The 2010 National Schools Press Conference in Tagum City ended yesterday, but I’ve been unable to get you out of my head.
Hi, I’m Dean. I don’t know if you remember, but we “met” in a souvenir stall in Tagum City National High School. I was wearing a red-and-yellow Caraga shirt and an unbelievably stupid face, and you were wearing a simple shirt, a nice pair of shorts, and one of the sweetest smiles I’ve ever seen.
I was waiting for my shirt to get printed and you were looking at the designs they had put on display on one side of the booth. I vaguely remember us stealing sidelong glances at one another, but that could have been just me. At any rate, there I was, standing stupidly, secretly admiring your presence, while you leisurely looked for a shirt design you liked.
Then you made the exclamation that made me squeal on the inside: “Uy, yun oh, cute ‘yun!” (or something to that effect) while pointing to a design. Right after you said that you looked sheepishly at me, giggling to reveal that smile and those dimples that made me melt. I don’t know if you were making pacute or if you’re just that adorable by nature.
All I could say in reply was, “ok lang ‘yan, ate *giggle*.” I barely even got the words to leave my lips, and I highly doubt that you heard what I said. The reply might have been obfuscated by the corny laugh and the one hell of a f—face I said it with.
We didn’t speak any further, and soon you moved to the other end of the stall—whether to look for more shirt designs or to escape from my weirdness, I’m not sure. I wanted to make conversation so I could get your phone number (or at least your name so I could add you up on Facebook). I even moved to your end of the stall, pretending to sift through the piles of shirts on the table while thinking of ways to start talking to you. I wanted to strike up a chat, but you seemed too busy and I was too shy.
Before I cold utter a word, you got the shirt you wanted, haggled all you could, and left the stall and my life as quickly as you came—possibly forever.
I spent the rest of the night thinking about you, about the brief exchange of giggles in the stall, about how I was too shy to say a word, about what would have happened had I been brave enough to try to strike up a conversation. I spent the wee hours of the next morning writing this, forgoing sleep I needed much for the homeward journey I made a few hours later.
I learned many things from my NSPC 2010 experience, the chief of which I learned from you: the window of opportunity can stay open for as briefly as a few seconds, and if that window isn’t seized, many what ifs can come to mind, which is bad since life isn’t supposed to be lived in regret and thinking “what if?”
I know the chances of you reading this are slimmer than Heidi Klum, but I’m a guy who’s grown accustomed to hoping against hope, so here goes:
If you are the girl who stood next to a silly-looking guy in a brightly colored CARAGA shirt in a souvenir stall in Tagum City National High School on the night of February 25, 2010, and if you made a remark to the effect of what was described in the fourth paragraph of this piece, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE get in touch via Facebook or by using this page. Please please please. I really want to be friends. =)
With warm regards,
(sgd) Dean. 🙂