Sometimes I scroll over to his profile on a whim, laughing inwardly as I see how he’s been doing, squinting as I type in his name and snickering at all the cheesy love quotes about this new girl. Okay, I know it sounds cruel. But in a sense, it just means he’s still a part of me… er, sorta.

You see, I met him way back when we were in prep. I was the new girl who was teased because of my looks, being the tallest and the only girl with curly hair. “Kulot” yung tawag nila sa ‘kin noon, at palagi nila ako iniiwasan kasi ‘di ako marunong mag-Filipino. And so there I was, with the new girl jitters and scars on my self-esteem, walking into class and feeling shy because I couldn’t remember anyone’s name.

And then, there he was. The first handsome guy I’ve ever seen in my class, and came the makings of a soon-to-be romantic (Note that this was in the point of view of a six-year-old girl. As I’ve said earlier, I laugh at him a lot now, sooo… yeah.) 

It was no surprise then that his name was the first I memorized, including his second and last name. Mind you, this was when I knew remotely anyone’s name; for some, I couldn’t even remember what they looked like when the teacher told me to call for them. I then found myself imagining him and me playing in the grass, laughing and smiling with each other, and even the moment when I got married to him. (Yes, when I was six.) I suddenly realized why I felt shivers down my spine whenever my mother would read me fairy tales with the princesses and their prince charmings. 

Problem is, as always, he didn’t like me back. Literally. Whenever I tried to get close to him, he usually flared up his nostrils with an indignant face and cried “Alis ka nga diyan!” It was like he had an inborn radar especially for me, so when I was in a mile radius of him, he’d run and go someplace else. (Okay, so I exaggerated that a bit. It was a quarter of a mile.) I kinda understand now why: He liked my other classmate, pure and simple, and I was considered the ugly duckling of the bunch - who would’ve liked me with that kind of impression?

But hey, I was six. So my reasoning was simple: Kung ayaw niya sa akin, gagawan ko ng paraan para magustuhan niya ako!

(I’m beginning to think this was the genesis of my profile-stalking. Heh, I’m a weird person, leave me be.)

And so I followed him like the enamored six-year-old I was, looking for him when he wasn’t there and staring at him for long hours during class that I couldn’t hear a word the teacher was saying. So the result was pretty negative… but at the upside, I finally had the urge to go to class every day because he was there, which was a good thing for my parents. I was fully convinced he was the boy I was going to spend the rest of my life with, as I wished on twinkling stars and reminisced the power of fairy tales.

Then there was this one time when I stared at him longer than usual, determined to make him notice me. I held that stare (and the ear-to-ear smile… and the lovestruck hands-on-chin pose…) for about thirty minutes, before he finally noticed and gave me a death glare of pure and adulterated hatred. Needless to say, in no time, I was in tears and the class was disrupted. (According to some accounts, apparently I was eighty percent of all class disruptions.)

And so my teacher came to me with a motherly tone and tried to make me stop crying. One of the ways was - well, what do you know - to get my crush to smile at me. 

Even more surprisingly, he did - and gave the most endearing smile in the whole wide world. (Now, I know what you’re thinking: Ano ba namang love story na ‘to?!) And, even more still: “Hoy, ‘wag ka nang umiyak. Friends na tayo, sige. (Even though I made you cry in the first place.)” But I still cried, of course. Not because I was still hurting, but because I thought if I cried still, he’d continue to say those nice words to me and would lead to happiness forever and ever. (I was a scheming little kid, oh yes I was.)

So all in all, I got over it and tried to get over him too… but the next day, I’d be swooning again and chest-deep in the bliss of a grade school crush. Thence on, I did my best in everything: I tried to get good grades, I participated in school contests, and as a result I became a consistent academic awardee for three years.

But I’m going ahead of the story. Let’s go to Grade One.

Apparently since I was sort of the odd man out, the superiors at school decided I should be part of the school production for such potential. I thought it was just one of those questions adults asked like “How old are you?” or “What’s your name?” when they asked me “Do you want to sing?” So, inadvertently, I became one of the few participants who took up the stage, gesturing to Leas Salonga’s childhood rendition of Small Voice.

At first, I was disheartened - no matter how hard my peers tried to teach me, I couldn’t quite grasp the gestures and wondered what they were talking about at times. I didn’t want this, and nearly decided to leave the production, until…

(Well, of course you saw this coming.)

