First Love

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I suppose I can't really classify him as first love. First of all, I think I was too young at the time to understand what love is - I was only 5. Then again, there are many who are decades into their life who still do not understand the meaning of love. Well okay, I'm not proclaiming myself to be some love guru at this point in my life, but you get what I mean... So, moving on, the second point of the matter is that, well, the feeling wasn't mutual - You'll see what I mean ina bit but all in all, I think it's more apt to say that he was the first boy I liked.

I can't say exactly why I liked him. Perhaps it's too long ago to remember. Hmmm... I guess I could say I liked his confidence and energy.. kinda manly (haha! that actually sounds abit lame, because he, too, was 5. What can I say? He was my classmate in kindergarten.) I remember how the boys in my class used to like to play 'fight' and I must've thought he 'fought' particularly well... Just goes to show, even as a kid, I'd already pictured my perfect guy to be the chivalrous knight in shining armour. I must say though, in retrospect, (the vague memory of) his physical appearance surely does diverge largely from my current idea of a perfect guy (FYI, I really like shy-ish, boyish-looking guys.)

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Now comes the crux of the story. I say, it must be the result of some form of invisible forces that were set to destroy the rest of my love life that an inexplicable impulsion came upon me to write him a card wherein its contents comprised my love confession for him.

"I love you because I think you are special and can fight very well."

Oh wait... actually some memory updates suddenly came flooding into my mind. There is actually an important prelude to this story that I must recount: I had, in fact, known that he liked another girl. Her name was Michelle. I absolutely can't recall how I got to know that he liked her... but he must've mentioned it or acted it somehow. So I had actually gotten this idea to write a card in Michelle's name, saying that I love him; in other words, he would think that the card came from her. I don't know why I came up with such an idea. Was I being altruistic and just had the pure desire of seeing his face light up with pleasure as he read the card "from Michelle"? Or did I think he would end up loving the messenger? Oh what a twisted mind I already had at the time! Unfortunately, things did not manage to become so complicated... only because I didn't know how to spell 'Michelle'!!! I still have the vivid memory of asking Michelle how to spell her name. She had refused and till now, I recall clearly what I was thinking at the time, "Why doesn't she want to tell me how to spell her name? Does she know what I'm about to do?" Nevertheless, I went home, I wrote the said card, and then spent a great deal of time pondering how I should sign off. In the end, I decided to go with my own name.

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The next day came, I was very nervous. But I went up to him, bearing the card which had been so nicely enclosed in an envelop with his name on it, albeit spelt very wrongly, "Lookus". (It's supposed to be Lucas, in case you couldn't tell.) And I passed it to him very nonchalently: as if it wasn't enclosed with a love confession, as if it was something I'd just picked up from the floor and realised that it was his and that I was just returning it to him.

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I held out the card. He looked at it with disgust and said he didn't want it and walked away.

What happened in between... I have no recollection. It must've been so traumatising that I repressed those memories, haha! The next scene I remember... the card was lying on the floor (don't ask me... I really don't know how it ended up there.) and he picked it up, opened it and read it. My heart raced, whether with joy or anticipation, I'm not sure but it was sure short-lived because next, he threw the card on the floor and reiterated, "I don't want it." I actually remember not feeling sad. Perhaps it was expected, or maybe I'd just learnt from a young age, how to repress unwanted feelings.

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Then again, this incident could very well explain why I'm so godawful at expressing my liking towards any guy I am interested in. In fact, the more I liked a guy, the more I acted like I was ignoring him. You could say I'm playing hard to get... but maybe I'm just plain scared? I'd say Freud, whom I learned about in my Psychology 101 class last year, would very well agree with me.