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Last summer, I traded a part of my heart for a windsurfing lesson given by a guy na itatago natin sa pangalang Mr. HotStuff. This Mr. HotStuff is a windsurfing champion and nephew of one of my favorite professors na itatago naman natin sa pangalang Diyosa. Diyosa set us up, thinking we would hit off. It seemed serendipitous because an article on him and his windsurfing skills came out in Inquirer the day my article on summer flings was supposed to be published. ALAM NA. Jam and Jona, who were both students of the Diyosa, prepped me for it. Jam even helped me decide what to wear (Little Black Dress, beach-style). Jona was like, “OMG YOU CAN HAVE BEACH-LOVING, WINDSURFING, SHAKESPEARE-READING BABIES TOGETHER.”

After two dives with my family, I headed to Mr. HotStuff’s house where he would give me the lesson. Diyosa was there with her equally Diyos-of-a-husband and their two sons–the cutest, smartest boys I have ever met. When I met Mr. HotStuff, I was immediately smitten by his shy disposition and uh, six-pack abs. (I couldn’t help staring for mga 2 seconds. They were just so… Yummy.)

Unfortunately, I sucked at windsurfing. Whenever the sail would tilt to my direction, I’d panic, screech, and jump off the board. At one point, I freaked out, wrapped my arms around him and we both fell into the water. (It was an accident I swear it wasn’t a flirting tactic.) He tried to appease me when I couldn’t get the sail up by saying the winds were pretty strong. And they really were (defensive?!). By the end of the lesson, he asked me to sit at the edge of the board while he sailed. The pretty Philippine sunset served as our backdrop.

When we walked back to his house from the shore, Diyosa began the inquisition.
“So, what’s the grade of your student?”
“4.0,” he said.
“Ha? Anong klaseng grade ‘yon?! May removals?!”
“Dapat may take two,” he said with his oh-so-boyish smile.

I had to make sure my bikini bottom was still on.

After that, I didn’t hear from him. At all. No text. No “Mr. HotStuff has added you as a friend on Facebook.” And I started thinking, “OH MAN WAS I TOO TALKATIVE? IS IT BECAUSE HE THINKS I’M FAT? AM I THAT BAD OF A WINDSURFER? IS IT BECAUSE I ALMOST DROWNED HIM?”



To soothe my ego, my friends and I unanimously decided to put him in this imaginary box we have labeled s*** From the Past. All our exes and half-exes are here, along with memories of failed relationships and relationships that failed before they even began.

K, so let’s fast forward to three months later. My friend and I were planning to meet up before my yoga class. She knows the story and she knows him well, which is why itatago natin siya sa pangalang Cupid.
“By the way, Mr. HotStuff is here,” she texted.
“WHY??? s***! MUKHA AKONG TAE DAPAT PALA NAG COCKTAIL DRESS AKO HAHAHAHA!”
“Haha you’re so funny! Gaga! I’m here at Vanguard.”
“Where’s that?! Ah, I know na… I’ll follow my heart nalang ’til it leads me to… Mr. HotStuff. JOKE.”

When I finally found Cupid, we were talking talking talking talking then Mr. HotStuff walked up to us. The sight of his light brown eyes (I AM TALKING ABOUT A GUY’S EYES HERE WTF OKAY) made my heart seize. He was soo(count the Os) cute I almost threw up on him (Gold: DAPAT SINUKAHAN MO NGA!). I have imagined This Moment before and had the perfect conversation starter. You know, play it cool and be like, “So was I that bad of a student that I didn’t hear from you?” with a half laugh or something.
“Mr. HotStuff, si Anna, o,” said Cupid.
He smiled and said, “Hi.”
I smiled and said, “Hi.”

AND LOOKED AT THE PAVEMENT.

AND BEGAN PALPITATING.

AND STARTED SWEATING.

AND SAID NOTHING ELSE.   

ME. OF ALL PEOPLE.

When I told my kuya about this, his response was, “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY SISTER?”

WHAT IS FLIRTATION FAIL. All my confidence and energy was zapped by his light brown eyes (AGAIN WITH THE EYES!!!!!).

“I should just put him in the box that says The One That Got Away. O kaya naman The One that let Me Get Away para may pride pa ako,” I told Dana after.
“Akala ko ba s*** From the Past?”
“Ay. O nga pala.”



by Anna Oposa

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