The Break-Up Speech

Nonfiction by | June 1, 2008

Tonight I was yet again presented with the opportunity to take a romantic stroll around the city. In short, it was too ma-traffic (and humid), so I figured I’d get to my destination faster if I just walked along the bridge.

While walking, I thought, I’m going to miss this city.

Haven’t really made plans for where I’ll get a job yet; all I know is that it won’t be here. Some well-meaning people ask me if I’m crazy for choosing to leave. Yes, I know; it’s a tough choice. I’m thinking: once I leave, I can never drink water straight from the tap again. I don’t think I’ll be able to have a good, filling meal with P20–even P30– any place else. And the No-Smoking ordinance–I don’t think I’ll have the benefit of that where I’m heading. I think I’ll have to forget all about getting exact change from the taxi driver and having access to wi-fi virtually anywhere.

Worse, I don’t think I can walk the streets alone at 2 a.m. and still come home with my mobile (and my life) anymore.

I don’t know. Davao to me is like the too-good-to-be-true boyfriend. He never lets me pay for dinner; always holds the door open for me; makes hatid-sundo–even if he doesn’t have a car; he brings an umbrella for when we go out and it’s cloudy. He’ll protect me from anything. He includes me in his prayers. As much as possible, he’ll never want me to strain a finger. He gives me everything so I’ll never want for anything. Just so I’ll never look to another again.

But I just know I have to leave him soon.


Well, it’s not you–it’s me. Really. I feel suffocated. I don’t think it’s healthy that you’re pampering me this much. Now look what you’ve done to me: I’m naive, I’m spoiled, I’m lazy. If you send me out into the big, bad world, I’m probably not going to last a minute. See, there’s just not growing up with you. So I’m leaving you for the bad boy boyfriend. ‘Cause I need someone to be mean and rude to me. Someone who doesn’t dote on me. Someone who leaves me out in the cold and rain and’ll think I’ll be okay. Someone who forgets me for a couple of days or weeks.

Then, after I’ve grown some tough outer skin, I’ll come back to you. Hopefully as someone better.

And hopefully you’ll still take me back.

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