I Wrote This? Really? (Part 2) and an amazing coincidence

The second one uncovered is of a true story. Something I actually remember why I wrote and for whom I wrote it. 

Written on the 13th of August, 2009, here goes my poem for Bethoveen Montecillo Cahiles. The very first boy I got close to in my high school campus and one of my very dear 30 highschool classmates.

Just Until Best Friends
Some say she has a crush on him

But she’ll deny it even in her dreams

He may have the things she likes in a boy

but she’d rather think of her cute little stuffed toy.
Her ‘best friend’ has an instinct,

that he too likes a little thing

in the way this girl is living

and the kind of friendship they are sharing.
Before, though they sometimes have misunderstandings,

During Math time, they keep on laughing.

They were weirdos in a way

but not weirdos everyday.
Many issues have been said,

but their friendship still prevailed,

His Rubik’s cube was once confiscated

but their friendship still remained.
Now, after some time,

She valued him as gold as time,

She ranked him as her crush

Not just any ordinary crush.
But she promised to herself just then

that she’ll not have a crush on him anymore

Not because she is bored,

but because of unreasonable reasons and more…
Now they remain only friends

They remain the best of friends

She knows this ache will someday mend,

with or without the help of her “uncrushef” best friend
Them being friends didn’t bother her at all,

Instead, she was comfortable with her decision and all,

’cause somehow she promised ’til the end

That they’ll be JUST UNTIL BEST FRIENDS. 

Hah. That went well. A quick side note is that I seem to have a fascination with the month of August. Take for example the previous post I shared, was written in August 2008,this one was written in August of the following year, too. I wrote my first blog in August 2016! Haha. Enough segue. I am still amazed at how corny and immature I was, then. But we all have to start somewhere, right? And though I know I wrote my first poem in first grade, I do think it was in my high school years that I started to write even longer poems. I still wrote during my elementary years, but I mainly remember my years inside the library bothering the librarian to issue books on Psychology and World War history to a fourth grader. She wouldn’t so I settled to reading all about history inside the deafening walls of the solemn place. 

I can’t believe at how my writing had changed; not just my handwriting but how I construct words to form a sentence and how now, I prefer imagery over just plain narration. It gets nostalgic when I go about my day, almost routinary sometimes, and yet now, seven years later since then, everything is different. I can’t even remember most of the faces of my elementary batchmates save for those I met back in high school. I am twenty now, with great handwriting, mature (at least, better than before), graduating this summer. The only thing that hasn’t changed is my height. 

Amazing, isn’t it? How one (or in my case, two) poem(s) can make you remember your naiveness, your mistakes, your ups and downs in life. And you wonder, if they hadn’t happened, would I be here? Would I be the me I am now? I don’t know really. But if I hadn’t met the boys who broke my heart, if I hadn’t met my high school classmates who encouraged me to keep on writing, if I hadn’t met my first grade teacher who molded my passion, I would not have written such corny poems and I would not be writing this. 

—

I always thought the universe has a very cruel sense of humor. I will use up all my money to go to a poetry slam, and then upon arrival, I’d see a familiar face and they’d treat me. I would choose not to be absent in class even when I was sick and our professor cancels the class because he/she is sick! The universe’s sense of humor taunts me to this day.

Well played, universe. 

Well played.