This guy stole my air.

It started three years ago, on the day when I could suddenly see air. It was a cool time, but was also very hard since no one believed me when I told them about it. My world was covered in colorful air... it was a shame only I could see it.

Pollution, bad air, was black. Carbon dioxide was gray. Air from a dying person was brown. Air from children was yellow. Air from plants was green. Only the air coming from my own lungs was white.

That was my case for a few months until I met him.

Without the air he exhaled, he wouldn't have stood out from the crowd.

I was excited. Finally, there's someone out there like me. Someone with white air. I thought he could see them too, the different colors. Kasi pareho kami ng kulay. Akala ko pareho rin kami ng sitwasyon.

It was raining the night when I approached him. Nasa bus stop sya sa Ayala, naghihintay ng masasakyan. It was around 7PM, Sunday. Kakaunti lamang ang tao sa daan.

I was on the other side of the street, waiting for a bus going on a different direction. But I didn't hesitate to walk across, to him, because I was curious about him.

I approached him slowly and stood behind him.

He looked like your typical city boy. Clean cut, well-dressed... mukha syang mabango, to sum it up. The stray droplets of rain fell just a few inches from his shoes. Para bang takot mabasa ang mga sapatos niya.

He was busy looking at his phone when the bus arrived.

Tumunghay siya saka bumuntong-hininga. A puff of white air appeared and then quickly dissipated. Tumakbo siya sa pintuan ng bus para sumakay. I quickly followed.

He sat on the fifth row, sa pang-dalawahan. Seeing that it was empty, I quickly grabbed the seat next to him. He raised his hand to adjust the aircon vent above his head. Saka siya nagpangalumbaba habang nakatingin sa labas ng bintana.

I spent a few minutes looking at the back of his head until the bus conductor approached us to get our fees.

Sa Cubao siya bababa kaya sabi ko, sa Cubao rin ang baba ko kahit sa Pasay naman talaga ako nakatira.

Tinapunan niya ako ng tingin tapos ay bumalik siya sa pagtunganga sa bintana.

"Uhm... hi," I managed to say nang makalabas kami ng Makati.

He turned to face me. "Yes?"

I made up an excuse to talk to him. Tinanong ko siya kung paano pumuntang Gateway. I focused on his mouth when he talked, marveled at the air that he emitted when he said every word. He probably noticed because he looked at me like I was some sort of a creep. Maybe I was.

"I know this sounds weird, but I can actually see air. We have the same color," I bravely told him.

He laughed at the idea and I thought he was cute. But he was interested in my story so we spent the rest of the bus ride talking about it.

By the time we arrived in Cubao, he already knew that I live somewhere else. I told him I was sorry for acting like a stalker. I told him I was sorry for bothering him. I thanked him for listening to my story. But the night didn't stop there. He obliged me and toured me around Gateway.

Tinanong niya ako how I can still see my surroundings if it's filled with different colors of air. I told him it was difficult and I was still not used to it kasi ilang buwan ko pa lamang iyong nararanasan.

I told him that I decided to follow him because we exhale the same color of air.

"Bakit kaya?" tanong niya habang kumakain kami sa food court.

I shrugged and told him I thought it was because he's like me. But apparently, he couldn't see air. So I was the only freak out of the two of us.

Still, it was nice that he listened to me that night. And it was the start of a beautiful friendship.

He works in Buendia. Ako, sa Makati. We saw each other as much as we could, spent the succeeding weekends together. Over time, we developed feelings for each other. That's when I saw our air began to change.

It wasn't noticeable at first, but the more I spent time with him, the whiter his air became and the paler mine became.

I looked forward to seeing him and spending time with him. I inhaled the air he exhaled—which sounded weirder that it looked. Without the colors, it would seem like we were just talking normally. But the way I saw it, I was taking in the air he breathed out because I was quickly losing mine.

I didn't know why. At one point, I had this fear that the more I spent time with him, the quicker I would die. But I breathed just fine.

Hanggang sa dumating ang araw na napansin kong wala nang kulay ang ibinubuga kong hangin. I was still breathing but not seeing my own white breath was unsettling. Him on the other hand, his white breath looked like it was thick enough to be a paint canvas.

It lasted for a while. I didn't tell him about it, though. I was afraid he'd think it meant something bad. But it was distracting. I couldn't focus when we're together.

I tried inhaling his air and figured I still could. But when I exhaled... nothing. Not even a wisp of white smoke.

Just a week ago, he told me we should stop seeing each other. He told me it's not me. He just had to focus on his work. His mom was sick. His siblings need money for their education. The usual excuses...

I didn't tell him I knew he had a change of heart. Or a change of color, to be specific.

It started three months ago, when I noticed a blush in his exhale. I didn't think much about it, thought it was just another anomaly on top of the other anomalies I see.

But every day that I saw him, his breath became pinker, as if it was tainted by someone else's breath.

The other day, he introduced me to a friend when we had dinner with some of his old classmates. The woman came back from the states. I heard she was his first love.

Last week, his breath was at its pinkest. Back then, it all made sense. And by now, I'm sure they're already breathing the same color of air.

And what about my air? Why did I lose its color?

"Love can only be described the way it is lived: in parts. Hoping that the whole makes sense."

During the time when I was lost, I found a familiar part of me in someone else. His white breath became my beacon. I was a moth to his flame. That night, he stood out from the crowd. He felt like home because he was familiar. He made sense when nothing was making sense for me for months.

"Love is a sandwich."

The period of time can be compared to the layers of a sandwich. The not-so-interesting part, the bread, for the time when you haven't met them yet. The interesting part, the spread or filling, the time when only they make sense. Then the not-so-interesting part again, also the bread, for when that beautiful moment past.

When you eat the slices of bread by themselves, the taste would be too boring. It would even come off as undesirable. But if you eat the filling by itself, it could be overwhelming to your senses.

You can only appreciate the middle part because of the time before it hit your taste buds and the time after you get past it.

"The heart is a terrible metaphor for love. All of you, please stop using it. Delete every poem with it in it. Love is not a muscle. It cannot atrophy from lack of use. Love is an organ. It can always sneak up on you. The lungs are a much better metaphor for love.

That inhale is the moment of excitement you feel when you first meet someone new. The exhale is the moment of hate we all fear when we feel if this does not work out. But that moment between breaths when your body could be anything—that, that is love."

Love is... losing your breath for someone who already has air in their lungs.

It's only been a week and I'm still trying to get used to how I breathe without seeing color in my breath. Sometimes I hold my breath just because. Sometimes I inhale other colors too.

Why did I lose my color when I loved?

--

Poem: Love by Jared Singer. One of my favorite spoken poetry.