The One You Choose Not to Love
She walks into the room.
The sight of her cheers you up like a kid seeing the first rays of sunlight after being forced to play indoors by the rain. You call her name and wave hi. She notices you and returns a hello. You smile. She smiles back. For a brief moment, you are awed by the spontaneity of things. Then you remember, she is the one you choose not to love, so just as quickly as you greeted her, you look away.
It is on days like this when you ask yourself: why can’t you alter how other people see you? Wouldn’t it be great if you could interchange how one acts toward you with another?
It is never fair to compare women, one your friends said. Each one of them is different.
You believe your friend.
Still, it never ceases to amaze you how easily you can begin a conversation with her, be it before class in the lecture room or after dissection in the Anatomy lab lockers. You do not need to have something in mind to talk about; words flow naturally, as water would fill empty spaces when you spill it from a glass.
It is she who takes notice of your new haircut and your bright button-down polo. And although part of you wishes that somebody else remark on them too, you have to admit her taking notice completes your day nonetheless.
It is the one you choose not to love who reads your articles when you tell her about your column. She who says hi when you fail to recognize her in the mall because you are in a hurry. She who listens to how you’ve struggled to find a nerve during dissection, only to accidentally cut it in the end. She who replies to your text messages, smileys included.
You never question why because you know the answer. She is your friend and she sees you as a friend. Of that you are certain.
And maybe because she is different.
You imagine the opposite scenario. What if, instead of being the one you choose not to love, she were the one?
It would simply be like interchanging the actresses in a play, you tell yourself. The characters would still be the same, except different people would be portraying them. The scenes would be no different, and everything would end the way it originally should.
Then it dawns on you: women become different because of how you see them.
So you stop imagining and decide to approach her for love advice instead.
Because at the end of each day, after all the hi’s and the goodbye’s, you’re just glad that you are her friend and she is yours.
Friendship is a wonderful thing.