Awkward Turtle
Dear FCC,
Hey.
I miss you.
And it’s weird, and awkward, and impossible, and unacceptable. I really
shouldn’t miss you because 1) there aren’t many memories to miss; 2) we’re not such close friends that I feel like 3) we’re just acquaintances; 4) we didn’t even exchange legit and sensible words; and 5) when I met you the last time, it was an epic
shame on my part.
I shouldn’t miss you, really. I should miss my block mates and Diane and Scarlet and anybody from our Students Circle – anyone but you. I should miss them and
not you. But that isn’t exactly the case. Yes, I miss them, but I also miss you. And if someone is to ask me why and how I found myself in this wretched yearning for a person I barely know, I’d probably just shrug my shoulders and not say anything than answer and stutter in the process.
If you’re reading this and have the gut feeling that you’re the addressee of this post, you may wonder why it’s you, why I miss you, why – instead of the other guys – I’m crazy about you. Consider this my declaration of admiration for you:
So I saw you on the first day of school – Orientation Day. I didn’t know who you were, really (and how could I?), but everyone did. I guess you were famous. I learned your name from I-don’t-remember-who, or maybe I learned it myself through senses. Then I remembered I already had an encounter with you online, in a Facebook page made just for the incoming students. How weird was that! I concluded that you were famous because you were one of the administrators of that page and heck, you were friendlier than a fast food mascot.
I stared at you. I kept staring at you. It was creepy, to be honest. I crept myself out. You were good looking and that smile of yours was just so charming. So on that first day of my college education I made my first crush. I didn’t have friends yet, but I already had my first crush. (Hence your nickname:
FCC, meaning
First College Crush.) There are just some things in life that are easier to do.
My admiration for you just grew and grew as the weeks passed, as I made new friends and ended up with just two close ones, as I wound my way through exams and dreariness and the cold and colds and fruitless fitting in and zits and restlessness and victories and a blog award and 1.0 and 1.75. The weather continued changing like a bitchy, bipolar person; the loads became heavier and heavier; my taste in music escalated from Usher to A Fine Frenzy; and all around us, people moved on. In all of these inconsistencies, the only constant factor (except for change, blah, blah) was
you – and pathetic exams, of course.
I started telling myself that I should
stop ogling over you and flushing hot-red when you were around because, just like exams, it was pathetic. Impossible love. Impossible attention. Impossible you.
Impossible us. Plain, dead, sick, agonizing impossibility.
I tried erasing you. Believe me, I tried. I did all I can to not like you anymore: I looked for someone else (non-celebrity) to like, exaggerated your flaws, and formed you into this annoying, lame, geeky socialite I disliked. It’s mean and disrespectful, but I only did it to save myself from this chasm of infatuation that gets deeper and deeper each day.
But what happens when we fight off a chasm? It just gets deeper and pulls us down farther. So I stopped. I stopped fighting this feeling. I stopped tarnishing you with your petty flaws and petty imperfections. I just stopped running away, ignoring and evading the exuding unmistakable charisma from you. It was futile anyway. It just hurt and was tiring, and I definitely looked stupid doing it.
I accepted the feeling again. Receive, receive, receive. I received the feelings gratefully like how a Shadowhunter receive a rune: it hurts at first, but in the end it’s
glorious.
So you can guess by now I still like you. I miss you. It’s almost three years and you’re still my Great Crush. I know that the
hopelessness of us is what makes it great, but what the hell, if it’s hopeless, then it’s hopeless. Let it be.
I don’t know if I’m in love with you already – I believe that isn’t the case yet. I’m not ready for love, especially since I haven’t seen you for months. If this is love already, then that’s scary.
I’m not asking anything from you. If ever you learn that I’m apparently crazy over you, I don’t wish for you to feel weird. I don’t want awkward turtles between us – or walls or impenetrable balloons or heavy clouds or hungry bulls or any other metaphor there is. If you don’t like me, that’s okay. If you like me back, then what the hell. Honestly, I
can’t imagine us together, reading books, casting spells like we’re in Hogwarts, worshipping a silver parachute like we’re tributes in the Hunger Games, admiring Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange like they’re our heroes. I can’t picture us together. Maybe I don’t want us together. I just want to be friends with you.
