Everyone has a skeleton in his cupboard which he has concealed for years or even a lifetime. The internet seems to have broken this code as more and more people are willingly sharing their secrets or some very private details with others, though remaining anonymity is still the rule of thumb. Romance is a part of our life, be it wild, impulsive or irrational. As an adult man, I would like to tell my former experiences and to share the sorrows and joys with my friends.

   The first girl entering into my life was my high school classmate. At Grade three she was transferred to my class, and as usual, a new comer would at least attract more attention than others. She was not beautiful, but her eyes were big and clear, and her voice was sweet. Long black tresses cascading on her back attracted my attention and stirred my youthful fancies. Anyhow we were all busy preparing for examinations, so we assisted in each other by exchanging notes and ideas and spent little time on romance. Our first rendezvous was in May, when the spring flowers were in full blossom. At sunset, the sky high and blue, she stood there with her hair blowing in the breeze. What a pretty! We found a quiet corner, sitting and chatting about our future. I could feel that she was very happy with me. I have told my mother about her. As a doting mother, she only smiled at my having a girl friend and gave me the nod to continue. We have dated only twice before graduation and the romance was over. We went into different colleges and we all thought there was no future for us, so the relation ended. Whether this is my first love or not, up to now I am still uncertain, but that girl has occupied a special place in my heart and will stay there so long as my memory is intact. I still cherish the hope of meeting her some day even though so many years have elapsed.

   I met my second girl in the hospital where I was an intern. She was candid, vivacious and boyish. She was a nurse of the Department of Pediatrics and was very popular among children. I love children and, seeing them being afflicted with illness and still in high spirits, I took compassion by becoming their cheerleader, which naturally caught her attention. We quickly became good friends. She was cute but she had a will of iron. Her classmate was the girlfriend of my roommate, so we got to know each other better. Half a year before graduation, I was a bit moody and melancholy, so I hinted that a girlfriend was not unwelcome, who might soothe my unrest, but she took it seriously and asked me to be specific rather than beating around the bush. She was very kind to and caring for me but rejected any intimacies, as she was suspicious of my intentions. Right she was, we kept on good terms not for long and broke up. The day we said goodbye she kissed me on the forehead with tears welling in her eyes. That was the only affection she had shown for me as a boyfriend. We are good friends after that; perhaps we were from the very start.

   The breakup with my third girl is not my fault alone. Anyone who has read “Pride and Prejudice” knows that difference in social status is in the way of true love, a rule still applicable today. The girl was a parachutist who was injured in an accident. Her hip was badly fractured and she was forced to lie in bed for at least three months in order to get a full recovery. What was worse, the multiple fractures, even healed, made child-delivery difficult and risky, and she faced with the harsh truth of not being able to bear a child. Whatever may happen in the future, she didn’t take it to heart. She was tall, beautiful and coquettish; lots of men, including old pals, doctors and even male patients, were attracted by her, and she flirted with each one with an admirable ease and elegance. I happened to be the intern in charge of her, and secretly I was overjoyed at such a good opportunity.  She liked me the best, though I was a bit quiet and diffident. Several times her mother hinted that the top priority of her girl was to find a boyfriend. Marriage was remote to me then, as career should take precedence over anything else; still I have tried my best to help her and less than two months, with the support of a pair of crutches, she was able to hobble along the corridors under my escort. Most of my classmates thought we were dating and a few openly criticized me for my carelessness in binding my fate with a patient. Though vigorously denying their accusations, in my heart I reckoned it a bit unrealistic by so doing. When my sister got the wind of my affair, she immediately asked me to stop seeing the girl again, and if not, she threatened to enlist the help of my parents. I promised to do as she requested and she relented, telling me to distance myself from the girl step by step so that she would accept the fact more easily and peacefully. Our romance was nipped in the bud, but it was wise to do so, as marriage, unlike romance, needs more solid ground and more fertile soil to succeed. In retrospect, it is a good thing that I haven’t set up a family with one of them, or else the pains would have far exceeded the happiness and an indelible trauma would have stayed there, shadowing our lives for a long time.

    I beg my readers not to regard me as a womanizer by drawing simple conclusions from what I have said above. The situations were much complicated than written here. One cannot make up stories without some base; I have a convicted belief that the moving plots and vivid scenes in novels are recreations from life by the dexterous hands of great authors. Great authors use the truth of personal experience as the starting point, adding, subtracting, and combining it with other materials, transmuting it with careful craftsmanship into the form of art. I am just learning to scribble, with sincere hope that my piece will make sense.