Tuesday, April 10, 2012

This goes down to my very first crush ever

I used to travel to Sweden about 4-5 times a year to visit my father. First, I would be overjoyed by our reunion, but later the ADD typical to 13 year olds would creep in. I would manage to keep myself busy with the yummy Swedish hot dogs and H&M for a few more days but soon or later I would be overtaken by boredom (which can be blamed for my occasional existential angst). That was when my parents picked up the embarrassing habit of asking their friends, "Can your kid be friends with mine?"

Awkward introductions were followed by awkward acquaintances. A 16 year old nympho, a 9 year old who was desperate for attention and finally a 13 year old "princes" were among some of my friends. I met him in one of these dreaded attempts of my parents to find me friends.

He did not talk much, he was the shy kind, maybe because of his poor Turkish. Our first day together did not require much talking anyways as we spent the entire day on rollercoasters. Our friendship which started with a high dose of adrenalin turned into hours long TV sessions over the next years. We would sit on his bed and zap between The Simpsons and Beavis and Butt-head. Weirdly, those were precious moment of insight to his world moments although we did not talk much:

- A Green Day poster on the wall, he is cool > check
- An astronomy book by his bed; cultured > check
- No football, nor soccer team flags in his room > check
- An electro guitar, he has a garage band > check
- Zaps when he sees Dawson's Creek > check
- Offers me snacks > check :)))
- Gym bag; athletic > check
- His girlfriend's bale shoes from when she was 4!! > :'(

In those awkward moments of sitting on the bed in quiet my heart would skip a beat.

Our families continued to hang out until we are 16 or 17, so I got to see him once or twice until then. He made my heart skip a beat every time.

It was not until I was 28 that we got to hang out again. Much to my pleasure, he turned out to be a great young man. Still handsome, athletic, cool, cultured, and to my surprise, a great conversationalist.

Seeing him after all those years got me thinking of love and the power of it. Love is the source of all motivation and inspiration.

I want to thank him for making me write again.


Madness need not be all breakdown. It may also be break-through. It is potential liberation and renewal as well as enslavement and existential death.
R. D. Laing

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