And after that… it’ll lead us to where it should lead us, if there will be an
us. (I’m such a hypocrite, no?)
I just want you to know:
Hey.
I like you.
I miss you.
FCC.
I miss you.
G.
Hullabaloo.
Butterbeer?
Always,
Tintin
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a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Awkward Turtle
Dear FCC,
Hey.
I miss you.
And it’s weird, and awkward, and impossible, and unacceptable. I really
shouldn’t miss you because 1) there aren’t many memories to miss; 2) we’re not such close friends that I feel like 3) we’re just acquaintances; 4) we didn’t even exchange legit and sensible words; and 5) when I met you the last time, it was an epic
shame on my part.
I shouldn’t miss you, really. I should miss my block mates and Diane and Scarlet and anybody from our Students Circle – anyone but you. I should miss them and
not you. But that isn’t exactly the case. Yes, I miss them, but I also miss you. And if someone is to ask me why and how I found myself in this wretched yearning for a person I barely know, I’d probably just shrug my shoulders and not say anything than answer and stutter in the process.
If you’re reading this and have the gut feeling that you’re the addressee of this post, you may wonder why it’s you, why I miss you, why – instead of the other guys – I’m crazy about you. Consider this my declaration of admiration for you:
So I saw you on the first day of school – Orientation Day. I didn’t know who you were, really (and how could I?), but everyone did. I guess you were famous. I learned your name from I-don’t-remember-who, or maybe I learned it myself through senses. Then I remembered I already had an encounter with you online, in a Facebook page made just for the incoming students. How weird was that! I concluded that you were famous because you were one of the administrators of that page and heck, you were friendlier than a fast food mascot.
I stared at you. I kept staring at you. It was creepy, to be honest. I crept myself out. You were good looking and that smile of yours was just so charming. So on that first day of my college education I made my first crush. I didn’t have friends yet, but I already had my first crush. (Hence your nickname:
FCC, meaning
First College Crush.) There are just some things in life that are easier to do.
My admiration for you just grew and grew as the weeks passed, as I made new friends and ended up with just two close ones, as I wound my way through exams and dreariness and the cold and colds and fruitless fitting in and zits and restlessness and victories and a blog award and 1.0 and 1.75. The weather continued changing like a bitchy, bipolar person; the loads became heavier and heavier; my taste in music escalated from Usher to A Fine Frenzy; and all around us, people moved on. In all of these inconsistencies, the only constant factor (except for change, blah, blah) was
you – and pathetic exams, of course.
I started telling myself that I should
stop ogling over you and flushing hot-red when you were around because, just like exams, it was pathetic. Impossible love. Impossible attention. Impossible you.
Impossible us. Plain, dead, sick, agonizing impossibility.
I tried erasing you. Believe me, I tried. I did all I can to not like you anymore: I looked for someone else (non-celebrity) to like, exaggerated your flaws, and formed you into this annoying, lame, geeky socialite I disliked. It’s mean and disrespectful, but I only did it to save myself from this chasm of infatuation that gets deeper and deeper each day.
But what happens when we fight off a chasm? It just gets deeper and pulls us down farther. So I stopped. I stopped fighting this feeling. I stopped tarnishing you with your petty flaws and petty imperfections. I just stopped running away, ignoring and evading the exuding unmistakable charisma from you. It was futile anyway. It just hurt and was tiring, and I definitely looked stupid doing it.
I accepted the feeling again. Receive, receive, receive. I received the feelings gratefully like how a Shadowhunter receive a rune: it hurts at first, but in the end it’s
glorious.
So you can guess by now I still like you. I miss you. It’s almost three years and you’re still my Great Crush. I know that the
hopelessness of us is what makes it great, but what the hell, if it’s hopeless, then it’s hopeless. Let it be.
