Portia Silva

I cry an awful lot.

From the most absurd of reasons (like watching an elimination of America’s Next Top Model) to the abstractly teeming what ifs that I never seem to find the answers to (what if I have waited a couple of months more?). I let the thoughts consume my being and trigger that feeling, good or bad, in an incredible level of deepness I have never explored before.

Most people avoid being seen when they cry for fear of scrutiny. In fact a friend once caught me crying in a corner of the school library because I haven’t reviewed half of what was to come out in the final examination. “Crying is showing that you are weak and in all senses, defeated,” she said. With arms covered in bright yellow highlighter marks and eyes numb from pulling an all-nighter, I cried even harder for a good five minutes.

After that encounter, I have allowed other close friends watch me cry. In times of failure, we cry together alongside several paper bags of Chinese takeout. In happier times, we cry and laugh and cry some more to the sound of High School Musical tracks.

While crying does make you look weak and defeated (plus ugly, too), I think crying is a clear indication that you are human, that point when you acknowledge your own limitations.Crying is touching base with the core of your emotions, igniting the most genuine expressions known to men.

Crying. It’s that feeling of exhaustion when you pull yourself back and remind everyone else, “Hey, we have tomorrow still.” It’s that moment when you subscribe and drown in the warmth of your own soul. It’s that newfound happiness when you have finally mustered enough courage to let go in exchange of something far too greater to hold in.

There is comfort in knowing that one of my closest guy friends automatically run to me for help when courting a girl and seek advice during the aftermath of a break up. Behind the braided bun, the summer dress and the cheek tint, he finds a brother. In this boy’s eyes, I am one of their own.

Partly and probably, I am to blame because I let him treat me as his go-to girl, the wing (wo)man and default shoulder to cry on. Hours and hours that could have been spent on much-needed sleep have been splurged on Yahoo Messenger and alternatively, on long telephone conversations.

Sometimes in my head, I imagine an explosion of emotions happening, behind a backdrop of candy-colored fireworks and to the sound of a classical orchestra. But then I am pulled back to the reality of x years worth of friendship —- no more, no less.

We both know that I’ll “always be the bestfriend, never the girlfriend.” And as he pointed out, quite alarmingly, being in a relationship has never been my thing.