Wee Wee

"Hey. Wee's back. You wanna see him tonight?" Stunned silence.

"You'd better be nicer to me, if you wanna find out more about him..." Rolled eyes.

And the taunting continued for weeks, though it was more like, I suspect, a poorly masked pretext to ask me out.

Nonetheless, things came to a head on Sunday.

Dude: Hey, send me to Borders later.
ME: ?!?! Why should I?
Dude: 'Cos I bought you that 100plus.
ME: No. NO way. It's out of the way.
Dude: Please lah.
ME: NO.
Dude: I don't care.
ME: NO.

... And it went on through lunch. Until, though I was rather irritated by his badgering, I decided I had to be me. But before I could say "ok"...

Dude: Don't like that lah. Hey, if you send me there, I'll give you one piece of information about Wee that you'd be pleased to know.

That smirk on his face was enough to make me want to strangle him and send his carcass down to Kallang River instead.

But all I thought was, Ok idiot, let's see what good shit you're gonna give me.


Wee Wee was probably the only boy I ever had the hugest crush on. Of course, I had been only seventeen then. But to me then, after nursing a heartbreak for a year, Wee Wee was the cutest thing I'd ever seen on earth. That was, of course, before Piper came into my life. (Momma loves you, babe.)

I had set my eyes on him in the first week of school then. Together with many other hundreds pairs of eyes. Without a doubt, Wee Wee was the orientation group leader from the student council every other girl was talking about.

But Wee Wee was one shy, laid-back boy who shunned all unnecessary attention. Being obviously embarrassed by all the unwanted amorous attention from the juniors, he sank into a low profile after the orientation ended and, other than playing his favorite sport in the afternoons, he would be hanging out with his scouts boys playing carrom in the canteen after the coast was clear.

And Wee Wee just happened to be in the boys basketball team.

So I thought I must've been rather lucky then. To be able to see Wee Wee on those precious days when the boys and the girls trained on the same days. I think I surprise myself now, how quiet and shy I had been. Never a hint, never a chat, never a single move, I was so darned good at masking my adoration, and at sneaking sly looks at the boy. And all this while, I was completely blind to Paul the "gorgeous hunky-dory polo dude" who was hot at my heels, and who would single-handedly create a ruckus in the canteen everytime he approached me.

To the lovelorn me, there was only one boy I could see in my eyes.

Then came along the brown-polkadotted girl who would become my best friend almost instantly. And for the longest time, she would remain the only other soul on earth who knew of my secret adoration. Never once would she try to play matchmaker, but she would always be there with all ears pried to listen to my growing affections.

And then it started one fine day when Wee Wee finally saw me. The chats started first, rather frivolous teasing that usually left me dumbfounded. And they were always in front of the boys. Then the secret looks that I thought I noticed. And then it was the awkwardness.

Wee Wee stopped talking to me whenever we were alone. But then came the nightly phone-calls. And the handwritten letters that landed in my letterbox. The cards. The poems. And that pencil-sketched portrait of me that he carefully framed and presented to me on my 17th birthday. There were never confessions of feelings, but I thought everything was subtlely heartfelt.

Still, in school, we were like strangers. Maybe, just ECA acquaintances.

Soon, the year passed. Wee Wee got enlisted. And he fell into depression.

I never got to see Wee Wee in school everyday anymore, but he was still all I could see. The phone-calls were now limited to Saturday nights only. But then, there were the ritualistic Sunday ball sessions with all the army boys. I remember with fondness now, how we would climb over the school gate every Sunday morning, just to relive the good ol' days on the court.

Despite all the activities, Wee Wee sank deeper and deeper into depression. He would call and I would know how the army devastated him totally. He started writing letters to me from camp. And the mutuality of affections grew stronger and stronger - to me, at least. But nary a word was ever said.

The more depressed he became, the more he needed me but refused to admit, the more frustrated I grew.

And then, over time, things just faded away. And I kept all his letters and cards in a shoebox, and stowed them away in the cardboard. For a long time to come, I hated spring-cleaning because that shoebox would totally mar my mood.

Wee Wee left for New York after he was finally discharged from the army. He never came back since. And I have never seen him since.

Years on, when I was blissfully in love with a man I thought I was going to have babies and grow old with, I would still spend an hour looking through the contents in that shoebox during spring-cleaning time. I never told the man about Wee Wee, but there is just some stuff tucked deep in one corner of your heart you can never explain to someone else.


The irritating one duped me into giving him a free ride to Borders, anyway.

But today, out of guilt perhaps, he sent a sheepish message to me over the phone: Anyway he is in Singapore until August.


There is no more flutter in my heart.

Though I would think back of those lovelorn days that happened thirteen years ago and smile at the memory, there is no more fantasy playing in my head.

And it scares me to an extent. This boy was something I thought I really loved and really wanted then. But today, the feeling's gone. And if I were to meet some boy today I really love and really want for the rest of my life, would I still feel the same thirteen years on?

I don't think about Wee Wee the cute boy now, though I think he still can't be anywhere far from being cute. Once in a while, some things, like the irritating one, might provoke those memories. But they remain just as that.

I do think, though, that there will always remain a regret in me that will follow me to my grave. That I never pursued what I had really wanted hard enough then.


So this is me now. And this is how I will live.

When I know I want something, I will pursue it.

But when I decide I don't want it anymore, that it's not meant for me, I will completely drop it.

I just don't want no more regret in my life.

Memories are sweet. But memories with open endings aren't.