Still dazed by my 1st love with the Chinese Boy, I was not deterred to pursue a new love, as I still get those many catcalls, stalkers from different schools pestering to have a friendship and also gifts by the doors. As I was young, I figured, well, if it is going to be hard, religiously, for me to be with someone of a different religion and beliefs, I would stick to dating someone of the same religion.
But as usual, I was picky. I "sifted through the potential candidates" yet I feel nothing could replace my fond memories of My Chinese Boy. No one had an aura strong enough to drown me in love, again.
Well they say, love strikes at unexpected places. But I have yet to hear, love blossoming in your own house. No.. No.. No incest action took place.. It was just that I had an elder brother whose soccer friends would hang out at the crib, lounging around, having a ball of their own with the games on telly or just to ogle at me, the little girl in the house.
It was a well-known fact, no matter how much they see or tried to strike a conversation with me, Big Brother's sister is off limits to everyone. I was teased, I was pampered but all of us knew our limit. As a glare from the Big Brother could penetrate into one's soul and guilt is an almost immediate reaction. Everyone were close and came a day when this young footballer become an acquaintance of the group. He was a few years older than me, plays soccer professionally, is good looking and has a nice body. Yes, I was that scrutinising.
We passed by each other invisibly. No hellos, no pleasantries exchanged. Me, was in fear of the Big Brother and was focusing on my "O" Levels while he was too busy with soccer and my guess would be, the attention he gotten from other soccer-crazy-chicks. Then a day came where one of my closer friends, my Brother's actually, came up to me and expressed the fact that Mr Footballer wants to know me better. Flip, my stomach went. I declined in fear and he surrendered to the fact.
Love has a thing about letting you feel wanted and magically, allowing you to bump into each other frequently. He took a step further and spoke to me and we started flirting innocently with each other. Then the rest of the clan teased but also forewarned him of the consequences we might face should the Brother knows. But as hormones gotten its way around, we started dating secretly.
One fine day, just as he picked me up from school and sent me home, we bumped into Mr Brother. He gave me that "glare". As soon as Mr Footballer was out of sight, I was given a stern warning about dating his friends and me, being me, the defiant little brat decided that I was old enough to know who I wanted to date. Mr Footballer, despite the respect held for Mr Brother, also decided, come what may, we will go through this together.
Hand in hand we continued dating and even to the extend of falling in love with each other. The families got to know, and as certainly Mr Brother learnt of this too. Seeing our determination, they gave in and we freely were in a relationship by then. Despite the relationship, I was still actively attending school but my afternoon and nights were accompanied in the search of love. We were inseparable. He became a permanent fixture in the house and my life, ultimately. Years went by and once again, I thought we were happy. I had yet to find out that love sizzles and boys, at his age, looks for something different every now and then.
We met less and quarrelled more. Our quarrels escalate into violence and many a time, left me in physical pain. Faces were punched, skins sliced, hot boiling water splashed and necks strangled. In fear of losing the guy I loved, I kept mum about the abuse. I was controlling, fearing the loss, while he became wild in every sense of the word. Lies became his speech and violence was his addiction. Clubs and friends took over the weekend nights just as fast as it took over the weeknights as well. I was stranded, in so much emotional pain.
The lies that entangle the love web, were too much to take. Again and again we fell out but we came back, for whatever reason that was left. He became more and more interested in life outside while he spends only minimal time with me. While I became the victim of lies and lost my soul in despair, my families nagged me back into the person I was, only that I was too dumb to realise.
As I recalled back all those times I spent with him, the money flourished onto the gratitude-less, small salaried-footballer, all my heartaches and pain, I was still stupid. Stupid enough to hang on to that thread of hope that he will be the person that I fall in love with, which was not much. His bike, his clothes, his cigarettes, well, his life was "sponsored" but little did I realise he would never realise all the sacrifices I made. For years, I stood strong, or so I foolishly thought.
The night of my 18th birthday, I was niggled by a feeling of injustice. I felt heavy in the heart and in the cold night right before a few minutes hit midnight, in my pyjamas, I walked over to where he was supposedly at before I lost communication on him. I squinted and looked and peered, no signs of the man. I approached and were his friends shocked to see me. More likely, they looked guilty. They knew why I was there.
"It's my 18th birthday today and Mr Footballer is not with me. He says he will be here. Any of you know where he is?", meekly I asked. I didn't know why, at the same time, my tears trickled down the apple of my cheek as I wiped it away, they feigned ignorance of his whereabouts. I pulled myself away and trudged back home when a hand tapped my shoulder. One of the elder guys was right behind me, looking at me forlornly and spoke,"Go to that block, 2nd floor. By the way, Happy Birthday." I smiled weakly, said my thanks and made my way to the location. My steps were fast, my breathing were angry. I was not sure what I would find out but I felt negative.
