03 March 2012.
I had just completed my part-time degree and after having no life for almost two years, I wasn’t used to having so much free time without having to rush out essays or projects (the human mind is so complex to understand lol). My uni course mate was the one who recommended me the short courses at LaSalle. They were not too expensive, and did not require long-term commitment. So without any reservation, I just decided to go for it. Oil painting for beginners. I was always interested in art but never really pursued it because life happened. Also, oil painting was a medium I never explored so I thought it’d be fun.
At 10am, after a short introduction to the school and being brought to class, there he was. Looking a little awkward and exotic. Only after he wrote his name on the board, was I able to confirm his ethnicity (not that it was important, but just couldn’t place a finger on what he was). The class went by rather uneventfully. I was more concerned in getting my proportions and colours right. I remembered painting a Sephora paper bag that day. By the end of the lesson, I thought that he was quite cute (as in adorable not hot kinda cute) because he had these little mannerisms which were quite endearing. And what struck me was how patient, gentle and mild-mannered he was.
It wasn’t love at first sight. Neither was it lust at first sight. You know how people have an idea of what their “ideal” man/woman would hopefully look like? Well, he was the complete opposite of mine. Of course, now that I’m older, I realise that there’s no such thing as ideal. Sure one can hope, but I think it’s more a matter of how much you’re willing to accept.
The course was supposed to be eight weeks long, and I only went for six because I took a holiday in between. Being away wasn’t necessarily bad (waste of money because there were no make up classes!), because I had to email him to ask for “homework”, and to catch up on what I’d missed. And by this time, he was slowly, but surely starting to grow on me. I was feeling both excited and scared. By this time, my wall was built so high, but yet I was afraid of letting my guard down. And because the relationship between us thus far was purely professional, I didn’t know what was going to come out of it (if anything ever did; even though we all know now that nothing has).
In case you’re a bit confused, this is the story of how X and I met. I’m writing this partially because this forms an important part of my memories and I don’t ever want to forget it, so this is something I can look back upon if my memory fades. Another reason is how I’m still missing him so bad. We’re still not talking, and the pain isn’t dissipating like how I expected it to be.
I have seven years of memories, so don’t be impatient. I’ll write about them sporadically. The next time I write, it will be about our first outing, away from classes. I still smile when I think back on it. 😢 (but with an upturned mouth)