Lost Thoughts

The Antonym of Me

(Published under Edenton Echo, the Official Student Publication of Edenton Mission College, Inc.)

The Antonym of Me

Written by Rose Roushima

Her point of view:

Standing tall, he's at a distance, appearing with a perfectly crafted face outlining his unpredictability. Those moods that timely vary. His feature is in flawless white. He has a chocolate brown disheveled hair, messy yet attractive. His black thick long lashes with a pair of perfectly-formed brows just right above and innate round brown eyes that at every gaze would capture your heart. Lips faultlessly etched in reddish pink that sealed a set of orderly-arranged teeth. His pointy nose I would want to pinch and kiss its tip.

Slowly, I passed through him surreptitiously getting a whiff of his scent. A smell of an aficionado spray lingers over my nose. He still wears the same fragrant. Every day for over 3 years, I get to walk across his way - three long years of misery that only his counted smiles and laughs could flatter. He's somebody, and I'm just someone who could only imagine and contrive a conversation with him. Only in my illusions that he waves his hand and greets me with a smile. Seeing him at school makes my heart leap with content.

He's talented and smart - a mathematics wizard that I'm not. He is rich, gorgeous and famous. And there are things about him that I just knew from overhearing: He loves music, and he sings but he can't play any instrument. He loves basketball at the same time he loves computer games. He owns a white dog. He has a collection of designer coats, bags and shoes. He's polite and not much of a talker. And he never had a girlfriend, never courted anyone or even said the name of the girl that he likes.

In my room, I would grab a book to read. Fantasize we were the ones in the story. I am hopeless, I know. And every time my mind would come telling me we're very different, I would just talk to my journal again and again.

He's the heaven and I'm the earth. He's the epitome of beauty, while ugliness is me. He is the antonym of me. So close yet so far. When will he ever notice me? High school days are now about to say goodbye. I never even said, "Hi."

His point of view:

I'm not good at describing people or talking about them. But you're asking me for it, so for her I'll give it a shot.

At the corridor she walks with her long straight hair, black as dusk. Framed in her face is real innocence. She plainly and neatly dresses, trying to maintain a low profile at best. She's suntan, and I have never seen her put on a makeup. Others say that she talks too much. She's cheerful and carefree. In their eyes, she's not pretty. But I find her beautiful the way she carries her sweet simple personality.

I overheard - no, more like I've eavesdropped - her friends while they're talking: she loves books, offer her a cup of coffee and you can make her smile, she's not a crybaby over sad romantic movies, she's a happy-go-lucky, and she owns a diary where she writes on when she's sad or happy. She plays guitar but she can't sing. She knows nothing about ballgames. She's more comfortable in her jeans and baggy tees. And she loves black cats which I really hate. She's classic and I'm modern. She's a literary masterpiece, and I'm a complex equation. She's the antonym of me.

Every time she walks through my way, I give her a glance, clandestinely observing her beguiling simplicity. She never knew that she has captured my heart. She's the only girl I ever noticed from the very start.

Three years. Three years of secretly loving someone beyond my reach. The year will soon be over. Still I don't have the guts to admit my feelings for her.