Sad Tragedy

Revolution

  The months that we had together leading up to the demise of our relationship during our overseas immersion trip were more than a revolution in years, at least for me.

  For years up to the Spark at the Corridor, life, particularly school life was just something I feel I am obliged to get it done and over with — nothing more than a boring and repeating cycle of misery on a day to day basis with the weekends being my only days of actually having some peace and quiet to myself. Being frequently taunted and bullied for who I was is the norm since elementary school, and it didn't shock me at all when this continued onwards into secondary school. I guess I am just lucky that I got good with the taunts and didn't really bother at all unless it was like, really severe. 

However, when he stepped into my sorrow life by incanting his charm and all into me, everything else didn't matter because I finally had something — someone to look forward to when I come to school, albeit the little dread that still remain at the back of my head from time to time. I like how we kept the relationship meticulously secret, even from his many girl-friends which he trusted to the moon and back, and I am legitimately still extremely impressed by that, because of the many years I've resided on this very earth, the people I "trusted" were all douchebags that got the better of me to think that they are trustworthy, but actually, once they got what they want, they would just get to my back and backstab the heck out of me. It's sad, but the world isn't always that colourful as modern television and films paint. It's the harsh truth, harsh reality we, the people at the bottom of this chain suffer and keep with.

  In these six-seven months that we dated, and I assume, gravely in love, life was a happy go lucky thing with the very minor exceptions of a disagreement, but fret not, we always get that settled and over with within a few hours. Everyday, we'd make it our relationship chore to hit the furthest cafe in town (from our school) and grab the usual frappes and either start our lovely conversation or homework revision under the warm light projected through a beautiful stained glass. And every time he leans over and teaches me math and the sciences, which was he main levels of expertise as he despises languages and humanities, his charm literally goes onto the next level, and I would always be distracted by the elaborate warmth from the proximity of his body and his signature smell — a mixture of his perspiration and the deodorant — although a little disgusting but as you heard the saying love overpowers all, nothing can stand in the way.

  Nevertheless, during the span of this relationship, which was devastatingly ill-fated, my overwhelming weakness when it came to love — jealousy — got the best of me, coupled with the fact whereby he's bisexual made things that were already complicated even more so through the fact that every single time that a girl, not just a guy walking past him, he would either look up obviously or conceal the fact that he is, infuriating me. I know how utterly pathetic and retarded this sounds but I'm not that typical easily trusting people with the mind the size of a vast ocean because you know, the multiple backstabs, that, translated to distance would be most likely an indefinite kilometres. So, moral of the story — to get to love me, you have to know me. Know me well. Well enough that I can trust you without any doubt. I'm sorry but this is the truth in an ever-growing and challenging globalised world that we live in.

  Two months preliminary to our trip to London with the school, our day to day lives became ever more so hyped with our routine to the cafe more like future planning instead of doing actual revision for our end year examinations. While losing track of our academics were a bad thing, the guilt of not studying was immediately covered up by the pure fun and enjoyment we've had over the planning, with details always being exaggerated to make it seem like we were going to stay in London forever and become a British.

  Nonetheless, despite all of this future planning crap we concocted over the course of two months, the plan didn't go all so well given how we literally broke up on the Underground, specifically between Queensway and Notting Hill Gate stations.

  However slow you might think the days were passing, the day for our departure to London has arrived. Bidding farewell to my parents and getting into a private hire car with another friend from school, or so they thought. En route to the airport was marvellously magical no matter how negligible. In its sense, I was almost more than pleased and overjoyed to learn that the driver was gay and the fact that he didn't really care about our slight PDA on his car. I said slight because obviously we, or at least I will never be strongly PDA-ing on the back of someone's car lest the metro or any public transport because obviously, people have judgemental minds and the mainstream society hates narcissistic couples professing their love for each other that significantly in their faces every time all they want was to take the metro, say, in peace and quiet after a long and stressful working day. I said slight because it really was just slight — us holding hands and me leaning on his shoulder, nothing more, nothing less.

  Seeing this scene at the back of the car from his rear-view, the driver glanced back and smiled. Not that judgementally angry smile, or the awkward "oh, you're a gay couple in the backseat" smile, but just pure, loving and accepting smile that literally made the rest of my day. Though the trip to the airport via the freeway normally takes an upwards of fifty minutes in an normal afternoon commute, the precedence of time for this particular trip was so insignificant that I thought it lasted for only like what, 15 minutes or so?

  On disembarkation, and before we pushed our luggages onto the cart, I thanked the driver and warmly smiled back at him. Like seriously, he's so accepting in his gesture, coupled with the fact that he's gay made it a rarity. Oh, and did I forget to tell you how he's gay? I deduced it from the many stickers on his windscreen that depicted with so much pride that he's same as us, adjuvant to the fact that there's like so many PinkDot stickers and a mini rainbow flag in corner of the car. I wondered if my ex-boyfriend noticed the meticulous detailing the driver has put into to make his vehicle one of the friendliest, if not the most or was he just distracted with scrolling through his feed on Instagram.