And speaking of wicked, I just remembered something really wicked that happened to yours truly a while back. Granted, it wasn’t funny at all when I went through it - not at all, but it is now. Somewhat.
I was about 12 years old. I had just discovered my literary prowess, if I may describe it as such, and had started writing a diary. It wasn’t so much a diary as it was a journal though. I remember it like it was just yesterday, so traumatic was the experience:
2 weeks earlier I had snitched to Mom about my bro’s whereabouts. Moms had been like: Where’s N? Amid my other bro kicking at me under the table my big mouth had blurted out: Oh, I saw him with [some neighbor’s daughter] headed toward town.
[Town, of course, was downtown Maragua, about 2 - 3km away from the crib.]
The next day my [busted] bro pulled me aside and instilled some little nuggets of wisdom that were to the effect of: Dude, you might not like girls yet but I guarantee you will, and soon. More importantly, don’t be snitchin' on a brother.
Those words were, apparently, prophetic, coz a couple of weeks later I was smitten. I was riding my bike one day from downtown back to the crib when I rode past these houses and lo and behold, this caramel-complexioned angel stepped out from one of them houses. I inadvertently braked, smitten at first sight. She didn’t notice me though and eventually went back inside the house, much to my disappointment.
But as luck would have it, her brother lurrrrrved my youngest sister and had started hanging around our house, and that’s when I got to see my little obsession more. He one day came through to our house with her, the one and the same aforementioned caramel-complexioned angel, and I could not believe my luck. I was a little punk back then and couldn’t figure out what to say to her, so we spent all afternoon long gawking at each other like idiots, saying nothing. When they went back home I was crestfallen, furious at myself for being such a little b*tch.
I spent the next couple of weeks finding excuses to go by her house, and was lucky enough to catch a couple of glimpses of her from time to time. She even once waved at me – I was ecstatic!
I couldn’t get her off my mind though so I started writing about it and boy, did I write about it! Picture this: I was 12, on the verge of puberty, with raging hormones awaiting release, a pretty girl on my mind and a vivid imagination. Needless to say, that right there was a recipe for disaster and I wrote volumes about what I felt about the girl, holding nothing back. Dude, I talked about how much I liked her, how her body was just about perfect, how much I loved her little strut, how her smile conjured up one cute little dimple in her left cheek, wrote about her hair worn in that signature ponytail, etcetera etcetera.
I even wrote about stuff I would wanna do with her. Of course, just swapping spit with her back then would’ve been more than satisfactory, so I stuck to the typical 12-year-old script and wrote about just touching her body, looking into her eyes, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, blahze blahze.
Would you believe it, one of my sisters stumbled across my journal later on, much to my dismay. Not only did she read its entire contents, but she rounded up my other siblings and read it out loud to them. I was f-u-r-i-o-u-s! Even more, I was humiliated! It was after the laughter had subsided and I had got my journal back that I vowed never to write down my deepest, darkest thoughts for any reason. That decision probably stifled some of my literary creativity but hey, what’s not written can’t screw me over!
I never did get with caramel-angel, but she told me much later that she had been digging me too! WTF! Which led to my much-used and never-regretted personal motto: Nothing ventured, nothing gained. And that’s the truth.