It’s not giving

He gives the way some people hold on.

Tight. 

Trembling. 

Afraid to be left behind.

At first, it feels like warmth.

A meal when you’re tired.

A drink when your throat is dry.

Small things that say, I saw you today. I cared.

And I don’t doubt the care.

I never did.

Even before I loved him, I was already afraid of gifts.

Growing up with little teaches you that nothing arrives empty-handed.

Every kindness is followed by a quiet expectation.

Every favor, a future obligation.

So when someone gives you something, you don’t just receive it,

you store it, like a debt that might one day be collected.

So when he gave me things, I accepted them softly, carefully.

Not because I didn’t want them,

but because I was afraid of what they could become.

I told him not to do it too often.

Not because I didn’t appreciate it,

but because I was scared of the weight it might carry later.

That one day, every coffee and every meal would line up behind me like witnesses,

ready to say, “Look at everything I did for you.”

We fought, like people do.

Small misunderstandings, quiet hurts.

And in those moments, I would wait for him to tell me what I did wrong,

while I tried to adjust myself to what he needed,

hoping my effort would finally be enough.

In our breaking, he said that even one mistake made me unable to understand him,

even after all he had given me,

all the ways he had taken care of me.

That was when I realized it was never just giving.

It was keeping score.

I don’t think he meant to hurt me.

I think this is simply the language he learned for love:

to provide, to offer, to give.

But when every gift becomes proof,

when every kindness becomes an argument,

love starts to sound less like affection

and more like a receipt.

This is not about who he is.

It is about what happens when love is measured,

when generosity becomes leverage,

when care turns into “utang na loob.”

He told me that for him, giving gifts is how he expresses love. But if love has to be proven through what I owe, I don’t want it.

I would rather be hungry than fed by a love that reminds me how much I owe.