Q

We were 7 when we first met, our beginning uncomfortably reminiscent of those cheesy playground romances. It feels like centuries ago, in another life, but everything remains vivid – the exact location you sat (front row, third column from the far end, the smooth concrete speckled with chalk dust and whirling debris, the diffuse duskiness that always permeated our classrooms before we moved into the new campus.

At that time, you were known as 木头人, ingeniously knighted by our Chinese teacher. Already, that signature helmet of unruly hair nestled disobediently on your head, obscuring the view of everyone sitting behind you. Already, you were prone to rubbing your nose – a gesture we would use over and over in our impressions of you in years to come. Already, all that characterizes you were so salient: your sloth-like, stoic stillness; your complete inability to speak mandarin; your refusal to adhere to the norm and sit on the floor when others did (forever 木头人 on that chair). Already, you were so startlingly special.

I guess what makes me so fundamentally Qing was also burgeoning underneath. I’ve always felt drawn to strange people. They are a breed that fascinated and attracted me. But I was a child, and special meant different than unique. So before I could comprehend my fascination, I labelled it as ‘vague annoyance’. This isn’t an excuse for my rather mean-spirited interactions with you – not that I’ve ever tried finding an excuse for them, HAHAHAHA. The point is: I was rather mean.

I just flatly refused to acknowledge that you captured my attention so frequently because I wanted to understand your mind that you so meticulously kept under that cloud of hair. No, you just obstinately highlighted yourself in my periphery ’cause of how annoyingly obtuse you were. We always came back to this anecdote when describing our earlier years of hostility:

You were an avid sketcher back then, doodling a bunch of manga-esque characters on your desk. Admittedly, I was impressed. A little envious, even. A part of me wanted to express this admiration, because good art should always be validated (even 7 year old me was aware of that, yes); the other, overwhelmingly prideful part told me NO! I can’t bow down and defer to the Wood Head Human.

So in this struggle between admiration and pride, I wrangled out a flippant “Wow, your drawings very nice hor.” It came out much more sarcastic than I intended to, but “Hey! I got the message across!” I thought smugly.

I was a snotty little gnat and I’m sure you thought of me as no less than that. Snottiness and wooden-ness aside, we somehow ended up as desk partners in Primary 2. This was where our friendship truly began.

And like a painful 100-episode Taiwanese drama, to be continued >