25 February 2007
Tonight I can delete messages.
It is only tonight, more than a year after LB and I broke
up, that I deleted all of his messages on my phone. We were together for almost
three years so those messages also cover the same span of time. They were
virtually useless. They crowded my inbox. They were not even true anymore.
In the beginning, I refused to delete those messages out of
the foolish hope that we could still get back together. We were good together.
We were happy. We were so in love. And didn’t those messages just prove how
much we loved each other? Surely, we would get back together. After months of
crying myself to sleep and dreaming up scenarios of running slow-mo into each
other’s arms, I started to entertain thoughts that maybe ours would not be the
kind of happy ending fairy tales were made of. Still, I kept them messages. Even
long, long after I stopped hoping we would get back together; long, long after
I knew there was no way we would get back together; long, long, long after I
realized we should never ever get
back together; the messages stayed in my inbox. I would delete what I deemed unimportant
messages from other contacts to have enough space for new ones. When I ran out
of friends’ messages to delete, I would, grudgingly, choose from his messages
and delete one or two that were the least sweet of the lot. Many still
remained.
Tonight, finally, I deleted each one of his messages.
I deleted them one by one. At first, I would open and read
the messages. Be sad for a few seconds then read the next one. After a while it
was just my thumbs doing all the work. There was a time when I thought I would
only delete them once I meet someone I really like, and would probably love. I
have not met anyone that fits the description.
But tonight I deleted them all.
Maybe I finally got tired of seeing “Message inbox almost
full” every time I would get a message. Maybe because I felt the need to
celebrate the spirit of Edsa and freedom in a more personal way. I don’t think
the real question is why I finally deleted the messages. I should have deleted
them a long time ago. They were the last pain that he was making me suffer. The
real question is why I kept them.
I kept them because I felt the need to be reminded that once
upon a time, I was loved.
is that psychotic? 
