Messages

Bertie was on the MRT train when Clara messaged him again. Phew. That must mean things weren’t as bad as they seemed just now. I always think too much, Bertie chided himself.

Messages were good. They always mean that she was interested in communicating. For 2 weeks already, Bertie still cannot stop smiling to himself when his phone vibrates and that the header of the screen says “Clara”. The hand phone was the one thing Bertie would not leave his room without, and the hand phone was the one thing that would not leave Bertie’s hands. He was visibly brighter, happier, and upbeat in his day to day activities. Somewhat different compared to 2 weeks ago before he met Clara. His roommates could see the difference: he was more jovial, made more jokes, and was more involved. He was a better person, to say the least.

Saturday could just not have ended any better:
Clara - Thanks for the hug made me feel loved, haha. Nights

Bertie grinned, he knew for sure now. He really, really, really liked Clara. When he says “like” with 3 “really”-s, it must mean something. Love, to Bertie, was so strong a word not to be dispensed at will. To him, love is a word so strong, when used inappropriately, he’ll cringe. Physical aversion to a literary misapplication. So, he shall not use the word love in this case.

Bertie’s phone’s inbox gets full every 2 days from the messages. But he thoroughly enjoyed it. For the first time in his life, he had someone to talk to, or at the very least, someone he really likes talking to. And it is especially sweet when the person he likes talking to seems to like talking to him, too. Things never looked so good.

Everything went well from Saturday onwards. They flirted, chatted, heart-to-heart-ed. Well, kind of, for the heart-to-heart part, for it seemed like Bertie was more into the communicating. His messages were always around 2-message length while Clara’s messages hardly exceeded a message length. Once, he tried hinting to Clara if, you know, she could be more open:
Bertie - … am I very long-winded in my smses?
Bertie – Cause there was once, a girl commented that I text like a girl with my long messages. Hahaha

Bertie doubt Clara ever got the hint. Well, come to think of it, it did not exactly mean much when Bertie brought this up. The conversation they had at the moment through text messages was a completely random one. It hopped from her having a bad throat to her craving for pratas to something else of not much significance. Why was it not significant? Well, those messages were culled when Bertie went through his inbox to make way for new ones. Bertie have this peculiar habit of keeping messages that are of significance, which are “epic”; messages that reminds him of emotions or of certain events that happened. He is what I suppose, a sentimental person.

Things suddenly took a very serious turn for the worse.

It was Thursday evening. Like any other day, Bertie was happily texting Clara: how his day went, whatever interesting things that happened. Bertie was running out of conversation topics, and he asked:
Bertie – Hey man, what’s the plan for this Saturday, anyway?
There were no activities on Bertie’s phone for quite some time. Oh well, she must have been busy. Maybe she got off work late, maybe she was too caught up with meeting her friends, and maybe she was checking out with the rest of her friends what’s going on for Saturday. Yep, that must be it. It’s going to be her bestie’s birthday and there must for sure be a lot of details, Bertie thought.

The sky was dark already and Bertie was in his room idling. He together with the rest of his roommates had nothing to do. They were as usual, talking cock. He was really excited about the coming Saturday and he for sure could not wait to receive the next text. Bertie was so excited he fantasized about the coming weekend. He thought so hard about this coming Saturday he was going to get a hard-on from thinking any harder. He thought so much about this coming Saturday he was going to go mad from thinking about it anymore. Bertie was really excited; he was so excited he couldn’t be sure if he had told anyone he was going out with Clara this Saturday. Bertie chose to keep things like this private but this was pretty epic and he could have told a couple of people he was going to go out. It isn’t exactly bad but this meant that there were certain expectations to live up to, and that he was somehow obliged to tell his audience what happened. He could have told his roommates. But he couldn’t be sure.

