On How I Stopped Saying MWAH

It was one of those tigang days. I was sixteen, loveless and desperate for the elusive first love, which, to this day, still eludes me. I had cut class—I was extremely bored anyway—and had gone with one of my girlfriends to an Internet café. Back then, the mIRC was already very popular. Chatting had already earned my friend a few dates, and she encouraged me to chat as well in order to remedy my lonely situation. I was young and stupid, of course, so I agreed.

It took us about 15 minutes just thinking about what name to use—she said it had to be something feminine, sexy and interesting. Even in the Net, we felt we still had to wait for some guy to send us a private message. To make the first move—not a good idea if you’re a girl who wants the guy to play “karinyoso.” But then we eventually got tired of waiting—apparently, “Isabella” did not work out so well—and chose about three names in the chat room. A couple of them responded, and the ball went rolling from there.

I don’t remember all of them now. I can only recall a couple of names and I doubt if they still remember me. I was a chat addict for quite a while, trying to build flimsy relationships with people I had never met, trying to find someone I truly liked. One such relationship lasted a year—whoa!—but we never really got to see each other in person. His name was Spider. I was Stella (eew eew eeww). I met him on the eve of my sixteenth birthday. He said he was an aeronautics student. He told me how wonderful it was to be able to fly, and how he wanted to take me with him. Haha. I feel ridiculous telling this story. Anyway, he got me interested. I tried my best to be as sweet as I could without being too obvious. I said things like “That’s so interesting” and ”Take care” and “Sweet dreams” and “MWAH”—things I never said to my friends or family. He too, was sweet, although it was I who had the longer text messages; it was I who always arrived earlier in our chat room.

Eeew, I know. But that’s the point. Anonymity gives one the license to be yucky. I didn’t have to play the part of Jewel Castro, respectable young woman who speaks respectably. I was given the chance to say “MWAH” without anyone cringing at me—or without me cringing. In the Internet, where the powerful desire-to-be-desired is openly shared by all, the chances of rejection is less than in the “real world.” I knew that my “MWAH” would be favorably received.

Later on, Spider and I just stopped keeping in touch. After a few months, he texted me out of nowhere, asking for my picture. Tigang, I’m sure. I thought about sending him my best photograph but I decided that it was just a waste of time. Besides, I also feared that he would regret asking. From then on, I deleted his number from my phone book. And he never tried to contact me again.