The funny thing about your first love and your first heartbreak--it doesn't become funny until several years have passed...along with several other heartbreaks.
I was fifteen when I fell in love for the first time. I was young, he was young. I was a smart student, he was smarter. I thought I was very rational and levelheaded, while he was impulsive and idealistic. I was so in love with him, that it was okay that he was so in love with someone else.
I was stupid.
He was a bully.
"I don't know why she's not answering my calls," he texted me one night after I asked him several times why his replies were so far in between. "I keep calling her and everything goes straight to voicemail."
"Maybe she's still in class," I replied. He was always paranoid when his almost-girlfriend wasn't answering his calls. We were both in high school and she was in college--she had a different schedule.
"No. Her class finished two hours ago," he texted back. "She doesn't answer my calls. She doesn't text back..."
"Stop being paranoid."
"I'm not paranoid! Maybe she's with another guy right now! Damn, damn, damn!"
"Stop it. You're crazy."
"Shit--you don't understand! I'm sure she's with that guy again. I'll kill that guy!"
"That" guy was Vanessa's ex-boyfriend. For some reason, Nessa was always hanging out with him. Apparently, one of the reasons was that they belong to the same department and had a lot of classes together. They broke up because he was a manipulating brute with heavy hands. I've never seen Nessa in person, but I've seen pictures of her with bruises that would put a palette to shame.
"Stop talking like that. Maybe she just had an emergency and can't answer the phone."
"No. Shit. Could you try calling her?"
I have never called Nessa before. Texted, yes. When she asked me who I was and why Greg was always talking about me. I didn't know why Greg was "always" talking about me. But that made me glad. But I told her I was just a friend. She sounded bitchy, so I tried to sound a little less since I knew Greg was a sucker for the underdog.
It would take me a few more months to realize how wrong I was on that assumption.
"I'll try," I replied. And I did. After I cleaned the dishes which my mom wanted me to do.
That took twenty or so minutes. When I checked my phone, Greg had already flooded me with "Did she answer?", "Did you talk to her?", "Hey!!!!! What happened?!" texts.
I ignored them all and tried calling Nessa.
First try: her phone rang... and rang... and rang.
Second try: my call went to voicemail.
Third try: I didn't even finish dialing her number.
By that time, I was already angry. Greg kept on texting me, each text with more exclamation points that the first one. And Nessa, that bitch, wasn't going to answer me anyway. That girl hated me.
"MIRA! WHAT DID SHE SAY?"
"SHE DIDN'T ANSWER. MY CALLS WENT TO VOICEMAIL! STOP FLOODING ME, YOU BASTARD!"
I turned off my phone for the rest of the evening.
It took me until three the next morning to fall asleep. I was so angry at Greg for always dragging me into their problems. It's not like I was getting something out of their relationship aside from heartache and gradually declining grades.
By that time, Greg and I had been texting for more than a month. It all started with a message that was meant for someone else.
Beginning of January, on my senior year of highschool, I received a text from someone named Hansell. It was meant for someone named Diego--which was obviously not me--and I texted him so.
We became textmates. We were both crazy people. We even have the same sarcastic humor.
Then, one time, while we were talking, someone on his background asked him who he was talking to. So he told the other guy who I was and passed the phone to him--Greg.
We talked for about ten minutes about Hansell and how crazy he was. We clicked. He asked for my number. We started texting each other. Hansell got busy with his new girlfriend. I fell in love with Greg.
He told me during one of those text-marathon that he felt like he was already falling for me. I didn't tell him I was, too. I'm shy that way.
He told me to think about it and I agreed since it has only been two weeks since we met. And we've never met face-to-face.
We still haven't. Closest we did was through Skype videos since he lives one-hundred and fifty miles away. And we both don't drive. Yet.
And yet there I was, my heart bleeding from being stabbed again and again and again... by the guy who said he would wait for me while I was deciding if I wanted to be his long-distance girlfriend.
One week later, he sent me a picture of Nessa--an amateur model and college student that he met through a forum and met in person after a couple of days.
He told me he was in-love with her and had started pursuing her. He wanted me to see her since I was his closest girl-friend.
