A Trip Down Memory Lane
Remember when boys were the most disgusting beings?
When we could not stand the sight of them in their skinny hairless legs clad in school uniform shorts and their torn shoes due to too much football in the field where we should have been skipping rope.
When they were already dusty by 10.00 am while our previous night pressed dresses were immaculate till the last bell rang and we could escape to the safety of our homes where the perfect boys, our fathers and brothers were.
If your brothers were bullies like the boys at school, then I am sorry for you, but I’m sure the love for them was there still, or has grown over time, and they were or are always a welcome sight compared to the rugged,dusty-sometimes-even-muddy rascals that would pinch us or hit us and run faster than us or step on our thoroughly brushed bata toughees or stole our erasers and pencils or put mirrors under our lockers to peek at our P.E shorts, or lack there of or blumers/bloomers(I never learnt to spell this)
I disliked boys when I was younger.
Not that I am much older now, numbers don’t count, but I recall when I used to huddle in a group of my then besties and talk about the previous night’s episodes of Camila or Storm Over Paradise(Tormenta En El Paraiso) or Cuandos Seas Mia and recount how Maria told Alejandro she didn’t want him anymore even though we knew in our hearts of how much her heart cried out for him or of the never-going-away-ex (whom we loathed together but I secretly always liked in secret), usually called something evil like Barbara Serano Sulbaran or Carlota Espinoza De Los Monteros.
(PS. I have a weird habit of remembering things I should really have forgotten)
(PS b. Barbara always said all her names out loud and Carlorta always wore purple)
In the midst of this conversation, (and girls you have to please forgive me for spilling some of our secrets to the unsuspecting batch of the world) we would sneak in a comment or two about how James is stupid or George has not shaved his head in ages or how Steve’s shorts have been dirty since assembly time.
This post is a trip down memory lane.
I miss those days.
I was carefree and none of my friends cried for anything else other than falling down in public and grazing a knee or being caned by the teacher for a missed mark.
Back then, pain was relevant for not more than a minute and life moved on immediately after. We were happy and I never thought I should have taken a psychology degree because of my own issues piled with those of people I care about.
When our parents told us not to fall in love, that we were still young and we only needed to listen to our teachers and not all these late adolescent little feelings, we thought they did not know what they were saying.
We thought it was all banter.
And we thought we knew better.
Then we fell in love. And we loved with all our hearts. For a time, we were happy. We had found love and it was going to last us a lifetime.
Then our hearts broke. They left, or cheated or lied or did something that we never imagined someone we loved could ever do to us. And now, I see a generation that is broken, and heartless. A people that has been hurt so bad because we did not heed the advice of those that lived before us.
Our hearts have been broken and our minds corrupted so much so that we no longer believe in love. You see 20 year-olds that now only know pain from others and have also chosen to inflict an equal, if not a larger helping of the hurt they felt. What will happen to these hearts after 5 years of living like this, when society then expects us to find someone special to spend life with?
We have been corrupted. We are lying to ourselves that it is better to feel nothing than to feel at all. We have changed our wardrobes to darker colors and our childhood friends who saw us before and loved us can barely recognize us.
Our faces and hearts are no longer lit up. We have transformed the minor and innocent dislike we had for others back then and made it into something vile and lethal and I hate it.
I hate what we have become.
And I get it.
A broken heart will change you.
But isn’t it supposed to make you stronger? Better? It shouldn’t destroy who we were, but make us even greater versions of our previous selves. “Happy Nancy” should be “over-joyous Nancy”. “Funny Jack” into “Jack-hilarious”
Let’s not destroy ourselves because someone else hurt us. Trying to justify our hurting someone’s beautiful soul because of someone else’s mistakes towards us should stop.
The words of our parents to not poison our hearts with young love are already lost, but with effort, we can make a generation that can overcome pain and suffering to be tall glasses of very refreshing water.