The Pilot

The presence of pretty boy David Archuletta (of American Idol fame) in Kuala Lumpur last week for a concert, which had thrown some KL girls from a private school in the deepest throes of ecstasy, had me thinking about the time I was besotted with someone I had never met.

I was 15, and it proved to be six tumultuous months of incredible yearnings my young heart could ever hold, for I had fallen head over heels with a picture from a newspaper!

I am sure you too must have had experiences of similar fantasies at some point in your youth, falling for someone who never even knew you existed. That someone could very well be a picture in a magazine, or a voice on the radio.

Out of curiosity, I asked my youngest daughter Nawwar why she wasn't in the least excited about Archuletta's concert, and back came her indignant reply: "Maa! I am almost 24! My days of swooning over boy singers are over!"

Sometimes I forgot my 'little girl' is already of marriageable age, with a candidate and wedding plans in the works. ...*sigh*

Yet, I remember only too well how super-duper excited she was when Westlife came to town, how she painstakingly prepared a placard to greet Brian McFadden, a band member, at their performance in Genting and how she screamed herself hoarse upon seeing him.

"Yeah," she admitted laughingly, "Kind of silly, thinking about the things I did just to get near to Westlife." Whatever the case, she got herself a signed photograph of the group and was in seventh heaven for weeks afterwards.

As for me, I no longer remember how it started. All I could recall was I caught sight of a handsome pilot named Suhaili, whose story was highlighted in a local newspaper, and I was smitten.

I remember keeping the news cutting between the pages of a textbook, and taking a peek at this incredible vision every now and then. And sighing. That Suhaili truly was a looker and I fell, line hook and sinker.

I went through a period of mild depression because of this 'unrequited love'. I couldn't concentrate on school and as such my results plummeted. I also became weepy for no reason, locking myself in my room and crying over his picture.

Of course, talking about it now makes me feel how incredibly inane I was. Fortunately, the yearning didn't last very long. It must have been six months or thereabouts before I finally snapped out of it.

But the 'torture' was exquisite while it lasted...!