The Loving are the Daring

Tuesday, July 03, 2012

Thomas Moore: No, there's nothing half so sweet in life as love's young dream.

I remember my first love.

He didn’t slay dragons and climb my hair to rescue me from my beast of loneliness. It wasn’t a love-and-must-kill-off-other-suitors moment. There were no pink fairies sprinkling pixie dusts or naked babies shooting lethal arrows.

In all honesty, I don’t even remember his name. Or his face.

But this is what I remember;
We were 7. Fresh out of kindergarten into a bigger pond called primary school. School was giving out free and torturous vaccinations of some kind. All students were required to clench their teeth, bare their souls and allow a sharp metallic needle with an evil glint to puncture our bodies “for our own good.”
I remember with dread when my name was called, and as I walked my death march straight into the nurse office with much trembling. 

As you can maybe tell, needles and I weren’t exactly friends. In fact, we met many-a-times in deathly mortal combat. The most memorable battle being when I had to go to the dentist to remove my traitor of a tooth, four people (father and nurses alike) had to clamp each of my limbs down as I screeched bloody murder into the ears of a sobbing dentist who was only doing what my mother asked.

So it was with all the bravery and courage that my seven year old could muster to not leg out of school that day, running as fast as my pudgy little legs would allow me. And like a war torn soldier with post-traumatic stress, my mind has blocked out every memory of the actual needle penetration event. 

Before I knew it, I was walking out of that room, my face white, and my small hand clutching my (other) punctured arm so hard, as though should I let go, my arm would fall straight off. I walked back to my classroom, silent tears dripping off my chin, my lips trembling, with not a sound. 

A bit dramatic maybe. To live life with flair was a style even then my seven year old self had adopted.

And just when I could bear the injustice of my life no more, this little boy - whom my mother assured me was my best friend then, instead of some tall, dark handsome stranger come to rescue thy helpless maiden - came to me with a little pink hanky that he took from my bag, he wiped my tears away and fed me chocolate.

And my life was upside right again.

That was my first love.


LOL. I’m kidding.



Wherever you are, even if fate no longer entwines our path, I pray for all the happiness to surround you because you once put a smile on my chubby 7 year-old tear-stained face. You are indeed a valiant knight. Dragons should be so bold as to fight you. And beautiful maidens out there should be so lucky to have you.