Falling in Like Like
Welcome to our column written by Managing Editor Caitlyn Mae Araña, called Catching Up With Caitlyn. Through letters, she addresses the trials and tribulations that come with learning and growing as a 20-something.
This semester, she will be focusing on one particular narrative that has impacted her over the years, although not all articles will be about this one situation. So, tune in for your weekly dose of drama and strap in ladies and gents… Nothing is off limits here.
Dear Jacob*,
I’d love to start this at present day, but unfortunately, we go so far back that none of this would make sense without context. You see, I was not angry with you or mad at you today. I didn’t miss you or think about you much other than the passing ideas for how I wanted to start this letter. Yesterday might have been different. One week ago, I was angry with you. Two weeks ago, I was fine. Three weeks ago, I was angry again. You see, we have such a long history that I couldn’t possibly explain my emotions without the background of how we came to be.
You never liked when I shared things about us to other people, so I have a feeling that these few letters are about to get you really riled up, even though that’s not my intent. So, if you’re reading this (and you probably are), I’m sorry that you might get angry about this. What I can say, though, is that there are always two sides to every story. This is just mine. We were never going to work out no matter how badly we wanted to, because at the end of the day, I’m an open person, and you’re closed off to everyone. Then, of course, there was the toxicity. But that’s not what I’m here to talk about—at least not today.
Today, I want to focus on the background. Before I get into how everything fell apart, I want to get into how it all started. I’ve written about you briefly in the past, but never to the extent that I am in this letter, and will be in upcoming letters. So, I guess there’s nothing left to do but start.
May 2011 is as accurate as it’s going to get for the sake of this letter. I remember it being the end of seventh grade when everything with us began to somewhat pick up. Yes, I know! Seventh grade is definitely not where great romances take place, and it’s true. Whatever we were or whatever we became didn’t take place in the seventh grade. To be fair, you were in the eighth grade, and thus a year older. But still, it did start there.
Our families were always connected by some sort of distant string. Your mom was my brother’s seventh grade teacher. Your sister is my cousin's best friend. I mean, it doesn’t get more coincidental than that. We were a walking cliché, or at least a walking Wattpad story. We hated each other. Well, okay, hate is a strong word. We very much disliked each other for no other reason than the fact that we felt like we had to. I didn’t know you enough at the time to not like you. I don’t even remember much from this time other than the fact that we would scoff at each other in the halls. But for some reason, we did.
At the time, I had just gotten into the habit of calling every single person in my path, “babe.” You know, as all the seventh graders did at the time… okay, maybe just me. So on one late May 2011 day, you walked into my classroom to give my teacher something while the entire class worked on group projects. I eyed you closely and decided that this was my moment. I was going to shock you with my new verbiage.
“Hey, babe,” I called out to you as you began to walk back out of the classroom.
I swear, the look on your face was absolutely priceless. But then something shifted in your facial expression that made me think twice about what I had just said.
“Hey, baby,” you replied before walking out of the room with an annoyingly cute smirk on your face.
That was the moment that everything changed. It sounds cliché, and it definitely makes me cringe thinking back to it since we were, indeed, just in junior high school, but for some reason that’s the only way to describe it. That singular moment led to the realization that I didn’t have to dislike you. In fact, I could like you, and for seventh grade me, that meant that I could like like you. And boy, did I like like you.
Before I knew it, my trial of new lingo had resulted in me crushing on you—hard. It also led to some questionable decisions that I don’t necessarily regret, but do wish I would’ve thought harder about.
After harboring my feelings deep inside of me and not telling a single soul about what happened, in fear that the world as I knew it would come crumbling down around me, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I was going to tell you how I felt and made sure that you knew it, and thus came the infamous seven-page letter that we still talk about to this day. (And to the readers at home: yes, folks, you read that right. A. Seven. Page. Letter.)
Seven pages of “I like you and here’s why.” Seven pages of “I’m not sure if I truly like you or if I’m just infatuated with you.” Seven pages of “Okay, no I really do like you.” Seven pages of “if you want to call me or something, you can get my number from Joe*.” And I made sure all seven of those emotion-soaked looseleaf pages got to you. As you know, I folded them up and snuck them into your backpack while your classroom was empty. The deed was done, and surprisingly enough, the world didn’t come crumbling down. It definitely did shake a little bit, though.
That same day, after school, you walked home and read the letter with your friend, Jack*. I imagined you laughing at it and calling me stupid. I imagined Jack* laughing along with you, which was mortifying, because I definitely had a crush on him too, prior to this. I have to say, I thought my life was over. Until you called me, and you told me you thought the letter was sweet. And we talked. And then the whole mess truly began. But that is for a later date. Until next time…
Only Love,
Caitlyn Mae
*Names have been changed to maintain integrity.