The boy I used to write for...and the boy who now writes for me
I.
Back in first year high school, I fell into the rabbit hole of that thing called “first love.”
I’d had crushes for a while now, but this one was different.
This time, we stayed friends even after he found out.
Of course, he didn’t reciprocate the feelings. But the fact that he wanted to stay friends was rare in itself. Especially when you’re both teenagers being teased by everyone at school, five days a week.
We swapped stories and poems over the course of high school. So many handwritten words in pocket-sized notebooks and yellow pad pages. Sometimes, he’d share a printed “manuscript” in one of those “sliding folders.” He’d even use his precious internet cafe minutes to type up a synopsis to send over Y!M or Facebook Messenger. After a round of DoTA with his guy friends, of course.
He wanted me to read his work to review it, and I wanted to read his work because it was interesting…and, well, because I liked him.
He wrote stories about philosophy and religion and society, woven into a tapestry of fantasy worlds he’d stop building two chapters in.
I wrote thinly-veiled romance, poems, and the occasional short story. Pages I still cringe at when I flip through them today.
I’d hang out near his classroom to wait for him during breaks and after class (with my friends, of course, to be ‘demure’).
We’d meet up sometimes at the “island” — the concrete island in the school parking lot, where our schoolmates would sit to watch volleyball games, wait for their school bus, or hold hands with their lovers under the trees.
Our agenda was a little less romantic, and a little more than friendly. It was just an exchange of stories, baring our imaginations and souls.
He would encourage me to write, asking what new material I had. Funny thing is, I really don’t remember anything he said about my poems or stories. And if he had said anything, I would have remembered, right?
Even after high school, he’d share what he wrote with me. The synopsis of a novel he was planning. A chapter here and there. Poems about his crush, girlfriend, or ex. But these exchanges became few and far between.
We went to different universities. Sometimes, he would ask what I’d created recently. He told me that after his ‘practical’ degree and some years of saving up, he’d take up Creative Writing.
Meanwhile, I told him that I was writing a lot for school, since I was in a communications course. I showed him a couple of projects for my writing electives. He even helped with a video shoot. But…things had become quite different.
The school talk became work talk. And it became life talk. Chats about family, illness, romantic partners, personal values.
For some reason, I never talked to him about what I wrote for work. Or what I was learning as a professional writer. I never told him about pitches I won, praise I got, or how awesome my boss was at crafting ideas. I never showed him a video or social media post, ever. Outside of work, I showed him the occasional poem, and he subscribed to my other Substack.
But it never really felt like I was with my first real writer friend anymore.
And after so many poems, I found that he just wasn’t my ‘muse’ anymore.
Maybe that’s just what happens when you’ve known someone for so long.
Or when your connection has been so dependent on just one thing, and life has gotten in the way of building anything outside it.
I don’t know yet what Chapter Three of our friendship will look like. Or even if he’ll write it with me. To be continued, I hope.
II.
During my last year of college, I had a plan: become an advertising copywriter. I’d done my internship at an ad agency. I had writing-related electives plotted out for enrollment.
But what I didn’t plan on was getting the guy who liked me, to like writing.
We met the year before through our student organization. He wasn’t the most stellar of applicants, and at the time, I was already on the rise towards becoming an officer.
After he became a member, he wasn’t even a “friend”, really — just someone on the fringe of acquaintances within the org.
Later on, I found out through a mutual friend that he liked me. That same semester, we were classmates in one elective. Talking, but not close. Chatting on Messenger late at night, but not close.
We were never quite friends. But we soon became something more.
So much for my favorite TV trope, I guess?
When we got together, I was in my last few months in college, and he still had a year left (he shifted courses, from engineering to communication).
We made the most of the time we had. Not really thinking about how we’d manage after I graduated, but somehow knowing that we would make it.
He met my parents for the first time on my graduation day.
About a year later, I was at my first junior copywriter job, and he was applying to intern with our company. I was surprised that he’d taken on a writing internship, after telling me he wanted to go into sound design. But he genuinely enjoyed the work. And I genuinely enjoyed working with him. And mere weeks after college, he landed his first copywriter gig.
Soon, we got into the swing of “adulting” things — we’d talk shop over meals, critique weird ads we spotted on the road, and enjoy dates with our grown-up money.
Bit by bit he’d tell me about ideas he shared, ideas inspired by our talks and my little quirks. A character in his script might be a talkative girlfriend. Or share my name. A script’s premise might be inspired by something I said on the ride home from a date.
Nowadays, we create more than just writing for each other. There are playlists, and home-brewed coffees, crocheted coasters, and…Pinterest wedding plans.
They say that to be loved is to be seen, and seeing pieces of myself lovingly reflected in his writing is surreal. It’s the kind of joy I think everyone deserves to feel, at least once.
To become someone’s muse, after pining hopelessly after another for so long?
To know that even my casual remarks can burn into someone’s brain and inspire them?
To realize that you’ve permeated not just the way someone writes, but the way they make their coffee, check on their health, talk to their boss, and more?
It makes you want to do better. And be better.
Oh, writing for the one you love is a joy. Creating something beautiful and sharing it with your muse fills your heart like nothing else.
But there are no words to describe how good it feels to have someone write words and create worlds for me, this time around.