There is something to be said about falling in love, and not even realizing that you have. It's ironic and dumb but then don’t all significant experiences usually start out as ironic and dumb?

I don’t really remember exactly how I met Marc. It was one of those irrelevant minute details nobody remembers. I remember the feeling, though. That quick jolt of anticipation that shot through me as I walked in the restaurant to set face on him the very first time I was due to meet him. I remember the warm feel of his hand as he enveloped mine. The crooked grin and the intense eyes that seemed to peer right through my soul. I remember the pleasant and witty repartee all throughout the night, and the heat--the tension we both couldn’t shake, and who can forget the kiss, the first sweet kiss, which to my romantic dismay happened in the movie house while Robert Redford was allying himself with Brad Pitt to save the world.

Knowing his lousy record with women, and his god-awful past really put him in the Non-Boyfriend Material and way up the Fling charts. He was not a man to be taken seriously.

Flings are a lot like that cocktail drink Flaming Ferrari. You take it while it’s scorching hot, sip it down to the last drop, order for more and consume only what you can afford. Then you walk away, a little tipsy, sure, a bit burned but definitely satiated.

That’s the way I wanted it to be with Marc. Rumors were flying all over the city about his notoriety. The supposed hordes of women he’s charmed and bedded. The more-than-I-can-count kids he allegedly fathered. Who knows if it was just Urban Legend? I heard it and I didn’t mind. I relished every ounce of that feeling because for the first time, this supposed good girl was finally doing something she’s dreamed of doing half her life: taking a wild ride from the bad boy on the wrong side of tracks.

And oh, what a ride it was. As a high school teacher, I have witnessed so many antics, tricks and quirks. Saw too many eccentricities from my students. Had my share of creative excuses and insane reasons so I had to be a pretty tough nut to crack...and I applied what I learned with Marc.

I attributed those silly romantic things he said as original lines he’s never tried with other women. Those crazy heart stopping gestures as a means to get me to the nearest sack. Those bone-melting, mind-blowing kisses as a passport to the destruction of my soul. The more he was sweet, the more indifferent I became. I had to for my own survival.

I convinced myself that he finally met his match, and with Napoleonic strategy, he wanted to own me. Possess me. Make me surrender.

Armed with that conviction, I rebuked every romantic moment with sarcasm and jokes and resisted every temptation to give him a piece of my heart, for what would become of me, if I hand it to him? But even tough nuts crack, even just a little bit. Every gentle look, each sweet embrace, every hot kiss, every supportive effort from him, I could feel myself losing in this long drawn-out battle for control.

And that scared me. That semi-relinquishing felt so alien to me, I began making excuses not to take this “thing” as generally called, to a higher level, to a serious level. I couldn’t afford anything of that gravity. Not when I’m still in third-year law, not when I’m still teaching, not when most of my married siblings are undergoing legal separation. Not when we had the “curse,” You know, the kind of family who may be so successful in their careers but so unlucky in love, you’d think they were cursed.

Marc was just too risky an investment and I wasn’t too sure that he was worth the investment, and with my independence being threatened, I had to run, far away him. You see he made me FEEL. One thousand different emotions all at the same time, and in these kinds of situation, better safe than sorry.

Now as much as I want to, I never really believed he was faithful to me in the 6 months we saw each other; the longest relationship I’ve had. Much as I want to, I don’t really believe we were on the same plane. I guess it all boiled down to this: I wanted him to be on the same plane as I was, but he wasn’t, maybe not ever.

Pathetic huh? The all-original poster girl for Anti-Commitment, Player Extraordinaire, Ms. Never Risk Taker, finally met her match and wanted a secured, stable working relationship.

I just couldn’t keep on lying to myself anymore. I was afraid that sooner or later, I was going to start believing the lies. I just had to stop pretending that it was going somewhere, and start accepting that THAT was as good as it was gonna get. Rather than tell him how I felt, I walked away because I didn’t want to hear an answer I wasn’t prepared for.

I guess, there are things we can’t settle for. This was just too important. I didn’t know when exactly but HE had become important, and I can’t take the fact that I wasn’t with him.

Passion, like most of the hard-to-attain things in life, come so sparingly in our lives that sometimes, we have no choice but to hang on to it. Like most of the hard-to-attain things in life, it gives the illusion that we can’t live with it. It shrouds us on a gossamer veil of intense need to the point that we barter our self respect, pride and dignity. For some people, the stakes are too high and the price is just to steep. To this day, I still maintain that I was only taken by his Derek Ramsey body and Jo Mari Yllana looks. To this day, I still maintain I was just using him as a boy toy, sounding board and accessory all rolled into one, like I probably was to him. But just between you and me, I’m a pretty good liar and he, he was probably a good liar too.

However it ended, he will just be a thing of the past, to be occasionally remembered with bittersweet feelings in a semi-drunkenness state after five consecutive flaming Ferraris taken straight up, eyes closed and breath held.