Rejection. That is one of the things I am afraid the most. Many opportunities became 'what-ifs' just because I was afraid to try doing things I liked the most.

Rico Alvarez. I had a crush on him three years ago. He served as my inspiration to study harder, to be better than my yesterday self. The young me was a typical lovesick high school student. The thirteen-year old Freesia would run and hide at the posts on the hallways just to see him. After, I would smile widely as if sanity left my consciousness. And just like that, my day's complete - but crap, not anymore!

Just the thought of chasing him like a foolish dog already makes my skin crawl. It spoils the day when I remember that I liked him. Why was he my type before? He just given me a one-forth sheet of paper before, then I already hoped for forever!

His tongue used to spit sharp words. I experienced it first hand. That day ... that day when I was so enthusiastic in joining the Poster Making contest held in our school for the celebration of National Language Month, yet he just crushed me in few words. I wonder if he is still the same.

“The winner will be St. Angelus Academy's representative for the district competition of Science Quest. Many high schools will surely join, more so, the prestigious ones. Do you think, your messy art style would be qualified? ” he coldly asked. "Even in the top five?"

That school year, we were still high school freshman. That same year, he was the Governor of the Student Body Government in the first year level. That year, I was still in the highest section. We were still classmates. I was still doing good in my academic performance.

I remember how cold chills blew on my nape and the way my grip on the cardboard tightened where my auditioning piece was painted. That day, I was standing in front of Grade-7 advisers and all sections' class organization officers. All their eyes were on me.

I swallowed. My fingers were shaking. My palm, sweating. Rico straightened on his seat. His eyes were sharply staring at my piece. Eyebrows were dark and furrowed.

What did he mean? Messy? Should all artists have to stick with one art style as a standard?

I glanced at my own work. There were brushy lines, gestural strokes, and colors that were scattering. When I did this, I focused more on the flow of emotions rather than having the line art being intentionally clean or having particular color on each element.

I smiled even though I was nervous too much. “I'm n-not sure ... f-for I don't know the judges' criteria but—”

He stood up. “You’re not even confident with your own craft. How can you ace the competition? That alone speaks a lot, right?”

I looked down. The mischievous smirk he did replayed in my mind. My forehead creased. Wait? Why is he interfering?!

I gazed at his ruthless eyes that reminded me of a hawk. My breathing hitched. “P-Please be careful with the words you weave. You m-might shatter other's self-esteem if you keep doing— ”

"You mean, your self-esteem?" Rico chuckled with sarcasm. He had always cut me whenever I speak!

“So, will you just stand there? You're not the only one auditioning here. Next! ”

Glancing at the front, I noticed how the teachers seemed to agree with him. My fists clenched. Grudge was all I felt. I shuddered in frustration as I looked at them.

Had I known that my style was too messy for them… I thought again if it was fine that I auditioned because I just wanted to showcase what I have got. But after being eyed by my teachers from head to toe, maybe I should just stay at the audience, watch them get the recognition I was yearning to receive. The validation I get online whenever I anonymously post my art did not even help justified my qualification to compete.

I leaned into the corner when I heard their praise from another classmate who also tried out. The girl's artwork right now, I couldn't even fathom her concept. Yes, it was aesthetically pleasing to the eyes but failed to convey its meaning. It seemed to be putting appealing elements that that don't compliment each other in a single canvas. Like a snowflake falling on a flame or a sunset without hues in the horizon, it either lacked sense or simply did not fit in. Or maybe, it did but I was just bitter to see its meaning.

Chest clenching, tears began to cloud my eyes. When I saw Rico's applause for another to follow, I turned around.

I thought that there was no reason to stay there anymore. Staying for what? It was only then that I realized the kinds of people that would pull you down. If a person is not a walking jealousy, he is a talking gunshot of insults. That time, I chose to dodge it even when I got shot. I only allowed it once. I will not permit other people to do that to me again.

Three years have passed, why do I still remember being such a fool for him in the past? How I tried to excel academic activities just to be his equal ... just to console myself that somehow, the opposite worlds of ours can touch. How I was so pathetic, trying hard to learn Math for a mere glance from him, when what I really wanted to do was to play with colors in art class?

Now that I see him again, I don’t know what I should feel. I am unsure if it is nervousness because of the heavy thumps inside my chest ... or the uneasy feeling on my stomach like all the demons that were caged for a long time in are freed. I lean back to the wall and sigh.

I wipe away a lone tear. After that day, I stopped all the stupid things I used to do just so he would notice. My grades dropped lower than those in the lower sections. I just found myself being admitted in Section C the next school year. I am there for two years now.

They always asked me, “Just for a guy, you gave up your acads?”

No.

They didn't understand where I was rooting from. They always thought it was because of my petty feelings for him because I was young. No one ever concluded that I was an aspiring artist ... a dreamer ... a wishful thinker that someday, society might realize that not every passion can be found in the school, not every profession can be honed inside the four corners of a classroom. It can be outside where there is an absence of pen and papers.

But now, I could not even do a single portrait. I don't know the emotions of colors anymore. Even handling the palette seems to be difficult.

I loath him. So much. I really hoped I wouldn't see him this school year because almost all the officers in the first semester were busy. Yet, we just bumped on each other earlier. I remember what I did back at the abandoned building. I just wanted to trigger him but I didn't expect that we're going to meet each other this way.

Bad luck, I guess?