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10 Years Ago

Ghawd. Has it been really ten years?

Ten years ago I was a 14-year old high school student. I was in pigtails and braids, and uniforms. I had lollipop in my mouth. I slept at 2 am and woke up at 5:30 am. I listened to MLTR, Hanson, Savage Garden, N-sync, Backstreet Boys, Spice Spice Girls and a whole lot of other “bands” I have already forgotten or rather trying to forget. And most of all, I worshipped Boyzone.

Cringe, cringe, cringe…

Of course right now, I would rather eat a glassful of chillies and peppers that utter those words. It was not my fault. I’m blaming it on ranging hormones, a lack of sleep and for not knowing any better.

I did not know better when I was spending all of my allowance buying every songbook, magazine, newspaper and poster that have even a tiny picture of them. I blame it on ranging hormones when my eyes were bulging and I was salivating while watching their concert on TV, and dancing to their cheesy choreography too. I’m blaming it on mind control when I would watch MTV for hours hoping to catch their music videos and then bellow their songs, so that the whole neighborhood could hear me. I blame on temporary insanity when I would scream and cry because my brother changed the channel while I was watching an interview of Boyzone in Channel V, nevermind that they were still on commercials.

I’m now asking why? What did I see in them? Granted that they were all easy on the eyes and quite charming, I must now admit that they were not particularly great singers and their dancing leaves something to be desired of.

In every group, dare I say “boyband”, there is this one person that you always like better than the rest. And my obssession with Boyzone was no different. I was particularly enamored to this sweet personality. He was really quite charming and thoughful and most certainly cute. - I feel awkward writing about this right now. I’m just controlling my gagging reflex and soldier on through this post. - So, this particular cutie (ghawd, gwak) later admitted that he was gay. I will not write his name here, as it brings bitter memories I’m not particularly fond of. I mean, what person would be crazy enough to run through the entire school building crying and shouting like a mad woman? Not me. I merely ran through 2 flights of stairs, trying not to scream, slump in my chair and whimper like a hungry puppy. Nobody saw me cry. And I’m not that crazy.

After that life-changing incident, my gaydar have somehow been in full force. I liked Mark of Westlife, he turned out to be gay. I somewhat liked the drummer of Moffatts, he also turned out to be gay. I saw a pattern there and I thought, once is a coincidence, twice is a lucky guess, thrice meant that my gayday has indeed been finely tuned.

I know better now than to expect anything. If I like a guy, he would end up to be either married, committed and most probably gay.

You just can’t beat Lady Fortuna.

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