emptying boxes

Recently, I erased someone's cellphone number from my phonebook. I didn't have a grudge against him. I didn't hate him or whatsoever. On the contrary, I liked him too much that I was afraid of what I felt for him. No, I don't think it was love. It wasn't as dreadful as obsession either. Perhaps it was the perilous and mischievous feeling of infatuation that I felt for him.

I don't know if you've ever been familiar with the feeling of infatuation, dear reader. But let me just tell you the things that I do whenever I'm infatuated. I wait for his text message or his call at each break time that I get. I look through his profile in Friendster. No, I don't doodle his name at the back of my notebook. But I doodle his name at the back of my mind. Sometimes, strangely, I don't hear the professor talk about the holiness and magnificence and spirituality of India or the oppression and the subjugation of the female species according to the feminists. All I hear is his name echoing inside my head. Sometimes also, before I go to bed, I imagine him. What must he be doing? What were the things that we did? Why'd he look at me like that when we were walking around the acad oval? I daydream about him and me talking about student life, Manila life, love life. I picture myself and him laughing and joking around until we get tired of the trivial stuff and start talking about the things that matter: Christianity, faith, rebirth, destiny… love… Yes, my thoughts about him become corny and cheesy sometimes.

I liked him this much perhaps because he was the type of guy who would gladly adore women. Perhaps he fed my ego so much. He was a gentleman, of course. He opened the door for you, carried your bag (no matter how small it was), walked you to your dorm, and walked on the danger side of the street. He went to wherever you were each time you texted him to come. He listened to you rant about how difficult it was to fall in line during the enrollment. He listened to you rant about the guys in your life, those in the three boxes labeled 'like,' 'in love' and 'love.' You wondered if he ever thought of himself in any of those boxes. You wondered if he would like to be in any of those boxes of yours. He liked listening to your whims. He liked listening to you laugh and making you laugh. He loved being around you and just enjoying your company. And somehow, when you were around him, you felt 'loved.'

I became afraid of this infatuation. I liked him but I didn’t want to like him this much. It would be selfish if I continued with this 'ego trip' especially since he wasn’t a Christian. I liked him so much that I had to let him go. I had to erase his phone number in order to avoid banking on him for comfort. He didn't know how tempting it was to text him and tell him how depressed I had been for the past few days. He didn't know that I wanted to talk to him about my struggles with God: how at times I felt cheated and neglected, how I felt out of place, how I felt like I wasn't growing spiritually at all, how I felt as though nobody trusted in me, how I felt alone… He didn't know how much I yearned for someone to listen to me like he did. He didn't know how much I wanted to feel 'loved.'

But anyway, he wouldn't understand much of my rantings. Perhaps God wanted me to rely on him for comfort. He was teaching me to empty the boxes and just give my heart to Him. I'm sure He knows how difficult this is. But no matter what I feel at this moment, I'm sure He knows what He's doing. No matter what I feel about God moving in my life, no matter how much I rant, I'm sure He won't ever change His faithfulness, His love.

God, the boxes are empty. Please fill them with YOU.


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