Freshman year in college, I had an intense crush on a guy named Joseph. He was tall and fair, solidly built, and with the nicest dimples ever (or so I thought in 1999). He never spoke in class unless directly confronted by a teacher or our classmates. He was a bit of a mystery to me, and my crush on him was built on nothing except his looks. I'm not going to sugarcoat it, it really was a pretty dumb reason for liking a guy, but hey.
My happy memory happened on the day I saw him walking around
with a pretty chinita girl. Him with the girl was devastating, make sure of it.
I’ve heard of rumours before then, but Joseph’s hand at the small of her back
confirms everything. However, I was lucky to
be with two of my closest girl friends, Andrea and Mariel. It’s almost silly
how they unequivocally banded together to defend me, and when that didn’t work,
to cheer me up.
Mariel said, “Baka cousin lang naman.” (Which the hand at the small of the back
denied). One after another, they came up with reasons, each one more plausible than
the last, as if gradually helping me accept the reality that Joseph ris taken and probably cannot even remember my name. Finally,
Andrea, shot her hands up in the air, and proclaimed, “His loss.”
Years later, I found someone else with even more perfect
dimples than that guy. Joseph has become a footnote in adolescent history. But
those two girls who helped me get over that first of many tiny heartbreaks
never left my side until today and will always be thought of with fondness and
love.
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