A Letter to my Childhood Crush
by: *me*

a/n:Somewhat like a tribute to parents…I made this for our guided writing in school…and I got a pretty good grade. Hehe… Hey, this thing really did happen! It was a pretty agonizing experience, I tell you. Although I really didn’t believe and follow my own yadayada…note, the boys thing and the school-top-priority…(yeah right!)…Well, anihoo, read on!



I always believed in fairy tales and the words “and they lived happily ever after…” never failed to enchant me. I always fantasized of happy endings and fairy godmothers, beautiful silk gowns, and, of course, Prince Charming. I often daydreamed of turning into some dazzling princess, which could be saved by a handsome prince by a kiss, and carried off to his enormous castle. I believed in love and its mystery. Of course, I believed in everything. I was in Nursery, then. A messy, little witch of a kid who waited outside in the rain, sticking out her tongue for chocolate raindrops while trying to sing “On a Goodship Lollipop”.

That time, printed shirts and umbrella-cut skirts were the fashion and lavender was the “in” color. Hairlock style or the popular “tunggoy-tunggoy” among men was cool and girls who didn’t have bangs were social outcasts. My crush was cool. His hair was styled the Hairlock way and always more a smile on his handsome face. He was born in Manila but he spoke perfect Cebuano. He was not only handsome but also a gentleman, at hat. He was athletic and had good grades. Everyone liked him because he wasn’t like the other boys who would get all sweaty and dirty. He was perfect in almost every aspect except for the fact that he was a “mama’s boy”, which was a major turn-off. My friends and I used to fight over him, always arguing that he really liked the other best. But then, we’d remember the times he bellowed and ran around like crazy when his mom sent him to school, and we’d laugh and the fight would cease. We’d say to ourselves that we wouldn’t let any boy come between our friendship. Then, we’d spit at the ground and hug one another. That was all blah, blah, blah! He was still the cutest boy in our class, and I know deep inside, each girl’s heart was wildly beating for him, screaming and determined to win his heart.

It was a Saturday when the spirit of Cupid possessed me and I had this stupid and childish idea (that didn’t seem so stupid then) to write him a letter, which would contain all that I ached to tell. I never really knew the difference between a black and red ballpen that time; so I chose the red ballpen, thinking that it would make the letter much more romantic. I placed everything in that letter, using up all the English words in my vocabulary. I was in the middle of writing the world’s finest love letter when a bald ogre took it away from me, reading it with fiery eyes. The giant crumpled the letter, threw it, and gave me a murderous stare. Then, he started to attack me using his leather belt, which painstakingly landed on my behind. I could only cry and plead at him in despair, shielding myself from that horrible belt. I couldn’t fight back at him. I couldn’t do anything about it. The giant was my dad.

It’s funny how things ended up. My dad gave me a word or two about this puppy love thing and carefully explained to me that I was too young for these things. I guess, somehow, it had worked since I’ve never had any crazy ideas like that anymore. Maybe the cupid inside of me was traumatized at my father’s lashing so much that he decided to leave my body and come back when I can truly know the difference between infatuation and love. But I didn’t stop liking the person, though. My dad did stop me from writing that letter but he couldn’t stop the fact that I got a heart attack when my crush passed by. But that was then. Now, school is my top priority. Boys would come later in life. One doesn’t need to rush in on things, right? Sometimes, I still wonder what could’ve happened if dad hadn’t found the letter. Would my crush feel the same way or would he just laugh at me and spread the news to everyone? I know it would be the end of me.

Maybe my dad doesn’t deserve to be the bad guy after all. He saved me from sheer humiliation. Of course, parents always do that. They scold us in front of everybody and we mutter to ourselves how unfair life is that we were born from these “cruel” people. But we know they are right and that they know what is best for us. They correct our silly mistakes so that we wouldn’t get even worse. They love us no matter what we do and what we are. All we need to do is love them back. We don’t even have to write any letter to prove to them how much we really care.

I believe I’m quite mature now to know that fairy tales don’t happen in real life. They are just figments of one’s imagination. There are no such things as fairy godmothers and magical glass slippers. Chocolate raindrops and gingerbread houses don’t exist. Happy endings and Prince charming are very rare. But I know love is real. Someday, I’m going to live happily ever after…