The Dilemma
There is this expectation among guys that when girls are depressed their appearance tend to be forgotten. But then again that is only, mostly, true if the girl is one of those ones who wear make-up everyday, are in high heels, use handbags that cost more than my weekly allowance, and are sexual deviants. I, for one, am reluctant to call myself a woman - to my father’s delight and my mother’s dismay - because much like a guy, I wear the first shirt I lay eyes on with jeans and the usual rubber-soled shoes, and I am good to go. Maybe it has something to do with my being chubbier than most girls and my low self-esteem. Forever the pessimist, I assume that no one would ever like me if I dress like that.
Among the little guy friends I have, I am like a little brother that is in need of tending from time to time and a playmate either in basketball or in video games. To their girlfriends’ dismay, I spend more time with them in a day than they do in a week. I have had my fair share of bashing, and impolite eye rolls but once they realize that the guys are after all, behind my back other than theirs, they make an effort to be nicer to me and to know me better only to be striked at during my most vulnerable moments. They hurt me more than necessary, typical mean girls who snap at everyone everyday. I could have let them win just like that but I am made of tougher material, one of the perks of hanging out with your dad more than your mom.
But today is different, being as it is that our first break-up anniversary is nearing. I made an effort to wear something other than my usual graffiti shirts and Chuck Taylors. Well, mostly because I came across a guy that genuinely likes me but there is a hint of sadness in that. I have never even thought of dating guys other than the ex, not for a year at least. I comfort myself by thinking that February 13 is only a couple of days away.
But this guy is different. The way the crinkle in his eyes appear whenever he breaks into a heart-stopping grin, the way he is effortlessly witty, and the way he doesn’t remind me of the ex. Without much as a word of warning, I find myself attracted to him in more ways than one - a thought that makes my legs crumble and my heart skip a beat. The only thing is, I have found the heart of my problem prior to having met this new guy. The pitiless mongrel incapacitates me to my very core.
I am afraid of letting the ex go because for more than a year, he has been my everything and a part of me will always be with him. Does that mean then that if I let him go, a part of me dies too? Maybe so, but I do not have to decide now. I have only been seeing this guy in a little more than a week. I ought to give it a little more time, see if this new and amazing guy is really worth the risk.
“But…” my heart tells me, “you really like him.”
In my seventeen years of existence, I have learned a thing or two and one of those is when to listen to my heart and when to listen to my head. Rationality sometimes eludes us because we do not allow ourself to see things for what they really are. This, I am sure, is one of those moments when my head beats my heart. But I am only human, who knows what I’ll do next.
