From being in the inner circle to blocked on WhatsApp …

They were everywhere. This boy with that girl and that girl with this boy. Paired up and paired off, all except me…and him. Why was that? He was attractive, a promising prospect, I mean according to the psychological mate-value theory. He was a high value mate that, theory has it, would theoretically have him paired off by now. Surely? So why was he single? And don’t give me that good guy crap about saving oneself or whatever; we’re talking about teenage boys in throws of testosterone-fuelled temptation. I know the reason that I wasn’t paired off, and I’m not presuming anything either but the hopeful mind can’t help but wonder…

In this particular entry I just want to wrap this high school saga up because there are a few pertinent things left to highlight. Things that face young guys in my position. This one-sided ‘situationship’ was getting intolerable, for I cannot account for his true feelings as they were never sought, and this lead to the conflict. I would assume you, dear reader, have been through the very trenches of dreaming up an entire life with a person who probably doesn’t even know you exist, much less your feelings about them. But this wasn’t the sole reason. Our founding principles for good conduct between people – our as in people of the Islamic faith – is that we refrain from infringing upon others’ rights, and that means financial, health, wealth and sexual to name a few. In this vein, the guidelines clearly describe the distance that is required between two people who are sexually compatible but not legally entitled to one another. Obviously in the heteronormative light this would mean marriage, but, some form of contract between two consenting people is the basic minimum. So, like, in my situation, what was the correct distance to maintain, and if that gap was to be closed so that I could be with a guy, what kind of contract would exist to even facilitate this (gay marriage or civil partnership is virtually unheard of at this point OK)?

Back to him, and the natural hostile state of affairs, which, guilty as charged, was mainly on my part. What kind of animal was I that I would passive aggressively lash out at him because what, I was emotionally frustrated? No doubt teen movies are full of this rhetoric; gay guy meets and falls in love with straight guy only to have his heart broken not only because the bits don’t fit but it was all just dreaming. There was this one time in D&T which we both took for A levels; it was a faff subject for me as I knew I was gonna do science-y stuff at uni. We were bickering as per usual about something doctrinal between the religious sects. Then another Mo in the class just pipes up ‘you two should just get married, honestly’, without looking up from his Nokia brick no doubt playing snake (the game, not like as in trouble maker). I scoffed by way of some sound that was generated from somewhere between my larynx + pharynx + nostril, and Slim spat. ‘As if I would ever propose even, pfft’ with a bombastic side-eye in my direction. ‘Hah! As if I would even accept a proposal from you, ever’ I gave it back with equal side-eye but criminally offensively so. I think we sat at different tables for lunch that day. Another time I told him to eff off. Another time I was becoming intolerable, and he told me ‘Are you on a period or something?’, in the library because he asked me something, but I ignored him instead. My toxicity had brewed to ascorbic proportions. I would go home and listen to silly love songs and pretend we were the protagonists, then at school I would enact indifference to his existence. Chemistry lessons seemed to become difficult to breathe in. Normally that sentence would be fantastically within the ordinary seeing as practical sessions had us making acetic acid (vinegar), extracting polymers using sulphuric acid (smells like farts) and the constant disinfectant stench of bleach used to sterilise/neutralise everything. But no, the stifling suffocation I speak of had nought to do with mixed chemicals and everything to do with mixed emotions. Some days I would be happy sitting and chatting to him about salicylic acid extraction, or justifying why my coursework was now 72 pages long compared to everyone else’s 25. Then other days I felt I was dying because I would be upset that I saw him talking to some random girl (as friends of course) or that he didn’t even enquire about my evening last night. Imagine having to see his handsomely proportioned face through the conical flask full of solution that I was watching for the moment of iodine precipitation, or his flexed bicep as I observe the meniscus on a flask for the correct amount of copper sulphate solution required for crystal formation. To top it off, he always had the answers to every question and got the highest A grade possible for a 15-page coursework. Sometimes I would stare at the Bunsen burner and wonder what if I just tipped it over…

These days were finally to be short-lived because the end of the final year had arrived heralding the exams. Thereafter I would never have to deal with him again. We would go our separate ways and that would be that. I swear something his older sister said to me a while back resonated. She was two years our senior and a science buff. We were talking about the kind of quality one would find in science-based degree subjects at uni; she got into some prestigious school of pharmacy. ‘It’s like yes we come to school for the work etc, but habibi yalla, there has to be a reason to go in besides that too you know, a cute guy here and there motivates, really’. We cracked up. And that’s how I felt about him. He really was the excitement to my day, and even now I can’t help but smile as I listen to Wake me up before you go-go and reminisce about his smile or dumb jokes or that effortless cleverness he exuded. Results day was finally here and we went into school to pick up our results. He was there and so were the usual motley crew. It was a day to say bye to everyone too. Hugs and ‘miss yous’ a-plenty. Obviously I went to see my teachers for the respective subject grades I achieved. I got two B’s (4 points off an A in Biology, and a solid grade B in Chemistry), and two D’s (Psychology and D&T, but honestly who cared about that). As I exited the Chemistry teachers’ office I bumped into him. Straight As across the board, of course man, I could not have predicted it better myself. This meant he got into his first choice Uni for his first choice subject – Chemical Engineering. He deserved it because he worked damned hard. Anyway, we made our rounds and eventually it was 3pm. So I proceeded out the school but before I left I wanted to speak to him. So keep in touch I offered. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I will. I just feel like you are not a nice person, the way you treat me all the time is so cruel. So I wish you the best and everything’.

