The Second Love

Everyone always remember their first love, how naive or beautiful, or hurtful it was. But little did they know, first love is a prototype, an unshaped clay that it still far from perfect. Of course, a different kind of perfect. The more mature, rich kind of love starts to develop on the second love -

Did you remember how was your second love looked like? Mine was an awkward tall boy with black framed glasses and braces. Someone that I would have not thought even perhaps in my seventeen year old wildest dream to fall head over heels with. But boy, the unexpected ones are always the greatest kind.

His name was Toby, the typical far too laid back almost to the extent of an acute laziness boy that sat next to me throughout my senior year in high school. As being a part of the socially-driven teenage groups, I listened to rumors as if it was the soundtrack of teenage life drama. I did not have the best first impression of him without particularly understand why. After his absence on the first week of 11th Grade, each day, slowly he proven me wrong that he was not as terrible as I, or the rest of the people, thought he would be.

Frequent interactions in pair or group discussion led to small conversations that turned into a snowball. One day, I found him alone in class, eyes focused on his phone while the rest of the class were having lunch break. I had not seen him so captivated on something as if it was a pot of gold. "What's so interesting?" I asked to fill in the rough sound of heavy rain from the outside. He looked up from his phone, mending his glasses that slightly slide off his flat nose. It turned out that he was observing a photo of his then-current crush with eyes beaming in young love.

Time stretched and nobody was back from the break just yet, we had the room for ourselves and our conversation carried on into the glittering future that then seemed so promising. He told me that he would consider to marry her when he is ready - this, bearing in mind, coming from someone that was barely seventeen. My farthest worry then would be getting through the long winding third period of sociology class and he already thought of someone that he would like to marry.

I was immensely surprised and impressed, that was perhaps the first stepping stone into a whole lot deeper affection-building in the following months that I had no clue I would ever, developed towards him. It was funny wasn't it, I began to grow fond of him through his way of admiring other girl. I could not decide whether this ironic or I was plainly a fool. Somehow, our circle of friends grew closer and overlapped, we often hang out with mutual friends in so many occasions over the weekend and after school, which meant more time I got to observe him more in small things that made me come to realisation that he could be the guy I wanted to marry.

But as any of my kind of story, the twist came along soon after I difficultly admitted to myself that I was indeed, falling for him. He had to leave the city - not just the city, but the country, with twelve hours difference, for undetermined period of time. Had was not the right word, he wanted to leave the city and pursue his dream to have better future in the States. I was crushed. Even then, crushed was honestly an understatement. Devastated, perhaps. And there was not much that I could do but to feel happy for his bold decision.

Nobody seen it coming. He mentioned it in conversations over moonlit cigarette, but none of us were ever taken it seriously. He did not even tell his friends less than two weeks before his flight. He said wanted to play mysterious, but I knew he just hated goodbye and love to surprise, which even as much as I despised his guts, it was hard not to fall for him more. Soon after his departure, I realised he taught me much greater lesson, that I was never been ever so inspired to strive more in life, that future was not confined in a geographical boundaries, to finally able to see my dream as a plan. I thought, if he could do it, why could not I?

I wish I could tell you more sappy stories how he held my hand and I felt an electrifying current at his fingertips, the way the world stopped when he finally told me that he loved me in return, but it never happened. I fell in love with his stories, the way life shaped him into who he was. An amazing person with a great sense of determination and humour, too. I wished I could tell him these, but it was never the right time and now, it was far too late. All I could say, on the second love I've had, I was taught how to dream big.