The Virgin Diaries
by YBLalat

Part One: Goddess at the Doorway

Thom came knocking on my door one evening, asking me for a short walk at the park nearby. I told him that I was busy, that it was my turn to cook dinner tonight. He insisted that it would be a very, very short one. "Just a fifteen minutes’ walk", he said. He added that he just finished studying for his midterms and that he wanted someone to talk to, to accompany him with his walk, and he stressed out that he doesn’t like taking walks alone. Thom’s red eyes were glowing with hope and his desperate smile was so sour – I felt so helpless. I looked at Kak Jai and waited for her approval but she just smirked back at me before walking away towards her room. I felt a little bit guilty about leaving her, although that was not the first time Thom had asked me out for such walks, but she knows very well that Thom won’t accept a ‘No’ for an answer.

"Wait outside, I’ll go and get my tudung", I whispered to him.

Thom did not say much during our walk at the park. He was sighing a lot but they were not of worries, but more of relief. His steps were fast and long but he would often politely adjust them to suit my slow and small ones. His tall build would make him a great athlete but he is better at the things that he does best. Oftentimes, I would look up at his face and saw his blue eyes closed tight as he breathed in the cool air. He looked more relaxed now than he was in front of my doorway.

"The fresh air is so great, don’t you think so, Nor?"

I nodded, followed with a short smile. Seeing that, he smiled back at me with his adorable, lip-biting smile that I love so much to look at.

"Thank you for saying yes, I desperately needed your company."
"Sure, what’s a best friend for, right?"

I never thought that my best friend would ever end up being a guy in my course of life. I have always thought that a girl’s best friend must also always be a girl and that guys are never good candidates at anything. But Thom is different. Thom is so much more than just a guy or a best friend to me. He is sweet and very intelligent and even funny at times. He knows how to treat a girl and be romantic about it and he is not stingy with gifts and attention. It is simply destined by Allah that we are classmates of the same major at the U.

It is just so unfortunate that other people looked so differently at cross-racial relationships, even if it is not of a romantic kind. I have never considered, not even the slightest of moment, that this thing between Thom and me would ever go serious, or become more than that of now. We are merely good, good friends and that’s all. But gradually, and as Thom and me were seen more frequent and public together, I have been hearing really, really nasty things said about me behind my back. My Malay friends -both boys and girls- are not as friendly to me as they used to be, and in the past months, they have rarely visited my new apartment and me during the weekends.

Late at night, when all alone by myself in my bed, I feel so abandoned.

But how could I blame them for being correct? How could I blame them for being truthful to their reactions? I, myself, also believe that a relationship of such, even if it is not romantic, is very troublesome. Deep down inside, I strongly don’t want one to happen to myself. But I can’t just omit the slim possibility that such relationship, even if it started out as an innocent camaraderie between two people of different culture, would somehow and someway evolve into something greater and more serious. In fact, the presence of love is not within far reach of it. I like Thom, I do like him very much, but I don’t love him - yet. Maybe in this twisted fate of ours, I will indeed fall in love with him in the end, but who knows.

In the past weeks, several guys with their own unique reasons for a love interest have approached me. This was just too much for me to handle. Some of them already knew that I was not looking for a significant other and that I don’t have the time to manage a love life, but still they keep coming back. Some said to have repeated, undeniable crushes each time they saw me, while some said to have admired me from afar for far too long. Some said to have worried that I always looked lonesome and in need of a companion, while others said to have pitied that I always walked alone to and from my classes.

"I am flattered, but no, sorry - I’m not looking for one", I told them.

Sometimes, I could not but think that beauty is a curse. Some insisted that beauty is a gift, and that not all are bestowed generously with it, and that those who are beautiful are in fact the chosen, lucky ones. But all my life, ever since I’ve grown into a young woman, there was never a time where other part of my individuality became the center of attention. Never was I praised for my talent, never was I congratulated for my achievement. Never was I taken seriously during conversation, never was I listened to when in need of an attentive ear. Never was I consoled when in sadness, never was I comforted when in apprehension. Never was I loved for my intelligence, never was I desired for my personality. All my life, beauty has turned me into a trophy, a prize.

"Thank you for the walk, Nor. I feel much better now because of you."
"Oh, Thom, you're welcome. I am glad to be of any help to you."

Actually, I have a certain someone in my mind, a particular person, but he is not within my immediate reach. He always manages to seep through the cracks of my heart and pass through the guard of my senses. He is distant but always available. He is quiet but often sincere. He is terribly shy but utterly hardworking. He doesn’t know that I was always there, looking and scrutinizing and staring, when he is around. He doesn’t know that I always take notice, thinking and guessing and worrying, when he is not around. He doesn’t say ‘hi’ at me if we bump into each other on the sidewalk and he doesn’t crack a smile for me if we saw each other in the lecture hall. He keeps cutting off eye contact when we talk and he blushes when I asks him questions.

I never came close to walking up to him, fearing the taste of rejection. But I believe that, if he were to accept me, he would accept me for who I am, and not for how I look. He would then be that one single person that I’ve been looking for all my life – the one who doesn’t judge by the cover, but by the content. But if he were to turn me down, would that mean that he doesn’t find me attractive enough?

Moral of the story: But then, doesn't all relationships, even as pure as one wants it to be, started off with the misleading allure of beauty?