Is This Too Late for Love Month


I’ve always said I wouldn’t want to marry or have a family of my own. It’s a belief I’ve spoken out loud countless times, something I’ve convinced myself I stand by. And yet, if I dig a little deeper, there’s another part of me—the one that secretly wonders, the one that still holds onto a quiet hope.  

Maybe it’s because I’m a hopeless romantic. A sucker for love stories that unfold in the most cinematic ways, like the ones Nicholas Sparks so effortlessly weaves into books that leave me teary-eyed at 2 AM. I love the idea of love—the way it transforms ordinary moments into something magical, the way it makes people believe in forever.  

But reality isn’t always as poetic. Love doesn’t come knocking just because we hope it will. Some people find their person easily, while others spend their lives searching. And then there are those, like me, who have made peace with the fact that maybe, just maybe, love isn’t part of their story.  

It’s not a bitter realization, nor is it something I pity myself for. It’s just the way things are. Some people are meant for grand love stories, for the kind of romance that shakes the foundation of their world. Others, like me, may have a different purpose—one that doesn’t revolve around love, but something else entirely. And that’s okay.  

For the longest time, I thought love was something everyone was destined to have, that it was just a matter of time before it found me. But I’ve come to understand that not everyone is meant for the kind of love that ends in wedding vows and forever promises. Some of us are meant for different kinds of love—the kind that exists in friendships, in passions, in quiet moments of solitude that bring peace instead of longing.  

It took an engagement announcement today to remind me of that. A moment frozen in time, a photograph filled with smiles that had nothing to do with me. And just like that, I knew—it was over. Not that anything had ever truly begun, but I guess some part of me had still entertained the thought.  

And yet, despite all of this, I still find myself believing in love. Not necessarily for me, but in general. I love seeing it happen for others, love watching it unfold in books and films, love knowing that somewhere, someone is experiencing the kind of love that makes life a little brighter.  

Maybe I’ll never be the one someone runs after in the rain, or maybe my own love story is still unfolding in ways I have yet to understand. Either way, love—whatever this is—keeps us hoping, waiting, and sometimes, even letting go.  




au revoir. 😊

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