It’s not you, it’s me.
I still remember the day I first met you. I was striding, merrily along the mall on a Saturday. Amidst all the war cries of “Miss, dito ka na bumili”, I saw you sitting there. Perched perkily among an array of brightly colored bags, you caught my eye immediately. The lady who owned you sensed my interest and without skipping a beat, brought you out from your place and transferred you to a figurative pedestal. "Jimmy Choo po yan". She added enthusiastically. She didn’t have to enumerate your good qualities. I was sold. So I parted with my Php 700 knowing for sure, that this time, I have found my soul mate.
Or so I thought.
We had a good run. Two months of being together is no laughing matter. You patiently clung to my shoulder at all times, not once falling off. Whether we were walking, riding a cab or hanging out at the coffee shop, you stayed where I could easily spot and reach you. For hours, you would endure my heavy Moleskine notebooks and carried around my bursting pencil cases. You understood that I had DIS (Deserted Island Syndrome) and stuck by me anyway. No matter how many things I made you carry, when I opened you, there seemed to be always room for more.
How I miss those days.
Now, things have changed.
You have changed.
Your once brown leathery exterior has lost its sheen and beauty. Cracks have appeared all over you, making you look five years older than you actually are.
You have lost your form. Now, I need to encase my notebooks in padded envelopes and pouches before making you carry them. If I don’t, they run the risk of being dog-eared and crumpled. You can’t sit upright anymore and your once beautiful posture is now reduced to a horrible looking slump.
Where’s your backbone?
I used to find it charming that you came with a lot of space inside. The lack of compartments and small pockets made it feel less constricting. But now, it has proven to be annoying. I can’t count how many times my keys have gotten lost inside that big space. Rummaging through it with my hand has taken 10 minutes out of my life everyday that I will never get back.
But last week was the last straw. As I heaved your long leather strap over my shoulder, one of its ends snapped out of its socket. I am now left with two short straps that have to be repositioned as they slip from my shoulder repeatedly every two seconds.
Needless to say, you have become a nuisance.
Two months, and you falter.
I thought we would keep each other company forever. I was sure that you were the one.
Unfortunately, we end here.
I need to begin my new quest. But you weren’t completely useless. You’ve taught me what to avoid.
As I hunt for another you, I will remember not to make the same mistakes again.
I now know better.
PS. Come to think if it. It’s not really me. It’s actually YOU.