I like to travel, read, write, dance and pretend. At the moment I am suffering an insufferable phase of self-aggrandizement, premature maturity and lack of wit.
If you think you can help me out of this funk, write me at idaman.z@gmail.com
I had loved a girl once, but at the time I did not know what love looked or felt like, so I did not think I loved her. The rear view mirror that is Time has confirmed, however, that I did love her, unsteadily, uneasily, but also unmistakably.
The nature of the single-gender boarding school is such that persons living in its world would form amorous, although not entirely erotic, bonds throughout their stay. During my time at the school, I too, had forged casual friendships that evolved into fierce, possessive relationships.
Before the arrival of this particular young woman onto the scene, I had been a somewhat singular person – aloof, unconcerned and fairly naïve about the ways of the world. I had known what sex was at an early age, voracious reader that I was, but I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything outside myself. Until I was fifteen, my prime concern was getting myself out of the school; I was convinced that I was miserable within its confines, and it was paramount that I escape, either by transfer or expulsion.
Admittedly, my existence wasn’t entirely wretched – I had an older sister in the upper forms, and although she never officially offered her protection to me, I was, by a degree, sheltered from various semblances of minor abuse my peers were subjected to. But I was then, as I am now, a creature intent on misery, and I believed wholeheartedly that the world outside was better than the one in.
Towards the end of my third year in boarding school, though, things were looking up. Somehow, during the second year of my boarding life, my peers had thought it wise to elect me director of the form’s play for the annual theater competition. It was a mistake made due to two things. One, I was among the best at English language (if not the best) in the form, and two, we had put up a dismal show the year before so a new director was sought to remedy the situation.
My directorship was a faux pas because I knew nothing of acting (apart from my habitual lying) and directing, I was a somewhat shy young person of thirteen and I didn’t quite want to be there. I made it up as I went along, and it was to no surprise that our show that year was as dismal a performance as the year before. The next year I was demoted to assistant directorship, still a highly respected role, but with less glamor and more work.
The small accident catapulted me into nominal recognition, since the annual interform theater competition was something of a Big Deal at the school. Somehow I had become semi-cool, and it seemed that my aloofness added to the sentiment. During my third year I discovered a new athleticism, previously latent (I also had a growth spurt around that time). I was a nominal member of the debate club, I played field hockey, I started running, and with newfound confidence I became part of the frontlines of my martial arts club.
It was during this time that I committed a few acts of minor daring. I started smoking surreptitiously, and to this day I am not sure if this was known. I became a name in the teachers lounge due to a solitary act of unplanned rebellion – I had refused to ask for permission for leave during class, and when prodded by the unlucky teacher, I was stoically silent and acted as if she wasn’t present. She left the class in tears after twenty minutes of offhand silence on my part; my classmates were horrified. A week after the incident, random teachers came into class asking who Idaman was. It was flattering.
The small acts escalated into medium-sized deeds - in anger, after what I thought was unfair criticism by another teacher, I punched my fist through the glass panes of the class window. I injured myself, and I became a sort of dark horse with a vexing sense of humor; immediately after shattering the panes I cleaned up the shards, blood dripping from the wounds on my hand, to the perplexity of my friends. I assume they thought me a rather dangerous class clown. It is still a rather big joke among my old friends.
Sometime after that I committed another act that reeked of revolt – on a dare I decided to shave my head bald. My formmates were appalled; the pretty ones thought I was insane, the pious thought me godless. I reveled under the attention. Quickly, quietly, I became addicted to the limelight.
A minor rumor spread. A longtime friend was accused of having romantic intentions on me while I was cleared of any lustful designs. Truth be told, until I was aware of that rumor, I never even thought of that friend as a potential love/lust-interest. But after I had known of the never-confirmed adulation, I began to have thoughts that were far from pure. The notion that someone wanted me kickstarted my own personal sexual revolution. I dreamed of hot, sweaty sex during regular weekend outings, to the point that I was plotting out which 3-star hotel I could possibly kidnap that young woman to.
Of course, I never did anything. My friendship with that particular friend was strained for the next two years, no thanks to these rumors.
My year in the third form was easily the most surprising, personality-changing year of my life. I was now on the school track team, and a major win at a martial arts championship had brought me some novel currency. The caste of the cool began to think I was cool; older and younger girls who previously thought nothing of me began to pay attention.
In boarding schools, and at mine in particular, there was a tradition of cultivating “sisterly” relationships that sometime bordered on the erotic. Prior to my third year in school, I was entirely unmoved to participate in the system; I was wary of affection, and I thought the whole thing bloody ridiculous. Things began to change during my third year, and suddenly I was besieged by requests for “startership”, my school’s particular brand of the kakak-adik angkat system of relationships.
I resisted these things for a while, trying valiantly to hold true to my belief system. Of course, I failed. Suddenly I found myself in a myriad of secret relationships, where I had to balance cunning and wit to escape detection and drama from other jealous “starters”. I enjoyed it, really, writing notes to girls with measured affection, giving and getting small gifts, fending off accusations of unfaithfulness and cajoling the sweet young things into giving me a smile.
But these were trifles.
I made it to the lower of the upper forms, and with the privilege seniority brought, came drama.
I first became aware of the particular young woman during dinner at the dining hall. I was informed by a friend that a new girl had a crush on me. Curious, I sought out this person, and when I saw her, I thought her beautiful. She was much smaller than me in size, and much, much more feminine - by then I had evolved into a lean, mean tomboy with a perpetual crew cut covered occasionally by a baseball hat, complete with lopsided grin and grudging laugh. I sought out her company, and at times I neglected my starter duties, which included after prep-hour walks, note-passing & Saturday night dates at the film show, in exchange for her companionship.
We talked a lot, mostly on insignificant things.This was significant; those days I was stingy with my words, and saved them only for people who mattered. I braved mosquitoes for her, I wrote secret stories about her, I climbed the rickety steps of the school’s water tank for her. We would pretend to study late into the night. Sometimes we would hold hands, in very, very secret silence, and then only when discovery of our linked limbs was impossible. Once, I convinced her to dance with me, and we did, shuffling awkwardly on the cracked cement floor of the basketball court under a starless night sky. I tried many, many times to get a declaration of some sort out of her, but all I could manage, even when I tried my damndest, was that she liked me.
Our liaison was discreet, but some noticed anyway, and weren’t pleased with what they saw. I ignored them.
Time passed by quickly once seniority set in, and soon the end of our boarding life came into view. I tried, on the last day of school, to collect all kinds of courage in myself to finally tell her I wanted her – love was too strong a word for me, and I was still very much distrustful of attachments - and that I wanted to kiss her, touch her, hold her, if she would let me.
We lost touch completely after, save for a random encounter a year or so after graduation. All she said to me at that time was, with crushing sincerity, “You have changed very much.”
