So, you've probably (emphasis on probably) read my last blog entry about my trip to the mall. You know, that trip where I spent a good chunk of my time getting frustrated at the lack of things I could buy, and a bigger chunk of time waiting for my brother to finish replenishing his social life quota.

I absolutely ran out of things to do at around three in the afternoon, so I decided to just hang out at the CBTL branch nearby. It was a weekend, so I had a hard time getting a seat, but I ended up taking one of those lounge-y cushioned seats for myself and my newly-bought magazine. One large order of their double-chocolate drink later, I was settled in.

The cashier, by the way, was cute. Yes, I am going there.

Oddly, I noticed that while angling for that lounge-y seat, the only unoccupied seat at the time. I was third in line; ahead of me were a couple of Koreans and an old man. One of my feet was in the line; the other was pointed towards the seat, in a variation of Kevin's shoulder lock theory (you like the person a lot when your shoulders face the person a lot). And yet this allowed me to actually look at the girl in front of me when I gave my order. "Isang double chocolate," I'd say, just looking at her eyes, because I already knew what I was going to buy way before I started putting myself in compromising positions.

"With whipped cream, sir?"

"Umm, sige," I answered.

I don't know how she exactly looked like. The first description I had in mind went along the lines of "kamukha niya si Rachelle Ann Go" but she had softer features. I don't really know how to put it. But she was cute, and I found her cute, and I told myself that I'll write a blog entry about her, which is as creepy as things can get, except for the fact that I did the exact thing before.

Except, this time, I was planning to write about the sad fact that I don't have a shred of confidence in myself, when I used to have too much of it before.

My first crush was when I was in pre-school. I didn't know the term "crush" then: the official line was more of me being in love with her, and that was before I actually had an idea of what romantic love is. One of my earliest memories was during recess, when I went up to her and asked her, without any pretense: "mahal mo ba ako?"

I think she said yes. But I'm not sure if that really happened. Mind you, it was roughly fifteen years ago, and I would have definitely forgotten some details here and there. I still remember her name, though. I won't mention it here because I don't want to tag her.

My crushes in elementary school were pretty much public. (Hello, Yum.) High school? Less so. Things eventually crept out, but I tended to keep these things a secret, partly because I didn't want my aunts to tease me about my latest fantasy girl Friday, but mostly because I realized I just didn't have what it takes. Either I wasn't very sure about what I was feeling, or I made a fool out of myself enough to put me out of the running for guy you'd consider spending the rest of your life with.

But I remembered that one story, and I felt sad. Here I was, in a coffee shop, killing time by reading a magazine, occasionally glancing towards the counter to see if the cute girl was still there (mostly yes). If I was my pre-school self, at least confidence-wise, I would've approached her and talked to her and maybe asked for her number.

"What's your name, sir?" she asked.

"Niko," I said, certain that it will be misspelled in one way or another. "And yours?"

"Joanne."

She looks like a Joanne. Not a Rachelle, but a Joanne. I would presume that since there was no name tag of sorts.

But no. I just sat there, reading a magazine, and writing this blog entry in my head. I'm moping at how much things have changed. At how big my inhibitions are. At how many times I hid my feelings towards someone because I was afraid I'd look foolish. Because that's what always happens, right? You look foolish. You blow your one chance. And then things get awkward.

I ended up staying there for two hours. I saw men with backpacks come in. A group of friends who dress like teachers. More Koreans. I could only do so much. I got bored, and decided to leave, especially since my brother's back in the mall and I had to drive him (and, as it turns out, a friend of his - that's all I am to him, a driver) home.

I didn't notice the girl left her post. The last I saw her, she was outside the coffee shop, talking to a male colleague, taking a cigarette off her pocket, getting a light, smoking.

I'm leaving.