Pia

Paul and Gia equaled "Pia" to us. Or maybe it was one of my girlfriends that came up with the name. 

Pia was a big (at least 4 feet tall), soft white stuffed bear. She had a green bow on her neck and a smaller matching green bow top her head. The occasion was my birthday, a cold but sunny December morning I arrived at school a little late, due to a rigorous birthday glam. I felt pretty as I walked up the stairs to my classroom. Upon entering it was strangely empty, except for Pia sitting at my desk surrounded by chocolate and neon sticky notes. I turn to the sound of a small speaker blasting "Las Mananitas" by Vicente Fernandez and my then almost-boyfriend Paul Miranda holding a boquee of red roses and a handful of my closest friends singing along. We claimed Pia as our daughter (years later I would go one to dye her blue and then lose her). 

Of course, I cried. He was so happy and mine. Happy for me, because I was born, because I was special and so was he. We were so young but for us it was always love. Since those first days. 

I had just lost my father when we met, I was damaged and overly shy. Insecurity seeped through my pores, but I'm sure I had my charm. This was during Facebook's reign, which is where we met. Back then a simple "Hello" marked the beginning of a promising relationship. It was a question of whether you would dare to get close to your crush in a digital space, breaking the bridge between you. I was the one to bridge the gap between us, after exchanging glances one too many times at recess. Someone had to be bold first. After our hello, every piece fell into place for Paul Miranda to become my first many things, among those the first boy to ever love me and see me for who I am. 

It was the era of Ask.fm, an anonymous social media site where people would ask "questions" and "comments" anonymously to one another. Our relationship was always at the forefront of gossip at our middle school (yes, we were small). Paul ran with the popular, older kids, I was more of a wallflower who hung out with the girls quietly obsessed with boy bands and crying in the bathroom. So, naturally it was odd that he would see me. But he did since he spotted me walking past him one day. 

After a few days of non-stop conversation via Facebook messenger we had decided that we would finally speak in person. I was way to nervous back then to even begin thinking about walking up to him, this he knew, so it was arranged that he would come up to me, and he did. I will never forget how nervous I was and how excited he looked. His smile was so contagious and sure. He saw the world as his oyster and I immediately was drawn to that. 

Over time, as with all first relationships, we stumbled. Both trying to figure out how to organize such big feelings, at the same time juggling adolescence and parents. But trying with him was such an adventure, one I rarely give enough credit to. We were friends, now I know that. Love and friendship together truly is a blessing. Paul met me at a time when I thought I'd never be loved or cherished again. He brought out so much light in me that I was determined to lock away for good. He stood by me, in the ugly, weird parts of my young life that no one should have to go through. 

It is so rare to find someone who sees the beauty in you, far from the physical, but the truth. The truth of my beauty was seen by Paul Miranda, and he is a piece of my heart forever. He probably never knew nor will know that, but you and I will, and that is enough for me, I guess. 

There's this memory I keep going back to grieving the loss of him. We would regularly attend parties together, my parents always thought I was sleeping over with my friends. These parties were lavish for a bunch of teenagers. The best tequila, table cloths and expensive bands. No one could handle their liquor obviously so the illusion lasted only few hours. But Paul and I would hold hands through it all and laugh about it the whole time. Afterward we would get on his yellow motorcycle and head to our "tree". A hidden spot among run-down houses and corn fields right outside of town. In the movies this would be the part where we would "hook up" but in reality that for us was kissing and holding each other for as long as we could. 

It was a ritual of exploration, physical, emotional and spiritual. It was surrender in the name of something along the lines of pleasure and education. Above all, the feeling was undeniable. 

Now that you're gone Paul, I want you to know that you were not my first love, but you were the first boy who ever saw me and liked me anyway. I will never forget your patience and kindness because they are always what I will continue to search for in this life. Thank you for showing me what love should be, when not even my family had shown me before. Your example was perfect and I will carry it forever, I will be grateful forever. You will live forever in my words and anything else that falls from my heart. 

Rest and live again and again, you are so much more than what you knew you were.