My life is an open blog

My earliest memory of crushing on a guy was as a 5 yr old in Baghdad. This cute Arab shepherd probably the same age, wearing his black and white checked keffiyeh, used to pass my house with his goats. I used to religiously sit next to the window and wait for him to come every morning. (Pause for awwws) Then we had to flee the country. Gulf war started. Ah, simple times!

My first real crush was later the same year, but back in India. He was my classmate in school. 

The year was 1990. It was the Annual Day function. All the primary school students were participating in whatever capacity they could. It was quite interesting actually, all of us were accommodated in various fairy tales, where they were not only enacted by us but the costumes were our personal ones, so it was multiple plays as well as a fancy dress competition.

I was playing the part of ‘Mirror’ in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. (Pause for laughs) And ‘he’ was coincidently the Prince. Oh how I hated the girl playing Snow White! And she was a year younger! There wasn't a day I didn’t wish she’d be unable to justify the enigmatic character and was compelled to switch places with me. And when he went up to her and kissed her hand to bring her back to life, it was like a thousand knives strategically stabbed in my heart. To add fuel to fire, he was also participating in ballroom dancing and was partnered with the prettiest girl in my class (we discovered 10 years later that they were crushing on each other then and had recently started dating, which managed to shatter me for a day!)

Anyhoo I tried to contact him through fb back in 2007 with a “Hey! I was in your class in DPS, remember?” He replied “Sorry, but it would really help if you’d put up a picture” (If I show my DP now baby, it would kill you that you don’t remember me!)

How could he not remember the time when we magically happened to be alone once in class in the 5^th grade and to kill time he was teaching me how to make chalk back from the chalk powder by mixing water in it and molding them into cylinders? I even remember the anticipation on his face, as he waited for it to dry in the sun. He didn’t remember the time I complained to the teacher about him bringing syringes to class after he had recovered from a critical brain hemorrhage, ‘cause he didn’t know how worried I was and how much I missed him the 15 days he didn’t come to school. Or when he ran around class laughing with my I-card in his hand, making fun of my picture.  

He left for another school after 6^th grade and I was heartbroken. I swore I’d never “love” again. (*sniff*  tissues please) However, what followed was a string of crushes. I tried counting a few years back, I realized I just didn’t have enough fingers and toes combined. Did we even think in our time that school crushes could be reciprocated?

My first heartbreak came even before I knew how to subtract by borrowing. It’s funny, though over the years heartbreaks have come in all shapes and sizes, with little or huge complications, the plot pretty much remains the same.

It’s like how Brandon Boyd sings in Smile Lines:

I want you bad!
I want you bad!
I understand why they say 
high school never ends