Memoirs of an Amnesiac

It never fails. Every classmate I had way back in college or high school never misses to make it part of their social interaction to ask me (come reunions and batch homecomings), "Are you married?" For the life of me, over the years, I have mastered and have come up with my rather suave-version-of-a-reply, "I'm not seeking. I'm just looking."

I'm not about to discuss here my often epic fails at finding and keeping lasting relationships and bumping or rubbing elbows (and knees) with Mr. Right. Rather, I'd like to delve into the abyss of the repercussions behind my search and my self-proclaimed status quo right now.

All stories begin with "Once upon a time...." Mine is no exception. Like most girls, I dreamed of finding my own Prince Charming (before I learned that he had slept with a lot of Walt Disney characters). I had envisioned mine as that guy, wearing all his heavy armor, with eyes that bedazzle anyone lady within a ten-mile radius. He would chose me among the crowd, sweep me off to my feet and magically profess his undying love for me (the kind that most ladies would pay movie tickets for, just to see those scenes).


And like all fairy tales ( I wonder whether real fairies really told those stories or just that they might sound catchy when they do), they don't really end up with "And they lived happily ever after...." Because more often that not, the reality of the day after happily-ever-after sinks in. That's when I usually find out that Mr. Prince Charming isn't really the one who is cut and dried for me. Turns out, he was just like me, trapped in our own fantasy.


All those episodes play back each time. Only that, the characters are unique, the adventure varies in intensity, the setting inexplicably resplendent of an era long forgotten (I hope I nailed the last description right). Yet, the lessons learned from them, repetitive and almost redundant (like my students' grammatical errors). Those gems of thought ever pervade in my hypothalamus and they tend to just sit there at the back of my mind, waiting painstakingly for me to notice them.

I am no impeccable immortal. I have committed more blunders than I ever allow in my blogs. I fall for more often than not, the wrong reasons. Once, I fell in love with the feeling of being in love. (I'm glad, that didn't reach the TWICE note. heheh.) Then, there goes the heart-wrenching true love type, the kind that you would love to die for ala Romeo and Juliet. Like one who woke up from extreme intoxication, I had woken up into the ever-endless sobriety of delusion. (Mind you, I have been the most stubborn student in the classroom called life.)

You could say I had my own taste (and bittersweet memories) of my own quest. They may have either made or unmade me, but one thing is for sure. They all have made me fulfilled as a person. Looking back now, I know I'll never have regrets going through them. Every person I meet is unique and I learned so much from them things that I never would have learned had I decided to read the whole literature section in the public library. This goes to show that one could not teach the language of songs.

So each time I see men around, I no longer seek for Mr. Right. I just look and listen to that little voice behind my brain that I take notice every now and then.

I don't wear my heart out on my sleeves now. And that has made all the difference.