To All The Boys I've Loved Before - Letter 1

Dear Number 1,

You're the one who is doing my head in at the moment. I'm writing about several states of paranoia, bliss, perplexity, hopelessness -- you knows, the typical symptoms of being in this love sickness. I think the first time you grew on me was during Wellington. On the first night, all our class stood in a circle in the middle of Cuba Street. Rather than immersing yourself in the circle you sat alone on a bench beside them. I saw this sight from down the street, then realized all of you were standing in the spot where K, B and I were harassed by a woman who threw cuss words at us. We raced toward you while being subconsciously weary of the territory, but the feeling was also being diminished by our class' presence. And yours. So I didn't worry much. 

I don't particularly remember being nervous as I started our conversation. My hands weren't shaky, not even from the cold, and my eyes didn't land on anywhere else but on yours. The weak light coming from the several shops surrounding us probably helped, and I couldn't even see the pale tones on your face. "Hey, oh my god," I beamed, "is the lady still here?" "What lady?" You replied, digging your hands into the pockets of your jean jacket. Damn that jean jacket. "You didn't hear?" "No, I didn't. What happened?" Not even questioning it, I sat down beside you. The sudden realization of  sitting down this close to you came to me at that second, so I shuffled the slightest centimeter toward my left. "So K, B and I were all sitting on that very bench," I explained, pointing from across us, "We were talking about how bad it smells at Armageddon, then the lady sitting on the bench over there --" "Oh, nevermind, I've heard about it."

Every now and then when I think of this conversation I can't help but giggle. Before this trip I barely acknowledged your presence, but after our first proper conversation, nothing but your name infested inside my mind. Conversations, mainly initiated by you, ensued for the duration of the remaining 4 days. It wasn't until the second to last night on the trip when the crush really started to fester. As a class we walked from the ballet, the guys looking dapper in their suits and the girls embodying elegance in dresses. I was wearing a blue high-low skirt with black knee-high boots and the black long sleeved-shirt I wore when we performed at the Shakespeare festival. Even though you saw me in the same look all day, it wasn't until the night when you complimented me on my skirt. "Thank you," I said as I tugged on it then let it go, the fabric making a subtle 'woosh' sound. There was silence as we continued to walk, not until you asked me, "What are your hobbies?" At first I furrowed my brow, questioning where the thought came to you in that moment, but because I had encountered more strange sentiments on the trip, I answered, "I'm not sure," not because I was playing the typical closed-off person I am, but because I never know how to answer questions about myself. "Come on, I'm sure there's something." There really wasn't. My mind was blank. But the next thing you said made an abundance of thoughts in my head. "I want to get to know you better. I follow your Instagram account, you know." I didn't know whether to feel flattered or creeped out, but because nobody in my life has ever admitted that before, I let the conversation flow its course. From then on for the remaining days and nights you said even more things that I didn't know how to react to. Things like, "You also brought Mi Goreng? We're soulmates now," or that time when I was washing the dishes in your motel room and you said, "God, you're wifey material." 

The last night in Wellington you showed me your Spotify playlist. They consisted of songs that resembled my own music taste, but they weren't songs I wouldn't religiously listen to the second I hopped on the bus  up until I entered my bedroom. But I did. Only because it was the only way to be in your company for the whole 7 hours without talking to you. The least I could've done is moved a few steps down to occupy the empty seat beside you, but I could tell you were exhausted, so I kept my distance. It was the day before my English midyear exam so I plopped down on my bed to study as soon as I got home, but the thought of you couldn't leave my mind. I grabbed my phone that was across from me on my desk and subconsciously kicked my ringbinder off my bed so I could lie down and send you a direct message, saying, "Hey, your music taste is incredible." I put my ringbinder back on my bed and wrote notes in it, but every other second I would check my phone to see your response. It wasn't until the fiftieth time I checked to see your reply. "Thanks! I would hear a song every so often then really get into the artists." I stared at your response for the next fifteen minutes, thinking of a decent reply. For the rest of the night I did more study, but my subconscious took over more times than enough to throw me off focus.

I saw you the next morning for the level 3 English exam. My friends saw you first, standing in a little circle with the year 13s in our drama class. Being only five feet, I had to stretch my neck to see where you were since a pole was covering my view. My eyes planted on C first, then G, and the second I saw your face our eyes made contact while you were mid-laugh. I stood back to hide behind the pole again because I got too nervous. Throughout the English exam that image of you remained in my subconscious as I wrote an essay on the characters of Frankenstein, which later got me a grade I didn't want. I don't necessarily want to blame you, but it's totally your fault.

Our next drama trip we were on our way to Auckland for another play to watch (ah, the glories of being a drama kid -- being bombarded with a million trips to watch theater for the purpose of writing essays). I sat near the front of the bus, the back reserved for you and the other year 13s. You got on once I already made myself cozy in my seat. We glanced at each other as you past. It was a momentary glance that suggested 'Can we sit together', but knowing your commitment to the 'drama hierarchy' you walked past my seat and placed yourself two seats away, however on the same side, sitting alone. We played a game on the way back home in the late afternoon of 'Who is most likely', where you were now sitting with your friends. K brought up a good question of 'Who out of this bus are you most likely to want to live with', and B said my name because apparently I would be of homely company and keep good maintenance of the house. You chimed in, saying, "Yeah, I would live with Marian too because she can support my gaming." Upon you remembering our conversations in Wellington my heartbeat quickened. I smiled back at you, chiming, "I would 100% cheer you on." Then you looked at the year 13s sitting beside you and said, "Is it too late to say the 'L' word now?" It seemed you were joking but at the same time it felt like you really meant what you said. A silence emerged as one of them looked back at you, then whispered, "Be careful, remember the 48-hour policy." I grew skeptic of this. The game died almost immediately and then you went to the very back of the bus in the company of more year 13s. I stared out the window thinking of what that could've meant. 48-hour policy... what could that mean with you and I? Then I realized it was the amount of time we messaged each other over direct message when you didn't reply to my last message and our whole online conversation stopped. 

I began to go under the impression that you really do succumb to the hierarchy. Once your year 13 crew says to stop talking to a mere year 12 in the drama class, you really stop. That's what finished my feelings for you. Now, they've become feelings of regret, passive anger and disappointment. It really sucks that I have to be in your company every time I step into that drama studio. Several weeks have past ever since that trip, and in those several weeks you've taken more strikes. Among those strikes, being the most disappointing of all, is your new relationship with a year 12 who takes speech and drama -- private lessons that aren't associated with the drama we do, but still enough to be considered a drama kid. All I can say right now is that I continue to be upset. It doesn't help that drama is the subject that haunts my everyday life more than any other subject I take. It doesn't help that every time I step into that drama studio I have to see you laughing with the year 13s, and it's as if you're shoving it in my face that I'll never be able to get to you just because of some imbecilic hierarchy that you take so seriously, yet forget about for another girl of my age. All I can think of at the moment is that I wish the next batch of guys and girls who fall for you don't make the same mistake as I have, which is having feelings for your fake facade. Have a good life, Number 1, and I'll see you around.

'L' word always,

Marian