All About You

Thirty

T he world seems to remain the same, even as I wake up feeling entirely different.

Dad cooks breakfast for my family as normal, slotting scrambled eggs atop my plate as though I don’t have a raging swarm of butterflies at the pit of my stomach, eating away at my appetite.

Mum raves on about how we didn’t load the dishwasher correctly last night, chastising us and showing us once again the proper way, oblivious to the fact that Marlon’s face was floating before me.

Even now, as we all load ourselves into the car for our Sunday Mass, everything is as normal.

Nothing had changed, except everything had changed.

Only Ria seemed to understand something had shifted.

After Church, while my parents scour the grocery aisles for items on the list, Ria pulls me back.

“You didn’t tell me much about what happened yesterday with your date,” she says, her expression twisted in anticipation and a mock hurt.

I slow my pace, my heart racing. If I tell Ria now, if I voice it out loud, then it becomes real. If I keep in these feelings, there’s a possibility they could fade on their own.

And yet, these feelings are beyond just a simple crush.

With every passing second I spend with Marlon, with every moment that he’s in my orbit, it’ll continue to grow stronger, until it consumes me.

So maybe telling Ria wouldn’t be so bad.

“I - uh -” I start, because how do I tell my sister she’s been right all along, and that something has begun to happen between Marlon and I?

Ria watches me, expectantly. I chew the inside of my mouth. Why was this hard?

“You have feelings for him, don’t you?” Ria beats me to it.

My jaw unhinges, mouth open in shock. Then, a gargled sound caught between a laugh and a choke bypasses my lips.

“Pfft, what do you - I mean as if…?”

She gives me an are you serious glare. I throw my hands up in surrender.

“Okay, yeah, maybe I have a crush on him…”

My tongue tingles as the words leave my mouth.

Ria rolls her eyes.

“God, that took you long enough. Seriously. I picked this up from the moment you both started having your sneaky little watch parties late at night.”

She says it like it’s a scandalous act, and I flick her arm. It doesn’t deter her ramble though, and she continues, “It’s been very obvious. You both have some serious chemistry, even way before this whole act of yours started.”

“I hated him before though, it’s not like it was always there.”

Ria halts at some shelves filled with chips she likes. She grabs one.

“Um, nuh- duh it was always there. You both were always butting heads, sure, but you didn’t realise you both had a lot in common. Trust me, I’m very observant.”

If anyone knew it before even I did, of course it’d be Ria.

“But what do I do now?” I ask, with a sigh. We turn a corner, heading into the aisle full of lollies. I pick up some sour strips, glancing at Ria sombrely.

“Girl, he literally likes you!” Ria exclaims.

After Rafayel, I didn’t want to make assumptions anymore. I didn’t want to theorise, to overthink. I need to view situations head on, to accept them for what they are at the surface level, to not weave stories to fill the gap. Though, was that what I was doing? Weaving the gap with Marlon?

Yesterday had shifted us entirely. We’d leapt from what felt somewhat platonic, onto the line that tip-toed on something more. He nearly kissed me yesterday. We’d slow danced.

If that weren’t a romance scene written in itself…

I shake my head, tying the anchor back around my mind. I couldn’t cycle back to how I’d been before, romanticising moments. And beyond that, facing this is much more frightening.

If I’m right, would Marlon and I make a good match?

I like him a lot, but what if it changes us?

I enjoy him as he is now, and I enjoy where we are at.

Did I want to ruin that all for a chance at a potential happily-ever-after?

“I can’t ride on maybes here, Ria,” I sigh, “And besides, there’s also the situation with Christine. I may have left Rafayel behind, but he also agreed to this ruse so he could get further with Christine.”

Ria halts, placing her hand atop her hip.

“Do you seriously believe Marlon still likes Christine? Come on.”

“They go on lunches and stuff now!”

“They’re just catching up!”

I wish I could believe that, but still. Christine is Marlon’s ex. They share a history. She’s his first girlfriend, and that’ll always count for something. Ria steps forward, placing a comforting hand on my forearm.

“You and Marlon are something else entirely, Jaslene. Trust me. He wants you. I’m certain of it.”

