I am Kate Valentine, a third-year nursing student. This week was supposed to be fun—it was our school's foundation week. Students were enjoying themselves, with various sports competitions, dance contests, and food stalls spread around the university. But here I am today, on Valentine's Day, the so-called day of love, holding a flower from my ex—a supposed farewell flower.
We just officially broke up yesterday.
I was okay… or at least, I thought I was. I didn't feel hurt, not really. In fact, I felt relieved. Our relationship had been on and off for months. I cried, begged, and exhausted myself trying to hold on. Maybe I just grew tired of the cycle. So when he said he wanted to break up for the fourth time, I let go.
But… I'd be lying if I said I didn't feel even the smallest sting of pain when I received this flower.
A letter was attached to it. "I can't wait to see you," it read. We were supposed to have a date today. But we broke up yesterday. He must have bought the flower while we were still together. The thought—the act of effort—made me cry.
"Are you okay?"
I looked to my side and saw my only friend, Riz, watching me with concerned eyes.
"What?" I asked, confused. Had I been absent-minded this whole time? Then I noticed it—my cheeks were wet. I was crying. I touched my damp face and gave her a weak smile. "Sorry, umiiyak na naman pala ako," I chuckled lightly.
Without a word, she pulled me into a hug. "Everything is going to be alright. Come? Kain tayo? My treat!" she offered, trying to cheer me up.
I blinked at her. "How? Hindi naman sila nagpapalabas oh," I said, glancing at the guards stationed at the exit of the event center. We were inside our university's auditorium, watching a beauty pageant. Attendance was mandatory—skipping meant getting marked absent and facing brutal consequences.
"Maybe later," she said.
I simply nodded, too drained to argue. I tried to focus on the pageant, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in a haze of memories and emotions. Riz later treated me to dinner, and after that, we parted ways.
I walked home alone. My apartment was near the university, and the night air was crisp. Few vehicles passed by, but couples were everywhere—holding hands, laughing, basking in love. I couldn't help but envy them.
I clutched the bouquet in my arms, my vision blurring with unshed tears. I wished, just for once, that someone would love me the way I wanted to be loved.
A few minutes later, I arrived home. As soon as I stepped into my room, I tossed the flower aside and collapsed onto my bed. My mind went blank—not asleep, not awake, just… empty.
Is this what being alone feels like?
I was so used to the routine of updating someone—telling them I got home safely, that I was exhausted from the day.
Now… it's just me.
---
Several days went by in a blur. I could barely remember the hours passing. My days were a monotonous routine—waking up, eating, attending school, fulfilling my duties, and then sleeping.
It became my new normal, this steady cycle I had grown accustomed to. I didn't even think twice about it, almost as if I was living in autopilot. But it was at night when the real struggle began.
When the world quieted down and the silence of my apartment settled around me, I felt the weight of everything. The quiet was suffocating, pressing in on me like an invisible force.
It felt as though the silence was going to swallow me whole. I hated it. There were moments when I just wanted to cry, but I couldn't understand why. I couldn't place the reason behind it, and that confusion only made everything worse.
Ever since the breakup, I had felt like I was becoming a stranger to myself. I could still laugh in public, manage to carry on conversations, even joke around with friends, but when I was alone, everything just felt off.
I would sit in my apartment, staring at the four blank walls, feeling like I had become someone completely different. I had once known who I was, but now, I felt lost in my own skin.
I wanted to deny it. Deny the way I felt, deny that the breakup had affected me more than
I wanted to deny this feeling but…
But every night, it was like his presence was haunting me. Not him, exactly—not his face or his voice—but the remnants of the relationship.
The effort I had put into making it work, the compromises I made, the things I let slide just to keep things together.
I realized then that I had lowered my standards in ways I never thought I would. I convinced myself it was okay to do so because I loved him. I was willing to bend over backwards to make him happy, even if it meant sacrificing parts of myself.
I thought I was fine, that I had healed already. That maybe even before the breakup happened, I was already too exhausted to feel the pain anymore. I told myself I had already moved on. It didn't hurt as much as I had expected it to. Maybe I was even a little relieved.