Knocked twice on the door, a girl opened in a daze, and there, my Mr Footballer, just in time to zipped his jeans up. What a birthday surprise! I looked, I saw and I walked away. Determined not to look back. With long and heavy stride, I made my way home. Went under my quilt, just a bit after midnight, wished myself a very happy birthday and cried my life out. The betrayal, the turth that I saw. It was no longer a slap with the lies. It seemed to me that the roof cave right onto me. Weak, lost and cheated. Cried myself to bed in the wee morning and as the sun crept onto the day, I felt a sudden strength. My birthday should not be like this, I thought. Gathered whatever that was left of me and dialled both my friend's number and on a quick note, they decide to party that night, in celebration of my birthday!
Spritzed the perfume, wore nice clothes, I zombied my way through the process. I numbed myself and got myself out of the house with my two friends. I drank quite a bit and nearly howled at my "loss", which my friends kept drilling into me was - good riddance. We danced and in that moment of "floatiness", my eyes locked to the eye of a smashing good-looking man! I let my inhibition loose and danced reasonably but half the time, my heart was a tad heavy.
My luck never ran out of me, I guess. The smashingly great looking guy came over to my friend and asked for permission to sit next to me. There goes my stomach churning. He shook my hand, introduced himself, while I kept thinking, "This good looker looks familiar." But I just can't place where I have seen this well-chiselled nice smelling guy. We laughed and spoke. While I danced, he looked on. "Hell yeah!", my heart screamed. This is a good birthday, somehow. Of all the girls in the rooms, breastful of themselves, Mr Good Looker decide to shower Ms Broken Hearted, me, with some good attention.
While I was in for a good time, Mr Good Looker had to bid goodbye. We shyly kissed goodbye, he made sure I had his number to call tomorrow, hell! he even made sure I had enough cash to get home. Was I feeling great out of a sudden downfall of misery. Just what I needed. R.E.B.O.U.N.D. You think so?
Mr Footballer sniffed the facts out over what happened on my birthday. He was in denial as to how I could still rock it out without him. While I was as stoned as it is, I decided, when I saw him with his jeans, that way, enough was enough. There were the lies that I took in, there were the actions that hurt me. But seeing is really believing. The promise to stay true to each other was practically displayed as zilch, in front of my own eyes. So, as I told him, I had enough. 3 years of bitter sweet moments, held nothing to my heart, as much as his action proved me so.
I declined his many advances, his many apologies. He tried hurting himself, getting into accidents in a bid to win my sympathy. I stay stoned. But I was still there for him. I never ran away from him. I was still his listening ear whenever he needed me, which was always, surprisingly. Why do guys only treasure something only when it is gone? He became the worst habitual liar in my life. He would try to hook up girls into his bed, effortlessly, but yet try to rekindle what is left between us and I caught him again in his move. The whole drama with the girls included and not letting his ego down, he openly declares that he uses the girls only to satisfy his sexual needs and to support him financially, while he loves me. Only me. Was I supposed to be touched? That was a total loser speech that he made. I just lost any amount of respect I had for the guy I spent 3 years building castle in the air for and adamant I was, goodbye was to be final.
I heard how his life evolves into being a junkie, occasionally doing drugs, getting drunk frequently, on the run from the army and being in and out of detention barrack. I thanked my lucky star in which made me realise, I was made for better than all this. Terribly enough, he made a tattoo dedicated to me. The word "MISERY" right across his back to reflect the life he had without me and a "lone star" on his arm to symbolise what a Star I was, shining his life back then. All I can think of is, how stupid of one to disfigure God's creation by inking one's body.
All this while, I moved forward in life. I studied on, I dated Mr Good Looker on quite a frequent basis and I bask in the love of the family. Those who made me strong. After much putting the pieces together, then it dawn onto me. Mr Good Looker was a model. A face used by quite a few commercials and even Mr Cleo. And with that, a new friendship spins between the both of us.
Dear Mr Footballer,
We have both moved on in life and you even got yourself engaged to someone who looks like me and even share the same name as me. Thanks for humouring me. And, like all good ex partners, we never hated each other. We still wave hi's and bye's when we meet, which is very rare. But amazingly, deep down, we never hated each other. You have amazingly coloured my life with experience but the hurt you bestowed on me, sadly reminds me even till today, and sadly, it even serves as a punishment to the mens that I have dated after you. I was in fear of a repeat, and I took many precautions and sometimes it hurts the other party. I hope you have changed for the good, eventhough I know you haven't really left the playboy-lifestyle. Just remember, when life gives you a chance, a good one at that, make full use of it.
With lots of hurt memories,
Me.
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