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When I was in my second year of high school, we had a physical education class in the late afternoon, and as a warm-up exercise, the sports teacher told us to run around the football pitch three times. At that age, I wasn't so competitive yet, so I was always content just running in the middle of the pack. One of my close friends and I decided to maintain our place just behind all the sports and activity enthusiasts.
Jogging just a few steps ahead of us was a girl I was tragically infatuated with at the time. She was Australian-Chinese, brunette, sweet smile, fit body, funny, clever, charming, and beautiful. She was trotting along beside this other guy, an English dude who loved nothing more than football, sweets, and his clarinet. (Seriously, the box that he used to store his clarinet in had a sticker on it saying 'I <3 MY CLARINET'.)
This guy who had the sweet tooth... I forgot what he was saying exactly, but as we were doing our three laps, he was definitely trying to flirt with the girl of my dreams. I remember thinking to myself, as we rounded a corner of the football pitch, about what a twerp he was, and how he was polluting my very schoollife in every conceivable way.
And then, the most miraculous thing happened. He turned his head to ask my gal another question, and had no awareness at all of the football post that was fast approaching. For the tiniest fraction of time fathomable, I had the opportunity to call out his name and warn him about the pole he was about to collide with, but I refused to - the figurative devil stuck his pitchfork into my shoulder angel's heart - this guy was going down.
And in 3...
2...
1...
*CLUNK*
And I Laughed. My. Ass. Off.
His temple had come into contact with the football post, and he had fallen to the ground instantly. I continued laughing as I kept on running, my close friend running beside me was laughing, another friend jogging behind me laughed, and even the girl who was talking to this poor fella didn't stop to bat an eyelid - she continued to do her three laps of the field as she laughed as well.
My friend and I jumped to avoid trodding on him, we caught up with the girl and had a brief chat as we finished our third lap, and left our beloved clarinetist moaning, groaning, grumbling, and rubbing the side of his head, like any guy who had just run into a football post would do. I bet there was a real ringing in his ears at the time, stars spinning over his head. To me, that was pure magic.
There is not one single time when I relive that moment and do not find it funny. The physical comedy does not wear off. If I go to Heaven, I bet God would grant me the option of viewing that scene ten thousand million times.
But let's face it, judging from this story, I'm probably going to Hell.
When I was in my fourth year of primary school, I knew these two girls who would always sneak out of class to go to the ladies' room together. Even at my young age, I suspected that they might be engaging in some lesbionic activities at first, but it turns out that they were doing something a little less sexual, but a little bit more scary.
The bathroom doors weren't closed, so any passer-by could see the sink area, which is where they were, instead of the cubicles doing excretory business. One day, I decided to follow them out of the classroom, and I found them kneeling on the floor where the window of the washroom was, next to the sinks, and they were meowing up at the sky, so it seems, like wolves howling at the moon. Between purring toward the big blue, they would also lick the back of their palms (paws), and stroke their own imaginary tails (seriously). It was beyond bizarre for me to catch a glimpse of.
They saw me watching them, so they moved on their hands and knees toward me, like actual felines. I asked them what they were doing, and one of them, out of nowhere, reached out her hand, lashed me and scratched my face with her sharp nails. Then, I was left with a Jurassic Park-like laceration on my face.
That was weird, painful, and stupid. Damn girls and their weird games.
"OW, I hit my funny bone on the edge of the table!"
"OW, I stubbed my toe!"
"OW, I accidentally touched the edge of the frying pan!"
"OW, I hit my head on the ceiling!"
It's stupid enough that you caused yourself the pain, but must you shout it out loud for the world to hear? That's imbecility that is incredible to me. Why are you telling me how you hurt yourself? Does it relieve the pain? Do you want to be known for clumsiness and thick-headedness? Does it make either one of us feel better?
No! Don't tell me you ventilated like that as part of a reflex reaction. Are you really garrulous and unpredictably verbal to the point where you really do not have any control over your own mouth? I just can't help but think that you deserved to get hurt after such a reaction as yours.
This is probably God's way of having fun. Using the principle of karma, normally, you would be dealt pain that would exact the degree of your wrongdoing, but in this case, you are dealt the punishment first, as God knows you will react by committing that exact sin. Like I said, God's playing with fate, and there's a touch of irony, of a paradoxical relationship.
