That first time

He’d sit right in front of me as our rose-colored chairs were lined up facing the blackboard that was filled with drawings and letters written in various colors. The inscriptions didn’t make sense to me at that moment. I’d hit his head repeatedly, in a blind and impulsive effort to catch his attention. I’d stare and silently marvel at how his glossy hair bounced; in sync with his every movement.

He’d turn around and scream at me. He had a small face, one I wanted to cover entirely with my tiny, innocent hands. His eyes were enchanting; a light brown color emerging from such round objects placed below his humble forehead. His skin was tan, yet smooth and seemingly soft. I’d chase him outside by the playground where I’d show off at the monkey bars; my upper body strength was quite impressive for such a small frame.

“HEY!” he’d exclaim, each time I bullied him so. He’d turn around with his crunched up nose and either run away, avoid me, or stop himself from hitting me back. “Stop it!” He also had a lisp that seemed strange to me. It seemed charming to me. Everything about him was.

I wanted to sit next to him. I wanted to share crayons with him, or maybe even brush his hand a little when we’d pick materials from the straw baskets scattered across the room. I wanted him to notice my drawings on the board when I was assigned for the artwork of the day. I wanted him to listen to me as I recited poems, acted out Goldilocks and sang in front of everyone. I wanted him to congratulate me when I wore all those medals at graduation. Being inconspicuous was something that just didn’t come naturally to me.

I was a little girl then, barely 5 years old. Twelve years later, I could only remember so little. Having a childhood crush seemed so surreal to me, yet it’s a memory I just had to chuckle at and embrace with either humiliation or just plain amusement. It could be both.

His name was Kevin.

In different worlds

Photo by Fritz Dalida

She was on her bed, staring at the bland ceiling that greatly differs from the clutter in her home. She closes her eyes and inhales for a split second, imagining herself in a place where the wind was cool, the heat was ticklish, the sun was satiated, and the smell was salty. Everything was bright, cheerful, and wonderful. She dreams to be back to the place where she forgot everything that hurt and everything that had to deal with reality.

"I hate feeling sorry for myself, feeling so sad.” She chokes on her words, hugs on to her worn out and shapeless pillow, and tries to stop another tear from falling.

She keeps remembering the sound of the waves that crept up to the shore; its inconsistency mysterious and alluring. She remembers the texture of the rocks under her feet buried in the sand as she faces the horizon, the intensity and play of lights in the sky with the sound of laughter blasting through her ears.

 The shadows of her companions; their presence triggered both peace and adrenaline that still keep her wishing for longer days off a coast where not much roam. Her eyes would usually meet another’s, and her instinct made her face the other direction. For a split second, she thought it was just a look of chance. It was just them in their haven, under the sky that seemed to have endlessly kept them close, untouched.

And here she was, alone again with her own troublesome thoughts. “I just need to know that it still exists."

She positioned her head towards her window, facing the thick and cracked glass. The moon resembled something familiar and hopeful.

“I felt something from you,” she sputtered. “Even if it seemed like it was nothing, I still hoped it was real.” The vulnerable soul imagines him there, his silhouette; she makes out his face, the face of a man that occupied all she could ever lose control of, holding her in his arms and stroking her hair as the tears suddenly kept falling.

“I want to open my heart to you,” she utters, “even if I know I can’t, because I know I’m not what you want, and I never will be.”

The barren room slowly fills with salt water she tastes so knowingly. Washed away are all that is futile. She leaves herself weightless, as the waves bring her to another land of solace. The image of his thoughtful face makes her heart burst. She closes her eyes and drifts away.