Valentine’s Day Confessions

I don’t remember the first time I liked a boy, but I remember the first time a boy liked me.

He was my classmate in my last year of primary school. Everyone knew but me. I was the only one left clueless, and when I found out, revolted.

When asked why, from friends, he said it was because I was “smart and pretty.”

Thanks to him, my self-confidence actually heightened. I entered secondary school where another guy from another class liked me. It was a fun texting-only puppy love friendship where we talked about songs and life, and I was mad at him for skipping assembly and he told me it was cute. I asked him why he liked me. “Your smile,” he said. “Not my eyes?” I asked. “Yes your eyes, but your smile lights up the room.”

Ah, wow. That was the first time I had gotten a compliment like that. Sadly this guy was not handsome and fat and all my friends laughed and made weird faces when they found out I was talking to him. So I found ways to stop talking to him to stop the teasing. He’s a nice guy tho. Recently saw his posts about how much he loves his girlfriend and I’m happy for him.

Oh, and on Valentines Day in 2007 I got my first anonymous chocolates and flowers.

A fierce, never-to-approach teacher singled me out during assembly and gave them to me. I was the only one who got them at that moment of time, because SCHOOL ASSEMBLY.

“You have an admirer,” the teacher said, frowning.

But another friend thought it was for her, and other friends were listening in trying to connect the dots that it was for my friend and not for me (maybe the guy got the wrong name, because 2E4 was not my class either but there’s only one Fifi in the level). I found out who gave it in the end, and it was to me.

Later I had a crush on the most handsome guy that existed in my life at the moment. He was from another school but we shared one class together. A friend noticed it because I bumped into him and became mute. I pinched and twisted her arm when I said yes. Everybody around me then knew, everybody but the guy. My friends grew annoyed and told me to just confess already, and I did. He said he’d like to get to know me, because I was “pretty and good at everything” but couldn’t commit to anything because it was an exam year and he’d like to concentrate.

A friend was then laughing in my face RE-JEC-TED out loud on the train. Oh gosh, I was embarrassed, and promised myself to never tell anybody anything about my love life ever again.

Less than a month later he got himself a girlfriend according to his friends was the prettiest girl in school. I looked at her and in my confidence, told him “I’m prettier.” “Beauty is in the eyes of the beholder,” he said. I said sure, we remained friends. I was this passive-aggressive girl then. What do you mean you’re busy with exam but got another girl? But I kept my cool. He tried to introduce her to me (me and the guy went to the library to hang out because hello I’m still so smart) but she looked away when I said hi.

My friends who were there with me were confused and also turned off by this girl’s behaviour. It turned out she had many other guys who liked her and this guy I had a crush on confided in me and told me their problems. I became their relationship advisor.

That year, in the midst of these drama, while I was taking a break from studying I watched an American Idol audition (I don’t like singing shows!) and saw the guy who turned out to be the guy who would be in my life for the next ten years.

He’s not real at all, a fictional human being who’s too good to be true and whom I had the opportunity to meet in in person a couple of times. Everything I thought I wanted in a guy was in this guy, and his qualities became what I looked for in other guys.

And I still haven’t found him.

I had a crush on another decent guy then, but he too gave work as an excuse and I know now to not waste time on that kind of no. But yeah, I’ve been scanning the seas and counting the stars. A couple of men had told me they wanted to marry me and a couple of men liked me but also told me they were intimidated. Egos. That’s okay. Are they smart? All of them. Did they bother to get to know me at all? Nope.

Lately I’ve been looking at myself from a romantic aspect/point-of-view. Am I really that unattractive or repulsive? I don’t think I am. I’ve always known I’m not, but then again when I watch the agreeable girls and damsels in distress swept away by knights in shining armour, I’ve wondered if I needed to succumb to that and learn how to be less of everything I am now. Less loud. Less tomboyish. Less career-ambitious. More girly. More polite. More motherly. Learn how to sew clothes and make perfect morning beverages. Care to fold away my laundry and not eating from the crock. Matching socks, figure-peeking clothes and good Instagram profile. Needy, clingy, and jealous. Maybe these are the ingredients to make the more likeable Salamahafifi.

It makes no sense at all, none. You would know it makes no sense at all to change who I am.

But why am I so single?

I’m suddenly thinking about what a (married) stranger at a tutorial said to me after he watched me give my presentation.

“You know, us guys actually admire a strong and confident woman like you. But to get into a relationship with, we’d be scared.”

He knew I was single. I sometimes just throw out my singlehoodness to get wisdom from people about my situation.

“So I should change?”

“No, don’t do that! You want a leader to lead you right? So the one who will come to you will be the one who is brave enough to approach you. The ones who don’t are not for you.”

I guess? How long more do I have to wait?

My body has been hurting and I’ve been hungry and gaining weight. What if I’m too old and weak to go through motherhood?

This is a PMS-guided post. Don’t take anything I wrote here to be whole truths. Tomorrow or next week I might go back to talking about how I’m independent woman who only needs her mama.

But for now, I’m thinking: wouldn’t it be nice if someone asked me how my day was and what was I thinking of?

Right. That’s why I have a blog.


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