From Love Notes of Joe d' Mango
Dear Joe,
Hi! I'm an avid listener of your program, but I never thought I would be writing you to pour out my feelings. Joe, is it true that looks are not everything? Most people claim that physical appearance doesn't matter when it comes to love. It's what's inside the person that counts. I used to say that, too, until I was asked that question when it wasn't hypothetical anymore. I had to search deep inside my heart, but my pride and ego answered for me instead. This is where my story begins.
Joe, I've lived in a small village all 15 years of my life. I wasn't the type who liked socializing. I would prefer to stay in my room, read a book or look out of the window. Actually, the view from my window peers into the room of the next house, but no one lived there for a while. At least not until summer came.
The summer before my last year in high school, my friends were all gone for vacation and it seemed that I would spend that summer locked in my room. It was during one of these days that I noticed someone had moved into the house next door. That night, I saw a guy sitting by the window playing the guitar. He looked up, met my gaze and smiled. I knew at that moment, that my life would never be the same.
His name is Tristan. He was 18 years old and an incoming college freshman. I remember thinking how cute he was with his clean-cut hair and fair complexion. He was very friendly and from our respective windows, we talked for hours about everything. It was such a surprise to discover how many things we had in common. We finally ended our conversation when the sky turned black, but I knew it was the start of a wonderful friendship.
For the next few weeks, we established some sort of routine. In the mornings, he would throw tiny pebbles on my window to catch my attention. We would then spend the day talking to each other through our windows. We even played ball that way, throwing it back and forth. I guess he was a good ball player because he would always catch the ball sitting down.
He seemed to be like me, he was always in his room, usually sitting by the window. It never bothered me that we always talked from our rooms, like two prisoners in separate towers. I thought our setup was cute, but I looked forward to the day we would actually be together.
One day, he told me that he used to be a wild, risk-taking guy, until he had a bad motorcycle accident a couple of years ago. He said it was traumatic for him, both physically and mentally. He seemed to want to say more but it was clear that his memories of the crash were painful. And I didn't want to pry.
Besides, his past didn't matter. I actually admired him for being so honest, and I knew that I liked him a lot more than when I first met him. In fact, I was convinced that he was my prince. That night, as I was about to sleep, a pebble hit my window. When I opened my window, Tristan threw a basketball at me, smiled and closed his window. He had written the words, "Jet Aime" on the ball.
Unable to control my curiosity, I asked my mother what it meant and she said that it meant "I love you" in French. I felt I was in some kind of a dream, the kind you never want to awaken from. Since then, I felt a bond forming between Tristan and me. Was it deeper than friendship? M.U.? Love? All I knew was it was something really good!
It was around mid-May when my friends came back home and I told them about Tristan. They were all happy and wanted to meet the guy who made my heart beat faster so they invited the two of us to a dinner dance party. I eagerly agreed. It was the push I needed to spend a day with him away from our houses. It took a lot of convincing to make him go. He told me that he hadn't been to a party in a long time, that he doesn't dance and that my friends might not like him.
But I overcame his excuses and convinced him to go, despite the fact that he wasn't as thrilled as I was. The night of the party, I took pains in dressing. When his car stopped in front of our house, I expected to see him driving but instead, he had a driver who opened the door for me.
Inside the car, Tristan looked even more handsome at close range. When we arrived, the driver opened my door and I waited beside the car for the driver to open the door for Tristan. I thought it odd that the driver opened the trunk first. I stopped breathing when he took out a pair of crutches and that was when I knew, Joe.
The motorcycle accident had made Tristan a crippled, disabled man. He had tried telling me before, but I had been too engrossed in my royal prince beliefs to listen. For a moment I wished he would laugh and say it was a joke, but he didn't. I tried to act as if nothing was wrong, but I wasn't very convincing, and neither were my friends. They shook his hand, but kept on glancing at his legs and crutches.
