I want to write about the boy who introduced me to patis and chicharong bituka.

And in a moment like this one, we go back to those good ol’ days.

Let me bring you back to 2008. It was a year when this young man tried to draw his mental image of me. I was Rose in Titanic and I was queen. Fast forward it to a few more weeks and we were holding hands.

It was easy. I was easy. Too easy for this gentleman. Too easy, in fact, that if I were to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Our relationship is like a cat for the many lives it lives. First, it was a breakup that some friends thought would happen in our fourth month together. And then it was another breakup when we were laid off from our jobs and had to work at different offices and cities. And then just recently, the breakup that immigration might cause. (I am glad that as of this moment, I am disappointing the devil and it’s not close to happening.)

Let me take you back to 2008 when I was too easy for the guy I liked to have in my life.

Everytime I think about it, I remember how much I worried that if I let him wait for one more day, he would give up charming me with his innocence and imperfections. I feared that if I didn’t laugh enough at his jokes, he would think I wasn’t interested. I was bothered that if I didn’t listen or talk enough, he would think about me differently. He was pursuing me, but I was pursuing him harder.

I was easy. Too easy, in fact, that if I were to do it all over again, I would even be easier, and these guys with perfect bone structure can kiss our royal ass.