~ warm as ice, cold as fire ~

Saturday, September 09, 2006
first love

exercise ko sa creative writing. hehe. comments/suggestions/lavish praises/deprecating remarks/pambabalahura are most welcome. please! i haff to improve this!

tenks. =)

Memories
It's another boring class day. I sat at my desk, aware of my History teacher' s presence at the front of the room yet not minding her, and whatever words she ground out of her mouth entered my left ear and flew out of the other without letting my sleeping brain register them. I absentmindedly looked around the room, and then...
I caught myself staring at him again. I couldn't help it! I unreasonably reasoned to myself. He's so handsome...to the eyes of a simple ten-year-old girl. He's tall, fair-skinned, lean, and athletic. Quite intelligent too, when I mind not the fact that I rank higher in class than him, and completely ignore the fact that he prefers to bum around and/or play basketball with his dumb barkada. He was one of the school jocks, one of the heartthrobs in our small school. I had a few rivals on our section. But I was the one who loved getting his attention whatever way I can (or have to). I was plotting on how to get under his skin again when...
A pair of steely black eyes met mine. I gazed quietly, (quite) longingly at his (my!) beloved's face, refreshing my memory (which didn't need to be refreshed) of his solemn (sometimes), almost grave face, his short, slick (with the help of hair gel) black hair which he's really proud--and therefore protective--of, and his red lips that I...Our connection was broken. He looked out of the window, either out of boredom induced everytime by our old maid of a History teacher, or because the sight of a fat, pale girl with wild, unruly hair in wrinkled uniform and dirty shoes sickened him...oh, please, let it be the first! Disappointed Me shifted my gaze to our teacher and daydreamed of him.
I was, back then, at the age and grade (sixth) where maturity (in our school) seemed to be measured in number of crushes or girlfriends or boyfriends. Some of my classmates have had two or three ex(boy/girlfriend)s. and I, the innocent inexperienced one, haven't had any. I only had one crush, one love, my first and only. I even swore to myself that he would only be the one in my life. How corny and silly that sounded now.
Of course, he, being one of the oldest and therefore more matured (I later realized that maturity is not necessarily counted in years) ones in our section, should follow that "code of maturity". He did. It did not seem very unpredictable, even for me. The innocent romantic in me just silently, secretly hoped that I would be the lucky one--his first girlfriend, though the realistic one that I tried to hide perpetually reminded me that he would never ever even consider me as an eligible girl.
The latter one was right. He had a girlfriend before the first quarter of the school year ended. I wasn't that surprised. But what shocked...stunned me was that he got one of my closest friends (she knew I had a crush on him...!) as his girl. I could not blame him. She's beautiful, sexy, poised (and not a lack-brain)...every inch a young lady. She's also older than me. I couldn't talk to either of them for a week.
What treachery! That week, I felt all sorts of imaginary pain that all brokenhearted ones feel. I imagined--felt--that my heart was being stabbed repeatedly with a serrated knife. I felt--imagined--that my heart was hollow and numb and I couldn't feel anything anymore. Say it, I've felt--imagined--it.
After that week, I became my usual self again. But I want vengeance! Neither of them apologized to me. But wait...what am I feeling? All the pain, all the love I've felt suddenly disappeared in a flash the first time I saw them together after that fateful week. Hey, don't I love him anymore? Don't I? But I knew I had to avenge my wounded pride...and make him repay (somewhat) everything that I felt that fateful week.
As I was the youngest in our section, the most childish, the class crybaby, no one paid grave attention to the pranks I pulled on him. Once, he seated himself beside his girlfriend, not paying attention to the class. I, unfortunately for him, was seated behind him. He seemed to be completely oblivious to that fact when he moved there, the stupid Romeo. I looked at his back, and saw his hair. His precious hair! I reached out and patted it once, twice. He only grunted. I smiled evilly. I thumped it again, harder this time, three times. "Ano ba?" he hissed, obviously annoyed, and moved away. Ha! I derived a particular diabolical pleasure out of doing that. I was sure of my intentions and reasons. I wanted to annoy him, make him move out of my line of vision as he is a tall guy and he blocked most of my view of the blackboard (and I hated that very much especially when I'm copying something from the board), and separate him from his girlfriend because they are exchanging stupid mushy words unfit for humans. I did not do it out of jealousy. Promise.
Once, after my annoying him once again, he said to me, "Break na tayo!"
I responded, "Right." And yes, he's right. I was free of him, thanks to him.
Memories of first love really never die. I was forever haunted by the stupid things I felt, thought, said, and did when I believed myself to be in love for the very first and last time.

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at wag kayong maniwala na nainlove na ko. ginawa ko lang ito para me exercise ako. hehe. pero totoo na thinump ko yung buhok ni stupid boy. hehe... =)

in the snow, traced by blood...9/09/2006 12:01:00 PM