What I Never Mailed You

Hey you.

When you told me your "shocking secret", I wanted to tell you one of mine as well. Your secret didn't shock me actually, but I was too afraid that mine would jolt you, however little ... since you are (part of) that secret.

I don't suppose you remember how we got to know each other?

That year, your class sat next to mine in the school hall. One afternoon before assembly, I overheard your conversation with your classmate; you were telling her about your music lessons, and I was surprised to hear we were both learning to play the same instrument. That was when I interrupted your conversation to strike one up with you.

Had I already been attracted to you then? I can't remember; what I can remember are the almost compulsive need to know you and be your friend, and being inexorably drawn to you (I'd always look out for you or your green school-bag, everywhere in school).

I didn't understand my obsession then; then again, I was only eleven, and you but nine. I don't think I was even aware of my obsession. The only thing I was aware of was I had to be your friend.

That was when I cooked up the harebrained idea of pretending to be a friend of mine who wanted to be your friend; I wrote you a letter (pretending she had written it) and gave it to you. Somehow, we sort of became friendly; sort of.

Then something came up, a whole series of them - misunderstandings, wrongful accusations, explanations, trying to patch it up, running away (I ran; not you) ... Letters were passed to and fro, mailed, or left on one's desk in the classroom.

When you called, I always got my sister to tell you I wasn't home, or I couldn't go to the telephone. You called me, I suppose, when you received my letters, and I always wrote when you called and I didn't answer (I took the coward's way out); I must have written dozens letters to you. I was always caught between an eager anticipation and a jittery dread waiting for your letters and receiving them.

The period where the situation was really awkward (for me, at least), after things were more or less swept under the carpet and the carpet looked really lumpy, the sight of you would make my heart jump and me depressed; yet I made sure I caught a glimpse of you every day. Then, you were ten, and I was twelve.

When I was thirteen and you were eleven, my obsession faded away, but we became friends. We wrote frequently, became pen-pals; we wrote throughout those adolescent years. I tried to be a sort of mentor to you when you were in secondary school, in junior college, when you had problems in your romantic life.

At sixteen, I re-read my journals dating back to my final years in primary school, and realized - with more than a start - that, ohmygawd was that a crush? I had a crush on you?!

And that, my friend, was when I started re-evaluating my life; that was the true start of my adolescent angst, my identity crisis.

In retrospect, I'm profoundly grateful to you. If I hadn't had to rethink this part of my life, I think I might've been sucked into a heteronormative lifestyle and wouldn't even have known it; maybe I would have never known that I have options.

Two emails ago, you asked if I were heterosexual/lesbian/bisexual. You didn't get a straight answer (there's that unintended pun again!) because I think I'm still exploring ... also because I really don't know, and I don't dare or want to 'make a choice'.

Looking back, is it not marvelous we're still in touch today? I'm so glad you are still here; I'm so glad you are here now - I realize how much I have to learn from you. You are such an extraordinary and wonderful human being.



XXXOOO,
~s