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Chapter 4: The Person Before Me is the One I Love Part 1

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The summer after we finished our High School Graduation Examinations was the most difficult summer I experienced in my life. Mr. F had gone to England to study, and the two of us began a cold war that lasted for four years. The reason for the cold war is rather hilarious – he confessed to me, but I rejected him. Actually, it couldn’t really be considered a confession; as Mr. F was rather proud and somewhat introverted, his confession was also expressed in a rather roundabout manner.

I was in a foul mood when I arrived the farewell dinner organized by the class, as I had just learnt that Mr. F was about to fly to England for further studies. What’s worse was that I had learnt it from others, as he never mentioned a single word to me beforehand. A few male students were ribbing each other, declaring that the first thing they were going to do upon commencing university is to get themselves a girlfriend, and that they must have had experienced first love by the end of their first year. Our retarded class representative even set up an instant club named “Yet to Experience First Love Squad”, and Mr. F had been listed as one of its members.

In the end, Mr. F calmly said, “I already have a first love.”

Mr. F was staring at me when he said this, so everybody started to tease the both of us. Ultimately, however, everyone quieted down and began to glance at me, as I was still frozen at that spot.

I felt extremely infuriated at that point in time – he was about to leave anyway, so there was absolutely no meaning in saying such things at this point in time! Or did he think that teasing me was a fun thing to do? I replied him coldly, “First love is something that can only be experienced by two willing parties.”

This is probably the sentence that I regret saying the most in my entire life.

He stared at me for a few seconds before lowering his head and remaining silent. Subsequently, somebody changed the topic and everybody intentionally ignored the awkward situation that had just happened. When the dinner ended, everybody returned to their respective homes. Somehow, only the both of us were left, so he accompanied me to flag a taxi by the roadside. I could feel his anger, and so when the taxi arrived, I intentionally told him in a casual manner, “Let’s stay in touch when you reach there.”

He replied expressionlessly, “I won’t contact you again.”

He was a man true to his word. During the subsequent four years, he never took the initiative to contact me, and never even replied the voice messages which I had left for him.

I know a lot of people are unable to understand why I rejected him. I thought about this issue very seriously before, and initially I thought that I was simply angry – angry that he was leaving to such a faraway place, and yet he couldn’t even break the news to me personally.

But even if he hadn’t left, and he had stayed, would I have accepted his confession?

Somehow, I don’t think I would have accepted him either.

Having met someone I really liked, I was extremely careful not to get too close to him; I’m not sure what kind of mindset this is, and I don’t really understand it either. Subsequently, I watched a movie where a male student asked his teacher, “Why do we always fall in love with the people who never ever care about us?”

His teacher had replied then, “Because we always feel that we don’t deserve someone who loves us better.”

I was suddenly enlightened. Yes, I felt that I wasn’t worthy of his love.

I was someone who suffered from a very strong inferiority complex. When I was young, the adults often compared my older brother and I. Guan Chao was extremely smart, and I couldn’t outperform him no matter how hard I tried. When I grew slightly older, I suffered from a sudden illness. During that period of time, I constantly felt like a burden to the family, and that the future seemed extremely bleak and hopeless. During puberty when I became more obedient, I started to realize that my family was different from other families – my single parent family background made me cowardly and sensitive.

There was once I went to Mr. F’s house to play. It was then that I completely understood how one could feel utterly embarrassed from comparisons.

It wasn’t that his family’s economic conditions were mindblowing; rather, it was the warm family atmosphere that made me envious. It was open and warm, and his parents were extremely loving. I remember his house having an extremely huge full length window which allowed his house to be clothed in brightness. At that time, I thought that a child who grew up in this type of family would be extremely open with nothing to hide.

That was probably the first time he brought a female friend back home. His mother was extremely friendly to me, and asked me about my family conditions at the dining table, and what my parents did for a living. It was a truly innocuous question, but it made me feel extremely embarrassed, like never before.

I don’t recall how I answered the question then, perhaps I simply gave an extremely dubious answer in my fluster.

Before I left his home, his mother gave me a can of her home-made rose biscuits, and even nicely invited me to come visit in the future.

I smiled and agreed while nodding my head, but I knew that I would never return again.

I really liked his home, I really liked that full length window, and I really liked his mother. But I would never return again, because I couldn’t lift my head out of shame.

Yes, the world’s dirtiest thing is none other that one’s pride.

My youth was exactly like this – plagued with feelings of inferiority, sensitivity and awkwardness.