That jerk.
I cried the whole night after that. I barely passed my quiz the next day. My friends were so shocked because they were used to me ruining the grade curve on every history exam. And I just didn't care.
How dare this Greg Antonio make a fool out of me? Me? Amira Sandoval, the only daughter of the Sandovals of Paradiso? The princess of the Sandoval clan that everyone within thirty-mile radius knew and loved? How dare he!
That night, I ranted for hours to my bestfriend, Kathy. She stayed on the phone until four in the morning even though we had an early class the next day.
I think I broke a record somewhere on how many curses a fifteen-year old highschooler could say in a minute during that rant.
I stopped texting and calling Greg after that. I ignored all his "How are you?", "Are you angry with me?", "Why aren't you answering my calls?", "Did something bad happen?", and "You're scaring me--tell me if I did something wrong so I could correct it!" texts.
The gall of that jerk! Did he do something wrong? The nerve!
That continued for several days. Okay, four days. Let's be precise here.
I was a walking time-bomb the whole time. Until I received a call from Hansell.
We haven't talk for a while but we were still in touch. And even though Greg was a jerk, I sincerely liked Hansell. When I wasn't cursing him for introducing me to Greg-the-jerk.
"Mira? How are you?"
"Hi Hansell! Long-time! How are you?"
"I, ahm, Mira, I need to tell you something--"
"Oh my god--what happened? Were you in an accident? Ohmygod Hans, call your parents! Call the police! I told you to stop driving that stupid bike!"
"No--no, it's not that."
"What?! Did you kill someone! Damn--you should have taken your license first before you ran-over someone!"
"Will you please stop talking crazy for a second and talk to me?"
"Huh? Wait--something really happened? Did you fail?"
"I don't fail--shit, will you please stop and listen to me?"
"Okay."
"Greg's in the hospital."
"What?!"
"He had a severe asthma attack two hours ago. They called an ambulance and brought him to the emergency room."
"What?! Two hours ago? And you only told me now?"
"Your phone was turned off! He's been trying to call you but nothing."
My phone was not turned off. I had his number blocked. I was angry and I was afraid I might breakdown and forgive him if I read his messages and answered his calls.
"I--my--how is he?"
"I'm not sure yet. I called his brother before I called you and I think they gave him something so he could sleep. Damn, Mira, we really thought he was dying. So I--Mira? Mira, are you still there?"
I was. But I couldn't speak. My throat was suddenly swollen. Tears kept on choking me.
That night, I lost. I forgave that bastard.
Apparently, he and Nessa-the-great (bitch) had a fight because of her ex and he went home miserable and out of sorts. Then it continued in a phone fight and that triggered his asthma attack. While fighting for the next breathe, he was trying to call me and talk to me because I could always calm him down.
This was a sincerely weird thing (but true) because I could hardly calm myself down, but I could him. Drat.
But because I was having my own pity party, Greg couldn't reach me until he almost passed-out and his brother brought him to the hospital.
I never got to the hospital, of course. But Hansell had me talk to him when he woke up. And damn, my eyes were sore the next day after that.
He was discharged the next day and I unblocked him from my phone.
We went back to the I-love-you, you-love-her, and you're-using-me-but-it's-okay routine. Only this time I was even more stupid than before. Hence me being a mediator between those two idiots.
So after that night when I refused to "mediate" between the two of them, I was even angrier than when he "dumped" me.
I didn't turn-on my phone until the next evening. I spent the whole day trying to focus in class and hanging out with my friends. I even managed to continue ruining the grade curve in our Physics midterms. By late afternoon, I felt better.
When I turned my phone on when I got home, I felt even better.
Greg's last text to me was, "Mira, Nessa asked for a cool-off."
It took my seven tries before I was able to send a suitable reply and not the "Good riddance", "She's garbage", "I told you so", "You're stupid for choosing her, anyway", and "That's karma" replies that I've been typing.
"What happened?"
"Mira! My god! I sent you a million texts! Why didn't you reply?!!"
"I just did." The guy has become a real idiot. A million texts? More like twenty-nine texts and sixty missed calls. Duh.
