Fated

Okay, so yeah I dislike life now that I’m twentysomething. Life was way cooler growing up as the youngest child. Anyway, this write up isn’t about my childhood and all. I’ll get to that.

Meanwhile, let’s talk about a child in my childhood. A child whom I didn’t actually had a number of encounters with other than being a classmate since second grade to sixth grade. Well, even until high school. But that’s another story which, again, is another “I’ll get to that” part.

As a child, I didn’t care much about who were around me or what were taking place before me. I only cared about being an honor pupil and being happy during playtime. I didn’t even care who I play with. However, I am certain that I didn’t like kids who were stinky. The whiff of their 12-hour play sweat made me puke.

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The first love that didn’t die

In the later years, I began to notice this child. He (yes, a boy) sang in front of the entire class. He just attended a jamboree so the teacher asked him to share his learning. Oh man, there he was ready to exhaust his vocal chords with the song, “Auld Lang Syne”. I couldn’t comprehend what words he was shakily mouthing. One day I heard it over a New Year’s Eve TV countdown and I thought, “Awww, that cute kid sang a New Year’s song.” How lame was that thought. Anyway, that was the time I started to be aware of this creature’s existence although I  already noticed him before in second grade, being extra cute than he should be.

The following year, sixth grade, I recall an instance starred by a girl classmate and him in the school’s Science Garden. While I was busily sweeping dried leaves, they were chasing each other. The girl carried a broom ready to hit him with it when she catches up with him. He held a red dustpan. I despised them for running around when they should be helping me sweep. Later I realized, it wasn’t despise but jealousy. This boy was mine. He is mine.

Sadly, those were only the memories I have of him in elementary. I vividly can recall, on the other hand, his fashion. Knee-level shorts (longer than those of the other boys) and white t-shirt, of course the school uniform. He had a cap shadowing his rosy puffed cheeks. Man, those cheeks might have received squeezing more than I had with mine, or any other kid in school.

And so, high school. We had something going on, I guessed. We didn’t talk much or smile to each other or even bump into each other in the corridors. Then came junior year. It became known to all good men that we liked each other. So the love letters came. He must’ve been shaking while he was writing them or worse, been thinking no too well. Hahaha. He wrote in Filipino. I thought it would’ve been romantic if the language used was English. Who wouldn’t laugh at “Ang pag-ibig parang jeep. Kailangang pumara para makasakay ka.” (Love is like a jeep. One needs to stop it to board it.)?

Along the second love letter was a white teddy bear sitting on huge heart-shaped cushion and holding a smaller one with “I love you” embroidered on it. And more! It was a talking  teddy bear. What d’you think it repeatedly said? And more! There was a bracelet with little neon-colored dolphins chained to each other. But above all, I only wanted him to talk to me. This one thing he could hardly do. Timid little high schooler. We didn’t end up together. I felt like he was pressured by our peers to want to have me as his girl.

Then, stuff happened. I went abroad. I came home. We didn’t patch up where we left off. He fell for another. It broke my flimsy heart.

Then more stuff happened.

I snatched him back eventually. Well, more like he came back. Yes, he came running back to me ’cause I’m that irresistibly awesome. Hahahaha. It may be too cheesy to mention, especially coming from me, but okay. We’re meant to be together.

Nobody messes with first love. Nobody messes with first love and true love.UP

Today we laugh over the lousiness of the past.

And so, “That thou canst never once reflect/ On Old long syne.”

 


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About foursees

This amateur writer/blogger is a journalist, one who writes and believes in the power of entries to diaries/journal and one who wrote once for a university’s student pub (-lication) in her glory days. She claims to be a connoisseur in being a couch potato. Her laptop and handheld phone are her closest and immediate friends. Despite her very crowded social/technical circle, she is fortunately not single. Not that she’s fooled herself that whoever comes this way and read her words would woe her, but that she’s ecstatic to declare that the world’s genuinely generous to pair her up with another couch potato. Maybe they’ll create more couch potatoes to rule and dominate this world one day. We never will know. Before, her Facebook page was her oyster. Before that, the world used to be. At the moment, she’s realized that one doesn’t stay too long in one thing and one place. As she hops from oyster to another, she believes that writing is her solidified sand, her pearl. She may not be a pro at it but it held her in one piece. And so she says to one and all, cheers to blogging! Cheers to patching wounds! Cheers to several meaninglessness and nothingness of life! Cheers to awfully crappy days! Cheers to love, to distant love! Cheers to ranting! Cheers to happiness! -foursees
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