Reminded

Last night, I happened to remember some of my early sweet, tender moments, especially those of my first relationship when everything was new and beautiful and innocent. And I was able to smile. More importantly, I was able to smile about it while still being able to laugh at the joker who was my then-boyfriend. He had ceased to matter so completely that I was able to smile about the lovely times and mean it, and able to go tsk tsk tsk over the bad times and not hurt too much over them.

I'm nowhere near being able to smile about all the good times I shared with The Recent Him. Not even close.

Was supping with some friends the other night when someone made this passing comment: "I know firsthand that J has an oily face." Involuntarily and immediately, that made me think of The Recent Him's face. I could immediately feel exactly how his oily face felt under my fingers, and the memory of how his cheek smelt was just on the brink of recollection when I had to roughly shove it out of my mind - it would have hurt and disgusted me at the same time.

That made me upset momentarily. I hate these involuntary and uncalled-for stabs of memories. Seeing him in my mind or in pictures makes me feel a little physically sick, but mostly angry. Some of the memories almost want to become fond ones, but I remember who and what he has revealed himself to be, and they become nauseating, akin to the feeling one gets upon realising that something you thought was nice turned out to be some cruel prank.

I'd rather think of good times from previous relationship/involvements.

I'd much rather think of my first kiss in a quiet playground with a view of the highway. The first time I held a boy who cried in my arms under the shade of tall trees. The times I felt the exhilirating tugs of sexual tension, heightened by the need to refrain from speaking of it. The first time I made love on a kitchen floor and spotted our reflection on the oven door. The times we went stomping all the way down the long corridors in the staff wing in school in the fashion of Klayman from The Neverhood. The time I had someone's hand on my thigh and didn't realise I was being hit on until long after the incident. The strangely liberating feeling of kissing someone and realising that I felt nothing, not even after 4 years of wondering what-if. The times I was laid by someone who really knew what he was doing.

Yeah, I'll stick to good memories.