Vito Cruz is my Cornelia Street

I still find myself wandering to places where I might see you.

After the breakup, people say the best thing to do is avoid anything that reminds you of them—their favorite café, the streets you used to walk together, the songs you both loved. But I must be a hopeless romantic or perhaps a little masochistic because I do the opposite. I still go to places where I might find you.

A month after we ended, I told myself to accept it, to move forward, to heal. But my heart refused to listen. A week after cutting you off from my social media, I found myself in Manila running errands. At the end of the day, I had to decide: should I take the LRT 2—the faster, more logical route—or the LRT 1, knowing it might lead me to you? I chose the long way, the one that carried a small, foolish hope.

That night, I asked God for a sign. If I see you tonight, then maybe we’re still meant to be. And there you were, at Vito Cruz station. I saw you running, trying to catch the train, but the doors closed before you could get in. I should’ve been angry at you, at the way things ended between us, but the moment I saw you—when you smiled to yourself because you missed the train—all my anger melted away. My heart raced, just as it did the very first time I saw you.

But then it hit me: that missed train was my sign. It wasn’t just the train you missed—it was us. We’re not meant for each other anymore.

You must have felt it too, because not long after, I realized you’d blocked me from your accounts as well. It should have been the closure I needed, but even now, I still think of you. I still ride the LRT-1, hoping for another fleeting moment, another glimpse of you at Vito Cruz. And if by chance you’re here reading this, I want you to know I never stopped caring. I loved you deeply, and I still do, even as it breaks me.