It is along this same sentiment that Kiara and Diane hold when I update them over a group chat video once I’m home.

“I knew it!” Kiara squeals, once I finally confess that I like Marlon.

“It was pretty obvious, but oh my gosh, ” Diane says, giggling.

All their words fill me to the brim with this innate hope that I’ve harboured all throughout my life.

It’s the same hope that has me believing in fairytale endings. It’s also the same hope that had me fall at the wrong feet.

I want to believe so badly that Marlon is different. That the connection he and I share is real. It’s no question that this hope, these feelings, don’t compare to the boys that I’d liked before, but they’d all been preparing me for him.

I’ve always worn my heart on my sleeve, and the boys I once liked laughed at me for it. Rejected me ruthlessly, Transformed me into a joke.

All in an attempt to pry the heart from sight, to shield everyone else from the love I carry so graciously on me like a precious accessory.

I never fell victim to them. I always pushed through.

The secret though, is that I’ve always fallen in love with the fantasy. So what happens now, that I’ve fallen for his reality?

Marlon and I haven’t really spoken all day. I’d typed out and deleted multiple renditions of good morning , before Church, with one option including a 3, but I quickly backtracked, losing momentum. He hasn’t texted me either. Maybe he’s busy.

Or maybe he realised he doesn’t like you.

I tear the thought from my head, but the fear of it still lingers.

It’s easy to have feelings. It’s easy to doodle names inside the margins of your notebook. To daydream of what ifs.

Yet, now that I’m facing the reality of my fairytale day dream coming true, I’ve never been more scared.

How do I make the love stay?

“What’s wrong darling?” Mum asks at the dinner table. I’d been flipping my chicken schnitzel over on its plate for the last two minutes. I must’ve zoned out.

I give her what I hope is an assuring smile.

“Nothing,” I tell her.

“Did you and Marlon have a fight?” she asks. Her brows draw in, and it’s the first time that I’ve heard a tone of uncertainty on the topic of Marlon and I.

I shake my head. The only thing I’m fighting is myself.

“You know, it’s normal to have fights,” Dad chimes in, from across the dining table. He pokes at Mum with his fork. “Isn’t it, mahal?”

Mum rolls her eyes, but the affection is evident on her lips. It’s true. Mum and Dad argue, not often, but enough to remind me that even the perfect love stories aren’t clean from fights and arguments.

“You know, your Mum used to break up with me all the time,” Dad continues. “When we were freshly dating, she would break up with me once a week. Always over the phone, over little things.”

Mum slaps at Dad’s hand softly, and they both chuckle. I raise a brow.

“Really? How come?” I never knew that about them.

“Just petty little fights,” Mum confesses, “I was not the best at dealing with fights back then. I always thought every little thing was the worst.”

“You’re lucky you had me to balance it out,” Dad laughs.

“Marlon and I aren’t in a fight or anything at all. Don’t worry. I’m just tired.”

“That’s right, why would they be fighting after their perfect anniversary date,” Ria chimes in.

That’s when Mum tells me to recount all the details, since I hadn’t been able to all day. With coloured cheeks, I tell them all about the bookstore trail, about our milkbar lunch and the overlook.

I leave out the part where we slow danced against the golden hour, atop the cliff. I want to pocket that memory for myself.

By the end, Mum is clapping, and Dad is smiling. Their enthusiasm fills me with that familiar sense of hope.

So when Marlon finally asks to call so we can watch Sailor Moon together after dinner, I’m floating. This time, I want the chapters to flow. I don’t want to be riddled with questions, to overthink why he isn’t doing certain things.

I want things to happen right with Marlon. Even if it all started out as a ruse.

We watch a couple of episodes of Sailor Moon, as normal. We laugh at all the right times, banter at the right moments. There’s no mention of our date yesterday, nor our almost kiss. I wonder if Marlon is as affected by it as I am.

It’s only when I’m about to press play on our third episode of the night, when Marlon says, “Hey, Garcia?”

“Hmm?”

“I need to call in your super-perceptive romance skills.”

I chuckle, hoping it hides the rapid thrumming of my heart.

