It was a windy morning on the fourth day of January. I stood alone in front of the entrance of the church, the large wooden door closed. I was wearing a long white gown, my veil softly swaying as the wind carried the delicate fabric to its gentle wings. All I could hear was the muffled sound of the wedding march on the other side of the door and my own beating heart.

It was the day—the day I'll change my name and become his forever.

Ever since I was a kid, it has always been my dream to work as an editor—or just a part of the editorial staff, even as an editorial assistant or contributor—at a lifestyle or fashion magazine. Elizabeth Wakefield of Sweet Valley Twins and Betty of Betty La Fea were my role models: how I wish I could be in their shoes and work as a sassy editor for a posh magazine.

And just this month, as I was looking for a new career opportunity, I landed a job as an editorial assistant for a classy and well-known magazine. If it happened a few years back, when I was still so young and naive and starry-eyed, I would have jumped into the opportunity—with no second thoughts, without considering anything else but my wide-eyed zest to be what I always dreamed about.

I used to be very independent.

I could go to Ayala by myself and window shop for hours and not get bored.

I could go to Oh George! and eat a whole large plate of carbonara all by myself and not feel awkward.

I could stroll around Colon all alone and not get scared.

I could travel to Mindanao and Visayas all alone, by ship, for 12 long hours, and still have the best time of my life.

I lived all alone in a rented room for years and I didn't feel lonely at all.

I made decisions all by myself, and I created a life that was so great that I couldn't wish for more.

I was so carefree and self-reliant, but where am I now?

Every man is paired with a woman to procreate and share a life together. But grammatically speaking, is the singular noun "woman" a fact or merely a myth? With the interaction of neurotransmitters in man's body, the answer might lean more on the latter.

In a romanticist's point of view, a relationship blooms when a man falls in love with a woman, and vice versa. With love, the couple can move mountains, doing the best they can to keep the fire burning, to accept his partner for who she is wholeheartedly, and to build a life as husband and wife forever. For hopeless romantics, love is the essential  force of the relationship. The man and the woman are bound to each other, perhaps even in the afterlife.

But in the view of science, this is all debunked.
And in the view of realists, this is all bullshit.

It has been said that when choosing your life partner, you have to get to know him well first. 


That principle didn't evade me even in the world of nursing: Assess before you diagnose, plan, implement, and evaluate.


But what if even after thorough assessment, you found out that there are things yet to be discovered? What if even after all those years of knowing a person, you realize that you actually didn't know him well enough after all?

So my friends introduced me this Thai movie called Crazy Little Thing Called Love (First Love), telling me how sickeningly sweet and totally relevant for everyone who has gone through the puppy-love phase during high school.

(Plus the lead guy is so handsome.)


When I finally got to watch it, I loved it so much—it was totally relatable. Everyone has experienced loving someone for the first. Like all firsts, it's a exciting, scary, and admittedly, a bit crazy.