The second time I tried to tell myself I wasn't in love was the first moment I realized I was. 

And that moment has evolved paramount in my mind for as often as I could track, along with an emotional gut-punch I barely knew how to dodge. 

One moment I was only sitting beside you in a barely air-conditioned bus, a fare change on my hand, a throng of standing passengers within our line of vision, and then the words suddenly dismissed from my mouth:

"I'd love to do the dishes for you. Constantly."

You craned your neck to gaze up, your eyes flashed with a glimmer of surprise. With no words, you withdrew your gaze, lacing your hand with mine. 

Then another moment Whiskey was in my hand. 

Within my eyeshot were women crowded at the center of the venue, scantily fashioned in various dresses, one-piece bodices, and skirts; all beyond eager to get a grasp of the bouquet, wishing they'd be the next to throw a year or months forward. Surrounding the pool area, deejay booth, and cabana rooms were men in suits and ties, all clutching liquors. Their laughter reverberates in each exchange of nearly inaudible conversations. Some faces were acceptable, some were negotiable, and some seemed approachable. Overlooking the shallow end of the pool, fronting a line of stainless food containers and servicing the wedding guests, were the crew of the catering service; each in black slacks and white dress shirts topped with bow ties at the center meet of their collars. 

And then my cover was blown. 

My brother, Elijah, spotted me on the most isolated table I had secured all to myself, hollering across the pool of bouquet-grubbers the words I rather know if persuading, "Get your fucking ass right here! Your big sister's tossing her bouquet! It's a high chance to grab your warmth this Christmas! Come on, li'l sis! We'll make sure this will be your warmest day!"

A handful laughed. A few didn't mind. Several murmured they were biased. 

They all knew I was always the one to spoil the pleasure of others, and I reminded them so as I stood, so-decided to escape. Yet I stumbled backward when I saw him lumbering over me, hand digging in his pocket. He fished out his phone and aimed the camera at me. 

Ever since I was a kid, my unreasonable hate on anything with the ability to produce pictures has been apparent. And those had always been the perfect weapon to clinch a yes from me. Before. 

"Nice shot, eh?" He laughingly showed me the picture he took in my peak of anger. "Might post this everywhere."

My rage briefly quadrupled as I saw myself far worse than I thought I looked in my y-line dress that flares in from the waist, solidifying my bodily curves any normal woman would aspire for. 

"I hate how you'd been rolling these days, Elijah," I said, emphasizing each word with a wealth of hate enough to mark the limit of my patience. "I'm not participating and that's fucking final."

"Ok," he shrugged and I heard the camera click the second time. 

"The fuck--

"Joining or joining?" 

"Why would I?" I asked, warranting not for a shallow explanation as to why. 

"'Cause you're ruining both the progress and the vibe of the event for almost ten minutes now." He swept his hand to the number of guests watching us. "Please, just this once. It's our sister's wed--"

"Again, why would I, Elijah?" I sounded rather shielding myself. Just again. 

Reluctance to speak was quick to reside in his lips pressing into a thin line. Nonetheless, I knew he'd be saying what others regarded as a common, less prejudicing excuse from the go-to: we just want the best for you.

Displeased to be a constant receiver of that, I had spared myself from it by giving in. 

I was so close to standing alongside the women when my newly-wedded sister pulled me by my arm. Dragging me to the group of men swarming in front of her husband.

And perhaps, garter toss happened. 

My brother-in-law ushered the men and me at the center, him in front of us. Then he turned his back. Lifted his arms, garter in his hands, counting off from one to five.

"One!"

There were chuckles in the crowd of men I was blending myself in. Neither melodic nor bearable. It was discriminating. 

"Two!"

The weight of their prying eyes was on me, I felt as though heaving a gas tank up a narrow staircase, in so much that I had to keep my form. 

"Three!"

Murmurs of discrimination were abuzz. A noise cancellation would've helped had I been born with power after my name. 

"Four!"

My internal panic room comes alive, demanding me to leave. 

I decided to go.

"Five!"

Struggling to get past each man, I lurched my foot forward then backward and the cycle repeated, a step equalling two. 

Then something soft landed straight on my face.

Along with an enormous cheer erupting from the right-wing of the venue, a towering woman holding the bouquet--smiling as though in our first meet, when everything was still shaped to perfection--ambled towards me. 

Bouquet tugged to her chest, left hand I presumed was premeditatedly set to front to nonverbally say what I was dying to happen long ago. 

"Ok naman tayo, 'di ba? Pero bakit bigla ka na lang nanlamig?" 

"Bukas na lang natin pag-usapan 'yan. Pagod ako sa trabaho. Matulog na tayo."

"Lagi naman, eh. May bago pa ba?"

"Pwede ba?! Pagod na pagod ako sa trabaho, tapos 'yan ang isasalubong mo sa--"

"Do you want us to end?"

"Tangina."

"Oo o hindi lang ang isasagot mo."

"Putangina naman! Is it not enough that I spend some of my nights with you?!"

"And you think spending your nights with me is enough to prove that you love me?!"

"Ano pa'ng gusto mo?!"

"Alam mo kung ano'ng gusto ko!"

"That's just fucked up..."

"Bakit? Kasi babae rin ako?"

"Will you--"

"Kasi babae rin ako, 'yon 'yon, 'di ba? And I won't be able to give you the child, even your husband couldn't give."

"Sol..."

"The door's open, you can leave."

"Sol, I just--I just want a normal relationship, okay? A normal life. A normal kind of love. Hindi--hindi 'yong ganito na--na tinatago ko. Hindi 'yong ganito na panggabi lang, kasi sa araw kailangan naming magtago."

"Normal?! Sino'ng ginago mo?! Bago natin 'to pinasok, we both knew this isn't fucking normal!"

"My husband's been keeping a close eye on me! What do you suppose I'll do?! Umamin ako?! Hiwalayan ko siya?!"

"Isn't that the right thing to do, rather than keeping a marriage that doesn't seem like one? Rather than living a life of lies, with you trying to keep me, provided that you're married?" 

"Sol..."

"Marriage isn't a handcuff, Sel. Had it been, then no husband, no wife, and no child would ever be able to leave a life that kills them every day. You simply don't imagine a life with me, that's just what it is."

That woman was you...

And you were three years too late...