this time it’s different. You were going along with me to make it work.

Now that the cat is out of the box, even I try to get past what you did, I’m just going to be paranoid every time you’re out going to work, to the gym, hanging out with your friends, or even getting a massage! It’s never going to be the same. I will not believe you anymore. Because all I see is you want to have sex with other guys. You want to keep fooling around. And it disappoints me that you’re doing that because I may not be enough.

It may just be sex for you, but to me it isn’t. Commitment means the world to me. It’s not a passport that you renew when it expires. Or car parts that you repair when the engine brokes. There is so much more to a relationship than having sex or making love. You’re old enough to know that.

Sure, it’s just a blowjob or a one-time bareback sex with a random guy and it isn’t going to affect what you feel about me or the life that we share together. But I care about what we do to and for each other.

Perhaps that’s what is different about us. You view this relationship in an oppposite perspective. To you, everyone slips up and it should be okay. I may slip up, yes. Who knows, right? But the difference is that I’m not looking for a hall-pass to slip up. Because I’m with you. Because I would prove that what I have with you is much more than some quick thrill. Because I love you and I care about us.

Ask me again in 5 years, maybe I’ll feel differently. But all I know right now is I want to make the choice to not fuck other people and you can’t or won’t try to be monogamous, so where does that put us?

You’re just a lost boy. You’re not ready to be found.


Friday, Yabu—

The Japanese restaurant, within a mile distance from the ABS-CBN network studios where our friend Astrid works, must be used to a bevy of foodies who come for its buffet treats and special booths, but I have chosen a table at the far back, where the lights are dimmer and the noise of the Friday night crowd is more muted. I know this evening has a lot of talking in store for me and my friends especially Stephen, who had just broken up with his boyfriend.

Concentrating on his dinner (he’s supposed to be on a low-calorie diet because his body is growing bigger and bigger), Stephen seems unaffected by the breakup. He checks out what the waiter brings—a platter of beef teriyaki and rice—and spears a piece of fork.

“Hindi na muna ako magpapaka-strict with my diet,” he giggles with explanation. He giddily tries almost everything on the restaurant menu: salmon, buffalo wings, pork tonkatsu, chicken karaage, plus rack of ribs. He also ditches water and asks for a pineapple fruitshake. Although we’ve already told him he needs to watch his body, he’s breaking some rules. He needs sustenance—the recent heartbreak nearly offered him.

My friend is never one to succumb into the pitfalls of breaking up with guys, not that he doesn’t feel sad about it—because he does—but he prefers to bottle it up and not show the world how much he’s hurting. That probably is one of things which differs me from him. He doesn’t like to tell stories especially this kind of stuff even to us. Unlike me, as you may know, I tend to share. Sometimes almost about everything.

Stephen smiles, picking at the last piece of chicken, “21 na ako, ngayon pa lang mag-start ang buhay ko. One breakup shouldn’t bother me.”

“That’s right,” I break in. “Maybe hindi pa siya para sa’yo. You just have to wait till the right one comes.”

“No, I don’t want to wait. Unlike you, waiting is never an option for me. If he likes me and I like him, go na! Otherwise bahala siya. Ikaw lang naman ‘tong sanay nang naghihintay e. You always wait. You keep on waiting for someone who will never love you back.”


I know he will go on more about it but Astrid stopped him. She probably saw the dumbfounded look on my face as I listen to Stephen rub on the things I already know myself.

True enough, reality bites.