Stuck in Love

Chapter 5

Meteor Garden, Full House, High School Musical, the TV show “Spirits,” the movie Mean Girls, Friendster and its testis, the rise of Defense of the Ancient over Counterstrike.

We had all those memories from high school—at least for my generation.

It’s that period when teenagers struggle to find their own identity and wonder why some people do not understand them the way they want to be understood. As these teenagers experience gradual growth in their puberty stage, they somehow ask themselves a lot of why’s and how’s.

Oh well, who was I in high school? Nothing. Just an average teenager who went through difficult pressing times of trying to make the elderly understand me and realize that their generation was different from our generation.

How did I ever pass that stage? Well, I guess, I had no choice but to pass it because no matter how I wanted to stay that way, I grew and developed physically, mentally, emotionally, psychologically—not to mention, fabulously! Yeah!

And then there was the girls’ feeling of admiration and attraction to some boys, and vice versa, which develop overtime. Some call them “first love.” Some would start in being frenemies and would end up being together; while some already had the baduy ideas of courtship and pambobola. But some would just hide their feelings away, thinking everything was just damn infatuation.

Years after, you would somehow realize that it was really just infatuation and not even close to being true love because well, as Taylor Swift’s song goes, “We were both young when I first saw you...”—with emphasis on the young.

Ahh...the innocent, stupid days.

But whoever invented the thought of “First love never dies” and made it popular? I have one thing to say about him/her—he/she is a lonely sucker! Gahddammit! He/she/it should know that some people suffer in this pop culture belief.

Sadly, I’m one of them.

***

I had crushes even before I stepped into high school. But then I met this boy.

I remember him being alone in the corner, having no one to talk to. He was such a loner—at least for his first days in school. He would always look out of the window as if his mind was floating somewhere.

He was cute. He had that messy hair and little chinito eyes and rounded face. He was tall and brown-skinned. I was not so keen in his physical details since I would seldom see him. He would rarely go to school, for some reasons I didn’t know and wouldn’t ask.

One time, he joined me and my best friend during break. That’s when I knew about his name.

Sandro Joseph Trinidad.

Just the mention of his name makes me recall a lot of things about him, some events that I was sure happened—although I was not sure about the interpretation for everything.

He was such a weird, mysterious guy. I took quite a deeper stare at him as he ate his food that break time. I didn’t know if he noticed me. It seemed like there were some things in him that people did not know—something he would not show anyone. Or maybe he was that what-you-see-is-what-you-get type.

Too bad, I did not see a lot. But whatever I saw on the day I first stared at him made me feel something unusual. From that day on, I rightfully knew I would never ever forget him.

Sandro Joseph. Sandro. SJ.

The perfect example of the popular “tall, dark, and handsome” dream guy of every girl.

His bubbly yet mysterious personality, his maangas bad-boy gestures, those little things about him, those things I had discovered and even those that I still do not know.

His eyes. Especially his dark brown eyes.

They all made the man I ever wished for.

They all made the man that I knew I fell in love with for the first time.

They all made the man that would always haunt me—and probably would be capable to constantly hurt me.

***