"Stop being a bitch. Where were you? Nessa broke up with me."
I really couldn't stop smiling when I read that text. So what.
"You said cool-off. Stop exaggerating."
"It's the same thing! And why aren't you answering me? Where were you? Why weren't you answering my calls?"
"I turned off my phone, idiot."
"Why the hell would you do that? And I just told you Nessa broke up with me!"
"You two weren't official anyway. I turned off my phone because I wanted to. It's none of your business."
"What the hell happened to you? Can you stop the bitching for a bit. My girlfriend just broke up with me!"
The idiot. I remember almost throwing away my phone when I read that text.
"Then get her back then! Stop bitching to me, idiot. Call her! Go to her house and beg her to take you back! Stop acting like a child and do something!"
I didn't receive any reply after that. Instead, after ten minutes, he called me.
"I love you, Mira," was his opening salvo before I could even say 'hello'--or reject the call.
"I don't know if I told you enough, but I really, really love you!" Greg kept saying as I heard a cacophony of street sounds in the background. "I don't know what I would do without you to keep me sane."
"You'll die without me," I replied as I mentally chastised myself for smiling at every 'I love you' that he said. "Where the heck are you?"
"Outside. Waiting for a taxi."
"What? It's eleven o'clock!"
"I don't care. I just need to talk to her, Mira. Like you said, I need to do something. I've been going crazy since she told me she wanted a cool-off."
"But--"
"Here's the taxi. I'll call you later. I love you, Mira! Wish me luck!"
If it was possible to die from heartbreak, I think I could have died multiple times that night.
Still, I was an idiot so I still answered his call at two forty in the morning, when he told me they were alright again.
The cycle continued like that for another two months.
I was struggling to keep the top academic ranking while my insides were being eaten away by Greg and Nessa.
I couldn't stop myself from caring.
I couldn't even stop myself from being involved in their relationship, at the very least. Not even when that Nessa-the-great (bitch) kept on pissing me off and showing me that I was the 'unwanted' third wheel in their relationship.
Not when Greg kept on telling me that he loved me.
Not when we promised to meet, finally, in person, after our respective graduation.
I couldn't stop loving him, despite everything. He was my first love.
It was silly, really. I had a few suitors in the past who were willing to do whatever I said and give me whatever I wanted--but I rejected them all saying that I wanted to focus in my studies.
I even had a crush on one of them but I stood firm. I wanted to give my best. My family name demanded it. My sense of self demanded it. I didn't want to lose to my older brothers. They were all borderline-geniuses.
But then came along Greg--and I became so stupid. Worse, I knew that--but it didn't bother me.
Two weeks before the announcement of who would be the class valedictorian and salutatorian, Greg texted me in the middle of the day during my Math class.
"Nessa and I broke up. It's real this time."
That ruined my focus for the rest of the class. I couldn't wait for the period to be over. I didn't want to reply thru text. I wanted to call him and confirm.
I wanted to hear that finally, finally, finally... it's true. That all my patience and heartaches paid off. Finally, I was the only girl left standing. Finally, Greg could love me...only me.
But I never got the chance.
After class, I immediately went to my 'hiding place' to call Greg. I was so excited that I remember myself actually hearing each heartbeat. My hands were clammy was I dialed his number.
His phone rang... and rang... and rang... and rang...
No one answered.
I was on a fog the rest of the day. I still can't remember what I did after those failed phonecalls. I kept on thinking that maybe he was busy and some emergency came up so he couldn't answer the phone.
I turned paranoid.
I tried calling Hansell but he wasn't picking up. Later that night, I remembered that he left for Belgium two days ago and skipped his graduation for an early acceptance in a university there.
Still no one answered when I tried calling that night. Or the next day. Or the next. Or the next.
I stopped texting him after the fourth day.
I came to the conclusion that maybe his phone was stolen. I was still half sure and half hoping that he would contact me when he get a new phone. I stubbornly ignored the fact that he could have emailed me or sent me a message in Skype, or called me through Skype, or...
I was obsessed with the thought that he would contact me when he could.
