A Letter To My First Unrequited Love


I’ve said a lot of goodbyes, too many to even remember, but I think this would be the last one. The one where I’ll take courage to say everything I need to so when I’m done, I’d be able to truly let go of something that hasn’t even happened. I realized it a year and a half ago. Maybe because you were one of my first male friends and that was foreign to me. If anyone asked why liked you, I had one consistent answer: You were fun to hang around with. You are the type of person that I would want to be with because spending time with you was always time that was worth it. We shared some interests but they were interests we shared with others as well. Nothing really special and nothing that I would consider to be special for you and me.

I always had fears during the period I was infatuated with you. I know it was overthinking but I felt you found my company unbearable, almost to the point that you always wanted to get as far away from me as possible. Such low self-esteem issues, am I right? I’ve always had those, unfortunately. I’m pessimistic and think of the worst things in people –– I fear that there are worst things about me.

Perhaps it’s because of my outgoing friends or those that are comfortable with their identity that I find myself lost and full of envy. Now I realize that liking you was more about me than you and I’m sorry about it. I’m sorry about it to you because it feels like it’s unfair of me and also very selfish. I got jealous a lot, despite you never knowing about the existence of my feelings. I did not like it when you seemed to have more fun with other girls except me because I guess, I longed for us to get to know each other better. I had hoped that you shared more personal stories to me so I could have listened instead of merely having those meager moments where you listened to this little trivia I was talking about. You always challenge people’s claims and perhaps one thing I regretted was that I never made a proper comeback. I always thought that would’ve brought us closer –– that you could have liked me more. I cried for you, did you know? But more times (or more appropriately said), I cried a lot because of you.

You may have been my “first love” and I didn’t know what to do with it. In the early days, it was fine because you inspired me. I wrote poems about you. You were one of the reasons why I wanted to write again. That is part of the reason why I would never regret having the experience of liking you. Infatuation, feelings, and human interactions are such curious things. I was always dramatic about it and sought the aid of friends once I realized I could not hold it any longer. They helped me move on from this thing that never happened and were always there to listen. I always told myself that it was painful (and it still is) because I even gave up on chance.

I have learned a lot about myself. I’m not yet sure if I truly fell in love with you but whatever I felt for you will always be one of my most bittersweet memories. I decided to inflict such despair upon myself but I believe that pain I bore made me grow. It helped me learn how vulnerable and irrational I could get and now, I have a better understanding of how I might handle it the next time I like or love someone. I was able to concretize how much respect I should build for myself so that when that person and I cross paths, I would love in a different way already. I would be more confident about myself and I hope that I could have the courage to tell that person face-to-face that I like or love him.

For now, this confession I can only write on paper because it’s the best fight I can give for the feelings I have for you. It’s still so cowardly, yes, but it’s my best shot at the moment. I don’t think I’d even have the tenacity to let you read this. I’m still in a lot of pain from these self-inflicted wounds that I think will leave their marks forevermore. I psyched myself out so that whenever I see you, I would be ready to accept what fate I have placed upon myself –– of you never knowing even if that means that I die a little inside from every sight or memory of you.

featured image – Nicki Varkevisser