Bertie saunter into his room. He was in his Operators’ room, chilling out to the music from the super cool speakers in their room. He reached his wooden cabinet and bent forward, squinting for the envelop image which meant that there was a new message. And there that envelop was, on the top left corner of the clock. Bertie grabbed his phone, shed his white Cotton-On slippers, leapt into the air, landed on his bed, hugged his pillow, unlocked his keypad and pressed the “Show” button. It took longer for the message to load and appear compared to the 5 actions he just did physically.

Bertie’s face was drained and he felt really sick. He felt his stomach do a front flip and his cheeks turned real cold.
“Oh no!!!! WHY?!?!” Bertie bemoaned. Bertie could feel his roommates turn to look at him; one of them said “Eh, what’s wrong with you, man?” Bertie’s eyes were fixed upon the screen of his battered Nokia:

Clara – Idk uh. Do u think its weird t bring u along t my friend’s bday party? Like, idk how to put it eh:/

Bertie seriously felt dreadful. He was far from disappointed. He was devastated. It felt so bad, it felt so sour, it felt just plain terrible. Bertie buried his head in the pillow. He so very looked forward to this Saturday. So many things were going on in his mind.

Bertie took a generous breathe and typed on his keypad (I swear his eyes were turning red):
Bertie – …. I thought I was invited, that your friends were cool with me and that I was wanted …. Anyway sorry for the late reply, was definitely not crying to myself.
(Due to one reason or another, the author is unable to write out the full message. It was a really long message Bertie typed and he cannot remember it. After all, his phone can’t store many messages. :)

With the gloomiest face in a very, very long time, Bertie dragged himself up, scooped his mug containing his toothbrush and toothpaste and went to wash up.

“What did I do wrong? Wasn’t Phoebe cool with me? I thought she liked me! Shirley is definitely cool with me, I mean, WE CHATTED ON FACEBOOK! Oh my god, was I too persistent? Did I asked her one time too many? But can’t be! Why on Earth would Clara not want me to be there? I thought I ‘clinched’ it last night! Oh no, I hope it’s not her friends who don’t like me…” Insecure was Bertie at this moment. His teeth definitely got brushed real thorough as he gazed into his thoughts. He was so dejected he could not even prop himself up and his left arm had to lean against the left of the mirror, just so. Bertie thought he looked sad for a moment.

He really was sad.

Clara – No la that’s not what I meant. ‘Cause its Phoebe’s birthday and her secondary school and outside friends will be there too. And Shirley asked my other friends from school too, and then I don’t want Phoebe to feel that I’m like inviting my friends when it’s her birthday. You get what I mean?..

Bertie – Okay, so you want the crowd to be kept to her immediate group of friends. Am I right to say that?

Clara – Yeah, something like that.. I let you know again if others are calling their friends? Sorry.. I feel so bad

The last four words did lighten the damage a little. Phew, at least she cares about how I feel, Bertie thought. So it’s not her then. Bertie then slid into bed, clamped his eyes and wished it was all but a bad move on Clara’s part. Bertie worked his persistence. His previous, previous message did sound sad and pitiful enough to make Clara feel bad.

Bertie’s characteristic persistence works most of the time. It need not work in such a way that it portrays Bertie wailing like a baby on the floor throwing a tantrum, but to phrase words in particular ways and manners to bring about his point. The one thing Bertie loved about text messages was, unlike talking in person, 100% of the communication boiled down to the language, words and tone. If only Bertie’s GP teacher could see how he worked his English in text messages to bring about his point; the teacher should be furious at Bertie for only if he could have done it in his GP script and got better than a “B” for ‘A’ Levels.

Bertie - :/ it’s ok. To be honest, I’m completely disappointed that I won’t have an as happy Saturday night but I’m somewhat heartened by you kinda want me there. Anyway I seriously already counted her as my friend and even made something for her. It’s nothing big though. Help me pass to her if I don’t get to go?

