rendezvous

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Today I teared up reading about him. I haven't felt this way in a very long time. When I find old pieces of writing that I wrote for him, it always just hit me with nostalgia. There is always a sense of longing every time I think about him. In fact, I based my standards on him when it comes to guys that I'm interested in. But none of them ever gave me the same feeling that he gave me back then. I should come to my senses and realize that not everyone is like him and that there will never be another like him.

He is his own person and who am I to compare others' qualities to his.

In fact, the him I know then might not be the same him now. So who am I to feel so stuck on a person when it has been a couple of years since I last had a real conversation with him.

You know what, I'll just drop the excerpt of the writing that I found in the corner of my old email, and tell me if it was worth the tear drop that came out of my eye.

...

I have never truly talked about him in his truest form. I have never talked about him the way I would see him. I would always say that he's an asshole or that he was annoying. I would always say things that made people think that, he is this.. random boy with curly brown hair and a deep shade of brown eyes, that likes to go around poking people and making fun of them. I've never talked about the side of him that is brilliant in math. When he would get the question right but asked me for help anyway, and I do help him but I have to ask my other friend for help, therefore it's sort of an indirect help from my friend.

I have never talked about the side of him, that would pick up the guitar so graciously and started playing old 70s songs that made everyone in the room feel the need to look at him. He would glide his fingers across the strings and fret as he tap his foot on the clean white tiles of our cold classroom. He'll stare down at the guitar and, faintly, you can see his lashes flutter as he play.

I have never talked about him being passionate about football or soccer or whatever do you want to call that sport where you kick a black and white (most of the time) ball around and score a goal. He would always be so excited when it comes to the teams that he love, the players that he adore and want to become someday (and I do believe he can be like Zlatan if he train hard enough). I always - somehow - remember his favourite team, Tottenham Hotspur. The very football team that has a chicken for a logo, how could I possibly forget that.

I can still remember him, going to school, and bringing a book about Zlatan. And he would read it with Andrew and the both of them would admire him by praising the way he plays and such. Now, how can I possibly forget that?

I have never talked about the way he is so passionate about his music and how by the end of grade 9, he would come to me and made me listen to music together. I never mentioned the fact that I get over excited when he does so. I would get excited every time we talk, argue, or ramble about music.

Now, I have never talked about why I liked him in the first place. I guess it never occured to me that I liked him because of our music taste. Finding that common ground with him just made me feel closer. The thing is, I didn't realise that I liked him because of that reason until my friend said something that goes like, "Why would you get so confused about liking someone? Isn't it obvious? You like the person because you have something in common between the two of you,"

And with that simple sentence, it just hit me. I liked him because we have the same taste in music, because he praises my art and told me that he liked it a lot, because we like the same movies, because he would listen to me when I ramble, because he's this person that I've always admired but never really confirm it with myself. Because and because and because, I can finally think of a million reasons to like him when I'm no longer 'too interested' in his existence.

Why was it so hard for me to just admit small facts like that? Why was it so embarrassing to admit those simple, yet reasonable, facts to myself?

Ah! Really... I'm just mad at myself now. What a wuss, I was. 'Afraid of admitting my own feelings' what a stupid thing to feel.