Growing up in MongKok (7)

Bob Choi

9 April 2010

My First Crush

I had my first crush over a girl when I was in primary 3. I have had other objects of admiration after that, but none could compare with the first crush. I went to Farm Road Government Primary School that was located on Farm Road (of course) at Mau Tau Wai Road in Kowloon City. It was the grand opening of this school when I enrolled, so I was among the first graduates of this school ever. They had the habit of shuffling the students every year, so when I met Chan Lai San (yes, that’s the name of my first crush) in primary 3, she was a new face to me.

Up to this point in time, I really showed very little interest in girls. I was not a sexist by any means (too young for that). It’s just that girls were not very good playmates: they talked too much, they complained a lot, they cried easily and they were tattlers. The worst thing about them was: the teachers (most of them female) tended to enjoy the girls’ tittle-tattle, so they became teacher’s pets, and nothing is worse than being the teacher’s pets.

Chan Lai San was different. She was quiet. While she was pretty, she didn’t seem to notice it herself. She played with the girls but she stayed clear of their gossiping and giggling. She was the only girl in class that we boys wouldn’t mind playing with, and indeed she played with us occasionally and we all enjoyed her company.

I would be lying if I say I remember how she looked. All I could remember was that she was pretty with fair skin and she always wore skirts (in fact I’ve never seen her wearing pants). She had long hair, and when I got close enough, she smelled very nice. There was no mistake how she made me feel: she made me feel that girls were not necessary a source of trouble or painful consequence. She made me feel that girls could be likeable, and that they were here for a purpose.

I was sitting to her right, two rows down. The teacher was sitting upfront at the middle. Hence Chan Lai San was along the line of sight when I looked at the teacher. This provided an ideal vantage point because I could look at Chan Lai San (at least her back and right side) the whole time during class without being noticed.

I remember one time something odd was happening and I blew my cover. I forgot what class it was, but it must be rather boring because I was staring at her and paying no attention to what the teacher was saying. She too must find the class boring as well because she was playing with the pencil and then she pulled her skirt over her right knee and started writing something on it.

Maybe she didn’t like what she had written and tried to use the little eraser at the end of her pencil. It didn’t seem to work, so she put the eraser to her mouth, apparently to wet it a little, and then she continued to undo what she did on her knee. I was watching her every move, mesmerized. Without any warning, she looked up behind her and saw me watching her.

I could see her face turning red. I didn’t know if my face also turned color, but my heart felt like it belonged to a wild horse galloping on an open plain. I thought I almost passed out. You could imagine the news headline: “Primary 3 boy suffers heart attack watching classmate exposing her right knee!...Eight-years old Peeping Tom dies from cardiac arrest over exposed knee-cap!”

I wanted to talk to Chan Lai San, but never had enough courage to do that. When Christmas drew near, I spent all my savings on a beautiful Christmas card. It was a contour-pressed (not flat) card with lots of shinny, silver dust sprinkled on top, featuring Santa and his reindeers. I put her name on the card, and signed on the bottom, but I didn’t give the card to her. I told myself: “There’s no rush. I can always give it to her next Christmas!”

When class resumed after the summer holidays, the students were being shuffled again. I didn’t see Chan Lai San in my class. I looked for her in the school playground during break. She was nowhere to be found. I reckoned she had transferred to another school. I kept the card with her name on it, to remember her by. When I was in primary 6, the entire block on Canton Road where we lived had to be torn down. My family moved to Fa Yuen Street. The card was lost during the move.

A few days ago I looked up the phone book. There were at least one hundred “Chan Lai San” listed in the directory. I thought of calling those numbers to see if I could locate my first crush. What follows is a “true” account of what could have happened eventually if I had actually made those calls:

“Hello, good evening, may I please speak to Chan Lai San?”

“I’m Chan Lai San. Who is this?”

“My name is Bob. I’m calling from the Hong Kong Social Research Institute. We’re conducting a survey on the life style of Hong Kong residents. May I please have a few minutes of your time?” I must have used the same opening a hundred times now.

(No response…which stands for no objection.)

“May I have your age please?”

“I’m not going to tell you my age!”

“I understand. Perhaps you can tell me whether or not you were born between 1948 and 1952?” I’m not sure of Chan Lai San’s age.

“Yes,” she replied reluctantly.

“Did you attend primary school in Hong Kong?”

“Yes, but why are you asking this?” She sounded suspicious.

“It’s for statistically purposes.” That usually worked.

“Which primary school did you attend?”

“Why did you need to know this? Besides, I attended more than one school.”

“Let me assure you that we’re not interested in your personal history. This is strictly for statistical purposes only. Perhaps you can tell me whether or not you attended primary 3 at the Farm Road Government Primary School in 1958?” I held my breath.

(After a short pause.)

“Yes…but how did you know that?”

“Now we’ve come to a very important question for this study. Did you or did you not remember the boy who sat two rows behind you on your right?”

“This is crazy! What kind of study is this? I’ve no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Perhaps this will help jock your memory: he was short, skinny, but kind of cute; one time you found him staring at your right knee…”

“This has gone too far. I’m calling the police!” She hanged up. I decided that it was best if I did not call her again, ever.

[The End]