I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to want me. I wanted someone who only went out with the most beautiful girls, to lust over me… it was a thrill that he was.
I never had very much self esteem, probably since during my childhood I had lived habitually being tormented at school. I was an outsider, an outcast, my mother had taught me to be nice to everyone, but especially the weakest person who was most in need of a kind word… that only gets you called names – trust me. My only friends became the geeks and the nerds who played with barbies well into their teen years – the people who i had nothing in common with except that we all used to get picked on by the pretty girls who could go to the movies by themselves and have sleep over parties, the ones who would have their first kiss at 10… I was neither pretty, nor was I allowed to venture far outside the confines of my family – hardly a bargaining chip for trying to gain friends. It wasn’t until i moved, worlds away, across oceans and seas to a new country, a new culture, a new home, did things begin to turn around.
Suddenly i was popular, for no reason except that here my olive skin and black hair were considered pretty. I was a tom boy when I left my previous life, I wore baggy clothes, had no clue how to manage my curly hair, had never even heard of a manicure, and was never aware of the fact that my eyebrows needed to be shaped. Here, in this new world, it seemed as if girls knew of these rituals coming out of the womb… and it didn’t take me long to learn.
By the time I was in high school I was completely transformed from the proverbial ugly duckling into a graceful swan. I had my share of ‘boyfriends’ if you could call them that, everything of my life was done in secret, the rule of the home was that I would not be allowed to date until I was 20… something that never bothered me until all my friends started doing it at 16, and had no time for someone as pathetic as me… I soon found myself quite alone once again, no friends, no fun, no life. If i stepped even a toe out of line my older brother had full authority to reprimand me… so everything had to be done in secret. My first date, my first ‘boyfriend’, my first kiss… something I learned from this, that I will use towards my daughters if I ever have any, is that the tighter you pull on the reins, the more desperate they will be to get free. When a guy will put up with not getting to see you except rarely and in secret, that means they are only really after 1 thing… the most I ever did was make out, I was quite good at that actually, but eventually when the realisazation that nothing further would happen, I would soon be alone again.
I hated being alone, I hate it still, but something happens to you when you are alone for so much of your life – you get used to it. The same way a pair of leather boots feel more and more comfortable each time you wear them, until eventually it feels very hard and awkward to walk in anything but.
I became a beauty queen, with a crown and everything… I had reached my dating age and now had more guys pursuing me than I knew what to do with… I chose one guy, older, charming, rich, showered me with gifts and affection, told me I was beautiful and looked like he really and truely meant it… I stayed with him for 3 years, only seeing him in Summers and at Christmases, all the while keeping our romance alive with daily telephone calls and emails. His family had wanted us to get married after the first hour of us meeting, he wanted it after the first month. I believed that life couldn’t get better, but my parents always stressed education and refused to allow me to marry until i had achieved my diploma… I was grateful for this excuse, because although I liked the idea of someone wanting to spend forever with me, I was only 21 and not even close to ready to become a housewife and baby-making machine. For three years I heard everything I ever wanted to hear, but the problem with perfection, is that once there, there is no place to go but down.
There were girls on the side - they would call him even when he would be with me… and he’d brush it off as ‘a crazy ex whose not over me still’, then there was that time he happened to help a hot neighbor get home cuz her tire burst at 3am, and of course my all time favourite was when he bumped into my younger brother while having dinner with a friend, his girlfriend and ‘a friend’… and of course, this friend was very hot.
At this time there was also another guy for me… the person i will regret my whole life. I never cheated on my then boyfriend with this guy… unless you can call wondering, cheating. They had both pursued me at the same time and I wish to God i had chosen the other instead… nothing between us ever happened, but when i finally had the nerve to leave the cheating, drunk, irresponsable, coward of a boyfriend, the man i will always wonder ‘what-if’ about was gone. He had changed drastically over those 3 years, he’d become cold and hard towards women, I’m fairly certain it was because of my carelessness with his young heart… but worst of all he had found someone to be with, someone to whom he is now married and we are all now friends, but someone who is not me.
I don’t wish he had married me instead of his wife, because as i said, my regrets are not for the man he’s become, but for the man he once was. Caring and shy, confident and insecure, smart, handsome, rich, great family who adored me, but mostly – soft. gentle. pure.
I have few regrets about my life, true regrets… and hurting such a man is one of them. Not leaving someone who you suspect is cheating on you, proof or no proof, is the other… where there is smoke, there is fire. The proof turned up only months after we broke up.
But now I was on my own, loving the idea of being the master of my mind and body, I could do what I wanted, go where I wanted, eat what I wanted and wear what I wanted… things that before now I had sacrificed to make our 3 year relationship smooth. Yet I still had my father to answer to, my mother to object to my actions, my brothers to watch over me, although they did so now as friends as opposed to bodyguards. I was careful with my heart and even more careful with my reputation,… ending a 3 year relationship certainly had a lot of people whispering ‘did she, didn’t she?’
But I knew who I was and what I had, or in this case had not done, and the truth did set me free. Free and available and persued once again. This time I’d be careful when I chose, I knew what I didnt like and what I couldn’t live with, my past experience quickly helped me put together my yes and no list. Good family – yes. Drinks to get drunk every occasion – no. Can support a wife and children – yes. Cheats – hell no. Allows me to be myself – yes. Enjoys making me jealouse – no. Understands why I won’t go further than a kiss – yes. Tries to feel me up on the second date – no. Is kind, caring and respectful – definately.
I was very particular after that… and why shouldn’t I be? I was young, smart, pretty, proper, high social status, wealthy family, respectable family… why shouldn’t I get to choose who I wanted instead of just settling? I excelled in my studies and had, what seemed like, a million reasons to wake up in the morning for… so why did my stomach twist and turn every time he looked my way? Why did I feel so special and beautiful every time he’d offer me his arm to help me cross the road?
I wanted him to like me. I wanted him to want me. I wanted someone who only went out with the most beautiful girls, to lust over me… it was a thrill that he was.
