It is true what people say: you never really forget about your first crush.
I bumped into my very first crush while I was aimlessly strolling around in KLCC, mentally making notes of ideal Secret Santa gifts for the office Christmas party. And then the next thing I knew is that I was (very awkwardly) waving to him, with a wide smile plastered on my face. It has been years since we have last spoken to each other, but yet there is this tinge of comfort that I felt as pleasantries were exchanged. After giving an equally awkward hug, I was in a flabbergasted state of mind (and pretty giddy too).
Funny how all those nights of my teenage years spent reminiscing about memories and nostalgia shared between us seem to be of little weight now; I recall angry-writing into the diary that I kept about how egoistic he was and that I will never come close to comparison to the popular girls that he dated. It is rejuvenating to know that there is no longer devastation and pain like how it used to be. I snicker at the memory of getting jealous, I smile at the memory of how much I adored his goofy smile, I laugh at the memory of pathetically whining to friends about how he is full of ego, but only to realise that he speaks confidently much, much later. (My bad.)
Thanks for the memories, Anchovy.
P.S. His nickname had a long story to it, and boy, my friends and I spent a long time coming up with that nickname.