I’ve witnessed tempered glass shatter. A billion million crumbled pieces that remain in tact ever so delicately until the slightest difference of pressure or temperature that sends the pieces tumbling and scattered in all directions. I swear I could not live with what he just said. Did I deserve it? Yes, you may argue (quietly to yourselves and definitely do not voice it in the comments, please and thanks). I didn’t cry or anything. I think it was fate helping to let him go. You may be thinking nooooooo what if we remained in contact and then years later we confessed the feelings that were the same and reciprocated, and lived happily ever after behind a white picket fence. But that isn’t how life works; we consciously make the choices that lead us down a path out of the infinite paths, firm in the belief that God guides us toward that which is best for us. I tried to reconcile. I had grown up a lot throughout University and beyond, and was trying to make things right. Shamsu and Habz dropped by my house one day that Summer for a catch up. I laid the gauntlet and he fell for it. Slim was, Shamsu said, now in Jordan working on a petrochemical rig or something. Very lucrative, very high stakes stuff. But he was brilliant at Imperial College so they offered him a job straight out of Uni. I think I stalked him once or twice on FB, and saw pictures here and there of him receiving awards for this project and that field work. No wedding band nor hint of a female hankering after him, yet. Anyway, I had to secretly get his number from Habz, because guess what…he told me that Shamsu told him that Slim as good as forbade Shamsu from passing on his number to me! Hell hath no fury, or just high school drama? You tell me. So I created some elaborate story about how I was embarking upon pilgrimage to Mecca, the Hajj, and therefore needed to seek everyone for their forgiveness in the unintentional instance that I had offended them. Shamsu was very reluctant, but in the end Habz relented and provided Slims digits that were in no way to be traced back to him. It took a full day for me to gather enough wits just to text. Shaking and trembling I penned a very platonic message saying hi, how he was, and that I wished him well. And that I was asking for his forgiveness because of how I behaved in school. Yours, Jubz. Shit! He replied. He was OK, and that he was abroad. He understood I was sorry but he didn’t want anything to do with me again. Immediately I implored that I was a changed person. Nah, he wasn’t having it. It went unanswered….for years. You may not be aware but back then whenever we changed handsets, the option to save text messages on SIM cards was available. I saved all the ones from him. Sigh. I have this sudden flashback, to a conversation between me and Habz on the phone. Jubz, do you like him or something? Habz said, and I could tell he had a wide grin on his face at the other end. What the hell Habz, why would you ask that? Because it sounds like you fancy him. You always talk about him, like all the time. Habz was dangerously too close for comfort. Erm, no, but what would you do if I did? I tried to shoot back coolly, dismissively. Nothing, obviously, you’re my best friend, but I would just support you and try to help you. That’s what my best friend in the whole world for ever and ever said to me back then at the age of 17 or something. What a legend that guy. Years and years later when phones got smarter and apps got smarter and basically tech got smarter, I found him on WhatsApp. I would just stare at his profile pics through the years as they changed to reflect selfies with various family members. The one day I felt brave and I messaged him ‘Hey Slim!’. One grey tick. Two grey ticks. A few days later, OMG BLUE TICKS. Omg why the blue ticks still there and no reply? Then the worst happened. Not only was I ghosted. Oh no. His profile pic disappeared, and back then it meant one thing; I WAS BLOCKED! That’s it then. The end of all endings. Please don’t judge me, thank you. Because although these days the millennials and Gen Z’s end things in this way as a normal part of life, in them days of old, it was not normal. It signalled a very sour taste in that other persons mouth. Clearly it affected me hard because look, its 2024 and I am still obsessing about this part of my life. As far as I can tell, I had a very unhealthy first love. Not having any one wise and older to guide or comfort me. Just tears on my pillow and prayers from my lips. Anyway, that’s a wrap. The next post is going to absolutely blow you away. Trust.

The Pragaymatic Muslim

• High School Chronicles (8)
• His-story (14)
• Pluralism (1)
• Prelude (2)
• Revelation (2)
• Turning point (1)

1. 

   Ahahha. Thank you dear reader. Please do forward this on to those whom you think may benefit. High school is…

2. 

   Oh can’t wait for the next part. Very captivating.

3. 

   Merci beaucoup. If it pleases you then I will strive to compose more. Please spread the word and invite others…

4. 

   I like reading these!

5. 

   […] about how to suppress and repress the dark thoughts and suicidal ideations that plagued me at the turning point…