This is the first part of a series about my past romantic dead-ends. hehehehe… Enjoy!


“Should I give up or should I just keep on chasing pavements,” the phrase hit me like an anchor, it was heavy as hell, it made a big splash and it created wave upon disturbing wave in my thoughts. Ah, you have no idea, what I am talking about? Let me orient you: we are in a secluded corner of the city, in a secluded corner of a local bar having the usual drinking binge. With me are three of the funniest and prettiest female specimens this side of the south. What is a smuck like me doing with three beauties? Well, half of the bill from the bar is on me along with half of the talk and about 80% of the advices. What sane advice could I possibly give them, you ask? Beats the hell out of me, but still they’re here and I am here, the alcohol is good, the she-nery is great and my heart found reason enough to skip a beat or two for one of the ladies I am sharing the drinks with. Her name is Felicia and she just broke up with her boyfriend. Now, if you have half a brain, you would know that, Felicia breaking up with her boyfriend is good news for any aspiring Romeo. And maybe, I am happy, but at that moment, at that exact moment, I wasn’t. I wasn’t happy because she was crying, though, she smiles like an angel and god damn it if she’s not the most beautiful thing when she has tears in her eyes but still, I hate the thought of her crying for a guy who doesn’t treat her right. If you’ve had the privilege of sharing her company, you would agree with me when I say that she is worth a hundred folds more than the guys who do not know her real value.

But, a curious thing happened, in the middle of all my care, concern and longing for her, I suddenly began to hate her; I felt contempt and disgust for her and for everyone like her. I suddenly felt this huge urge to scream out to her and say, “Ha! You deserve it, you she-spawn of Satan!” I wanted to put a bullet in the face of each and every woman who stuck it out with assholes like Felicia’s ex and they cry and bawl when they are left behind. All the while nice guys like me are waiting on the bench trying to cool the drinks and warm the towel for players like them.

Snap! The room suddenly started turning, slow at first then it started picking up speed, it turned left, right and slowly spiralled down –like the water in the toilet after you puked in it and hit the flush button.

Then, memories started flashing in front of my eyes; it wasn’t like dying, because the memories are about me and the women in my life. Is this an epiphany? Am I dead? Or maybe a combination of both? Then I felt a painful slap and thundering shout that said, “it’s a combination of both you moron, you’re supposed to learn something from this! Now pay attention.” I kicked back, gave a nervous smile and watch as the reel spin and the flashback started to play.


Part 1: Cecile and Tina

I fell victim to the alluring powers of women at a young age. Back at the tender age of 5, I had no idea that women are soft as pillows and painful as circumcisions. Ok, maybe I am a wee bit unfair; circumcisions aren’t as painful as women. It’s more like, women are as soft as pillows and painful beyond comprehension.

First cut wasn’t the deepest for me, but then again the first girl didn’t really cut me, it was more like diaper rash -itchy and painful when scratched. Her name was Cecille, she had jet black hair, bronze skin and was a consistent honour student; and what I felt for her wasn’t a lot like love, it was more like a school yard crush, but deeper in its confusion. Remember, I was 5 years old then, I couldn’t blame my confusion on hormones, I am not even sure what hormones were back then. But it was the first time that I’ve ever encountered the sad feeling of not being able to talk to “the girl” that you want to talk to. As you can see even then, I was slowly fitting the mold of the pathetic sissy that I am today, I felt too much but I had no idea where to direct my feelings or how.