But deep down, I knew I was in denial. The pain was still there, but it had morphed into something I couldn't quite explain. It was like a heavy stone lodged somewhere deep in my chest, and every time I tried to ignore it, it seemed to grow heavier. Maybe I wasn't healing at all. Maybe I was just pretending to be okay because I didn't know what else to do.
I missed him. I missed the way we used to laugh together, the way we built something over time. And now, it was all gone. The emptiness felt even more suffocating, and the more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became.
I had to get my mind off of it. I needed something—anything—to distract myself.
I glanced over at my phone lying on the bed beside me. I had been avoiding it for days, refusing to check my social media accounts after the breakup. I didn't want to go through the pain of seeing his posts, pictures, or updates about his life. I was scared I would betray myself and end up stalking him, his family, or how he was doing in the days following our split.
I had already isolated myself from so much. I only used my phone for school-related tasks, keeping everything else at arm's length. But tonight, something felt different. Hesitantly, I picked it up, my fingers trembling slightly. I opened my Facebook app, using my personal account for the first time in days.
There were several unread messages—some from high school friends, group chats with my online friends, and a few other notifications I couldn't bring myself to check right away.
I opened the group chat where my online friends usually hung out.
These were the people I talked to the most, and truth be told, I felt closer to them than I did to most of my real-life friends.
I guess there's something about being separated by distance that allows you to open up in a way you might not with people who see you every day. You can be yourself because you don't have to worry about seeing their judgmental stares or hearing their gossip.
But as I scrolled, I hesitated.
The truth was, I wanted to cut ties with everyone in this group.
They were mutual friends with my ex, and I had met him through them. I didn't want to be reminded of him, but at the same time, I couldn't bring myself to leave. These people had become important to me, and even though he was no longer in my life, they still held a special place in my heart. So, I isolated myself in other ways—switching to a different account, leaving my main one untouched.
As I scrolled through the chat history, my eyes caught something. My ex was no longer a member of the group. He had left. I felt a strange pang in my chest, though I couldn't pinpoint exactly why. Why did it matter? Why did it hurt? It wasn't like I was hoping to see him there.
I quickly shook the thought from my mind. Why was I even caring about this? I was supposed to be focusing on myself, not him.
I glanced through the group members instead. The names that appeared were familiar yet distant now. New people had joined, some I didn't recognize, and others I had come to know better over time.
Frooze
Fjarah
Lex
Moody
Kirito
Krey
Ahzer
Kyu
Sade
I am aware na dump accounts itong iba. Yung iba naman nakaset lang yung nicknames nila to names that they wanted to be called.
I recognized most of them. They were always lively, always active—planning their next adventure, talking about the latest party, or sharing stories of the places they had been.
The group was constantly buzzing with energy, and even though it was chaotic at times, I loved hearing their stories. It was an escape, a distraction from everything I was feeling.
I found a message from Ate Shangie posted an hour ago:
"Tara bar this weekend? Holiday, walang pasok sa school and work, guys!"
A few people responded with enthusiasm, saying they were free, while others apologized because they had prior commitments.
I checked my calendar, scanning it quickly to see if I had anything important coming up.
"Wala…" I whispered to myself under my breath, a slight sense of relief washing over me.
With my hands shaking slightly, I typed a response: "Sama ako, san ba?" and hit send before I could second-guess myself.
Seconds later, messages from the group flooded my screen.
"Himalaaaa nagchat ka."
"Buhay ka pa pala."
"Ayun oh lumabas na sa lungga si princess."
"Sa ***** ***** *** tayo, bebe. 7 pm."
"Ayan, tama yan, iinom tayo! Wag magmukmok."
I let out a long sigh, a small smile creeping onto my face.
"Napakahyper nila as always," I muttered to myself, feeling a warmth in my chest. I missed their energy—their laughter, their chaotic ways. I missed feeling like I belonged somewhere.
"Was I stupid to isolate myself?" I wondered aloud. "Parang ako lang nahirapan sa ginawa ko."
"Sige ggggg," I replied, my thumb hovering over the keyboard as I turned off my phone.
I glanced at the calendar again. In three days, I'd be in Manila. A quick escape from the province. My mom wouldn't find out—she never does. And if she does, well, I'd deal with it then.
It felt easier to leave now, to go where things were far away. Manila might be farther, but at least I'd have company. And maybe I could stay with some of the group while I was there. A small comfort, at least.