Jay Chou's CD is on replay in the kitchen boombox. My mom, in an attempt to teach me Chinese, made me read over a bunch of the Chinese lyrics with her. When she made me read the lyrics for "Orange Jasmine (Qi Li Xiang)", it triggered a flashback to middle school.
I just remembered.
Was it sixth grade when it happened? When word got around to me that you were planning to ask me to marry you? On one knee and all that jazz?
What I still want to know is -- why? Was that your idea of a good joke? I barely talked to you. Hell, I might have even hated your guts at the time, though I'm not entirely sure anymore. I still remember you made the mistake earlier that year of telling someone that I was ugly -- she happened to be my friend, you know. And weren't you in love with that other girl at the time, anyways? Why on earth would you waste your time with me, shoving me under the same spotlight that followed you wherever you went?
I don't really remember what happened that day. I'm pretty sure I probably ran away and hid as soon as I found out.
That's probably the closest I ever got to being the center of gossip.
Here's another unsolved mystery -- who was planning to ask me to Homecoming freshman year? I never found out. I had run into Honeybee one day -- we didn't talk often, but we were pretty good friends back in middle school. She was the one who told me. She wasn't in my inner circle of friends at the time though, which means either everybody knew by that point, or that it was someone she was close to -- which by default would have meant I didn't know him very well.
In truth, maybe it's a good thing whoever it was chickened out. I was still so enamored of the Prince then.
Oh my god, all the memories are flooding back now.
The Prince. I wonder if he knows that I had a crush on him for almost three years. I was so stinking obvious too. The way I kept IMing him all the time. I remember how I was flipping through the Michael's catalog and found "a sign" -- his name and mine on the sample picture for some wedding placecard. How often does my name appear on ANYTHING? I look at those personalized magnets and keychain souvenirs only to laugh and see if they've gotten my name. (It's only happened once.) It had to be a sign. I cut out that little picture and pasted it in my diary. "Prince and Sophelia." Excuse me while I go throw up.
What about when I was in, what, first grade? Magenta and I were such good friends back then -- strange to think of that now, isn't it? Her little brother wanted to marry me. He was still in pre-school. I got tricked into going to their house. When I walked in, their piano, which could be programmed to play by itself, started playing the wedding march. Magenta went down the living room throwing flower petals. Her brother held a ring and wanted to put it on my finger. I hid my face behind my stuffed cat Boots and wanted to cry.
And yes, my thoughts turn to you, too. I've changed, you know. Steel knives, ice shards. I've gotten colder and harder, this diamond that was once a lump of coal, burning all that time just for you. It was the only way I could move on.
I think back to all those lost answers. We'll never know the truth, will we? You're never going to know what I thought of you all those years, and I'm never going to know why you initiated that contact between us and started it all. Maybe if you had never bothered, I wouldn't have hardened like this.
But no. If none of it had never happened, this blog would never have existed.
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