I need to clarify a few things.
Number one, ages ago I promised to post when I finally signed up for Pottermore. And then I totaly forgot.
So, in short, my wand is english oak, ten and three quarter inches, slightly springy. And as I expected (being a smart ass) I got into Ravenclaw.
AND SHE NEVER WENT ON POTTERMORE EVER AGAIN.
Now moving on.
So yesterday I was lamenting the return of my long term unrequited love who I haven’t seen in nearly a year, and only then realised that I never actually told you guys that story. So that would have made no sense at all!
So here it is.
I met Liam when we were both in primary school, year 1. I did however, not realise that I was in love with him until year 2, when my class teacher made us sit together. The love was born when two things happened.
Number one, after a week of sitting together, my teacher asked if we wanted to change seats. And I said no. And then he said no.
And then number two, I realised he was seriously cute.
So I was seven years old when I fell completely in love with my very first crush.
And then, until I was about twelve years old, I didn’t really think of him again. After all, boys were yuck. But then puberty kicked in and the old flames of love soared high once more. We weren’t really friends at this point, but we’d been in the same class for six years and certainly knew each other. Our few interactions were awkward as hell, starting a long trend that I would never quite break of persistent awkwardness.
I remember a few. There was this one time he complimented my t-shirt, which was a plain black shirt printed with three Chinese masks. Then another time, when I told him I thought he played guitar well. Both these times was followed by dead silence, with neither of us knowing what to say.
High school hit, and for the first week he sat next to me on the school bus. I stress that he sat next to me, because his stop was after mine. Because I was emotionally a late developer, my method of dealing with this hideous, all consuming crush was to not say a word, look out the window, and try not to move.
He stopped sitting next to me on the bus after I mustered up all the confidence I could and took the empty seat beside him in assembly, causing his friends to laugh at us.
Through that year, we actually hung out in the same group of friends for a while. There was him and his friend John, me and my friend Janey, and a few older boys. I was more into music at the time and used to try to write song lyrics at lunch time, and one day (which I still cringe over), he asked if he could see, and I snapped “No!”. Idiot.
There were a few occasions like that. This one time, his friends asked if I would go out with him and, assuming it was a cruel joke, I told them all to eff off.
We used to sit together in art, with my friend Janey, and it was awful for two reasons. firstly, because he and she were able to chat easily, while I was still struck mute by my crippling shyness and horrible crush.
And two, after a while, he stopped sitting next to me and started sitting next to her. And then he asked her out. And she, not knowing how I felt, said yes.
So that was year seven. I tried to hard to impress him but it never worked. I dropped the nerdy exterior and started dressing punk. I cut my hair short and dyed it with red streaks. I tried to listen to music he liked but none of it made a jot of difference.
Eventually, he and Janey broke up, then got back together, then broke up again. It was a world of hell, that because I was trying so hard to not let on how I felt, I actually encouraged. When they broke up the first time, I was one of the ones who convinced them to get back together.
As high school progressed, the feelings never went away. He dated other girls, I dated no one at all. We stopped hanging out as friends, but I continued my interest in music and started singing more at school. As he played the guitar, we started playing music together more. We both played in the school band and in our music class.
The music was something we had in common that didn’t have any awkward pauses involved. We actually had a lot of common ground as we grew older. We were both vegetarians, both into music, both into art and drama and english. But that ever present awkwardness and inability to keep up a conversation never ever died. It was never easy to hang out.
My crush never died too. Even as he dated other girls, usually my friends, and even as my affections became more and more obvious yet were never acknowledged or returned, I still couldn’t get over him.
I tried to like other guys, but it never lasted. When I came to terms with the whole bisexual thing, there were a few girls I liked too. But none in the way I liked him. That overpowering, intense feeling of certainty that I liked him in a big way. There was never anything else like it.
The longer this infatuation went on, the more I realised I had to do something about it. My little hints became less little. The signs more obvious. I started telling my friends the truth, that I actually did like him quite a lot (they’d worked it out for themselves by then). I started trying to hang out with him more (an effort that was not reciprocated. My offers were always politely rejected.)
I was over the moon on the day I realised that assuming I got the uni offer I wanted, we were both planning on moving to Melbourne after high school.
The music was my safe haven. When we were playing music together, there was never any awkward, because there was never any words. It was the only time when things were, not easy, but easier. We could be in the same room without it feeling strange.
It would also be music that made me realise that after all this time, I had to start letting go and try to get over this boy.
After all this time, after all the anxiety and awkward, my growing certainty said that while I loved him a lot, we could never be a thing. It was year 12 now, ten years since I’d first realised I liked him, and it had come to nothing. My only certainty, my only consolation was that we had music. We had a trust and an unspoken agreement. That was something I could hold onto, my shred of hope. The one link I had to this boy that I was clearly mad about, but who evidently did not feel the same about me.
I can remember so clearly the day my illusions shattered around me.
We were walking across the quad, in awkward silence because we had nothing to say to each other. Then I asked him, “Hey, what are you going to do for your music HSC piece?”
For those who don’t live in Australia, the HSC is our final exams, and with the music elective, you have to do a performance as well as a written paper.
And he said, “I’m doing a blues piece and a jazz thing,” and I said uh huh, and he said, “and I asked Elise to sing with me.”
Elise was a good friend of mine, and she hadn’t said a word. My brain went into overdrive. Why hadn’t he asked me? Why hadn’t she said anything? Why hadn’t he said anything? What had gone wrong? Was there something wrong with me? Had I done something? Or was it, simple enough, that link I had imagined, was all in my head?
I excused myself then, went to the girls toilets and bawled my eyes out.
God how pathetic. All this time I had spent just kidding myself into believing it would eventually come to something, only to have it all come to nothing. I had misread the signs, misinterpreted every clue he had ever given that he might like me too.
And yes, it fucking hurt.
Still does actually.
I decided that day I had to move on, for my own sake and happiness, I had to get over this guy who I had gone gaga for when I wasn’t even eight years old.
But it’s easy to say and less easy to do. I managed to convince myself that I was fine, that when school was over and we weren’t seeing each other on a regular basis I would get over him easily.
I kept that up for months, and suddenly, it’s all come crashing down like a smothering, unbearable weight that I’m still not over him, that my situation is more impossible then ever, and after all this time I’m still just pathetic and alone.
And that’s the whole lovely truth.