Column | First love, second chance

Like most important things, this too started as a joke. A few weeks ago, as you’ll see, someone in one of my school groups mentioned, appropriately enough, that there was an official school-organized alumni reunion planned for the weekend. To which another friend joked that his wife had banned him from attending school reunions because there was a new trend of people running off with their childhood sweethearts after reconnecting with them at these reunions. Having not heard of this “trend,” I was both excited and amused, and because this is a combination of feelings I can’t keep to myself, I immediately tweeted about it. What I didn’t expect was the wave of wistful thoughts it would trigger in people reading it. It turns out that many of you are still fantasizing about life with your 9th grade crushes.

Facebook tracking

Younger millennials quoted my tweet with the words “me and who” in current social media parlance, wondering who they will meet at a future alumni event and who they will elope with. Some responded that my tweet had motivated them to attend the next alumni reunion. And quite a few sent me private messages about the current status of their old love affair. “I kind of stalk her on Instagram,” wrote one, “and the more I see of her daily life, the more I fall in love with her.” When I asked, this person said he was in his early 40s. Social media kept his love alive while completely ruining someone else’s life. “I removed her from my Facebook profile,” wrote this other person, “I went crazy when I saw her posting photos with her husband and kids. In fact, I deleted Facebook completely a few years ago because the temptation to peek at her account was too great.”

Keep things simple

What is it about first love that makes it almost impossible to fully recover from? I suspect it has a lot to do with its simplicity. Often, your crush will be chosen for you by friends. “I saw the way she looked at you.” Or “He insisted on defending you at basketball.” Or in my case, “You’re the tallest girl in the class, he’s the tallest boy.” Once you’ve chosen your crush, all the romance needs is a few furtive glances, maybe a piece of chocolate smuggled between the pages of a chemistry book, a few words exchanged when no one’s looking, and an obscure message scrawled into the grain of the table with the pointed side of a pair of compasses (perhaps I speak from experience here).

For some people, it might be a little more: a full-blown relationship, flaunted in front of aunts and uncles, throwing caution to the wind and daring the principal to call the parents (I am absolutely not speaking from experience here). But at some point, life forces you to do it and you are pulled away by the call of higher education or a change of parents. In my day, that meant the possibility of never seeing the person again. (Today, of course, with Facebook and Instagram, it is almost impossible to never see a living person again.)

Now let’s move on to the present. It’s been about two decades. Life has worn you down. Your spouse, even if good, is familiar and boring. Work is hectic and often unsatisfying. The kids are demanding. You’re overwhelmed. And then you meet this person you’ve known for 25 years and suddenly (stupidly) it seems like you can reach for that pure, unblemished love you thought you felt all those years ago.

Happy end?

The appeal of teenage love in adulthood is its simplicity and innocence. It recalls a time when life didn’t ask much of you and you didn’t ask much of it; time stretched on forever and hope was real, not an embarrassment you laugh off as an adult. It has an unearthly luster, an ephemeral quality, and it’s tempting to imagine you can go back to that place. I have no data to suggest how things turn out, but if I had to guess, I’d say not very well.

I searched for news reports and could only find one story about two 50-year-olds from Ernakulam who eloped after a school reunion last year. Their families filed a missing persons complaint, saying “following which the police summoned the lovers, who later arrived at the railway station.” The end of the report is tantalizing, the real story begins after that. But no one I asked wanted to know how that story ended. Real life is messy and flawed. Who would choose that over a dream of escape?

I personally sent a copy of my tweet to the school group and CC’d my big boy. He didn’t respond.

Childhood love is a reminder of a time when life didn’t ask much of you and you didn’t ask much of life; time stretched out infinitely and hope was real. It has an unearthly glow and it’s tempting to imagine that you can go back to that time.

The author wrote “Independence Day: A People’s Story.”