Ok, she must really be feeling bad about me not being able to go now, Bertie thought. The “made something for her”? It was a complete lie. But it was a necessary one. Surely Clara can’t reject even meeting Bertie for a moment to get the gift he made, or at least the one he said he made. It must take a lot for a guy to be making something for a girl. And the girl wasn’t even Clara; it was only Clara’s friend. Not only was this an excuse to meet Clara and possibly a proper invitation to the party now, it must have scored a couple of points on Clara’s impression of Bertie. Bertie is a scheming dick. (I can’t stand him sometimes.)

Clara – Don’t sound so sad, leh. Sorry I feel really bad.

Bertie whined over a message. How he had nothing on Saturday now, since he wasn’t invited to no party: how he had looked forward to meeting Clara. And for the first time since he started texting Clara, he bid her a goodnight first. Usually, he will hang on till Clara says goodnight, and then ending the conversation with another message. Bertie had always sent the last message. To him, it was to show that he was interested, and that he was keen in the conversation. More than that, to send the last message was a symbol as good as sending a girl home after an outing, for it was the most chivalrous thing anyone can do over the phone. But at that moment, he couldn’t care less. He had to show that he wasn’t happy, but in a most subtle way: everyone’s impression of Bertie so far had been that of a “He’s-so-nice-no-one-can-find-fault-with-him” kind.

Clara – I’ll try to squeeze some time to meet you, ok? Chin up :)

That was heartening, Bertie thought. Okay, I still am wanted, Bertie grimaced. He tried to smile to himself but he was so upset he tried a little too hard and he was sure the result was that of a grimace.

Bertie had IPPT the following day. But he sure as hell could not sleep. “I bet I’m gonna get gold tomorrow for shit just happened. Something must make up for all this nonsense that happened, surely something good must come my way.” Bertie reasoned. “And after I get gold, I’m gonna receive a message from Clara that says I’m invited, because more friends are gonna show up! Yes! And things will be back to the way it was! Happy people sending happy text messages!” Bertie was getting delusional. He was sinking into damage-control mode for he was so upset he made himself think positive, he had to inflate himself with some fantastic notion.

Bertie was real disturbed. He just could not understand why things could turn out so bad. It was just a simple party and now his plans for Saturday were ruined. Saturday was not just another clubbing session. Bertie was supposed to be Clara’s date. And he being her date meant he had to make it a special outing for her. He wanted to make it special for her. Bertie and Clara were talking about surprises just a day back. Bertie promised her a surprise on Saturday. Bertie was poking fun at her over messages and used “surprise” to pacify her tantrum. Bertie knew it was just plain teasing and humor on her part, but he still used “surprise” to coax her. It was not so much as to persuade Clara to text him back, but it was to make her look forward to Saturday. It was very much of to tempt her, to make her be eager of him, and to keep it “hot”.

Bertie did thought hard of how to surprise her! In fact, he had already put on his thinking cap the moment Clara zoomed off on bus 30. He had already come out with ideas, he had a plan. He had already made a mental note of where to go, when to check things out on Friday after his book-out. Bertie had it all planned. He was so close to executing it. So damn close. All the things he wanted to say, all the things he wanted to do wouldn’t mean anything now.

Bertie sulked to sleep that night. He for sure did not sleep well. The things he meant to do keep coming up in his head. He hadn’t been so unhappy in a long time.











I believe most of his anguish lies in that he won’t be living out the best, and possibly, the most romantic Saturday of his life. It was just not meant to be. What was his plan you ask? I don’t know, honestly. Bertie refuses to tell anyone. He says whatever he planned will just turn out to be something cheesy for those not involved. But just tell me! I pleaded (it’s like, DUH OF COURSE IT LOOKS CHEESY! WHICH LOVEY-DOVEY ACTION ON EARTH WON’T MAKE BYSTANDERS CRINGE?). I was so eager to know how much of a Romeo Bertie was. He kept quiet and gave a look that spelled such pain and disappointment. It was at that moment I knew I had to stfu.