During the supposed-last day of practice for me, as I wanted out, he was there. Performing too. The same act. And, of course, my little brain screamed at that moment: NO WAY AM I GETTING OUT OF THIS PERFORMANCE. I’LL BE THE AWESOMEST GESTURER THAT HE’LL HAVE TO LIKE ME. And so I was part of the production permanently, with no further qualms about quitting the presentation.

Then, in a pretty little rented gown in front of a lot of families, I performed - the spot light dawned on me, as I was in the middle, as well as him. And I said to myself, This is our moment. The both of us.

But of course, the magical moments cease and by the time I was Grade Two, I tried to get over him, though of course there was still that little throbbing crush pangs. It was very evident that he liked my schoolmate (who was the vice president of the class, mind you), and since there was no other activity that resembled him liking me to the least, I tried to forget him once and for all. That is, until our annual field trip came.

I was primarily excited solely because we were going to Enchanted Kingdom. (Back then, Enchanted Kingdom was like a real kingdom for someone with a princess complex. Such as I.) But during the duration of the trip (which I spent with my mother, teehee.), I in turn was the one who tried to ignore him,  evaded him as much as possible, relishing in the fact that I was going on with my plan swimmingly.

Then I wanted to ride the Flying Fiesta (rooted in a deep dream of flying, which I still hold until this day), where… well… I saw him and his father.

Apparently the universe did not want me to continue on my quest.

I nearly sacrificed my long-time dream of flying just so I wouldn’t encounter them, until mom urged me to continue. (Couldn’t blame her, though, we waited through a very long line.) So I went, and I had trouble trying to look for a seat in the ride.

Coincidentally, the seats near him and his father were the ones left empty. (Eight-year-old mind: OH NOOOOOO.) Cautiously, I looked at him and gave him a nod.

He gave me a smile. “Uy, (insert name here)!” 

But that wasn’t the end of it. His father saw me, and with a commanding fatherly tone, he told him: “Hoy, sabihin mo sa kaibigan mo na sumama siya sa atin.”

Basically, my plans of evading him were totally screwed… but then again, it wasn’t completely bad.

He smiled at me again and pulled up a seat next to him. “Dito ka nalang o, sabay tayo.”

“Umm, salamat,” I told him, trying to suppress my past fangirlish tendencies. No! I was supposed to be avoiding him, darn it!

“First time mo ba sumakay dito?” he then asked casually. My plan was failing, horribly.

“Ahh, yes. Gusto ko talagang sumakay e.” (At this point, I was able to learn Filipino through my loving parents. HUZZAH!)

“Ako rin e,” he said, and we just smiled and chatted like we were old friends. (To my defense, I bet we’ve all got bipolar tendencies when we were kids.) Then, the magic truly happened when the announcer said that the ride was about to start, and the chairs lifted the both of us up.

It was amazing, I tell you - for those three minutes, I felt my dream come true. And the best part of it all was I fulfilled it with him - the first boy I’ve ever been truly enamored with.

That was the last memory I had with him, or so I thought. Came next year, he was transferred to another school.

I still had a crush on him for a full year before I slowly started to forget him, as I had gotten burdened with other troubles on my own and found new endeavors. Over time I had different crushes and forgot about them too, and I was pretty sure I’d never cross paths with him ever again.

Then came Third Year, and my life changed drastically once more.

People at school considered me as an artsy person, as I began to develop a love for drawing and even finished my first-ever comic. So naturally they signed me up for an inter-school art contest. Uh. Well.

Though I tried to explain that my sketches were more oriented to people, they told me that the still life competition was going to be a breeze. I cringed. I had no clue as to how to create still life, and I was faulty with oil pastels. (They were my bane, actually, and whenever someone gave me an art set for my birthday I always skipped to the water color and colored pencils.) So I practiced on my own with little knowledge in the field, until the day finally came.

Heart skipping, I filed up at the registration and scanned the names of contestants before I wrote my name, when one particular moniker made my heart skip a beat. I knew it so well; heck, I memorized the first, second and last name from preparatory. I was going to compete against him! What had gone wrong with the universe?

I then asked an old-time schoolmate of mine, his old object-of-desire, about him.

“Uy! Nandito pala si (insert name here) o!”

She looked unsurprised, but with a bemused smile. “Oo nga e, sabi daw magaling siyang mag-drawing. Nag-cocompete siya noong Grade Six pa e.”

My eyes widened. Him? No way! And then, followed by: But I learned about art first! How dare he!

