"That Girl He Likes"

 When I was younger, a boy took a liking to me. For whatever reason, and one that had never been reciprocated.

As someone who is hard to open up, and harder to the opposite gender, I found him as a friend. Never actually passing the comfortable-ness measure more than any other male, but falling far below female acquaintances that I considered as my friends. The only difference between this boy and any other male acquaintances I have is, he actively tried to talk more with me. And I replied: just how I would if any other person talked to me.

There was this obvious infatuation that he didn’t try to hide. One obvious enough for people to notice.

As time goes, people know me more as “that girl he likes” more than my own name. While I wouldn’t blame them for not seeing me as my own unique person, I feel much better being unknown than being known as an extension for someone’s name. (Although, I do agree that it’s really hard to not see me as a bland person when I haven’t felt comfortable enough with you, my newest friendship has gone on for 3 months and I still haven’t shown any of my strong opinions on something—and I have many.)

For a long time, while still disheartened, I didn’t really do anything about it. It doesn’t bother me quite as much. I know it’s my fault that I kept all my ideas and interests all to myself and only actually talked about it with 4 people in my whole life (I mean it, I counted). It’s my fault that my whole life the only attribute people can put on me is based on academic achievement and my drawing skill because I never really talk about anything else. As my academic achievement faltered and depression took away my art interest, I am only a blank page shell that they’re trying to define. It was unfortunate, but understandable, and I will take the responsibility.

One day, out of the blue, a girl—that I wasn’t actually close to,—asked me, “Hey, what makes you like history?”

And to be honest? I could just say, “Well, I like how events relate to each other” and we will be done. But probably it was the first time someone actually asked about my interest and while depression also took my initial curiosity, I still could jump and talk about history stuff that I learnt way before depression hits.

So I talked about a history musical broadway that I watched a couple years prior, and how I decided to focus on my country’s history, and how I fell in love with one of my founding father’s life values, and how I arrived here.

Although it started to be obvious as I went on and on about history for hours that it wasn’t what she expected from me, I kept talking. Because once you make me start talking about something that makes me interested, you won’t hear me shutting up unless forced to (the hard thing is to make me start, to be honest).

I was really happy talking about it. A kind of joyfulness that had been long gone for a while. I wasn’t planning to stop talking, but it was too late and she started to be sleepy. So I ended my speech, no matter how much excitement I still have.

“Yeah, but” she said. Her voice was calm, “I thought you like history because of that boy”

And I swear to God at that moment I felt my heart break into a million pieces and I wish that boy could just perish from this world. Just when I thought he is gone from people’s sight when they see me—

“Ha. Why?”

“Because he talks about history a lot. Thought you started to like it too because that’s all he is talking about (in a way that I tried to understand what he’s talking about)”

“I had never dived into a topic so deeply just because someone else liked it.” I told her honestly, “Probably I listened to him talking because I can see my own excited self in his excitement.”

And it was true; when I was talking with excitement about a topic, I wished someone would listen to me closely and pay attention. I only gave him the wish I have for myself. Out of 4 people I mentioned earlier, only 2 actually paid attention and got involved. It broke my heart everytime.

“I see”

That night, we went back to our own rooms. And I felt more resentment towards a lot of things than before.