(images from tumblr)
I don’t usually like talking about my love life.
After all, a woman’s heart is a treasure trove full of secrets. The things only she knows.
But for cathartic reasons, and for girls who’d like to relate to my situation, I’m going to write a snippet of the little whirlpools in the recesses of my mind.
I had my first crush in Junior College, which is the USA equivalent of senior high. I was 17 then.
Crushes are called crushes for a reason. He was someone outstanding, popular- a good sportsman, straight A student. I was just that girl with the ponytail and glasses hiding behind volumes of Shakespeare and Calculus. I never spoke much to him so it follows that I obviously never told him how I felt. Days, weeks and months went by- he eventually moved on and graduated, left the country and now has a girlfriend of his own. My shyness had, for the first time, been a huge disadvantage. I still wondered, for a few months, what it would have been like if I told him earlier. Then again, given the disparity, he’d probably say no and give me an ice cream treat while at it to prevent me from bawling my eyes out. (nah I’m just kidding about the bawling. My eyes won’t fall out)
My second crush was in my first year of university- I was 19. This wasn’t really a crush to be honest- it’s not easy for me to like someone that way, it was more of wanting to get to know more about him because he was very theatrical. His manner of speech fascinated me and I just wanted to find out more. But exams got in the way and soon I moved on because I wanted to focus on my academics instead. Year one, a new ballgame, a new field, a new battle- I simply could not let something like this get in the way of getting to year 2. So I chose my grades over everything else and retrospectively, I don’t actually regret anything.
My 3rd one was this year. 17–> 19–> 22.
I got to know him more earlier this year and I found him nice. I liked the fact he understood and could quote pieces of literature that I was familiar with. With that, it seemed like we already had something in common. He was really good at music too. This was the one that I had the most difficulty getting over- I considered if it was possible if we could even try working things out. It wasn’t so much watching someone from afar anymore- I actually knew this guy and for once in my life, entertained a possibility that something might come out of this. Unfortunately, just as I found myself liking his company, he got himself a girlfriend. And girls, I don’t know much about love, but I can tell you this- there is nothing more painful that a scenario like that. Not even a wisdom tooth extraction after the anaesthetic wears off and you’re left stuffing McFlurries into your mouth. You know what they say about heartbreak? It’s a lie. When your heart actually breaks, it’s not just the heart that breaks, you’d feel like your entire body is broken, torn, smashed into a billion pieces, like fine china thrown against a brick wall.
This heartbreak in particular, was what triggered me to sign up for Playhouse to numb the pain of it all. Immerse yourself in work and play (no pun intended). Becoming April (my character in the play) helped me get away from the fact that I was a girl who needed time to heal. I laughed during rehearsals, went crazy, got happy. But at night when I went back, the first few weeks? Teardrops on my ukelele. That’s how bad it got.
Some parts of the play required me to cry on cue. I did.
People didn’t know how I was able to do that- I had a few people ask me what was going through my head when the first tears rolled down. I said, “Clubbing seals and drowning puppies.”
That was an obvious lie.
Metaphorically I was a thorn bird – “a mythical bird that searches for thorn trees from the day it is hatched. When it finds the perfect thorn, it impales itself, and sings the most beautiful song ever heard as it dies.”
To be able to feel the pain that your character does (the complexity and intensity of emotions that April undergoes), you need to be able to draw that out of yourself. It’s not just thinking about puppies and seals. It’s really extracting that pain all over again. Reminding yourself of that hurt.
Now, here I am. Not much older, but a lot wiser.
They say having your heart broken changes you. It changes your perspective on life. It makes you more cautious about giving yourself or pieces of your heart away, and it’s true.
I feel like i’m building a brick wall now. A brick wall that keeps my heart safe. Layer after layer, shelter from the pelting rain, refuge from the storm.
(taken from wikipedia)
Somehow I still hope one day, there will be someone who comes along who’ll bother tearing this wall down, carrying a big sturdy umbrella with him. Someone whom I’d finally let in through the window- that ray of light.
He’d love me for me, and we’d grow old together becoming pillars of support for each other.
Dark stuff for such an ironically sweltering afternoon.