It was a Tuesday evening. I was walking down the street with a box containing a cake in my hands. It was her favorite.
I stopped in front of her house. Turned to the door. Stopped. Lifted my left hand to knock. Hesitated. At last, I mustered all the courage to make that gentle, reluctant thumping sound as the knuckles of my hand hit the door. It opened. She was there standing in front of me. She was pretty. She was young. She was my girlfriend. We were both 19.
She invited me in as I handed the cake to her. We proceeded to the dining area and she opened the box. There was an obvious delight when she opened the box and saw what was inside of it. She was slicing the cake. “You want some?” she offered.
“No, no. I’m good.” I never liked sweets. I thought it was a misleading taste. Sweetness, I thought, was the taste we use to cover the bitterness of many things. I hated candies. I wasn’t crazy for chocolates. Cakes? Thanks, but no, thanks.
“Still hating cakes? You haven’t changed a bit,” she smiled.
“Er, about that. I have something to tell you.” Finally, I was about to say it. I didn’t think I was ready to admit what I was about to reveal for I, myself, had not accepted it. What I had to say back then started an agonizing evening filled with many “why’s” and “how’s.” There were some tears. There was some consoling. But thank God it ended with much understanding. That’s exactly why I fell in love with her in the first place. She had always been there to offer support and be my leaning wall. It’s just that this time, although she was still there for me to lean on, I felt like it was about to crumble. She was about to crumble. It was my fault.
We never talked since then.
We would meet at many family events but we never engaged in a conversation. There was damaging awkwardness whenever we would share the room. We never got used to it. But it was okay, we went on separate ways and we knew it was for the best.
You know when people always tell you that everyone goes through a metamorphosis? A stage wherein we experience some sort of transformation? For some it was easy. For me, it wasn’t. Not at all. But that night-long conversation I had with her was like my night of freedom. It was when I stopped lying to her. Lying to myself. Lying about myself. I embraced freedom right there. I embraced change.
Since that night, I felt myself becoming someone that I truly am but was afraid, if not ashamed, to admit. It felt like the “true me” was a bitter pill to swallow but would kill me had I not. It became much easier for me to express myself and to open myself to greater possibilities of happiness. Isn’t that what we all long for? To be happy? To be happy without any ounce of shame or guilt?
I could feel myself become the “true me.” I began to become more open to progress, to movement, to change. I just found myself seeing a wider spectrum of colors. I had a broader appreciation of my surroundings. I opened my mind to many new things — sports, music, arts, food. In fact, those sweets I swore myself I would not like ever, I tried and realized that not all things were about pretenses and covering up. I learned to love chocolates and although I could still taste the bitterness, I learned that there was great delight in it, too. In fact, I learned to appreciate “sweet” in its purest form. I found out that the only reason I didn’t like the taste of it was because I was too afraid to try. Or perhaps, I had always loved sweets — it’s just that now, I am not afraid to admit it. Cakes? Bring it on.
It took me all my life to realize that the only thing that boxed myself inside misery was no other than myself. I was just afraid to break free because I was too afraid that things would change. At that point in my life, I decided, change was sweet and I shouldn’t be afraid to embrace it.
The other night, I was walking down the same street I walked on one Tuesday night almost five years ago. I had a box of Choco Cherry Torte cake in my hands. I stopped in front of a house, turned to the door, and without any sliver of hesitation, I knocked. When it opened, I greeted her “Belated Happy Birthday.” She let me in with a smile. As she was slicing that amazing cake that I brought, she asked, “How are you?”
“Great! I feel great. Never better!” I was more ecstatic than usual.

“So are you still together?” She poked.
I answered, “If you’re talking about the guy I dumped you for, nah, we didn’t even become a couple! Haha. I just fell in love with him. But he’s, like, so five years ago.”
We both laughed. She asked again, “But you have a boyfriend now, right? A new one?”
“Yes, we’ve been together for almost 2 years.” It was a confident answer that I gave.
Munching on the cake, she replied, “You know what? I’m happy for you!”
“Thanks, I kinda owe it to you.”
“Nah, it was nothing.” She was being humble.
“Really. I do… Thank you.” I insisted.
She answered, “Well, I was pretty upset when you broke up with me and I was really surprised when you came out and said you’re gay, but it’s all behind us. I’m genuinely happy for you.” She smiled. And realizing something, she offered, “Gosh, silly me. Would you like some cake?”
And without any self-doubt, shame, guilt or fear, I answered sweetly and happily, “Sure.”
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