He Exists

For most of my life I have loved the same man…somebody not mine, not yet.



I haven’t actually met him but I have a rough idea of what he looks like. I have a more specific take on how he thinks, what he feels. I have an almost exact sense on how he makes me feel.



I’ve imagined him to be someone straight out of my Korean novellas – rather quiet that’s often mistaken for snobbishness, attractive for his brains and with a Mona Lisa smile that would melt me to my knees.



I love the fact that he cracks weird jokes and tells them when the timing is right that no matter how ridiculous, you just have to laugh. He goes to church almost unfailingly on Sundays, sitting quietly on the corner and uttering his silent prayer. He knows what he wants with his life, doesn’t mind sweating over it or struggling hard just to get there.



He listens to my stories without snoring on me, laughs when I am funny and tells me when I’m not. He likes taking long walks with me, holding my hands, and squatting somewhere grassy to look at the sunset or wait for the sunrise. He enjoys surprising me with a single red rose, a scribbled line from a song or poetry and sometimes an off-tune song that would still sound romantic.



He’s not perfect. There would be times when he would want to chill out with his friends with a glass of whiskey or two and I would mind. There would be moments when he would be a strain to understand. There would be instances when he would make me weep even over trivial things.



But he would know where to tickle my funny bones. His soothing words would ease away my insecurities. His warm embrace would cool away my anger. His kisses would comfort my troubled heart.



I’ve asked God for him a dozen times and He didn’t listen. I tried to settle for someone less, it didn’t work. So I figured, I waited this long, I might just as well wait for him longer.



The thing is, I’ve been told that the man I love doesn’t exist. I’ve never met him. I might never meet him. Or maybe, someone’s already got him.



But I need to believe that he’s out there somewhere, looking for me and wondering where I am. I need to believe that he’s dreaming of me too and anticipating for the moment when our worlds would finally meet, when the distance would no longer be unbearable and when we are finally freed from our uncertainties. I need to believe in his reality because I need to hold on to the hope that one day he would come for me, like a dashing prince in his white horse who would kiss the Sleeping Beauty that was always in me.