The One That Got Away

If I knew the things I know now when I was eighteen would things be different in my life? Would it be better or would it be worse? Should I leave the what-ifs out of the equation and accept the fact that this is how it was meant to be, period? If the thoughts I've conscientiously written in my diary back then were put into words and actions, what would have I lost? Would have I lost my innocence earlier? Would have I experienced life in the true sense of the word prematurely?

Would my first sexual experience consist of the proverbial back-seat grappling of raw awkwardness instead of the more matured and memorable first time that I know? Or would it have been even more magical?

During those moments when we sat side by side the piano stool, me playing and him singing… were those the moments I should have taken advantage of and used to express how I felt? Would he have reciprocated my declaration of love? Or would he have ran straight to the boondocks never to return?

However, it would have not been possible, as he always had a chaperon hovering around us, wagging his forefinger when we started to stray too far from the purpose of the visit. But chaperon aside, I still could picture his twinkling eyes that crinkled when he smiled. And his funny accent that my sister, my cousin and I would mimic when he was not around. He may not have been the brightest but he was definitely most charming in his silent gentle ways.

He was the man wearing leotards in my dreams, gliding and pirouetting on a dimmed stage as I watched alone in the rafters. I may have put him on a legendary pedestal and he may not have deserved it. Nevertheless, he is still there, standing proud and mysterious.

No matter how many ruminations I make, the fact that it was never meant to be intrudes. It would never have worked out, as we were from very different worlds. Our paths crossing was one of those impossible incidents that may never have happened in normal circumstances. He shall remain a beautiful daydream. Far and unreachable.

With this journal entry, a part of me is saying good-bye to him. I no longer fear if he happens to read this and identify himself in the imagery, after all time has taken away most of the intensity of the emotion. Although reminiscing seems to bring them all back again. Moreover, I am not unique in this situation. All of us surely remember at least one very special person in our lives whom we have always wondered about as we go through the grind of our everyday realities.

Perhaps there’s a reason why sleeping dogs should be left lying. As my current flame told me, I should never regret the things that happened before we met, no matter how painful they were, because it eventually led us to each other.

I have always wondered: is love unrequited if the object of it is unaware of one's feelings? Maybe, maybe not. That is something that I may never know. And even if I knew, it would not change a thing. Or would it?