In our early romantic relationships, there is often a mismatch between the strength of our feelings and the stark reality. So why do they linger in our memories?
Do you remember your first love? Mine had soulful eyes, a shy smile, and I thought he was beautiful. I spent months trying to put myself in Brad’s way. He was in the same tutorial class at secondary school as me, so I enjoyed at least one daily encounter, and others could be manufactured if I walked a certain way to the lunch hall or chose my PE options wisely. I would note our meetings in my diary, where I gave Brad (not his real name) the codename “Gregory”, which I considered uncrackable and lush, probably because my mother admired Gregory Peck. (I later learned, when she asked me if I knew a boy called Gregory, that my mother had found my diary, but that’s another story.) Brad was shy and he never went out with girls. I tormented myself with challenging metaphysical questions, such as, “How well do I know Brad?” and, “Do I really love him or is this an infatuation?” It stumped me how Brad did not see that he and I were perfect life partners. After two years of Brad remaining steadfastly unobtainable, I decided to go off him. My love ended as abruptly as it started.
The following week, Brad caught me up on the path to maths. “Will you go out with me?” he said. It seemed implausible to my 15-year-old self that the fates would work this way. Besides, being shy, I tended to underinterpret signals. “Do you mean it?” I asked. “No shit,” he said.
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