“Love expert Jaslene at your service. Credentials are years and years of rom-com books and tv shows and movies under my belt, what do you need?”

“You’re such a dork.”

“You eat it up.”

“I can’t lie, I do.”

I grin, his words weaving a warm blanket around my chest.

“Okay, so what do you need?”

Shuffling is heard on the other side of the line, and I imagine Marlon shifting on his bed, the blanket bunching clumsily around his body. Then, I don’t want to imagine Marlon on his bed anymore.

“Well…” he begins, “This is going to sound so lame.”

“Your default.”

“Shut up. Well, okay, I’m just going to ask it so you can laugh at me and you can get it out of the way. But I guess…how do you know that you really love someone? Or, like someone, a lot?”

I let the question marinate, surprised that Marlon would ask such a thing. At first, I think, oh gosh , is this about me? Unless…

What if he wanted to know whether he felt this way for Christine?

A dawning cold clouds over me, encasing my body.

What if I got it all wrong?

I push away any speculations, trying to focus on the hope that had filled me the entire day, and the day before. I focus on the question.

How do you know if it’s love? Or like?

I’d never experienced anything like love before. Never fallen in love, or been close enough to someone to feel like I was falling in love.

And it wasn’t like I was falling in love with Marlon…right?

Even on the pages or screens of my favourite rom-com books and movies, love is subjective. It’s all so different.

Emily Bronte describes it as sharing one soul.

Jane Austen often makes it appear like a slow burn, but once ignited, a flame that can never be extinguished.

And my parents, my biggest source of proof that love exists. They have told me that love is treating everyday like it’s both the first and last day with your person.

How would I describe love as someone who has been a spectator all my life?

“Not that I have any experience,” I preface, half sarcastically but nevertheless truthfully, “But when you love someone, I imagine it would be realising that this other human is your person wholeheartedly.”

Soon, the image of my parents, of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy, of Jack and Rose and all these beloved couples peel away, and I’m just picturing Marlon’s face. His eyes. His smile. His curls, and the way his laugh sounds.

“You instantly feel yourself in sync with them, whenever they are near. You are just in tune with them; their worries become your worries, their happiness becomes your happiness. I don’t necessarily believe in the whole ‘ you’re my other half’ notion, but I do believe that love means two wholes coming together, and moulding into each other,” I pause, and it’s with the memory of Marlon, sunkissed against golden hour, that I say, “You just transform into the best version of yourself, will all its ugly, its beauty, its best and worst parts. Even with all that, you never feel the need to be any less than that. And in a world of billions, you choose them every single time. They’re your person.”

The words pour out of me, and when I stop, I take a shaky breath, afraid I've let myself be too transparent. Too vulnerable. Marlon doesn’t say anything for what feels like hours.

“Your person…” he echoes. “That’s beautiful Garcia. You’ve always had a gorgeous way with words.”

I nod, then remember he can’t see me right now because we are only voice calling, and clear my throat.

“Yeah. I mean, years and years of romance books, remember?” I joke. Then, because I can’t beat the curiosity in me, I ask, “are you asking…because of Christine?”

I brace myself for the answer. There’s just silence, followed by an exhale against the receiver.

“Something like that,” is all Marlon says.

A wave crashes over me, cold and ruthless.

Suddenly I can’t breathe, and I am drowning. I drift away from Marlon, from all our moments together. I descend, until it’s all dark around me, and there’s no hope.

It’d taken 18 years to realise that Marlon is my person. And now, I’m too late.

Yet, if being with Christine is what would make him happy…

Then that’s all that should matter. Even if it’s not with me.

Silence fills the space between us and it’s so tangible that I begin to count up in my head how long it takes for Marlon to speak again.

I reach seventy when I decide to break the silence, “I want you to be happy, so I’m happy for you.”

My voice has a little rasp, like my throat is parched. Afterward, I tell him that I’m tired and I want to sleep early.

It’s only when the house is quiet, when it’s just my thoughts, that I let the tears flow.

Tears that mourn something that could’ve been real.

For wasting my time with fantasies, and being too late.

Marlon may have been real for me, but maybe it’s Christine who’s real for him.