I Didn’t Believe In Love At First Sight, Until I Saw You


It’s the first time you’ve felt something so weird toward a person you’ve just met. You don’t believe in love at first sight but you know what happened was something like that. And what you hope right now—as in right now—is to see that person again. It is so unfair because you wanted to dig much deeper into each other, but you kept yourself secured and guarded. Though what you did share with each other were somehow arcane features of your lives coming from experiences. It was odd. It was interesting. Because it wasn’t just small talk.

While talking, your mind was wiped blank, and so all you did was consecutively nod without thinking, without absorbing. You can’t think straight and every detail of why not giving him and yourself a chance sinks in now. A chance to experience an unusual type of partnership — gone. It all sinks in too late, it just brought you confusions of not playing the game wisely and tactfully. Because you were afraid to try and measure how far can you go. And it’s always like that. Always choosing what is right, what is traditional and what is expected to be. Doing what you know is right instead of what can make you happy slowly kills you. Always bounded by guilt and conscience. One day, you might just explode.

It’s been more than a week but you can’t get him out of your head. You can’t get rid of him because you know that was a very powerful connection. It was a different atmosphere. You were on a different atmosphere. And you have a gut feeling that there might be next. You just don’t know when, or where or even how.

It was a less than 30-minute moment, but it was remarkable. I don’t know if it’s just me or if he felt it too. And I think I will always be curious of who he really is.

Isn’t it ironic? Loving someone you don’t know who he is, where he came from and why all of a sudden he crossed your way? You love him because you just don’t know?

Logically speaking, this might not sound logical and others might somehow think I’m crazy and insane. And if it isn’t ironic, then I don’t know what the hell type of a figurative language can describe this. Who are you? But then, I fell for you.