The tension was so great that I wished the earth would open up and swallow me. It was clear that I wasn't enjoying my evening and neither was he. We left the party early, and we were so eager to go home that we didn't talk on the way back, and practically said goodbye with a tone of relief.
As shocked as I was about my discovery, I felt guilty about how unfairly I had treated him. I know that nobody's perfect, but I was never faced with the challenge of accepting the disability of a person I want to be more than a friend to. His condition hit me so hard that I couldn't immediately get over it.
I was so disappointed so I hid from Tristan and refused to answer the pebbles that hit my window. I don't remember when I pulled myself together to apologize for how I acted, I just know it was when the pebbles stopped hitting my window. I waited and waited but it never came.
I finally found out that Tristan was going to the US for treatment. I finally had the courage to go to his house. But his 15-year-old sister told me that Tristan had left two days ago with their mom. With the surgery and continuous therapy, he would be gone indefinitely. I was about to ask for an address or phone number when she asked if I was the neighbor that Tristan used to talk to everyday. I said yes, hoping he had left a message or even a letter for me, but instead she gave me the cold treatment.
She told me, you know, Tristan couldn't stop talking about you since the first day you met, until the time he left. He said he knew you were disappointed with him, but he also told me how disappointed he was with you and with that, she thanked me for my concern and ended our conversation.
Joe, I desperately want to make amends with Tristan but is he willing to listen to me? I have learned my lesson and am willing to admit my mistake, if only he will let me. I realize that whether or not he recovers, cripple or not, he is still the friend I made through my window, the kind I never thought I would have and the friend I grew to like, perhaps even love.
After thinking about this for a long time, I have finally learned to look beyond the physical. Now that I am ready to tell him, I don't care about your disability, there is no way to let him know. He may not come back for a long time, and I have wrecked my relationship with his family before it has even started. I shudder at the thought of not seeing him again, waiting helplessly to hear from him, and if I do, of him not forgiving me.
But for now, it seems that all I can do is wait and hope that he will be willing to pick up where we left off. Right now, I am blinded by depression and loneliness. Maybe there is an option I have failed to see and explore. I hope you and your listeners can lead me to it.
The only thing that gets me through is the hope that one day, I will open my window again and see him, sitting on a chair by the window. He will look up, meet my gaze and smile. Whether he stands up on his own or stays seated like before, well, I can now say for certain it doesn't matter at all. Joe, thank you for your time, and for choosing my letter. I hope your listeners will be able to learn from my bitter experience that it is true, looks aren't everything.
Thank you and God bless you all.
Sincerely yours,
Angel
Dear Angel,
You cannot blame Tristan nor his family for feeling indifferent towards you. His physical disability may be a sore to the eyes but that doesn't make him less of a person. Just like you and I, he also has feelings which can be hurt and scarred by prejudice and rejection.
Angel, you know you must have hurt Tristan's family more than you have hurt him and it may seem that you'll never get a way to him through them. It may be difficult to convince them that you are sincere but you just have to try. Tell his sister how bad you felt when he left and how sorry you are for having acted the way you did. If you speak from your heart, I'm sure you'll get the address or number you need.
Send him a note or a card and tell him you regret that you have treated him indifferently. Let him know that you are honestly willing to make up for all the hurt you have caused him. Call him if you can. Express yourself with all sincerity. Let's just hope he feels it and responds positively. If he doesn't, then just keep on trying. I'm sure, in time, your efforts will be rewarded.
If everything still proves futile, then don't blame yourself anymore. At least you have tried your best. We must remember that nobody is perfect. We all make mistakes and sometimes inadvertently hurt others. But what is more important is our willingness to accept our faults and our sincerity in making up for all the pain we have caused others.
Good luck, Angel. I hope Tristan gives you the chance you deserve. I also hope that this letter will make us realize that genuine friendships are founded on respect and sincere acceptance of one and the other's incapacity and weaknesses.
It is not what we see on the outside that counts, for the real value of a person is not measured by how much he has but by the good that dwells in him and the real beauty of a person is the one not our eyes but only ours can see.
Love,
Joe