So I went a grade ten retreat a few days ago, and a lot happened since then, I suppose.
On the night prior to the retreat, I was typing a journal entry about my theory of the universe, when I had a vision. In that vision, I accidentally closed my journal tab and all was lost. Well, guess what? When I was brought back to reality, I tried moving my cursor around but, since I'm on a laptop, it registered as a "click" rather than a "hover." My mouse happened to be right above the "x" on my journal tab, and, as predicted, all was lost.
I wasn't near done that journal entry, but I did have quite a bit down. Losing all those thoughts was somewhat devastating and it strongly discouraged me from writing for a while. If you care to check, it has indeed been quite some time since my last entry.
Apologies aside, I do want to restate that, although I am not REQUIRED to update this journal, I want to. It's a way to release mental buildup and it helps keep me sane.
So, let's move on to this journal entry's actual purpose. Two or three entries ago, I uploaded a journal entry by the name of "Periodic Confessions." That entry was kind of like the introduction to a series of entries I'll be writing in the future. The series is called "Confession Session" and it's basically a thing where, on any two days of a month, I'll write an entry solely about me confessing something.
In this entry, I want to fill you guys in a bit on my subtle obsession (what an oxymoron!) of piggy back rides.
In grade nine, I had a class retreat and we were asked to perform various tasks. One of those tasks was to get across the room while only stepping on pieces of fabrics we placed down. The fabrics acted as "stones" as the game was called "Stepping Stones." Anyway, there was a limited number of these "stones," and we had far too many feet to step on them. So, as any logical grade nine team would do, we piggy backed to half our feet.
That was the first time I was piggy back with a developed brain. In other words, it was my first clear memory of a piggy back ride.
I have to admit: it was fun.
I loved it, the feeling of relying on someone else like that; the feelings of having to cling on to your ride in hopes of staying on; the feeling of knowing both you and your ride were getting through this together.
The only thing that could make it better? Maybe if it was number nine I got to ride on.
A while ago, now in grade ten, I had a retreat, as mentioned earlier. During this retreat, we did a similar task, but again, I did not get to ride on number nine's back.
It's hilariously cruel, you see. When picking the teams, they organized us my months. Our birth months, to be specific. Number nine was born on October 31. I was born on October 6.
They lined us up, according to birth months, and began dividing us into groups. When the picked number nine's group, they stopped right before me. I was one person away from having my fantasy come true.
So I was put in a different group. Coincidentally, it was the group that competed against number nine's group.
Oh, if you aren't familiar with who number nine is, it's a guy that I named after one of his former jersey numbers. You can find more information about him in previous entries, if you want.
I was piggy backed by a classmate that I knew decently well, I suppose. We weren't really close, but sometimes we'd talk about school and such.
Number nine, meanwhile, made quite the reputation. He was the strongest guy on his team. I'm sure he gained a lot of fans.
He wasn't very popular from the start, but the more he hung out with me in grade eight, the more girls seemed to like him. I'm not saying I was the first girl he didn't outright reject. I'm saying that given my what my position was in my old school, whoever I hung out with got a lot of attention.
Perhaps because it's so rare that I get along with guys so openly. It's fine when I play with girls, but the moment a guy enters my life, kaBOOM. Stuff happens.
A lot of people thought he liked me because of the way he teased me. Or at least, because of the way he APPEARED to be teasing me. Maybe he was, maybe he did like me, but I hate it when other people get involved.
I think love blossoms between two people. If two people get forced together, I absolutely hate it. Loathe it, even.
So when word got out that he liked me, I told whoever asked me about that I "viewed him as I viewed Dominic or Lawrence."
Dominic and Lawrence were two friends of mine. We would always compete for the highest marks, and when number nine came to our school, we absorbed him in our clique.
What REALLY made me like him was the way he would ask for my spare pencil, nearly every math class. I do love math. And then he began messing with me at my locker. One time, I grabbed his hand..
He locked my lock when my locker was open, and I took his sligt pause to grab a hold of his hand. It was instinct, I tell you, INSTINCT.
But he laughed and tried running away. I, on the other hand, still holding on to him, was sitting and when he moved, my body weight shifted to his direction and I fell... kind of.
Did he ask me if I was okay? I don't know. I was laughing, too. The whole world zoned out, and it was just me and him.
All this happened in grade eight.
It was strange because he was, to put bluntly, white. Russian, to specify. I don't mean to be racist, but I can't be in a relationship with such people. The generation above me strongly believes that Vietnamese people are good, and that being with other Vietnamese people is good. I've seen how kind they are when a cousin of mine married a Vietnamese person, and I've seen how disappointed they are when a cousin married a person with a different race.
From the start, you see, I knew number nine couldn't be with me due to my own restrictions. Of all the people I've liked in the past, he was the most convenient. How cruel for the world to play such a silly trick on me.
But it doesn't matter what race he is. What does matter is that I liked him for my own reasons, and that he is a splendid person. I think that there is a high chance he did like me once upon a time, but, as the phrase might suggest, perhaps it's all a fairy tale. Perhaps I'm making things up in my mind when I see him. What can I do, you know? He makes me delusional.
Err, I'm getting rather off-topic here. This is a Confession Session, for goodness' sake!
Point is, I've been piggy backed twice, and of those two times, none were with number nine. And also of those two times, number nine was RIGHT there, just barely out of my reach.
To be honest, I don't know if I like him. Now that high school has started, I only see him by chance. He probably wants to forget about me, but I've left a heavy imprint on his brain.
Number nine, if you're reading this, sorry. I don't know what specifically I'm apologetic about, but I do feel that I owe you something. You gave me a taste of joy, and for that, I am very grateful to you. But if you hate me now, that's alright.
Hm... How do I explain this..? You see, I live within memories. I live in my own memories as well as the memory of others. If number nine forgets me, a part of me dies. However, if my existence is a bother to number nine, then he is the one suffering.
I think I'm willing to die a little if it means he can be free of me. That, or he can accept me for the twisted person that I am.
But anyways, today's confession is this:
I really want a piggy back from number nine.
That's all for today, I suppose.
Sorry this entry dragged on where it shouldn't have. Anyhow, today's lyrics are:
If you can't make your mind up,
We'll never get started.
And I don't wanna wind up
Being parted, broken-hearted.
I am almost positive I've used this song before, but oh well. Until next time, dear readers~!
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