I remember it like it was yesterday. It was right before the very first date ever in my life. Valentines dance in high school and I was only 13 (if I remember correctly). I was with my bestfriend (who went to a different school but I invited over) and we were just enjoying the day of the school fair. But as the evening approached and the inevitability of my date dawned, my insides just went topsy-turvy.

I remember it distinctly. That giddy feeling bordering on nauseous. I tried to eat a slice of pizza and finish a bottle of orange soda (Royal Tru Orange!). For some reason, I couldn’t hold it down and had to throw up everything. Everything. I blamed it on the orange soda and sort of stopped drinking that from then on.

It may have been the first time I ever fell in love. In retrospect, there’s strong supporting evidence to back that up.

Many years after, he could still remember what I wore that day. Many years after, I remember that single pink rose he gave me, the one that I took home and stuck on the ground and lived for a few years more. I still remember the songs that we slow danced to, and how much taller he was that made it a challenge to put my hands on his shoulders and around his neck.

Unfortunately, my first love never really became “us”, although the ghost of our feelings for each other haunted us beyond a decade. I guess it just wasn’t really meant to be.

I just remembered this from long ago, because I was reminded of that giddy, nauseous feeling. Here it comes again.

The end to an illusion

It started fifteen years ago. Yes, it’s been going on for more than half of my quarter life. I’ve been living half of my life believing in an illusion.

The story is about a boy. My first love, to be exact. No, he wasn’t my first boyfriend. In fact, he was never my boyfriend. He had always been an almost, but never ever the real thing.

For one and a half decade, I’ve always regarded him with a certain fondness. A simple call or message from him makes my heart skip. His smile melts me. Perhaps I’m not alone, I’m only one of the countless girls enamored by his charms. He can easily woo any girl he desires. It is indeed flattering to be one of his favorites, the one he seems to come back to every now and then for the past 15 years. But somehow, nothing real ever transpired.

It’s always been a wonder to me why we could never be. It is easier to move on from something that happened and ended, than from something that never really happened. Maybe we keep coming back to try to figure out things and try to find answers.

I think I have finally found the answer. It took one last meetup with him to discover the truth that has been evading me for the longest time. It’s clear to me now that he and I will never ever be able to work it out, for reasons I choose not to disclose.

I’ve been living in an illusion for the last 15 years, but at least the illusion is a warm and happy one. I will still want to retain even just the memory of whatever was between him and me. But now I’ve reached a maturity that has already taught me that there is no point in waiting for “us” to happen. It’s a desperate and impossible case.

I’m moving forward with one less gigantic baggage off me. I’ve finally found closure.