So when the time came, I entered the room and scanned the contestants for someone who looked familiar. True enough, I found him -  although I couldn’t recognize him at first. He looked different, to say the least, but there was no doubt about it - that was my first love. Then the judges came in and the contest started, and we colored up our illustration boards.

Once I finished I went out of the room and found my other schoolmates and facilitators, where we ate lunch together and talked about the host school. Since the events of my other two schoolmates weren’t going on yet, the three of us decided to go back to the area where my contest was, and we saw him, waiting at his seat.

My other old-time schoolmate seemed to have an odd expression when she saw him. She then encouraged me to talk to him (seeing as we all were classmates at some point), and we went up to him. He gave a weak smile and waved.

“Kumusta na, (insert name here)?” she asked, and he replied candidly. I found this demeanor rather odd, as it seemed like the two were very close. He then looked at me, and I just smiled.

“Naaalala mo pa ba ako?” I intoned, and he chuckled.

“Oo! Ikaw yung englishera ‘di ba?” he said, and I smiled in response. However, he then went back to my other schoolmate, where they talked for a while, absorbed in their own world. It struck me odd, as I thought he always had a thing for my other schoolmate, the one he liked from prep. I went to another schoolmate (who was at a younger year level and one of my close friends), and observed as they looked at all the entries. I felt a weird pang within me, like I hurt a bit, even if I didn’t like him anymore.

Or so I thought.

The next few weeks I heard of rumors about him and that particular schoolmate, that they indeed liked each other, and that he was planning to court her. I was devastated, even if I didn’t want to admit it - I hadn’t seen him for years, for Pete’s sake! Why should I still feel this way?

Then one time, we were going to a nearby school to participate in a youth rally that also happened annually. I and other selected participants went, and upon getting there, we had some activities before we were split into groups. While waiting, I sat on a monobloc chair where our respective group was supposed to meet. I then suddenly heard someone call my name nearby, where I turned suddenly.

It was him again.

“Oh, hi (insert name here)!” I said, and he then hurried up to me where we chatted. Though, I was pretty sure he didn’t really want to talk to me: We barely made contact, and the conversation dwindled down easily. Sighing, I went back and continued with further activities. It was like grade school all over again, just with a different person. (Who happened to be the vice president as well. Huh, what are the odds?)

And so, after befriending him on the online social networking site we all know and love, I started to see a lot of his antics - apparently, he was a womanizer. A few weeks later he seemed to have forgotten all about my dear classmate and moved on to another girl; some weeks later another girl still; and another and another. By Fourth Year he was in a non-exclusive relationship with another classmate, breaking her heart over and over again. That was the final straw.

I didn’t have any contact with him though, so I couldn’t give him a piece of my mind. But it was evident that I no longer liked him, the magic was over, and I saw the prideful, jerk of a monster he truly was. I was in a flurry, and I was considering feminism for some period of my Senior Year.

But then, things died down. Eventually he found another girl and his evil was rid of forever, and he was no longer that thought about. And so for a final time, I checked his profile and felt… nothing. Relief flooded me. I was going to do okay.

So the experience with my first love wasn’t exactly… idyllic, as one would suppose. It didn’t end happily, nor did it end as bitter as one would have thought it to be. But it taught me lessons, I’ll have to say. For one, as mentioned before, when I still liked him I was given inspiration to do better, to be more of what I could. After meeting him during the inter-school competition, I struggled to learn more about still-life and eventually produced a decent representation of a pot in my house, which some classmates lauded. I learned to read signs and to look before I leaped, which helped me analyze people and gained a greater appreciation by studying them, eventually finding another guy who changed my near-radical belief of all guys as jerks. I learned to become the better of myself and had a deeper appreciation for art. I learned the value of sisterhood and the woman by all the hearts he broke.

Even to this day, the Flying Fiesta still remains my favorite ride.

And so I read his profile sometimes and laugh at how he seems to be almost non-existent in the social networking world, studying college somewhere, though I do not know where exactly. His “handsome face,” as I had deemed before, now seems to resemble that of a rat, his charisma now just appears as arrogance, but perhaps it’s just remnants telling me that I’ll be healing fully soon enough.

Dear you, if for some wacko coincidental phenomenon that you’ve come across this article, for one, I’d like to apologize for the harsh way I might’ve predicted you (though you kinda deserved it, no offense), and for another, I’d like to thank you. Though our paths won’t meet for a very, very long time, I’d like to express my gratitude for being a part of my life. Without you, perhaps, I would not have understood who I am fully: My beliefs, my values, my own preferences.

Here’s to you!