City of Lost Love, Manitoba

FOR THE LOVERS (regardless of who you love, but especially for those who love all)

NOTE TO THE READER: The italicized sections are meant to be a story that can be read on its own, the non-italicized sections are the true stories that inspire the story. Please enjoy “City of Lost Love, Manitoba”!

October 13th was the Homecoming Parade and American football game on campus. Cheer squads were showcasing weeks of work on their halftime routine to the upperclassmen, clubs and classes with their packed delegations walked the parade route, and royalty showed off their best looks before the King and Queen were to be crowned that night. And in the stands? A boy was recording a video to send halfway across the continent.

A boy in love.

A boy in his first boy love.

It was a sweet moment, especially watching the reactions of the boy’s friends as they gushed over the boy’s first relationship since his last girlfriend. The recipient viewed the messages and videos of the performances and floats. Just nights before, he had done something similar by sending videos of his own dance team performances.

But that’s all it was. Looking. Seeing. Seen. Seen 3 hours ago. Seen one day ago. Seen 2 weeks ago.

• • • • •

I’ve been told that it’s hard to match me with someone. Everyone who tries just can’t find someone that they think would fit. They insist that I deserve to love and to be loved, but it almost never amounts to anything. And they all mean well, but I just don’t know anyone around my age in our collective bubbles that I can see myself with..

Almost everyone who knew me during my freshman and sophomore year of high school knows the story of how I found out the girl I trusted with my trust, my guard, my heart, my everything… threw it all away through a couple of dumb mistakes.

I swore off dating, save a few fleeting crushes on some girls and even fewer boys. (I hadn’t even quietly begun to accept that side of me until the summer into sophomore year.)

I’ve also been told that I fall a little hard, but my quick-to-adapt nature makes that more of an asset than a liability.

It’s after all of these things that I began to look further than the bounds of my county.

Then the state.

Then the time zone.

Then the country.

That’s when I found him. He’d found my Instagram through an online community for a video game we both enjoyed. He thought I was attractive, I thought he was cute. Turns out, we had a lot more in common than we initially thought. Junior year. September. I can’t even remember what we first talked about, but I know the conversation went on for hours.

I remember finding out he’s Filipino, like me. Then I found out that he’s Kapampangan, like me. I found out that he’s a dancer, like I am. He’s a lover and a lover of music and a lover of energy and fun, like I am.

He loved the way that fit me, and I loved in a way that fit him. We spent nights on the phone, days texting each other, showing our friends each other’s Instagrams, hopping on online FPS games with my best friend together… and then on that Homecoming night, he poofed.

It took four full days for me to reach out. I didn’t receive any response. Not for another month.

• • •

A month prior.

Two boys are walking alongside one another. One with his dog in an autumn California breeze. The other with his cat with intermittent showers in Manitoba. Both laughing, both with neighbors staring at them, both madly enjoying themselves and each other‘s company.

The Californian looked into the eyes of the Canadian through the screen and realized at that moment that it was finally another good relationship. He’d been through the thick of it enough, it was time to finally have someone that reciprocated and listened and adapted and understood.

Even if it’s a boy… So after discussing professional hockey and soccer, the Californian made it official.

They were dating. They started their cross-border Spotify playlist that night.

• • • • •

This guy had a couple of issues at home and in school. They led him to make some decisions that weren’t optimal, but I accepted them about him because he was just worth it. He was kind, funny, definitely easy on the eyes, caring, and sweet.

But diabetes runs in my family.

A month after he disappeared, he messaged me. I was watching a Stephanie Soo video and I had, given the weeks, mostly moved on. He wasn’t on my mind anymore. But he just decided to come back.

He apologized, not knowing why he did what he did. Did what he swore he’d never do. He swore he’d never destroy my trust and that he understood how hard it was for me to be so honest and raw with someone. He said he missed the times we spent together. He confessed that he missed me.

One last thing for you all to understand, I’m a very forgiving person. I took him in as a friend, with a very clear and enforced boundary.

He was gone again by the time my birthday came around.

• • •

And so I write this letter. This letter to a city thousands of miles from my own.

I heard the story of these boys. It was one of laughter and joy and, of the utmost importance, love. But it was also one of broken trust, a disappearing act, and sequels nobody asked for.

I write this letter to the City of Lost Love. The city where one boy proclaimed to the other that he was his first love. The city where that boy heard from the Californian that he wanted to spend their days together. The city where they danced together in each other’s kitchens, stopping to watch and admire the other for a few fleeting moments. The city that we now know to have hearts as cold as the weather.

Because how could he play with a warm soul like that?

How could he not think?

And so the Californian, on this anniversary of the Canadian’s disappearance, writes this letter to the City of Lost Love. Because curse the City of Lost Love.

You may ask if there is anything the Californian would like to tell the Canadian directly?

He loved you. And if you came back, maybe he still would find a way to.

• • • • •

I loved you. And if you came back, maybe I still would find a way to.

Before I send the letter, I need you all to understand to never give up on love. My story may sound sweet and tragic, but I have enough of those to fill a Reddit page or an hour-long video essay. We learn from our mistakes, don’t we?

So LOVE. And don’t be afraid to LOVE. I’ve met closer, more local, boys and girls since this story that I met on my own — not because someone else (or they) told me to love them. I met and continue to talk to them out of LOVE. So, I ask you all, to LOVE.

At worst? You’ll get a good story out of it. To whoever is meant to be mine, mahal kita.

To the recipient of this letter, I want my hours of sleep back, I have a pitch tomorrow.

To: Gian A.

City of Lost Love

Manitoba, Canada

From: Vien S.

NO RETURN ADDRESS - INTERNATIONAL POST

Editors: Alisha B., Blenda Y.

Image source: Unsplash, Warren & Claudio Schwartz