Writer’s note: this was inspired by the movie Ruby Sparks.
He was a young adult romance reader. He loved typical skinny girls with long, messy hair, a cigarette on their lips, and a pad of antidepressants somewhere in their medicine cabinet. He had the urge of loving them, taking out the misery from them. He grooms himself to be her savior.
Until I came.
At one point I was this literal young adult fiction character. I was depressed. I was abusing caffeine, an element that I am neurologically allergic to. I drank alcohol way too much than the normal. I had a pack of menthol 20s in my bag, placed near my black or purple lighter. I was a train wreck, just like Alaska. I was this quirky, miserable girl who has problems to make her look endearing. I had antidepressants and some pills to calm me down when I have panic attacks. I panic when I am in a crowded area. I was not good at handling myself.
When I met him, it was all roses and butterflies – you know how girls fall in love. Even at day one, a girl could think about how it feels like to kiss him or what would be the theme of their wedding, if ever it comes to that. I looked beyond the flaws and, of course, focused on the things that made me want him. It was a reconstruction of his being. But I carried on.
Letters after letters and mix disks after mix disks, things went haywire as it should be. We needed conflict, and they delivered. It was literally a young adult romance novel, though this time it involved real people with raw emotions. It was too perfect, well plotted, that I’m already thinking if I was living a movie or a novel. We had that conflict, and that glitch made me say the most young adult romance novel decision ever – “That’s it. I’m staying away from you. For your own good.”
The guidance counselor told me that I was a bit impulsive. Yes, I was. She asked me if I had plans of going back to him, hell nah. I ain’t doing that stupid thing where the girl goes back to the boy, and I am not allowing him to chase me back. Cut this game, I am out. I am not going back. To hell with him.
He was not the perfect guy I had an idea about. When you’re in love you are clouded by the pleasure and the utopian vision that makes you ignore the bad parts that needed to be seen. He was not as brave as I thought he could be. He was not ready to be someone he thinks he could be. Why would I rush?
I’m on to a new start. Again. Each chapter closes with a suicide, the kind of suicide that makes you clean your soul and kill the demons that you had to deal with – catharsis included. I killed the toxin-induced me and I dragged him down the drain with it.
We were not ready for each other. Moments went by so fast that it seems everything slowed down. It wasn’t as good as it is in the paper. Life is life. It’s unwritten, candid, spontaneous, unpredictable. We only live in the moments we’re in.
We cannot imitate fairy tales. We write our own fairy tales.