W

The Greek word for “return” is nostos. Algos means “suffering.” So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return.

—Milan Kundera, Ignorance

There comes a point when we look back at of our lives and reminisce fondly about the events that happened to us, things we had, and people we met.

Back in the late 90s, I was transferred in my junior year to a new high school where I met W. He was quite a character. As the son of the most affluent family in our small town, he was used to having his way in class. Our classmates would copy his notes for him, carry his books around, and even made his assignments. No one dared to question him; that is, until I came along. When every girl around were batting their eyelashes at him, I would visibly scoff at whatever he touted as fact and called him out on his latest BS, regardless if he happened to be right. It wasn’t because I was not impressed with his knowledge, wit, or charm—which came naturally, I must admit, much to my dismay, as he often used them to his advance—I simply relished the look on his face every time I dared to defy him.

Throughout the years I’ve had the unfortunate reason to interact with him, he made 3 unforgivable offenses—or so I called it back then—that I still am irked about to this day. Just before graduation, he somehow convinced me to write him a poem so he could turn it into a song and made me buy a blank cassette tape (Yes, I’m that old!) to record it on. I never got it because he said he didn’t finish the song and lost my tape. Strike one! During college, I was writing letters to my best friend and he told her that he wanted me to write him a letter too. Since I was already writing to 2 other former classmates near his area, I thought it was fine (this would haunt me years later). But he never wrote back. Strike two! At a party in his cousin’s house, he told me I was narcissistic. Me? A socially awkward girl who would rather stay at home all weekend and read a book during recess just so I could avoid talking to anyone, how was I vain exactly? So I called him obnoxious to his face in front of practically the whole student body. Strike three! He’s out! I vowed never to talk to him again.

But fate had other ideas. When a close-friend-turned-suitor “betrayed” me, he took advantage of my vulnerability and offered to make him pay for it. The plan was to make the one-time suitor “jealous.” I knew it was stupid idea at the time but I was young and carefree back then, having never been in a proper relationship or even a boyfriend before. So I said, “Why not!” And it worked! All too well, to be honest. Summer and Christmas vacation came and went. Every time my high school friends would get together, he would act all doting and sweet to me. We got constant whispers and weird looks behind our backs that year. But when we got home, he would call me and we would laugh at the things our friends said or gossiped about us. In that brief moment, we were as thick as thieves. We bonded over things we had in common as well as shared our heartaches with each other. I’ve learned so much about him in the few months than I had in the two years I knew him in high school. He was well-read, smart, and cunning. Eventually, he got me to kiss him on a dare. I knew he had a steady girlfriend at the time because we would talk about her often and he would complain about their many petty arguments. Years later, she became his wife and later on, his ex-wife. She discovered my letter one day—which he forced me to write, you might recall—and texted me a rather scathing message. I’ve lost my taste for intrigue and sordid, clandestine affairs right then and there. So the moral of the story at the middle of this piece is to never pour my heart out to any guy with a jealous girlfriend.

Do I regret getting close to him and getting burned like a moth to a flame? Maybe. Do I regret making out with him? Actually, no. Since I have only kissed 3 guys my entire life, I don’t have much to offer by way of comparison, but I would say he was more than an adequate kisser. I wasn’t surprised with the extent of his worldliness and experience at all. Do I regret not taking it a step further and seeing how far our so-called affair could blossom? Definitely not! I was never attracted to him in that way. While I respected his sharp mind, obvious charm, and quick wit, I never wanted to be in a real relationship with him. He, on the other hand, I’m not so sure. There was one time I thought he might want to explore it though, but I shut that idea down immediately. So, yes, I did make out with him, but I didn’t want to go further than that. I was not one of those girls who would go out with tons of guys and get loads of experience before settling down with what they deemed was the best one, manipulate someone into marrying me, or worse yet, steal someone else’s boyfriend or husband. All my life, I’ve only even been with one guy, and although we broke up after 14 years together, we parted ways amicably. I still talk to him and consider him one of my best friends.

Before I decided to move back home almost two years ago, I was going to have a serious talk with W about our complicated past just to wrinkle out any residual feelings of resentment we may have harbored for each other all these years. My reasoning was, our hometown was such a tiny place that it would be next to impossible not to run into each other. I didn’t want that potential meeting to be more awkward that it has to be. But faith had other plans . . . again! A month before I was to go home, my mother texted me about his passing. A heart attack at 34 and only a few weeks before his birthday? I was shocked! Initially, I thought it was a senseless death. Sure, one could argue that he had lived a full life—was married, had 2 beautiful daughters, and owned his own business—but his was still a tragic loss at such a young age.

As one of the few I know who I could converse with freely without things going over most people’s heads, I would surely miss the intellectual discourse and, yes, even the heated debates we could have had. Despite being an asshat most of our high school and college life, he was a man of similar interests and hobbies as mine after all. But unlike me, a serial monogamist who is into serious, long-term relationships, he falls in love fast and falls hard time and time again. However, that love usually puttered out as quickly as it began, as evidenced by a revolving door of girlfriends in and out of his life over the years. Unfortunately, he also had his own share of hardships and tribulations, which I’m told he drowned with alcohol to numb the pain every so often. Although he emerged victorious on the other side after battling his own demons, I believe it came at the expense of his family and many failed relationships. For me, his most redeeming quality was that he loved his girls and doted on them with everything he had. So rest in peace, my erstwhile friend. I hope there are plenty of booze and loose women to flirt with wherever you are. Cheers! 干杯