Another year is about to end, and it ends like how it started:
Albert is crawling on the inside, there is a loneliness he cannot shake.
Of course he is single. 2016 is marked with discarded names and memories like scratched-out stickers on a bathroom stall. The bathroom is unkempt, comically. The dingy bathroom stall might as well signify his life: room for one. Another could enter, but not stay long and only willingly at the start.
I make it seem like I am being left behind, being used. Let me clarify: I am done being used. I have been since turning 22. The dingy bathroom stall of my personality forces people out and what I am sad about is not them leaving, but them not trying to come back. But of course I am going to refuse, if ever they do.
And if they don’t come back, I am made to feel resented –well, seems like it. As if, I had been a huge waste of time, a pile of shit that was too close. But I did my best; I did give the boyfriend experience, without being a ‘boyfriend’ and without more than a few words. I remember being excited to show someone how beautiful Nagsasa Island was through an elaborate, uncontrollably giddy narration, complete with pictures. I remember having cooked and gathered dirty dishes to wash later in the sink. I remember cinema verite sitcoms. I remember being excited to drop by your office, to just see you –to frame you in my mind. I still feel connected to the building, even now that it has burned down and boarded. I remember the inside jokes and your slaps on my knee upon my barbaric jokes gone overboard. Because I am unkempt, and you are well made and even decorated.
I remember when it started being stressful, for reasons unknown. I remember thinking about being sad in the supermarket aisle. I was picking at a scab –maybe underneath would be something else. Why wouldn’t I want to find an answer? But the more I picked and scratched, the more hopeless it became. I may have saved you from myself by turning you away. I remember you telling me you were starting to get sad too, and it made me sad. More thinking and scratching, and I never avoided the questions and I might have burned out myself to a pause right in the middle of that supermarket aisle.
So maybe my problem is I turn people away. Let’s put it that way. Without you, and with this problem, where do I go now?
This year has not been great for the world –selfish but mine went sort of great because I got into grad school. I also had great sex. I suppose there’s satisfaction in that too. I have seen you on occasion in the hallways, your head bobbing through doors, and I guess you have seen mine, bobbing as I nervously navigate the hallway. But maybe you never want to speak, and I want you keep the door closed. I never want to see you again. Because you have to resent me and I want to save you from myself.
I imagine putting up on my wall a picture of you. I will touch your face and meet the glass: not even an inch thick but already too far away and too cold.