Something prompted me to look up a specific event in my high school diary yesterday. I never found what I was looking for, but I got so absorbed I read the whole damn thing. I don't know when the last time I read it was; I'm not sure I ever read it after I graduated high school. Unfortunately, reading it made me realize that I have been remembering certain events wrong all this time. Timetables are jumbled. I thought I was very mature for my age, but I was actually quite needy and exasperating. I thought my high school love and I drifted apart and I forgot all about him my senior year. Actually, he broke up with me (partly because I was less than faithful) and I had an incredibly ill-advised rebound boyfriend, who also broke up with me shortly thereafter. It was only then I realized how much I loved the first boyfriend, but he had, of course, moved on. I had some heartbreaking conversations with him, which for some reason I transcribed in my diary as if in preparation for filming My Teenage Life, the movie. I also spent at least sixth months writing tortured letters that I never sent (Thank God!). All of this was just so awfully painful — almost comically painful — to read. Because my teenage self could never have conceptualized that a decade or so later, the boy who broke my heart would cheerfully contact me through Friendster, and I would reply happily, because I wouldn't remember that I'd sat, crying, in the passenger's seat of his car, begging him not to end it like this because we would never speak to each other again in our lives. Teenage heartache is not something I wish to relive.