It hits me. It pierces deep within. It’s the feeling when the person that you think you are somehow seems so distant and strange. I thought I knew myself perfectly well. Perhaps I was wrong. 

I used to not exactly know why I always doubt other people’s love (the romantic type, that is) for me. It has always been tough trying to convince myself that there are also those who could feel affection for me. I am the stubborn skeptic of love, the apprehensive, dubious lover.  

You see? I question too many things. 

I, however, am a believer of the romantic chunk of love. I, unerringly, know how to love. It’s just that I don’t easily get convinced that other people can love me in return. It’s strange and could sometimes get really annoying.

These weird, infuriating thoughts are probably just products of the doubtful person that I am. So I thought. Little do I know that the uncertainties and misgivings within me could be upshots of a much profound reason. 

Rogin said it. He told me that the probable reason why the doubts and reservations occur in me has something to do with the type of environment I was brought up in with my family. I honestly never thought of that. True though. I question the true meaning of love because I saw and felt how that “most wonderful thing in the world” shattered and broke the lives of the people I care for the most. I know how excruciating it can get. I am even, probably, an unwanted debris of it. 

Perhaps I still am a stranger to my own self. It catches me off guard when realizations that I never thought of about my self hits me. Sometimes those realizations could be a little painful. But I guess that’s part of the package. What matters is how I have gone a step farther into knowing who I really am. Even beyond of what I thought I knew. 

Can other people love me in return? Perhaps. And love? It’s still “the most wonderful thing in the world”.