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Monday, February 15, 2016


No, he hasn't proposed yet. And no, we're not yet getting married any time soon. But I'm saying yes. Yes to his love. Yes to everything that he is. Yes to who I am to him.

The weekend that was Valentine's (yes, for me it was a two-day celebration) is now over, but everything that happened over the past two days are still fresh in my mind. This year, my boyfriend Paul Michael (PM for short) and I celebrated our first Valentine's Day. I was looking forward to it last week, getting anxious as Friday neared, because I knew that the moment I step out of the office, it would be the start of our Valentine's weekend.

There were neither roses nor were there serenades and grand gestures of love. The cheesy girl that I am would've teared up at those, but I teared up anyway when PM took me to the 7th Philippine International Pyromusical Competition last Saturday at SM Mall of Asia. All those fireworks lighting up the sky seemed to sparkle for me--for us--and for our love that was passionate and deep despite having been together for only six months.

Six months, but it feels like several years already. I have bared a huge portion of myself to him. I have opened my hand to reveal the broken, glass pieces that I have been carrying with me. I have showed him how wounded I am, how messed up I am, how difficult I can be. And yet, he has chosen to be with me. And every day, he chooses to.

So I am choosing to be with him, too. I am choosing to love him every single day. I am choosing to embrace everything about him. I am choosing him, no more explanations needed.

As colors made the sky festive last Saturday night, I cried out of joy because the fireworks seemed to signal a beautiful start--for me, as I begin to recover from my depressive episodes brought about by bipolar disorder; for PM, as he sees a less burdened version of me; and for us, as every new experience creates a new chapter in our book.

I buried myself in his arms as I sang to Ingrid Michaelson's "The Way I Am" playing on my phone on the evening of February 14. We subtly moved left and right--a cross between cradling each other and slow dancing to the music. And as we did so, I cried again. Softly and tenderly. I cried tears of joy for having him. We might have met in one of the craziest of circumstances, but it doesn't make our relationship any less meaningful. We were both at the right place at the right time back then, and on the evening of February 14, we were at the right place and time again. We were together. We've gained our spots in each other's hearts, and neither of us is willing to let go of those.

And because of that, it's an everyday yes. To him. To us.

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