What I should have done

By James Miraflor (10.10.06)

What I should have done? I’ll tell you what I should have done. Instead of looking the other way when she noticed me looking at her during our breakfast together, I should have courageously fixated my eyes on her. Of course she would have asked me, “Why are you staring at me?” I would have answered then, I should have answered then, “Nothing. It just pleases me looking at you.”

And when we walked together that afternoon, I should’ve seized at the chance to talk with her about her. I should’ve tried to know her better. I should’ve asked questions about her likes, her fears, her dreams.

But no, during that brisk walk, I either kept silent or talked about petty nonsense. I lost the words to describe to her how different that afternoon had been from all the afternoons of my life. You see, I am dippy, not to mention a chicken, so I just wrote a poem about it afterwards.

And instead of leaving her off to attend to my affair, I should’ve waited for her to finish her meal. I should’ve shared those moments with her, as my affair seemed worthless and insignificant compared to the seconds I should’ve spent with her. God, I should’ve waited… If I did, at least, I would have something more to remember about her than I have right now.

And when I wrapped my arms around her, when I hugged her with what seemed to be a friendly hug, I should’ve grabbed her hand too, then dragged her along with me to see the noontime beach I found so magnificent that day.

When she rested her head on my shoulder and wrapped her hands on my arms, instead of freezing, I should have clipped her with my arms.

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Had I been less stupid than I am, I should’ve explored the place with her instead of wandering alone. She would have enjoyed the sunset with me, pleased to see the sun touch the wavy waters that afternoon. She would have laughed with me about that peculiar man I saw that day.

And instead of spending my moments of failure alone, instead of withdrawing in silence and pain, I should’ve solicited her company. I should’ve requested her to be with me. She would have volunteered anyway, even as a friend, her consoling words and healing touch.

I should’ve tried to connect with her every time she showed concern or even hints of sweetness (if I should’ve interpreted it as such). I should’ve made it a point to make her feel that her presence is always welcome and appreciated.

Instead of texting her stuff about tasks, we could’ve swapped inspirational quotes and morning greetings. Instead of throwing at her flirting remarks, which can only pass as friendly banter at most, instead, I should’ve stared at her eyes with a stare of adoration – maybe she would appreciate, even just the sincerity of my eyes, trying to touch her heart.

Instead of playing mind games and sending mixed signals, I should’ve been more honest with what I feel for her. As people admire people who are truthful of their feelings of love, she would’ve admired me if only for that.

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Instead of delivering my derisive retorts on her, I should’ve realized that, even if I am just joking, she would have been hurt if I did. I did it, and she was hurt indeed.

When I said sorry to her, and she withdrawn a bit from me, I shouldn’t have hit her back with my usual witty replies. I should’ve pressed on my apology, waited for her forgiveness as she told me, and maybe even gave her some yellow tulips as a sign of my repentant love.

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And even when I failed to do all of these things, I shouldn’t have stopped saying sorry until she would have forgiven me. I know she would have. She is a good person; at the very least her kindness would’ve made that possible.

Instead of being caustic for fear of vulnerability, instead of being blinded by personal pride, maybe I should’ve been more forgiving of myself. I should’ve forgiven myself instead of denying my mistakes. Then maybe, just maybe, she would have forgiven me.

I should have attempted, even if it wasn’t possible, even if she wouldn’t have liked me anyway, even if I would’ve lost her as a friend, given the fact that I lost her anyway, to be her lover. That can never be something wrong.

Maybe I would’ve been happier than I am now if I did.

But there are things that had already been, things I cannot undo or reverse. I understand that she can no longer be in my life what I hoped she would be, for she can no longer see me with the eyes of amity, much less forgive me of what I’ve done to her.

I can only commit myself not to make the same mistakes again.

Comment: I realized its good to post some prose here once in a while. So here's one, which I wrote during an LRT ride home a year ago.