There is a danger in growing up: You start to see that the world is not as pleasant and utopic as your childhood self deemed it to be. Pain is now much more than what accompanies the wincing you make when you trip and scrape your knee. Grief is different from how it felt the time your first goldfish died because you forgot to feed it. And you learn that more than the hugs and kisses, love is about hurting.

I would like to imagine that things would remain the same, but we both know it will not be. Not anymore. This will be the first time since 2012 that we will not spend February 15 together, our day.

Back then, you had all those things under the sun while I was trying my best not to die from my chronic bronchitis and multiple asthma attacks. You had school and dates with several girls, while I had my monthly check-up every 14th. And so, the day after became “our day.”

It was odd but I was grateful for it, because we had one day that only we would understand. It is odd to celebrate love when all the world's has died down. But if I had a choice, I would love to experience normalcy for once, but that was us, that was me: the endurer, crumb-keeper, and the kid who always tailed you.

No matter how painful and pitiful it was on my end, I did it for you.

Despite my years of writing, I cannot put into words how I felt that particular January afternoon. A part of me, something in my body, was feeling tired. Perhaps I had to travel by bus for four hours from UP despite my terrible motion sickness. Or perhaps I was about to partake in my own torture.

I took the time to button up my silk shirt. I wanted to freeze the time to stay in the moment when you are no one’s. And so, as I walked down the aisle, throwing the flowers your organizer made sure were perfect, I took my time and tried to slow the tick of the clock. I imagined that this must be hard for you to understand. After all, you had no clue, and I was a very secretive boy. I never liked sharing, especially my thoughts as they are mine.

But if you wish candor, then please know I do, and perhaps forever will, cherish you.

In retrospect, things were easier if we went back to the time when you, still in your high school uniform, would skip classes to join me in my morning gardening. You’d tell me to keep my mask on because the pollen would make my allergies flare, or you’d even put a towel on my back like how Mama does it. When I overwater the begonias, you’d take me to wash my hands and watch SpongeBob.

When the priest asked if there were any objections, all my inhibitions were put to the test. I thought about the time that I, as a young boy, was told to speak only when spoken to, or to never cause any commotion. I had a window of time to raise my hand, no matter how shaky, and shout “I object!”

But we are older. You are old enough to marry and I am old enough to know better. No matter how brave and disobedient I am to my upbringing, your bride is not the wrong person for you. She is kind and beautiful and the type you would be proud to call your wife. While I am the boy from your youth who you’d always see as a younger brother.

I kept my hand to myself. I remained quietly seated. Because if I don’t, all your efforts would go to waste: the flowers, the seats, the time you both spent in the gym to fit into your dresses and suits, the money, the people who were there to celebrate you, the four hours I traveled to join in your most important day.

The world is different now because I am older. Love is more than keeping you for myself. To truly love is to set you free and allow you to be happy, however painful it must be for me.

When you both said those two words, “I do,” I have decided. It’s time for me to close this chapter of my life that has been way too long. I like to think that, once upon a time, I have given you the most precious gift my heart could offer, but that is now all in the past. Our gardening and picnics and shared dreams are all precious, but they will remain behind me now.

And if you find yourself wanting someone to cook your precious rare steak that I never liked, I hope you have someone else in mind. If you find yourself wanting a different voice to wake you up, I hope they are willing to draw the curtains and greet you with a good morning. In case you find yourself wanting a different person to share a space with you, I hope you don’t think of me. I will not be there.

In the end, we grieve more not what we lost, but those that we never had. Maybe I would have had you, maybe not. But none of those things matter anymore. I wish you well. ●