So I told everything, from the first time we met in 1998, to that suspicious receipt from Bugsy's in 2008. [Not really everything yet, because on my way home, I remembered some incidents (bringing Chai to our house, spending New Year's Eve with Charm, etc) which I failed to mention.]
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I was asked if D ever told me what he loved about me. And through the haze of the 10 years we spent together, I could only remember him saying one thing:
"He said he loved my smile".
You know that's something superficial, right?
A pause. Any traits, or things that you do that he said he likes about you?
I smiled sadly. "No, I don't remember".
Because I don't think he ever said anything.
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Was it really love?
Especially the first year we were together, because that was just the two of us (no pregnancy, no obligation, no pressure to be together). I know it wasn't really love in the beginning of our relationship, but what was it between all the sex and sneaking out, a few months later? What made him stay with me even if my mother was giving us a hard time? Why was I worth the effort of staying in the relationship? Was I (only) that good in sex?
What were those letters for? Why were there flowers for no special occasion? Why did he always make sure I got home safe? Why did he spend time with me not having sex?
Why was he there? And why did I let him be there?
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And so, telling all these stories, from the kilig moments, to our escapades, to getting pregnant, moving in together, getting married, and basically fucking things up, from how such a random introduction turned into a real-life tele-novela, could I honestly say there was love between us then, a love that was for the persons that we were -- pure, selfless, unadulterated, sincere and true love?
Considering how miserable we were together 10 years after, I guess not.
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