That’s Not My Name

I was just about to wrap up my first day by the beach when  I received a message from a guy I think I was dating:

“Hon, pasalubong ko ah. Gusto ko yung tarts na super famous daw jan… hehehe tsup!”

It’s funny how one message can change one’s perception of a possibility.

NO, I am not honey - my name is not honey. I am Tristan, dummy!

NO, don’t call me honey. I refuse to be labeled sweet.

NO, there are no super famous tarts in Boracay, at least I am not aware of it. White sand, yes. Calorie-filled fruit shakes from Jonah’s, maybe. Pizza from Aria is a possibility. Cheesecakes from Café del Sol, a must. But NO, there are no super famous tarts in Boracay.

I innocently asked you, 

"Was that for me? Maybe not..."

You messaged me this morning saying,

"OA ka, of course it was you for you..."

Now let me tell you this, 

"My dear, I was not born yesterday. I don't believe you."

I have had enough of love, at least for now. I am calling myself a quitter and will be playing the game, yet again. Mortals beware - I play it well.