kepéla

Five years ago I was in hiding. After witnessing a murder of a high profile official, I had to quit my job and start hiding. I am not one to be paranoid but seeing a gunner's face is something that will never go away. It was crazy. And I had become more skittish afraid I'd be trapped and be six feet under. 

In the days when NBI agents would pick me up and pressure me to identify the gunner. I met Mr. Lawyer. Back then he was a second year law student at San Beda University. But even if he was not physically where I was, his arrogance and egotism was oozing from the computer screen that had it not been the fact he was a plane ride away I would have obliged meeting him and smack his face. Proposing SEB on our first meeting was his first line. No matter how much I declined he was persistent. Maybe he thought I was being hard to get that was why he kept on chatting me. Whatever. It was between talking about politics and law that he told me that I was one of the people he chatted that actually showed some brain power. It felt like a master throwing a bone to his dog. I was infuriated.

Maybe the craziness of the events surrounding the murder had made me vulnerable. Maybe his arrogance piqued my curiosity. Maybe I am gullible. Whatever. I gave my number before we said goodbye. And that was the start of our love and hate.

I cannot think of him without thinking of Rose. The woman who has made him paranoid of all women. I had sleepless nights thinking how does a woman have so much power over a man looked like. I had imagine her tall with legs that never ended, sexy and luscious, outwardly shy but a sex fiend in bed. How could she break arrogant, narcissistic, sarcastic Mr. Lawyer? And as I kept on thinking how she looked like, spasmodic feelings of envy, hate, and jealousy would course through me. I remember wanting to trample on that bitch. And that was when I realized I had fallen for Mr. Lawyer.

They said that if you write about a person, you write good things. But to write good things about him would sound trite. He isn't your regular good guy. He even, at times, looked like a gangster with his poise and arrogance. But there I was making a fool of myself professing my love for him. He didn't laugh like I expected him to do, instead he asked me to be careful. He would rather not hear me say that I love him. But I told him that even if I hold my tongue and not say such things I would still feel it, there was no sense of not letting him know. I said I would wait. Wait until his doubts fade. Wait until his insecurities would silence. Wait until he would believe. Wait until he would understand that even if love is unrequited, one need not feel anger. Even if love is neglected, one can love again. He said he admired my optimism.

A person who gave love to someone who would not dare receive. I've always imagined us standing on the opposite sides of the river. And even if we ended up friends rather than lovers, I have no regrets at all. Because even if he was a jerk, he was a jerk who knew what he wanted and did it. And I've always admired him for that.