It Was You (pt. 4)

Alone here in the café. Watching lovers flirting, teens giggling about some hot guys, citizens reading a newspaper, etc…

I’m sipping a coffee. It’s been a week since I always go out with myself alone. Just enjoying this life that I have.

I remember, my mom always talks about her life when she was still young. “It was terrible, my daughter”, she said. “I always lock myself in my room and the worst is I lock myself in my closet. I’m afraid to show up in the world. I’m afraid to socialize to be extrovert because all I can think is people’s judgment. I’m afraid to hear their thoughts about me. I’m not good dealing with those things.” she continued.

“One reason why I’m always in my room is that your grandma doesn’t want me to enjoy life. As I can see, she doesn’t want me to show what reality is because she always escaping and she brought me with her.”
I must be lucky. My mother wants me to conquer my fear, wants me to experience life: to feel pain, happiness, sad, broken, endure.

“I was lucky to meet your dad. It was a time when we went to the party and it was love at first sight, daughter. Yeah, it’s cliché but once you experience it – it doesn’t matter to you anymore. You’ll just suddenly whisper, “This is more than love that I know”. Daughter, you must know how to forgive if you want to be loved and you want to love.”


Everything is still clear to me. Reminiscing. And the last sentence left me speechless. Now I know, love always sacrifice. True love always in a big trouble until you learn how to bring up the sword and fight until you win. Then happily ever after happens.


This story has part one


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s