Fire & Rach

Unrequited… been there, done that. To me this is love at its most innocent, reckless and illogical form. More often than not, it starts with the flimsiest excuse for being. In my case, I had been avoiding getting attracted to this guy just because he was tall, goodlooking, well-dressed, well-mannered, well-schooled, rich, and actually has gray matter between his ears for the most logical reasons like he already has a girlfriend, he is straight, we dont click, we havent got anything to say to each other, etc. I was doing well, looking out for other prospects in the big ocean where there must have been thousand upon thousands of big fishes to catch my attention. Until, after almost one year, one freaking afternoon, I was lecturing before the class on a fine point which me and my study group have dissected into the minutest of detail and there he was in his crisp, white dress shirt, clean cut hair, clean-shaven face, looking like he smelled like he just got out of the shower, wearing this, this small, red-framed reading glasses listening intently as I split hairs. Had anyone else worn those glasses, he would have looked girly, but this guy’s masculinity despite the girly glasses shone through, projecting to me from across the room. That moment it dawned upon me that he was my Clark Kent! and that there was more to this guy that meets the eye. Behind those glasses was my hero, my Superman, and only I found this out. I was hooked. The stupid notion carried me all the way through four long years of gruelling studies. I didnt care about the costcutting, long commute and recitations like cross-examinations because Superman was always there. I spent hours staring at him from a far corner of the room. I entertained the notion that one of those days, he would also see through my walls and find me.

Unlike most unrequited loves, I never dared breathe a word of it. Even push to the wall, I still denied it because it was a fantastic love, it had to be perfect or nothing. And it was both perfect and nothing. He brought me joy and inspiration but he hurt me deeply and made me fall from grace. Things as innocent as forgetting to call me beforehand to tell that our friends are taking me and another friend out on a friday night, even if he went up to me and invited me to go out. Or refusing chocolate truffles from me, just because he is on a diet or skin-conscious. Or not passing my way so that I could hitch a ride to a movie premiere.

When he and other people started suspecting and things got really awkward between us, there was nothing he could say or do to make things alright because they would never be normal again. We could never be only friends because I ached so badly and because I pitted him against this perfect guy that I had concocted in my mind. He had to be larger than life and mythological to be blameless. But he was just a man, or rather more like a boy. He was bound to fail and my fantastic love was doomed from the start. But the more he failed, the more I despaired. How could this totally unworthy man reject me? I was mortified.

So I suddenly and without a clue withdrew from common friends and gatherings, and desperately avoided everything that reminded me of him. In time, little by little, I recovered some self-respect. I even found out much later on that the guys I were considering before were measured against him or at least that image of him that I made up in my mind. No wonder no one passed muster. When I realized this, again I made adjustments. Until I found myself, hero-worshipping no more, and opened myself up to the benevolent universe and the possibilities. Finally, I was obsessing no more.