I don’t know if I’m in love with you already – I believe that isn’t the case yet. I’m not ready for love, especially since I haven’t seen you for months. If this is love already, then that’s scary.
I’m not asking anything from you. If ever you learn that I’m apparently crazy over you, I don’t wish for you to feel weird. I don’t want awkward turtles between us – or walls or impenetrable balloons or heavy clouds or hungry bulls or any other metaphor there is. If you don’t like me, that’s okay. If you like me back, then what the hell. Honestly, I
can’t imagine us together, reading books, casting spells like we’re in Hogwarts, worshipping a silver parachute like we’re tributes in the Hunger Games, admiring Lord Voldemort and Bellatrix Lestrange like they’re our heroes. I can’t picture us together. Maybe I don’t want us together. I just want to be friends with you.
And after that… it’ll lead us to where it should lead us, if there will be an
us. (I’m such a hypocrite, no?)
I just want you to know:
Hey.
I like you.
I miss you.
FCC.
I miss you.
G.
Hullabaloo.
Butterbeer?
Always,
Tintin
← older / top / newer →
a woeful & chaotic diary since 071409
Profile
Already several months had passed, and I am missing
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry more and more each fleeting day. There are just some things in life that we can never forget – especially that something that had given us knowledge, skills, strong relationships and a second home. I am glad that everything in the magical world is now at peace, since Voldemort (yes, I can now say his name; no need to be afraid) had died. I had secretly admired Tom Marvolo Riddle (Voldemort’s birth name) though, because of his intelligence, passion and love for magic. Wasn’t he very clever to think of and conjure his seven
Horcruxes to preserve his life, or form a clan of
Death Eaters who were very loyal to him and would give up their lives just for him to succeed? Not everybody can acquire that much loyalty from people these days. I do not, however, admire him for the way he had carried out all of his plans. He had a good agenda, his means just weren’t morally right. But he still is one of the darkest wizards of all time… and let’s leave it that way.
Oh, for all those who are baffled of what I’m saying here and who the heck I am, my name is
Christine Faye Ordas, and I am an alumnus of Hogwarts. I came from the bronze-and-blue-clad house of the smart ass witch Rowena Ravenclaw and her dictum
“Wit beyond measure is a man’s greatest treasure.” And yes, I know the wonderful Luna Lovegood (she’s such a darling) and Harry Potter’s first crush Cho Chang. I had just left Hogwarts last May. Right now I am trying to pursue a career in magical researches, literature and writing. It’s my dream to inscribe intellectual books, publish and sell them in
Flourish and Blotts for the future Hogwarts students’ use. I am also planning to credibly write for the
Daily Prophet, the magical world’s primary news bulletin. And of course, I will be very much honored to contribute to Mr. Xenophilius Lovegood’s
Quibbler (hence, my interest in magical researches). I have always found the Lovegoods a fascinating family, and I bet working with and for them will be very exciting. Or maybe, in Merlin’s beard’s time, I can write legends and bedtime stories like the famous – and wickedly brilliant – Beedle the Bard.
And that’s how my life goes these days. I am utterly missing my old school, my friends, the Great Hall, the bronze eagle knocker just outside the Ravenclaw common room, Professor Flitwick (the head of our house), Hogsmeade, the Quidditch matches (although I didn’t actually play for the house), the moving portraits, the castle ghosts, the pumpkins on Halloween, the giant pine trees on Christmas, Rubeus Hagrid’s (Hogwarts’ gamekeeper) tea and treacle fudge – even the crabby Argus Filch (Hogwarts’ caretaker) I miss. Maybe I can visit the school grounds sometimes and see how the magical world’s been doing since Voldemort died (I’ve been spending my months in the muggle world, you see). I’ve heard everybody’s been moving on and starting all over again; the ministry is back on work under Kingsley Shacklebolt; and Harry Potter’s scar haven’t been disturbing him since.
All is well, indeed.
And because of that, we should celebrate and drink firewhisky! Oh, I still don’t drink firewhisky; I can take butterbeer or tea or pumpkin juice – just not firewhisky, please.
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