It's hard when you suddenly remember something—a simple memory that comes back to you in its entirety, like a movie. I'm Jimmy, 30 years old, single, and currently living in America. But sometimes, no matter how far you've come, there's a memory you just can't escape.
Six years have passed since we moved into an apartment in Manila. I live with my parents and siblings. In the house next door to us lives Jenny, a simple but beautiful 14-year-old girl. She is quiet, but always present around. I used to think she was just passing through. But she had a deeper reason.
Every morning, before I go to work, I usually water the plants. That's where I always catch him—standing in the doorway, smiling, and just quietly watching. Sometimes, our eyes would meet, and he would suddenly look away, as if embarrassed.
One afternoon, while I was fixing my bicycle in front of the house, he suddenly approached me. I was even more nervous because he rarely talked. Then, with such simplicity and directness, he said something that stunned me:
“Brother Jimmy… I hope you’ll court me when I’m a girl.”
It was as if the world had stopped. I smiled, a little embarrassed. I jokingly replied, “Maybe I’m old, Jenny.” But it was her answer that I will never forget:
"It's okay. Just, I will wait for you."
I just laughed at the time. He was young, and in my mind, it was nothing. But now, it seems like everything was no joke.
Time passed. I went to America for work, and I settled here. I didn't get a girlfriend right away. I didn't rush my love life either. But in recent months, there have been nights when I can't help but remember Jenny—her smile, her voice, and the simple promise she made in front of the door.
I tried to find him on social media—Facebook, Instagram, even LinkedIn. But I couldn't find his profile. I also had no connection to our old neighbors. So all that was left was to ask myself:
“Will I return to the memory I have long escaped?”
I know he's probably married, has a family, or is living happily on the other side of the world. And if that's true, I might just sing, "Jimmy, Jimmy please don't cry..." like the song. But part of me says maybe... maybe what he said he'd wait was true.
I don't know if what I'm feeling is love, guilt, or simple curiosity. But I'm sure there's a part of me that remains connected to his memory. And at this point in my life, I want to know the truth, no matter what.
So now, I'm writing this as an honest confession. I don't know if he'll read this or if it'll ever reach him. But if it does—Jenny, if I'm still a young man and you're still a virgin, maybe we can continue our conversation in front of the door.
And if not, thank you for the memory. Because sometimes, a sincere memory is all it takes to make you feel alive again.