I'm sure you've said goodbye to someone after a party or a dinner with an old friend, only to feel silly soon after when you discover that you're actually going to leave in the same direction as the person you chirpily chirped toodle-oo to. As you walk side-by-side, in the same direction, you're then faced with the agonizing dilemma of whether or not you should bid each other farewell once more when you do, in fact, part ways for real.
While you take one slow step after another, it's painfully awkward walking alongside them. Is it inappropriate for you to exclaim 'bye-bye' again after saying it earlier?
As you stare downwards at your feet and their feet, and notice that their steps are synchronized with yours, the tension of the situation is making your shoulders a little stiff and it's sending chills down your spine. Do you express the second goodbye with the same vehemence as the first time? Or will that just make it sound like you're happy to be leaving them?
Really, though, you just can't bear to walk beside them any longer. It's too painful. This is a station on the Social Line that your train usually doesn't stop at. Is my friend thinking the same thoughts? Oh, my God, what if we say goodbye a second time and then it happens again? Quick, quick! Recall a joke to break the ice! Say something! Grasp at straws!
As long as you interact with people, this very vexatious situation is bound to come up. It just happens, no matter how high our IQ is. I mean, a lot of us have this foolishly preconceived notion, with no substantial premises, that nobody else will exit in the same direction we do. Some of us don't know where people are going after an event because we're too self-involved to ask. Some of us know where people are heading afterward, but lack a directional sense.
Or perhaps what's most likely the case is that we're just too carelessly eager to flee, to escape some grueling group gathering, to break away from a bunch of buffoons that you can no longer stand. It's when an interntionally swift goodbye backfires that makes things most excruciating.
Remember what we're talking about here:
I hate it when I say goodbye to someone, only to be leaving in the same way afterward. Someone shoot me the next time that happens.
As you've probably guessed, this is a serious one for a change. It's not a stupid, senseless and mindless habit this time. It's about something deep, something emotional and something astonishingly common. I've had a good seventeen years to find people to love, care for and share with. More than half the time, I've had feelings for them, feelings that I'll just group together into what we know as crushes. When someone does not love you the same way, it means they don't have a crush on you at the time you have a crush on them.
When you think about your own love, the pain and torment of said love originates from the internal struggle, and the ever-lasting wonderment about whether or not the other person likes you back. A whole list of other things can drive you to shed doubtful tears. You may think you don't deserve such a great person as him/her, or you may notice that he/she has some flaws you might not be able to oversee, or you may have external pressures from your family and your peers, or you may be afraid of a little competition, or you may be much accustomed to acting stoic, causing you to think about how you're ever going to change your personality, but the universal thing that makes us most worried about confessing your love is the fear of not getting what you wished for, and the overwhelming heartbreak that comes with rejection.
And then there is the horrible case in which you are already in a relationship, but you have lost your initial spark, and your companion just does not love you the same way as he/she used to in the good ol' days, and it hurts when there is no possible way to rekindle old, passionate flames. Whether or not you're in a relationship, you may give a huge multitude of things: care, effort, time, advice, patience, trust, consistency in character, shoulders for crying on, ears for listening, hands for holding, understanding, respect, etc... You may give all these things, but in the end, it comes down to whether or not they love you the same way - if they have the same feelings you do, and it is a pity when they don't.
I speak of this from experience and having heard many a sad story, I know of this from my friends and my family, my parents in particular as they are divorced and do not love each other in the old respect they did seventeen years ago. Sigh, I am only a seventeen-year-old student, yet life appears so much older, less colorful and more unattractive when I go from class to class. The classrooms reek of sadness thanks to loneliness and the absence of a mutual love, despite the childlike excitement and desire at school, the sparkles in our eyes we get from learning, the work that we do that distracts us from our troubles, the smiles on our faces we use as shields to hide the thoughts that lie deeper within our head.
But, really, who hasn't been rejected? Who has ever been able to escape the love spell, in other words, the curse of affection that consumes the minds of each and every person in my life (especially the important ones)? Why is it that we all want to be loved in the way we love others? What is it that makes us wish the stranger was our friend, wish the friend was our lover? How can my idea of love be different from yours if love is meant to be pure, independent and ever-lasting? Why is love seemingly unfair? Why love at all? Why bother?
This problem occurs a lot.
Do you hate it too?
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