Continuation of Karat Romance #3.
Remember how I said optimism made the situation worst?
Well, just as I thought, “This is great, we’re finally going to be friends,” he tells me that in two months he’d be living in another country to continue his degree. As a friend, I obviously congratulated him for wanting to achieve more academically but as his overly-infatuated admirer, I was crushed.
Every time I felt like I was ready to work on a particular relationship, it would blow up in my face. At this point, I accepted that the Universe was using me as its comedic relief because how else could I explain the series of events that were happening in my life? I mean, it couldn’t possibly be because I had a red carpet rolled out ready for Drama to waltz into my life, right? That’s absurd even though Indians and drama are synonymous.
Let’s move forward.
He invited me to his farewell party. Said it’d mean a lot to him if I showed up because he wanted to spend time with me.
The only thing that held me back from being enthusiastic about this opportunity was the fact that it’d be hosted at a club. He is known for being notorious after a few drinks. The thought of what he was capable of doing in an establishment that’s infamous for bringing out everyone’s inner Hyde was a little scary.
After many debates with me, myself and I, to his farewell party I shall go — not because I was gatal (completely), but because of the horrifying fact that I wouldn’t be able to see him for over a year. Even though our relationship had seen more bad than good, I enjoyed his company. Ultimately, it’s good to focus on the present instead of the past, right?
If only I hadn’t.
I remember feeling anxious as I was getting ready because “Fuck, shit, am I pretty? Oh man, look at my hair. Why isn’t my eyeliner even?!” I psyched myself out before leaving my room, but after I cellophane taped my nerves, I braved the outside world.
I was greeted by many drunk friends when I got in the club, whom pointed me to his direction saying “He’s been looking for you!” After swimming through the sea of inebriated people, I found him. He looked happy to see me, we shared various shots together. He then asked me to dance with him.
I had to pinch myself to be sure that this was really happening.
We danced to horrible hip hop/R&B remixes but I had the greatest time. I was dancing with this seemingly perfect individual who had said that I made his night better because I was there. I felt great despite not having perfectly balanced winged eyeliner.
After what felt like the longest 10 minutes of my life, we headed over to the bar to get more drinks with our friends.
By this time, I was a combination of giddy and tipsy. Nothing fazed me for I was all too aware of the drink in my hand and the fact that I just danced with the guy I liked.
Out of the blue, my friend grabs me and says, “We need to go outside.” I naturally hesitate to go with him. He held me in a fixed position, which made turning around impossible. Alas, I’m Indian, so I found a way to see what he was keeping me from seeing.
The Winston McCall’s soundalike had his tongue down a girl’s throat.
What happened between us, though not official or remotely romantic, was not a secret. A few friends looked at me and signalled for me to leave.
I was devastated.
I could barely see because my vision was impaired no thanks to the alcohol and my tears.
In a haze, I ended up sitting at the side of the road and cried until I was okay enough to call a taxi. This level of ‘low’ was fairly different than the ones I’ve been to before. I didn’t know what to make of the feeling that was lingering around my throat; it was difficult to breathe and it just hurt.
It continued hurting for a few days.
I was getting angry because why the fuck was I affected by a guy who obviously did not respect me? I respected myself enough; I love me, why does what he did matter this much to me?
Because I thought he’d be different.
He never reached out to talk to me after that night but he was quick to post photos of the great times he was having being overseas. As he did that, I rekindled my relationship with movies and food.
After a few months, I was less angry at myself for being as hurt as I was.
I shifted my perception of what had happened from being “horrible mistakes” to “experiences to become better”. It got to a point where I told myself, “he was terrible for me but that doesn’t make him a terrible person overall; I’m glad that he’s happy,” and I moved on with my life albeit slowly.
Things were finally looking up for me; I was more confident, I hadn’t spoken to a rude boy after him, and I was genuinely very peachy.
One night, my friends and I went out for drinks and forced each other to complete silly challenges — I am the kind of person that gets really hype about drinking games — a reason to take shots? I don’t need any! But it helps for a great story — which mostly revolved around flirting with various guys.
After finishing an entire bottle of tequila, one friend dares me to kiss the guy who was sitting behind me. Let it be known that my liquid courage was at its peak, so I turned around.
It was him. It was the Winston McCall soundalike.
See what I mean by comedic relief?
Look out for the conclusion of this part of the writer’s life in April. Follow the writer on Instagram here.