A white crush

Life is fragile, isn't it? No, I did not just experience something tragic personally, or did any of my friends have recently. I am talking about second chances we will never get in life. You did something, and you can never retract what you did/said. Life IS fragile.

I have a slight crush (this word has a purpose to be here, since I am a person with huge ego, and a tiny bit of feeling for someone would not hurt me so much if things do not work out, hence - "slight") on a white boy. He is 2 years younger than me, I know, I know, WHAT!? would be everyone's reaction.... We knew each other on the surface from our trip to Ellis Island. Anyway, I like him, not because of his interesting personality or whatsoever that one normally look for in another person, but merely because he is interested in Asian culture. My point is ---- I have succumb slowly into that pathetic state of desperation for a boyfriend, that now, anything will do to catch my eye. Obviously, being physically presentable would not be ignored all too easily.

We had breakfast today together. It wasn't planned. I went upstairs to have my breakfast, and there he was, sitting at the very first table near the staircase. Our eyes met, and without thinking ( i mean absolutely being absent-minded), I grabbed the chair next to him, and put my plate down on the table. No questions asked, no offers made, and the awkward breakfast convo began. He likes football, I like soccer. He likes Japan and I like Europe. He likes yogurt, I dislike yogurt. He is 18, I am 20. PERIOD. Clearly, this is the ultimate sign of the death of any romantic relationship we could possibly have. Well, let's just say that he ended up inviting another friend of his (nice Trini guy - Keegan) to join us at the table. Sigh, there goes another nail into my relationship coffin.

I wonder whether I would EVER have a boyfriend..... Anthoni was a really nice guy. I was a real bitch. To say that I do not care about appearances, that would be a huge lie. To say that toni is ugly, that would not be true either. However, I know myself all too well that I must be able to look at a person's face, and love him, love his stubble/pimples/ high forehead/ thick mustache/eyebrows and his character. He has to be the Man Utd of my life. Sometimes, I think that I ask too much. I mean, I am no hot chick, and I should know that I would have to meet the same kind of expectations by the male species. Sigh, Lord, please knock some senses into my head, and open my eyes to find that special someone beneath all the assholes and jerks lurking around New York.