Alyssa: Why are we stopping?
Holden: Because I can’t take this.
Alyssa: Can’t take what?
Holden: I love you.
Alyssa: You love me?
Holden: I love you. And not, not in a friendly way, although I think we’re great friends. And not in a misplaced affection, puppy-dog way, although I’m sure that’s what you’ll call it. I love you. Very, very simple, very truly. You are the epitome of everything I have ever looked for in another human being. And I know that you think of me as just a friend, and crossing that line is the furthest thing from an option you would ever consider. But I had to say it. I just, I can’t take this anymore. I can’t stand next to you without wanting to hold you. I can’t, I can’t look into your eyes without feeling that, that longing you only read about in trashy romance novels. I can’t talk to you without wanting to express my love for everything you are. And I know this will probably queer our friendship - no pun intended - but I had to say it, because I’ve never felt this way before, and I don’t care. I like who I am because of it. And if bringing this to light means we can’t hang out anymore, then that hurts me. But God, I just, I couldn’t allow another day to go by without just getting it out there, regardless of the outcome, which by the look on your face is to be the inevitable shoot-down. And, you know, I’ll accept that. But I know… I know that some part of you is hesitating for a moment, and if there is a moment of hesitation, then that means you feel something too. All I ask, please, is that you just, you just not dismiss that - and try to dwell in it for just ten seconds. Alyssa, there isn’t another soul on this fucking planet who has ever made me half the person I am when I’m with you, and I would risk this friendship for the chance to take it to the next plateau. Because it is there between you and me. You can’t deny that. Even if, you know, even if we never talk again after tonight, please know that I’m forever changed because of who you are and what you’ve meant to me, which - while I do appreciate it - I’d never need a painting of birds bought at a diner to remind me of.

_________________________________

Holden: It’s not who you love, it’s how. 

     On the Monday of the week of my birthday, a friend, over lunch, asked me how I felt about turning 23. After the initial shock of realizing he was serious, and that it was a topic to be discussed over longganisa and pork chop, I steadily replied that it was mostly, for me, a sad occasion because frankly, I think I stopped growing at 17. Everything I had to learn, I learned by 17. The next day, a blockmate of mine asked how Thursday that week would go for me since it will be my *birthday*. I told him the same thing I told my friend over lunch the day before. It’s a sad occasion because there’s really nothing new for me to do, nothing new for me to learn. My blockmate jerked his head up from the book it was buried in and vehemently uttered, "Of course not. Ano ba! Feeling mo lang yon noh. You are always growing. You deal with some things differently, better, than you did years ago." And with that I turned around and resumed my last-minute reading before the prof entered the classroom.

     As the late great Aaliyah had sung, age ain’t nothing but a number. Being the youngest in the family (a menopause baby at that) and having had my fair share of age discrimination ("You’re too young to know what you are talking about", "You should have been born earlier", etc…) I have always believed this to be true. Just because a person is old(er), does not mean he’s wiser, or has riped into being more…human. The mind and the heart age not like the body, and a few gray hairs are not a passport to success, recognition and even plain, old respect. If it were just a matter of having years added to one’s age, then everything would be much simpler. It’s just that custom and the law have made a presumption that once you turn 18 or 21, then you can be on your own, make tough decisions, drink and have the money to pay for cocktails, support yourself and get a job that doesn’t involve making your bed in the morning and alphabetizing your CD collection. But it is just a presumption. Actual life says otherwise.

     I am now 23. I’m still in school. My dad still gives me weekly allowance and pays for well, everything. I may have a credit card (but it’s an extension — my dad still pays the charges at the end of the month), and ATM card (but pa deposits money to it when I’m running low on the funds, which is about twice a month), my scholar’s tuition (go UP!) is paid for by my dad, the dorm during the school week, book allowance, hair allowance, derma…the list is endless. I tried getting a job but there’s still nothing official about it. I have had 2 relationships (I’m being kind. It’s one when I’m trying to be factual and zero when I need a Prozac refill, but this topic is an entirely different one altogether — my having 2 relationships, not the Prozac — but I’m rambling). I have had the same hairstyle for 3 years now because my hair refuses to grow longer after it reaches a certain length. The long and short of it is that for the most part of the latter part of my existence (the past year) I have become bored, and maybe even *gulp* boring. The grass is greener on the other side and god help me, for me it seems to be TRUE.

     I love movies from the 80’s and early 90’s because of their (predictable) plots. Girl meet guy, one is from the wrong side of the tracks (or lesbian as in Chasing Amy), they fall in love, and the world be damned, they live happily ever after, inpsite of the hostile rich parents or the discouraging poor parents or the criticism of the school posse, or the outrageously mangy prom dress. The protagonists get what they want because they want it bad enough (for the most part they aim for undying love and the kiss that never ends — okay, save for Chasing Amy because the girl IS lesbian after all but the ending does hold a little promise). But the message of the movies is "if you want it, you can have it", and I have not felt like that for the longest time. Could it be that the idealist in me has died?