I just haven’t met you yet.

Dear first love,

You’re probably not gonna see this. Well, I sure hope you don’t.

Just a few days ago, I was sitting alone at a McDonald’s, surrounded by many strangers, all of whom had company, many of whom seemed to know people they didn’t arrive with. I arrived alone, on purpose, and didn’t bump into anyone I knew or thought looked familiar. I didn’t know anybody, but everybody knew everybody. I was alone in a crowd.

Well, there was one other person who seemed to be there alone, although he did seem as if he was waiting for somebody, who essentially did not show up. He was sitting about two tables away from me, leaned back, sipping on a drink, and his line of sight never left the screen of his phone. He wasn’t seated for any more than 20 minutes, after which he got up and walked out of my life.

The point isn’t what he had been doing in the seemingly insignificant 20 minutes of my life. The point is this: I had paid full attention to what he was doing in every one of those 20 minutes, and probably only because following him could potentially have led to undesirable circumstances.

The reason for why I was so interested in his trivial activities was simply that he reminded me so much of you. I couldn’t quite see his face, but from where I was, he looked every bit like your 15 year old self. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He was attractive! From the back!

I’m not one to typically stare at attractive people; I think I practise quite a bit of self-control. Or at least I know how and when not to embarrass myself (Those of you who beg to differ, may I remind you that ‘embarrassing myself’ is subject to what embarrasses me). What really kept me looking at him was not his attractiveness, but of course, his resemblance to you – the boy I hardly ever think about anymore, and when I do, is but a distant memory.

When I saw him however, it was as if it was you who was sitting right there, and vivid playbacks of those distant memories flashed before me. I imagined sitting in the school canteen, watching ignorant you walk past me. The way you walked was signature. Arrogant and self-righteous. Even now, I believe I can spot a masked you from miles away, as long as you walked.

So I reminisced about that swagger, and all the other characteristics you had that once gave my tummy somersaults and butterflies without fail. And I smiled. I was sitting alone at a table, eyes fixated on nothingness, and seemingly without reason, I smiled. People looked, for I really was smiling to myself, but it wasn’t something I could help.

I thought about your overall physique – your unfit build, your tan baby-smooth skin, your fleshy round face, your annoying, constantly-gelled hair, your conspicuously charming smile, your self-proclaimed naturally straight white teeth, your wide crooked nose, your fashionable eyes, your fashionable eyelashes, your buff but weak arms, your edgy long fingers, your unusually large fingernails, your- I could go on forever, but let’s stop before I get into the more private details.

I also thought about your personality that swept me off my feet again and again for years – how sociable and personable you were that it sometimes humbled me. Also, I remembered how flinchingly sweet your words were, although of course back then my doubts and insecurities continuously welcomed them (and sometimes fed on them).

You were the ideal boyfriend from the surface. Superficially perfect. I couldn’t find a single flaw or mistake, but half of the reason was that I was blinded by the novelty of a first love. I saw what I wanted to see. You would walk in and out on me, but I never once told you no when you kept coming back after months of leaving me torn and broken. I convinced myself you had well-meant reasons to leave me. And to come back. I constantly made excuses for you, even when you were gone.

The other half of the reason was having built my list of ideals for a boyfriend based solely on your characteristics. You were only perfect because I allowed you to define perfection. Looking back now, I may still like the look of you, but the butterflies don’t flutter like they used to anymore. From where I stand now, you may still meet standards, but you’re way below many.

We lived very different lifestyles. Though we were in the same school, you were a year ahead of me, and we never shared after-school activities. The only time we spent together was during the weekends – lunch and a movie along with some other friends. The you in my life was expressed mostly through MSN, phone calls and text messages. The regular “What are you doing baby?” every half hour or so.

I don’t know what I loved about you. It wasn’t as if we’d been through a lot, or done a lot together. Yet I would constantly think of you, every free moment I had, every day without fail. I suppose back then there just wasn’t much else in life to occupy my thoughts with. I was the clingy girlfriend, hanging on to you like I would to dear life, and all you wanted was to be free. You had a social life going on for you, which I couldn’t share, and which I couldn’t stand seeing you live, without me.

So I thought about how you were never right for me, how I was never right for you, and how long it took for me to come to that realisation, its understanding, and eventually, its acceptance.

All these thoughts came and went in a matter of minutes. As quickly as they were vivid. It certainly didn’t bother me emotionally. In fact, it was a breath of fresh air. A brief reprieve from the present. Reminiscing was always a form of getaway for me, and if there was anyone worth reminiscing about, it was you. Our time together might not have been the best, or even one of the better times of my life, but it’s incredible how much I’d learned from it. I would not be who I am today if it hadn’t been for you, and I must say, I quite like who I am today.

I went home that day with those thoughts of you tucked neatly back into a secluded area of my mind. I put my books and bag down, turned on the computer, and did the usual – sign in to Facebook, Twitter, YouTube. I guess those thoughts weren’t tucked in quite neatly enough though, because I suddenly decided to open your profile page on Facebook.

Which I did. And the first thing I saw was the profile picture – a self-taken shot of you and your girlfriend.

I smiled. A genuinely happy smile. I couldn’t help but think to myself how good you looked together, which is something I never before found myself saying about us. I scanned the rest of your pictures, more than half of which had her in them. They were beautiful, every photo, and I was so proud of myself for being truly happy for you.

Seeing snapshots of your life way after me puts a smile on my face. It feels good seeing you possess something I could never have given you. But I’m also envious; why you and not me? You’ve found happiness that seems never-ending, and here my life is a rollercoaster. For a long time, I’ve stopped needing to be in yours. But I wouldn’t mind swapping.

Sometimes I wonder if you think of me, and how much you, or I might, have grown since. Or at least how pathetic what we had was. How pathetic I was, pining for you, convinced I could never find a better love. Or is it just me who occasionally allows memories of the past to devour precious time that I could otherwise spend productively? I suppose it’s more likely to be just me, because it seems you’ve found what you’ve been looking for… and I haven’t.

Well, good luck! With your relationship, with your future, with life. I will continue envying the two of you, but it also gives me hope, seeing that it is indeed possible to be with the right person for you in the end. There is a right person for me too. I just have to look for him.

Because I just haven’t met him yet.

:)

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