Graduation came and went. I gave the valedictorian speech. I celebrated with my family.
I kept smiling, even though those two weeks were torture to my heart and my soul.
The day after, I boarded the bus alone for the first time. I was going to keep my promise. Even if I haven't heard from Greg, I held on to the fact that he would not disappoint me.
Looking back, I have no idea where I got that notion.
We were supposed to meet in one of the big malls in between our locations. At 1:30PM, in our favorite coffee shop.
I got there at half past noon. Ordered a large latte frappe and a cheese danish.
Two hours later, I was on my third latte (this one, hot), second blue muffin, and no Greg Antonio.
My parents thought I enjoyed my first solo city escapade when I got home at past eight that night.
I was dry-eyed. I didn't even cry the next day. Or the next. Or the next.
I changed my number. I made sure I forgot his.
I didn't cry for a long time.
Nor did I love again for a long time.
Greg Antonio became a memory...best forgotten.
Five years ago, as I was sitting on a fallen log outside the university hall memorizing my graduation speech when a familiar-looking man caught my eye. And held it.
It was him. I was sure it was him.
He was laughing with other graduates, and was wearing the same honor-student cord that I was wearing. Our eyes caught for a moment, his laughter faded and he stared at me as I stared at him.
Greg Antonio.
I tried to stop staring but I couldn't. Suddenly, it was hard to breathe and everything else was fading into the background.
We must have been staring hard at each other because one of the girls beside him suddenly asked, "Do you know her, France?"
France? I silently asked. Why would that girl call Greg, France?
Greg, or France, turned to her and replied, "No. Don't know her."
My heart, which I thought was healed after being frozen, broke into a million tiny pieces.
It was Greg. But he was France, not Greg.
"Amira, dean Roland is looking for you." It was Joseph, graduation coordinator.
"What?"
"The dean--hey, France! France David, right? Dean Santos is also looking for you! Come with me, both of you."
Like a puppet on strings, I followed Joseph and silently walked side by side Greg--France. I had so many things to say to him. Most of them curses to him and to his seventh generation grandson. But I kept my mouth shut.
I was suddenly too angry to speak.
"Wait inside that room," Joseph pointed to a tiny room on the right. "I'll just confirm the program and then I'll call you."
I went inside the room. I didn't bother to look back. I knew Greg/France was walking behind me.
The silence was deafening. But I was determined not to break it.
Then out of the oppressing silence: "You must be Amira Sandoval."
He was staring at me so intently. I hated him even more.
"So what?"
"You look prettier in person. Or maybe you just lost some of your baby fats."
"So?"
The evil sun-of-a-gun smirked. "Nothing. Magna or Laude?"
"Summa Cum Laude."
"Smarty-pants."
"When you stop being jealous, I might be persuaded to give you an autograph. If you beg me enough for it."
"Huh."
"Arrogant bastard."
"Stupid bitch."
"Bloody liar."
"Moron."
"Damn you."
"Cuckoo."
"I wish you would die on the spot."
"Huh. And here I thought you wish I loved you."
"Conceited scumbag."
He smirked in the most irritating way. We didn't speak after that.
When Joseph called us, Greg/France walked infront of me and whispered: "Did you go to the coffee shop? I kind of bet that you did. You were so into me."
That night, after the graduation, I laid in the dark inside my room and cried for the first time in years. The tears didn't stop falling until the next day.
A week after, I was on a plane bound for New York, finally ready to really move on.
It has now been a decade since I first talked to Greg Antonio who never really existed. I rarely think about him now. In fact, the only reason I thought of him now was because I saw some pictures of a woman named Hannah who looked exactly like Vanessa.
Hannah Joash. An international Israeli model who started her career as a catalogue model more than ten years ago. I couldn't help but smile at the picture on my computer screen. Hannah Joash.
That guy was a great con-artist.
I still couldn't believe how naive I was when I was fifteen. It's funny that I thought I was so smart then, when I was actually just another bookish girl, who fell under the clutch of a pretty face and a lying tongue.
Goodness. I was dumb.
Thank God I grew up.
*****
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