BSC dialogue.

Now Playing: Hallelujah by Kate Voegele (you don't really care for music do you?)

When I was twelve I was madly in love with a boy called BSC.

He wasn't actually called BSC; I don't actually know why he was called BSC. But if you look at my earlier posts (like, 2008, and they're in illegible blue for a reason) he was around.

We weren't really that close, now that I think about it. I've definitely had closer friendships; I definitely have closer friendships, now. I think I was too much to handle for a twelve year old boy; he never would have understood me, and he never tried. And he liked other girls.

I've always liked a type. I've never actually liked an Asian guy - I have really racist hormones, I'm so sorry! I like white guys who are charming and intelligent and charismatic; in short, I like the kind of guys that most other girls like, too. And so I always lose out. I went to a primary school that was like a waiting room for private schools. There's no way in hell a girl like me has any chance against some rich private school girl. I know that, all too well.

My love of conversation and intellectual equity has been somewhat recent; BSC bored me to tears with his obsessions with god-knows-what (seriously, I cannot for the life of me remember what he rambled on about. I just smiled and nodded. The only thing I remember was that he liked girls. A lot. Just not me.) and K used to (and still does) just babble on about basketball. I know basketball. I love basketball. I used to play basketball, and I have basketball medals and a trophy. Nonetheless, no girl likes being talked at about NBA for hours and hours on end). But now I've really put my foot down. I can only really like someone (as a friend, or otherwise) if they have something interesting to say.

I have some very fond memories of BSC - he was a big guy, like a teddy bear; he laughed a lot, he was very smart, and funny. He loved food; I remember he would devour my lunch, his girlfriend's lunch, his own lunch, and then scab money off us to raid the canteen. He had a big, loud, exuberant personality, and he radiated charisma. He was only at my primary school for a year but every girl in the grade was in love with him.

But I still remember that I had to cut him a lot of slack. I cried a lot, that year. He was insensitive and tactless; guys still are, and I've grown a thicker skin but sometimes their tactlessness and selfishness really hits where it hurts. Ever since BSC I've been juggling friendships with boys I've loved to distraction and sometimes it gets really hard. I look back at some of the random comments we flipped back and forth and even then, I was still terrified of being perceived as too pushy, I was still struggling to maintain a facade of effortless platonicity and forcing myself to smile as I watched him Casanova around all my friends. It is not easy, being the girl come second, the girl best mate. He would treat me exactly how he would treat all the boys, and I hated it. He was a good friend, but he never stood up for me. His girlfriends, and his reputation, was more important than little old me. It was very obvious to me then, and especially now, that I was much more attatched than he ever was.

But that was the first time I'd ever been viewed as competition. I wasn't as patient as I am now, not nearly as tolerant; I hadn't quite learned the art of flirting, of being provocative; I was a little...violent when I was twelve. Nonetheless, he and I were close enough for one of his girlfriends - a big, tall, athletic girl about twice my size - to gang up on me and tell me to keep my distance.      

I go to a high school quite far from where I grew up, and I've moved to the other side of town, and in year eight I promptly fell in love with two very different guys somewhat simultaneously (weird, I know), so BSC hasn't been in my mind for a very long time. I ran into him once, in year eight (just after I dyed my hair bright red) but I didn't encourage conversation and I've never made any attempt to keep in contact - in fairness, neither did he. I don't really think he misses me all that much.

It's strange, taking these little nostalgic trips down memory lane. In some ways, I've changed immeasurably from the good old days. But in other ways, things haven't changed at all. I still cry myself to sleep. I'm still ridiculously weird and ridiculously shy about letting people in to the inner sanctum of my introverted self. I still play with fire and I still get burned. I still fall in love knowing nothing will come out of it. I still try to keep friendships with people I love dearly who love other people. I'm still the girl come second, still the girl best mate, still having to settle with what ifs and could bes. I still have to swallow my pride and watch on in fits of sheer jealousy. I still struggle enormously with fears and insecurities and emotions. But it's okay. I was only twelve then, and I'm only sixteen now. Nobody said anyone had to have everything figured out at sixteen.